#though maybe not more than her girlfriend - lesbian jesus

[future-crab]

What if you were Pluto’s most devout nun and you found out the only two people you’ve ever had romantic feelings for were God’s dead girlfriend and God’s dead daughter. Like what are you even supposed to do with that information.

[laundrybiscuits]

(continued from this and this)

“Yeah, I just told her to give them the cold shoulder. Don’t have to be mean or anything, just ignore ‘em a little. Play it cool. Drives girls crazy, ‘cause then they have to work to get your attention.”

Eddie stares at him. 

“Holy shit, Buckley’s gonna die alone and it’s gonna be a hundred percent your fault. That is the worst fucking advice I’ve ever heard in my life.”

Steve actually looks offended, like his honor’s been impugned. “What the hell, man? I’ve picked up like a million girls that way. I’m telling you, it works.”

“Yeah, okay, now I’m seeing why my sage advice is required for this whole endeavor. That kind of thing might fly if you’re some alpha dog prom king, but lesbians are like…giant pandas or some shit, okay? The conditions have to be precisely calibrated or they’ll just hibernate in a cave by themselves eating bamboo forever.”

“That doesn’t sound right,” says Steve. 

Eddie shrugs. “Whatever, I’m not a panda scientist. The point is…okay, let’s do a thought experiment.” Oh, this is a bad, bad idea. The Munson specialty. “Say you wanted to get a guy interested in you. How would you do it?”

“I’d just—” Steve stops, frowning. “I mean, girls usually just…laugh at guys’ jokes and stuff. Or wear, like, makeup?”

“How are you so awful at this,” says Eddie. “Jesus. I swear to god I remember you doing better with girls at school. Anyway, I didn’t ask what girls do, I asked what you’d do.”

“Shit, I don’t know. Isn’t that why I’m here?” Steve’s getting a little huffy, fidgeting. “I’d just…find a way to hang out with the guy, I guess. Laugh at his dumb jokes.”

“Yeah, sure,” Eddie says patiently. “But that’s what you do with friends too, right? And when you’re walking a perilous path far from the bright streets of heterosexuality, you probably don’t want to risk being too obvious, in case you’re wrong. So you gotta just…give them an opening to let them, like, signal if they’re interested. If they’re looking for a sign, they’ll take it.”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “Ok, but what if they’re not interested yet? Like…sometimes girls take a while to warm up to you.”

“Cut your losses and move on.” Admittedly, Eddie’s still working on that part. 

“What? Man, I’m starting to think you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Eddie scowls at the skeptical look on Steve’s face. “Jesus, the disrespect. Why am I not telling this directly to Buckley, anyway? She’s the one in need of these hard-earned pearls of gay wisdom.”

Steve lets out a big, gusty sigh and tips his head back against the couch. “Because she said if I tried to give her any more help with dating, she’d smother me in my sleep and pin it on Dustin.”

“Attagirl,” says Eddie approvingly. 

“But obviously she still needs help, so this is like—a stealth mission. For love.”

“For love,” says Eddie. “Yeah, okay.” 

———

“Hey, can you—”

Robin whirls around at the unexpected voice and promptly trips over nothing at all, arms flailing out to avoid crashing into the library returns cart.

“Oh, shit,” says the stranger, reaching out a hand like she’s going to catch Robin’s elbow, but pulling back at the last second. “Um. Sorry.”

Robin blinks down at a girl in head-to-toe black, including dusty black combat boots. “Aren’t you hot,” she says, then wants to die. “I mean—like, just, with the heat and all, it’s a billion degrees out, I think if I tried to wear that much black I’d instantly dissolve like the Wicked Witch of the West.”

The girl stares back at her for a second, then bursts out laughing. It’s a nice laugh. 

“As if. I’m from Utah, this is nothing.”

“Oh! Utah! You’re not—are you, uh, Argyle’s girlfriend?” The way Argyle’d described her, Robin had been picturing some kind of Elvira-themed ingenue in lace, maybe smoking like a 1920s flapper. This makes more sense for a real-life teenager, though: oversized t-shirt tucked into ratty black jeans, with some cheap-looking silver jewelry tied around her neck. Her eyeliner’s heavier than anything Robin’s ever seen in Hawkins, smudging messily a little in the heat that’s apparently nothing to her. It makes her look a little bit like a panda bear, but not in a bad way.

“Not anymore.” She grimaces. “Ugh, that sounds mean. We’re, y’know, still friends and everything. I’m Eden.”

“Robin,” says Robin, gesturing at herself like a loser. “Hi.”

“Hi,” says Eden, and smiles at her.

[cookinguptales]

guess it's time for the vent post

(note: I will be okay. usually my ketamine treatments help with pmdd symptoms, but occasionally a treatment won't hit quite right and things will get worse for a couple days. I'll be okay, though, I'm just feeling... well, a cocktail of self-doubt, anxiety, loneliness, and overthinking. lmao)

anyway, full disclosure, this won't be a very nice or happy post and is probably the kind of thing I would've posted in a locked LJ entry back in the day but that doesn't really exist in the same way anymore so just bear with me. I need to just. get it out somewhere.

lately I've really been worrying that I'm not capable of being in a normal relationship anymore. like, I was never great at social interaction, but I'll admit that things really took a fucking nosedive after a particularly bad relationship with a woman who. well, I don't think it's a night for particulars. she was an adult and I wasn't. I was very lost, very lonely, and very sick back then, and she really enjoyed being the only person I felt like I could count on.

I... was wrong, I guess.

and... idk, I've definitely had a lot of nights since then (and days with therapists) where I try to sort through how exactly that affected me and my ability to form meaningful romantic relationships. I have a difficult time feeling safe with people. honestly, I did even before her (I had... a very fucked-up home life) but it was harder after. and let's just say that a lot of my friends at the time turned out to be... less than friendly when the shit hit the fan.

so... yeah. hard for me to open up to people in a meaningful way, I guess. like, I can tell strangers about my anxieties, but it becomes harder for me to do once we're friends. and even then, I guess I can trust people with my thoughts but not my... idk, emotional safety.

once when I was pretty tipsy I told a friend that I didn't think I could love the kind of person who would actually love me back, and I still worry that it's true. I allow myself feelings very rarely, and when I do, it's always for people who don't feel the same way.

I never... like... set out to do it... I don't think it's a conscious thing. I fell for straight girls a few times. then bi girls with boyfriends. I did eventually make it to single lesbians, but they always ended up either getting girlfriends, not wanting to date at all, or just not wanting to date me.

to be clear, I don't blame any of them. but I'm starting to wonder if maybe I should be blaming me...? like, I never knew that any of them were straight or coupled or uninterested when I developed feelings myself. but I wonder if subconsciously, I picked up on it...?

for a while now, I've been genuinely worried that My Type is girls who aren't into me. :')

like, not consciously. but subconsciously, am I just picking up on the fact that they're not attracted to me? or they're safely ensconced in another relationship? or they are comfortably not dating at all? but either way, they're not looking at me like a potential partner, and I like that?

some days I feel like I've mostly healed from everything that happened, and other days I feel like I'm just going to be broken and fucked-up and unlovable forever. like, jesus christ, have I learned to associate people who actually want me with danger? do I only feel safe with people who aren't attracted to me? is that why that's the only kind of person I ever want to date?

good god, that's fucked up.

I mean, the only two alternatives, really, are that I am just incredibly unlucky or the meaner parts of me are right and people really just don't want a fat cripple with a mediocre personality.

the latter probably isn't entirely true. men are easy, unfortunately, and I'd be happier if they didn't want me.

(and then you run into the special kind of anger that happens when a woman that a man thought was beneath them actually turns them down, oof. guess they thought the girl with the cane would be more desperate, huh?)

and I've been on a few dating app dates with girls who seemed to like me well enough, but like. just no chemistry whatsoever.

is the special spark??? a woman not wanting me???

food for fucking thought.

anyway, I guess I just kind of avoided thinking about it for a long time but I'm in my mid30s now and it kind of feels like I have avoided things for too long now! that's pretty old to have never had a long-term relationship! other than with the fucking creep who wanted to ~teach me about sex~ back when I was young and less disabled and maybe still worth something!

I guess that was uncalled for, but some days I really do feel like there was a window and boy did I fucking miss it. like everyone else had this chance to learn their way around a romance and I spent mine hooked up to hospital wires and texting with a grown-ass woman who fed on youth.

I recognize that a key part of grooming -- and abusive relationships in general -- is their ability to make you feel like they are the only person who will ever love you. I also recognize that these people are very good at finding the one kid in the room who believes at their core that they will never be loved. (or even make it to age 20, I guess. didn't know if the whole intermittent blindness thing was going to kill me or not back then.)

but goddamn do I still feel like she hollowed me out and took all the parts of me that were lovable with her. like maybe she will be the only woman who ever wants me, and that's fucking horrifying to think about.

there are nights where you just stare at the wall and wonder what made you so damn attractive to pedophiles, y'know? I knew enough at that age to shake off the men, but her? didn't even see it coming.

and I suppose there are the worse nights, the ones where you wonder if normal, well-adjusted, not-creepy people never would have wanted you even if you weren't too damaged to carry on a real relationship. like maybe I was insufferable enough without the ptsd. catnip for creeps and not much else.

damn, dude, why am I so good at pulling men who follow me home from the bus stop but not women who actually care about my well-being. that's the question.

idk. I feel like at this point, like... 75% of me has come to terms with it. like, I guess it's just not something that happens to everybody. not everyone finds someone who loves them and who they love in return. not everyone is cut out for that life.

but then I look at my own writing and the way I just keep doing it, I just keep latching onto broken characters who have had the best parts of them hollowed out, who believe that they are unlovable, and I write a story that says no, you're not. Here, I've made someone for you who loves you wholly and desperately, even broken as you are.

and I feel like that must be the last 25%, huh? or at least the part of me that wants to comfort broken creatures, whether those creatures are characters I made up or ones I didn't or my readers or the people I read about on the news or maybe a 15yo kid who just wanted someone to fucking love her.

I want to take care of her so badly now. I want to love her in a good way, not the selfish kind that takes and takes and takes until there is nothing left. But I guess I just don't know how.

I realized the other day that I just wrote a book that I would have loved at that age. Now I kind of feel like I've been writing bedtime stories for a ghost.

I'll be okay. I always am. It's just... a rough night. They come and they have always come and they will always come and all I can do is write.

Just wish it were something more comforting this time. :')

[airshipvalentine]

hi guys. it’s me, your favorite guy who you love or tolerate. i can’t sleep again. time to fremont county post

should they be at the club/club equivalent, fcmh edition

mila: girl lived in a sorority house for most of her first semester. she has BEEN at the club(/house parties). now this may be controversial but i think mila has the potential to thrive at the club. i think drunk people are at least 70% more willing to listen to her conspiracy tirades. i think she’s mastered the art of weaseling out the weird stories that the football players would be too embarrassed to admit sober. she is a CHEERLEADER i think she’s busting it down sexual style on the dance floor!!! quirked up wasian girl with a little bit of swag!! yes she should be at the club

levi: ok i think levi’s whole vibe and image is Bitch Who Is At The Club. he is Already at the club. but the question is… should he be? is it fulfilling and fun for him or does he just do it because that’s what’s expected of his social role? these are questions that maybe even levi himself cannot answer.

i can, though. do NOT let this man in the club. if nothing else than for the good of the rest of the clubgoers. this bitch will run a nail down your cheek and call you babygirl in your ear and who wants THAT??? no one…. obviously. zero… people……. anyway

claire: claire is so hard for me to get a read on. she strikes me as the type of girl who was a super nose-to-the-grindstone i’ll-party-when-i’m-in-college type. but falling in with lorraine hall has probably stifled that a little bit. i feel like there’s a world in which she goes to a party (at like the cheerleader sorority) and feels so deeply out of place and insecure that she hides in a bathroom trying not to cry. But as we all know, crying in a bathroom can lead to some really touching cathartic conversations with weird strangers (FF May 2024). so like, yeah, she should be at the club, i guess? she should really be at the lesbian bar but that might have to wait a few more months

anna: i think anna tries to be responsible all the time. i think she would go, but be designated sober person, and maybe get into a fistfight when don or mila tries to start shit with someone. i think she would be trying to make sure everyone else is having a good time and pay too little attention to if SHE was having a good time. i just don’t know if she would really enjoy herself. i think she would have more fun having an evening with nin. she should be at the club if she has someone looking out for her

nin: i think nin would either love or hate the club with no inbetween. pre-Fuckening i would say absolutely not. exhaustion + nightmares + short fuse means it probably wouldn’t be super enjoyable. post-Fuckening, i could see them being more open to it. tbh i think the ideal club scenario for nin is sipping a drink at the sidelines and making fun of their friends who are drunker than them. sure, they should be at the club, if they’re feelin it

shay: jesus christ this man needs to unwind. now the club might not exactly be his scene (i think he would do well getting tipsy at a house show) but i think in general he would benefit from just chilling out for a night. go do a jell-o shot and make out with someone stupid bro the world will probably still be there in the morning. put him in the club EXPEDITIOUSLY!!!

shamsiel: ok i really really don’t know. I feel like being at the club could send her into a bit of a tailspin. lots going on. sounds noises people to keep track of. but also, in a crowd like that, no one really gives a shit about you?? i think she could freak it sensitive style and have a good time if given the chance. does alcohol work on angels. Does weed work on angels. I think shamsiel could be helped by smoking some weed. shamsiel should go to the club as an anthropological humanities study and then we can go from there

kelsie: i want go say yes, but the club is also where her situationship/on-off girlfriend is bartending, so maybe it would be best if she avoids that? i’m still rooting for her and arisha 😔 kelsie we can help you we just need to put arisha in a stressful enough situation where she has no choice but to see through the glare 😊 and then you can swoop in and save her 😊 this will have minimal traumatic consequences for her im sure 🥰

ok i got off track. she should be at the club

alder: i feel so confident that she should be at the club. their gnc swag. his cool tattoos. her mysterious past. his remarkably friendly attitude. she is the coolest person in this club you will try to talk to her and FAIL but she will laugh and be nice and give you a friendly shoulder pat that you’ll think about for the rest of the evening. also they deserve it

don: ok i feel like this guy is barely holding it together. he is a business major and not even a bro-y one. he wears sweater vests. he’s a little too mean to the bartender for no reason and doesn’t tip because the bartender had a shitty attitude at him. he snaps at someone for bumping into him. i think much like shay dude needs to unwind BAD but i don’t know if the club is for him. only if alder is there

lightning round

samara: yes

mary: no

ryan: yes

kyle: no

rhys: no

like an subscribe for more unintelligible insomnia posting. please argue with me i’m not 100% convinced of any of these

[theomnilegent]

2023 Upcoming Sapphic Fiction I’m Excited For! 🏳️‍🌈

Here is my list of nine sapphic women-led fiction to look forward to in the coming year! Romance and redheads seem to be as popular as ever, and to my delight we have the debut novel from Lesbian Jesus herself, Hayley Kiyoko!

Below you’ll find titles, summaries, and Goodreads links for the above books. Every year, the number of stories with bisexual women and lesbian main characters grows, and I’m so delighted each and every time. This list is only a starting point - explore Goodreads and StoryGraph further and you’ll find so many more!

Just As You Are by Camille Kellogg Liz Baker and her three roommates work at The Nether Fields, a queer magazine in New York that’s on the verge of shutting down—until it’s bought at the last minute by two wealthy lesbians. Even though Liz is eager to leave listicles behind for more meaningful writing, she knows that she’s lucky to still have a paycheck. But it’s hard to feel grateful with minority investor Daria Fitzgerald slashing budgets, cancelling bagel Fridays, and password protecting the color printer to prevent “frivolous use.” When Liz overhears Daria scoffing at her articles, she knows that it’s only a matter of her time before her impulsive mouth tells Daria off and gets herself fired. But as Liz and Daria get thrown together more and more, Liz starts to see a softer side to Daria—she’s funny, surprisingly helpful, and actually seems to like that Liz’s gender presentation varies between butch and femme. Even as the evidence that Liz can’t trust Daria piles up, it starts getting harder and harder to keep hating Daria—and harder and harder to resist her.

You Don’t Have A Shot by Racquel Marie Valentina “Vale” Castillo-Green’s life revolves around soccer. Her friends, her future, and her father’s intense expectations are all wrapped up in the beautiful game. But after she incites a fight during playoffs with her long-time rival, Leticia Ortiz, everything she’s been working toward seems to disappear. Embarrassed and desperate to be anywhere but home, Vale escapes to her beloved childhood soccer camp for a summer of relaxation and redemption…only to find out that she and the endlessly aggravating Leticia will be co-captaining a team that could play in front of college scouts. But the competition might be stiffer than expected, so unless they can get their rookie team’s act together, this second chance—and any hope of playing college soccer—will slip through Vale’s fingers. When the growing pressure, friendship friction, and her overbearing father push Vale to turn to Leticia for help, what starts off as a shaky alliance of necessity begins to blossom into something more through a shared love of soccer...and maybe each other.

Margo Zimmerman Gets The Girl by Sara Waxelbaum and Brianna R. Shrum Margo Zimmerman is gay, but she didn’t know until now. An overachiever at heart, Margo is determined to ace her newly discovered gayness. All she needs is the right tutor. Abbie Sokoloff has her own gayness down to a science. But a flunking grade in US History is threatening her acceptance to her dream school. All she needs is the right tutor. Margo agrees to help Abbie get her history grade up in exchange for “Queer 101” lessons. But as they spend more and more time together, Margo realizes she doesn’t want just any girl—she wants the girl.

Something Like Possible by Miel Moreland On the worst day of her life, Madison is dumped by her girlfriend, then fired as said (ex)girlfriend’s campaign manager... plus she accidentally rear-ends the student government advisor—the one person whose good word might help her win a spot at a prestigious youth politics summer camp. But Madison is nothing if not a girl with a plan, and she isn’t going to let a little thing like heartbreak (or a slightly dented bumper) get in her way. Soon, she has a new junior class president candidate to back—although the two of them might be getting a little too close on the campaign trail. Between navigating her growing crush and corralling a less than enthusiastic election team, Madison has had it with unexpected changes to her carefully laid plans. But when she and a group of queer classmates discover a pattern of harassment within the student government, Madison's forced to shift gears once again.

The Fiancee Farce by Alexandria Bellefleur Tansy Adams’ greatest love is her family’s bookstore, passed down from her late father. But when it comes to actual romance… Tansy can’t get past the first chapter. Tired of her stepfamily’s questions about her love life, Tansy invents Gemma, a fake girlfriend inspired by the stunning cover model on a bestselling book. They’ll never actually meet, so what’s the harm in a little fib? Yet when real-life Gemma crosses Tansy’s path, her white lie nearly implodes. Gemma van Dalen is a wild child, the outcast of her wealthy family, and now the latest heir to Van Dalen Publishing. But the title comes with one tiny condition: she must be married in order to inherit. When Gemma discovers a beautiful stranger has been pretending to date her for months, she decides to take the charade one step further—and announces their engagement. Gemma needs a wife to meet the terms of her grandfather’s will and Tansy needs money to save her struggling bookstore. A marriage could be mutually beneficial, if they can fool everyone into thinking it’s a love match. Unexpected sparks fly as Tansy and Gemma play the role of affectionate fiancées, and suddenly the line between convenient arrangement and real feelings begins to blur. But the scheming Van Dalen family won’t give up the company without a fight, and Gemma and Tansy’s newfound happiness might get caught in the fallout…

Six Times We Almost Kissed by Tess Sharpe Penny and Tate have always clashed. Unfortunately, their mothers are lifelong best friends, so the girls’ bickering has carried them through playdates, tragedy, and more than one rom-com marathon with the Moms. When Penny’s mother decides to become a living donor to Tate’s mom, ending her wait for a liver transplant, things go from clashing to cataclysmic. Because in order to help their families recover physically, emotionally, and financially, the Moms combine their households the summer before senior year. So Penny and Tate make a pact: They’ll play nice. Be the drama-free daughters their mothers need through this scary and hopeful time. There’s only one little hitch in their plan: Penny and Tate keep almost kissing. It’s just this confusing thing that keeps happening. You know, from time to time. For basically their entire teenaged existence. They’ve never talked about it. They’ve always ignored it in the aftermath. But now they’re living across the hall from each other. And some things—like their kisses—can’t be almosts forever.

Imogen, Obviously by Becky Albertalli Imogen Scott may be hopelessly heterosexual, but she’s got the World’s Greatest Ally title locked down. She's never missed a Pride Alliance meeting. She knows more about queer media discourse than her very queer little sister. She even has two queer best friends. There's Gretchen, a fellow high school senior, who helps keep Imogen's biases in check. And then there's Lili—newly out and newly thriving with a cool new squad of queer college friends. Imogen's thrilled for Lili. Any ally would be. And now that she's finally visiting Lili on campus, she's bringing her ally A game. Any support Lili needs, Imogen's all in. Even if that means bending the truth, just a little. Like when Lili drops a tiny queer bombshell: she's told all her college friends that Imogen and Lili used to date. And none of them know that Imogen is a raging hetero—not even Lili’s best friend, Tessa. Of course, the more time Imogen spends with chaotic, freckle-faced Tessa, the more she starts to wonder if her truth was ever all that straight to begin with...

Girls Like Girls by Hayley Kiyoko It’s summertime and 17-year-old Coley has found herself alone, again. Forced to move to rural Oregon after just losing her mother, she is in no position to risk her already fragile heart. But when she meets Sonya, the attraction is immediate. Coley worries she isn't worthy of love. Up until now, everyone she's loved has left her. And Sonya's never been with a girl before. What if she's too afraid to show up for Coley? What if by opening her heart, Coley's risking it all? They both realize that when things are pushed down, and feelings are forced to shrivel away, Coley and Sonya will be the ones to shrink.

If Tomorrow Doesn’t Come by Jen St. Jude Avery Byrne has secrets. She's queer; she's in love with her best friend, Cass; and she's suffering from undiagnosed clinical depression. But on the morning Avery plans to jump into the river near her college campus, the world discovers there are only nine days left to live: an asteroid is headed for Earth, and no one can stop it. Trying to spare her family and Cass additional pain, Avery does her best to make it through just nine more days. As time runs out and secrets slowly come to light, Avery would do anything to save the ones she loves. But most importantly, she learns to save herself. Speak her truth. Seek the support she needs. Find hope again in the tomorrows she has left.

[hislittleraincloud]

Grandpa Tor Remembers: Camping with UMass Boys (and their plentiful tents)

So (2) people want to know about the time my girlfriend and I put on a show for a dorm full of guys.

Alright. 🫠

It was the Fall 1993 semester at UMass Amherst, and my girlfriend (let's call her...'Kelly') was dorming with a Puerto Rican girl who was obsessed with Luis Miguel (this girl was a walking stereotype of Puerto Ricans 💀). There were posters of the guy all over the room — along with the requisite Jesus iconography/crucifix on the damn wall — without any space for my girlfriend's shit, so if we were going to be doing anything, we'd still be surrounded by that guy's face (and fkn Jesus, when Kelly was Jewish and I was atheist 😭🤣). This roommate hated being around my gf and hated it even more when I was around, so thankfully the weekend this happened, she had gone home to wherever the fuck she was from (Holyoke, I think) and my gf let me know so I could hop a bus over. Zero to do with the story, just setting the weird ass scene I was shuffled into at that time in my life. If I recall, her roomie wanted to be a nurse, too. 💀💀💀💀💀 But she was also big religious/a big Jesus beater, so she hated being roomed with a free-spirited Jewish lesbian like Kelly and made Kelly's life Hell whenever she was around.

Me being highly sexed and Kelly being receptive all the time led us to start fucking as soon as we got up into the roommateless room. Today, there was a banana involved, but the boys did not see that part. 😉🍌 Yes it went where you're thinking...not into me though 💩

Her bed was next to the wall and window. If you sat up in the bed, you could turn your head to see out the window and see the other dorms across the ways.

I was lying on my back on the bed and Kelly was doing her usual sexy stripper dance over me (this was a thing she did for me/us...easy to do with the Lords of Acid blasting around you)...and she suddenly turned beet red and started laughing.

Now when Kelly turned beet red and started laughing the way she did at the time, you know something's fucked up, so I sat up and asked her what was wrong. She knelt down and her laughter got worse (she was the giggly type). She pointed towards the window, so I looked out to see a whole fucking bunch of guys watching her from the windows of the other dorm (like... I'm not talking just a couple of guys... I'm talking dozens, since the windows were filled up with smiling, amused young college boys).

So instead of getting embarrassed, what did I do...I got on my knees and told Kelly to calm it and to straighten her back so they could see us pressed together. After waving at them, I (we) pulled a Cairo for their male gaze

after which they were all cheering like it was a fucking football game and someone just scored a touchdown.

Our kissing lasted much longer than the above drunken Male Gaze Kiss, so I hope some of them enjoyed themselves. We did not show them anything else besides boob (we were both un our bras and I flashed them, but Kelly was too shy...maybe because hers were big and mine were like Ortega's), but they seemed satisfied just to watch us make out and feel each other up. College boys in the '90s were too easy, and we both had our pick (but we were too picky...both interested in older men). Kelly said she wasn't sure if she could show her face on campus after that but all was good, she was never bothered by anyone about it.

I know, it wasn't as big of a show as you expected. We didn't fuck in front of them (well, we technically did, but they couldn't see it...and they knew that we were going to because before I sank back down onto the bed with Kelly, I gave them a final wave and a 👅✌🏼...I could see some disappointed faces but most were happy and waving g'bye back 🤭). We saved that kind of thing for later, when we fucked in front of my big dicked comics store boss who wanted to join in (but we didn't let him). 👹

Next story? I suppose I ought to do a new poll.

[captaincolossal]

See, I feel like I'd try to be like Ash in The Evil Dead (1981), who's response to someone being freaked out and wanting to leave in the middle of the night is, "I'll get my keys". Not wheedle them into staying one more night in the cursed house with one more clown mannequin than previously counted, Jesus Christ.

Margot just isn't a good partner. She's selfish and focused on her current hyperfixation, and in this case it's going to get her girlfriend killed.

Clowns are still a no from me. Just fyi. And this whole franchise is riddled with clown mannequin jumpscares.

I am finding this one quite scary. The first one was too. I already know they're going to die horribly, I don't know why I'm so stressed, the framing narrative is about these antiquing true crime lesbians dying horribly in the cursed murder house, and I'm here like "oh my god they're gonna die in the cursed murder house, oh no". It's just very creepy and jumpscare heavy.

Look, walk 12 miles or don't, but that's not a conversation you start at 4pm. Oh my god, just do a fast walk and keep your shit together. That's not a bird, that's a bloodcurdling scream. Oh! That'd be the hooded figures over yonder.

Ugh, more "hello?"-ing in dark hallways.

And now the dying horribly. And the closing thoughts from the framing narrative. Oh, and a post credits off-hand comment setting up a spinoff, no doubt.

So. Creepy as fuck, and a lot of that is in the style, which is used pretty effectively. The internal logic works, more or less, they maybe over elaborate at times, but it's not bad. As always, there's some intentionally bad decisions that I found really irritating, but hey, I just had a conversation with my nephew about how (as an adult with your own transportation and/or a buddy) if something sucks you can just leave. Not in horror movies though. Some of those decisions are terminal.

Oh, so this advent calendar gift swap that the group chat did has been sitting in my sewing room, taunting me for weeks now, and it was finally the day to start opening them! (Basically, we made our own advent calendar gift boxes for each other, so there's a little gift each day, and we knew who we were making them for, so we could ask about fabric preferences or whatever.) But I've had this box of little wrapped Items just sitting there, being all enticing and mysterious. Today I got: 2 super cute pieces of fabric!

Also the person I did mine for liked her first gift item: also a cute piece of fabric. That will be a common theme, we are in a quilt guild together.

Oh hey, time for an ibuprofen and an ice pack!

Hell House LLC Origins: The Carmichael Manor (2023)

Once again, a fake documentary as a framing narrative for found footage. Oh, found footage by internet true crime lesbians.

[flamingfalcon3]

Hello! I have finally finished the first chapter of my first Jori fanfic. I’m still trying to get a feel for the character interactions but I think I’m starting to get the hang of it! I’m gonna start posting to ao3 once i get that account set up (and figure out a title lol) but I might as well post the first chapter here! Any and all feedback would be greatly appreciated. Enjoy!

Jade knew her girlfriend was hiding something. 

Tori was not a hard person to read. Hell, the girl practically wore her heart on her sleeve. It was so easy to guess what she was feeling at all times that Tori had all but given up trying to conceal her emotions. 

So, when Jade noticed that Tori was a bit more high-strung and stressed than usual, it wasn’t hard for her to conclude that there was something on her mind. 

It also helped that Tori was an awful liar. 

“What’s up with you?” Jade asked casually during lunch one afternoon.

“Nothing!” the singer squeaked suspiciously. She cleared her throat and attempted to regain composure. “Nothing is up. Everything is great!”

Jade frowned slightly, not at all convinced, but decided just to drop it for the time being as the rest of their friend group arrived at the table. 

The rest of the day was uneventful. Sikowitz made them all tapdance while performing a scene to “demonstrate how important it is to stay in character no matter what the character may be doing” or whatever and then spent the rest of the class monologuing about how a squirrel got trapped in his bathroom. 

Jade sighed a breath of relief as the final bell rang and cut Sikowitz off just as he was about to go into detail about the standoff he had with the rodent. The only one seemingly more anxious to get out of the classroom than Jade was her girlfriend, who was out the door before the bell even finished ringing. Their friends glanced at each other in confusion. 

“Maybe she really hates squirrels?” Robbie suggested. The others considered it for a moment before shrugging and forgetting about it a second later, exiting the classroom.

Jade strode over to Tori, who was frantically throwing books into her backpack from her locker. Jade leaned back against the locker next to Tori’s while folding her arms across her chest. 

“You’re in a hurry,” the goth commented while watching the girl struggle to cram a science textbook into her bag. 

“Jade!” Tori jumped slightly, seemingly startled by Jade’s presence.

“That’s me,” she responded dryly. “Did you forget about our date after school today?”

The singer’s eyes widened in realization and her hand flew to her forehead as she let out a groan

“Jade, oh my god, I am so sorry! I completely forgot!” she confessed, clearly feeling guilty she had forgotten they’d planned to have sushi after school ended.  

“It’s alright,” Jade replied coolly, quirking the corner of her mouth up slightly to convey to Tori she wasn’t upset with her. “What’s got you in such a rush anyway?”

Tori paused for a moment, staring down at her converse.

“Oh, umm… I promised my mom I would help her with… something,” she mumbled.

“Something…?” Jade probed, hoping to get a little more context on what had her girlfriend so worked up. Tori, however, would not offer her any.

“It’s not important. I swear I’ll make it up to you,” Tori slung her bag over her shoulder before stepping towards Jade and planting a short but sweet kiss to her lips. She then turned and began walking towards the exit. 

“You better! I can’t have people think I got stood up!” Jade called out after her, earning a hearty laugh from her girlfriend as she left the building. 

The goth rolled her eyes, amused by Tori’s refusal to admit what it was she was helping her mother with. It must be super embarrassing or something. 

Jade was halfway through entering her locker combination when she remembered something that gave her pause.

Tori’s parents were out of town for the week. Trina had a showcase and they needed an excuse not to show up. Why would she need to help her mom with something if-?

Jade’s phone lit up with a message from Tori directed towards the group chat, asking if anyone could lend her $100 bucks. The goth furrowed her brows. Tori rarely asked for money, and never more than $10 dollars at a time.

Tori Vega, what the hell are you up to? 

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

All Jade could think about for the rest of the day was how strange her girlfriend was acting. She wasn’t responding to her text messages and apparently none of their friends had heard from her either. It wasn’t like Tori at all, and Jade’s curiosity was slowly turning into concern. 

She knew it was silly to be worried. Tori was a big girl, after all. Still, why would she need $100 bucks on such short notice? And what was with her skittish and secretive attitude? 

Maybe she was in trouble with someone. Maybe she needed to pay them money in order to keep them at bay. 

The thought was so absurd that Jade almost burst out laughing as soon as it entered her mind. This is Tori she was talking about. Miss “I have never stayed out past curfew” Vega. Not exactly the type to get tangled up in criminal activity.

Still, Jade couldn’t help but feel uneasy about Tori’s radio silence. It wouldn’t hurt to pay her a visit, right?

15 minutes later she was climbing through her girlfriend’s bedroom window, which Tori for some reason always kept unlocked. Tori wasn’t there, but her backpack was on her bed and her phone was on her desk. Jade let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding as she sank down onto the bed. Not 10 seconds later she heard the sound of footsteps and the bedroom door creaked open. In walked Tori who jumped five feet in the air and shrieked upon seeing someone in her room.

“Jade?” Tori yelped. “What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t answering my texts,” the goth deadpanned. 

“So you broke into my house?” 

“I didn’t break in. Your window was unlocked,” 

“That’s still breaking in!”

“Is it really, though?”

“Yes!” 

Jade was about to argue further when she noticed Tori was holding a grocery bag, and its contents looked quite heavy based on how far the bottom was sagging. 

“Whatcha got there?” She asked, gesturing towards the bag. Tori glanced at it quickly before fixing her gaze back on Jade. 

“Just some stuff for a science project,” she stated, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Tori,” Jade huffed. “We are in the same science class. We’re lab partners. We don’t have a science project.”

Tori stammered helplessly, trying and failing to come up with some explanation for what was in the bag. Jade groaned in annoyance, fed up with whatever game her girlfriend was playing.

“I don’t understand why you won’t just tell me what’s going on! You know it doesn’t matter what it is since my opinion of you can’t get any low-” Jade was interrupted by a strange noise coming from somewhere in the room. She immediately turned to locate the source of the sound.  

Tori could only watch helplessly as the goth scoured every inch of her room before finally tearing open the doors to her closet. A tiny fuzzy creature emerged from the darkness. And then another. And then another. They kept emerging from the closet until there were seven tiny kittens of various colors and patterns wandering around the room. 

Jade slowly looked back up at her girlfriend, confusion written all over her face.

“How-how did those get in there?” Tori stammered, trying her very best to feign ignorance as all the kittens ran towards her meowing hungrily. 

Unfortunately her “very best” still wasn’t very good. 

“Tori, why were there cats in your closet?” Jade asked, still absolutely bewildered by the scene that was unfolding. 

The singer realized there was no way she could talk her way out of this one, and just gave her girlfriend a guilty look before opening her mouth.

“Remember last week when there was that sudden downpour in downtown Los Angeles?” Jade nodded. “Well, I was walking home from Nozu’s when I heard strange noises coming from an alleyway. I went to check to see what it was and-”

“Wait, you heard strange noises coming from an alleyway in downtown Los Angeles at night and you went to go check it out?” Jade asked incredulously. Jesus, Jade doesn’t know how her girlfriend has managed to survive for this long considering her self-preservation instincts were non-existent. Tori just rolled her eyes in response.”

“As I was saying, I went to go check out what the strange noises were and… well,” she turned to look at the kittens scampering around her bedroom. 

Jade brought her hand up to her face to pinch the bridge of her nose.

“So let me get this straight, you wandered into a back alley while it was raining and found kittens and decided the best thing to do would be to take them home?” Jade was still bewildered by her girlfriend. 

“Well when you put it that way it sounds like a stupid idea,” Tori blushed while avoiding eye contact. Jade sighed but took a step closer to her. 

“I mean, I always assumed you would be one of those lesbians who would have like ten cats but I thought that would start after you moved out of your parents’ house,” she smirked. 

“Hey!” Tori let out a mock-offended gasp while swatting Jade’s arm playfully. “I mean, I probably will have to move out once they come home and discover I’ve been hiding kittens in my room despite my father being deathly allergic to them.”  

Why was Jade attracted to such a moron? 

“Can’t you just give them to a shelter or something?” she asked gently. Tori shook her head softly.

“I thought about it but the pounds are apparently really full this time of year so there’s a significant possibility that they'll get…” Tori paused, unable to even finish the thought. “It’s just… they’ve been through so much in the short few weeks they’ve been alive and I can’t just abandon them now!”

Stupid Tori and her stupid heart of gold. The goth groaned and tilted her head back.

“Ugh, fine. I’ll help you with you’re dumb kitten problem,” Jade’s heart fluttered a little as she watched Tori’s face lit up like a christmas tree. 

“Really?” She gleamed. “How?”

“Well, I’m sure there are plenty of people out there who would be interested in adopting tiny kittens. Especially if you go into detail about their tragic backstory and stuff. People are suckers for that kind of stuff,” Jade stated. “You could like, advertise them on The Slap and try to get them adopted before your parents come back.”

Tori chewed at her bottom lip, contemplating Jade’s suggestion.

“That’s… not a bad idea. People advertise things on The Slap all the time,” she hesitated for a moment and her face fell. “Ugh, wait. Trina follows me. If she finds out I’m hiding kittens in my closet she’ll rat me out for sure.” 

Jade closed her eyes and sighed deeply. God, she can’t believe she was about to say this.

“I guess… I could… post about the kittens on my page, or whatever,” she grimaced. Tori’s grin got so wide Jade was concerned her face was about to split in half. 

“You would do that for me?” she exclaimed. “But, your reputatio-”

“My reputation died as soon as I changed my status to ‘in a relationship with Tori Vega’,” Jade snorted. “Kittens would be nowhere near as embarrassing as you.”

Tori was beaming at her girlfriend despite the insult, chuckling lightly as she wrapped her arms around Jade’s neck and peppering her face with soft kisses before finally connecting their lips. The goth let out a content sigh in the back of her throat and attempted to deepen the kiss while pushing Tori backwards to the bed. However, Tori hummed and broke the kiss leaving Jade more than a little confused. 

“Sorry, I-” the singer stammered. “I would feel weird making out in front of…” 

Jade quirked her eyebrows up in amusement.

“In front of… the cats?” she asked, barely suppressing a laugh. Tori nodded, cheeks red with embarrassment. Jade just chuckled and rested her forehead against her girlfriend’s. 

“Jesus Christ, Tori.”

[sorio99]

Deltarune Chapter 2: Live Thoughts

So, since the new chapter of Deltarune came out, I've played it all the way through, so, here are my thoughts as I had them. Basically a live-blog, but, not live anymore, I wrote these in my notes app before.

NOTE: Obviously there are going to be ALL THE SPOILERS for Deltarune Chapter 2 in this, as well as Chapter 1. Reader discretion is advised.

Wow, okay, so I was wrong about it being immediately explained.

Various descriptions have changed, and I’m not sure if it’s because of the change to a new game, or the one to a new chapter.

I feel like Berdly is definitely a m���lady guy.

Okay, so, we’re not skipping class this time.

I really wish we could call Toriel and tell her we’re gonna be late again, but I couldn’t see an option for that. Maybe Kris told her on the ride to school.

Okay, so, Noelle is definitely adorable, and a huge lesbian.

Susie seems lovestruck too, kinda.

SHE HAD CHALK, AND SHE DIDN’T TELL ALPHYS BECAUSE SHE THOUGHT SHE AND SUSIE COULD GO GET IT TOGETHER OH MY GOD

Okay, honestly wasn’t expecting the closet to work again.

Fricking LOVE the new transition.

Okay, so, Ralsei knows about, the real world? How, why, and what?

Oh, that, makes, a little sense? But also, if we hadn’t brought the toys over to the closet then, would they all be, dead?

AND WHAT IS RALSEI IN THIS CONTEXT?!?!

Okay, but I love the new town.

Holy shit, save points have storage, AND a spare list? Hell yeah.

So, we’re all level 2 now. I guess they moved from EXP based (or, execution point based?) to Milestone.

Love the basement for bad guys, with K. Round standing guard.

Bitch said “Child abusers live in Hamster Cage”.

Wait, he uses the hamster wheel?

I don’t know if I believe the king about his “bluff” or not. I think not, but, I don’t know.

I can see the “Susie moves to Ralsei’s castle to escape her abusive home” fic already.

RALSEI GAVE KRIS A TRASHCAN, AND SAID IT WAS FOR THE MANUAL IF HE GIVES US ANOTHER ONE OH MY GOD IM SO SORRY MY SWEET FLUFFY BOY

And of course, the moss call-back.

Oh god, Susie just said “My own room, huh.” and my heart is ready to shatter.

This girl has one actual food item in her fridge, and it’s just salsa

Oh, scratch that, there’s ice, crumbs, and jawbreakers in there too?

Oh, okay, Ralsei did give her actual food.

Entering Lancer’s room gives the cartoon Splat sound effect from Chapter 1, and his bedroom is identical to Chapter 1.

Perfect.

And the sound effect, plays in reverse when leaving? Okay.

So, explore until we’re ready to leave, huh? Seems, suspicious.

Oh my god, I just realized, the LightCandy is literally the chalk Noelle gave Susie. What the fuck.

So, for giving the Top back his cake, we get regenerating SpinCake that heals everyone for 140. Nice.

Battle challenges, huh? This should be interesting.

So, we can get a ClubsSandwich, $100, or…Jigsaw Joe’s entire life savings. Okay.

Aw, Clover has separate heads in their dialogue box!

Just realized this “dojo” also has their bed. Odd.

Alright, let’s take these challenges!

Oh, so if we act with Kris, than spare with Ralsei or Susie…got it!

He has a mercy meter. There’s a mercy meter now. I love this.

Oh, of course his life savings is exactly one dollar.

I can already tell the Graze challenges are gonna be the biggest bitches.

Okay, so, being able to rematch bosses, with different gimmicks and attacks, but based on the same logic? Always amazing.

I love the little cut-ins from the other characters with certain lines, like Susie and Lancer revealing “for a price” means zero dollars.

“Cookie and Wife”?

The Blacksmith runs a bakery where he can fuse items…okay.

Imma get a Silver Card.

What the fuck, Mr. Society?

Okay, so, we’re “leaving” through the way we came in, so “surely” we’re going back “home” to the “real world” and our “family”. Sure.

LANCER was added to your key items.

Oh was he now?

And so was Rouxls, “even though no one wanted that.”

Oh, we, actually went back to the light world. Huh. Actually wasn’t expecting that.

Jack of Spades, and the Rules Card. Makes sense.

Still LV 1 here, thankfully. No murder yet.

Okay, thankfully I can call Toriel now.

…Undyne, what the fuck?

Also? This, car horn music, I guess? Is, um…interesting.

Oh, the, computer lab. Where Toby was in Chapter 1. Okay. Makes sense.

“Guess this means we can’t start our project.” I’d say the biggest obstacle is more that we have no clue what the hell this project is supposed to be.

Hmm, we could use the computer at my house, or we could have a fun Toby Fox adventure…

My house!

I knew Susie wouldn’t allow it, also, you always wanna jump in big pits? That’s, worrying.

Computer lab time!

So, computer themed, maybe?

Rouxls jumped out, apparently. According to Lancer.

Okay, this build up is creepy, where’s the fluffy boy?!

Who is SHE?!

Was

Was that Noelle’s chatter sound?

Asking for help?

OH MY GOD

ITS THE REINDEER LESBIAN

SHES BEEN TAKEN

NOOOO

And, I suppose, this must be, our queen.

Q5U4EX7YY2E9N. Sure. I’ll stick with Queen, yeah.

Oh, she’s a computer! That…that’s probably not, great?

Oh, those plugs are bad, brainwashers. Okay.

Okay, they’re both tired…but Ralsei isn’t here. Fuck.

Aiming at moving targets is hard.

2 Werewires spared, only 4 to go, I guess!

RALSEI IS BACK, YAY!

Fun Gang, back together, working to save Susie’s soon-to-be-girlfriend!

Rhythm game to start a new bumping song. Nice.

Might live blog less from here, since, you know, the game is starting proper.

God, I love Deltarune’s look and sound, it’s so clean? And expressive, and AAAGH, I just love it!

I love angry Ralsei.

First lose control laughing moment: Kris and Susie squishing Ralsei like a toothpaste tube, to play an arcade game.

Did, did I just play Punch-Out inside an Undertale?

Curing computer viruses with Syringes…sure.

Sweet is the rhythm guy! Nice to meet you, Sweet! You and Toby are great at this music thing.

Hey, Susie can act now! Awesome!

Ralsei too, because of bullying! Yay!

Now the whole gang’s dancing!

(This is where I took my first real break, to process stuff and relax, and also to sleep)

In between thought: it’s kinda interesting that, in Chapter 1, Susie basically had to be forced to care about Kris, Ralsei, and Susie, but as soon as Noelle is in the slightest bit of danger, she’s immediately like, “We have to save her or die trying”, huh?

“Reverse diss-tracks, where the vocalist puts themselves down and praises Queen…or noise music.” That’s some, interesting taste in music.

“All our songs are only 4 seconds long!” Damn, so you’re, like, Vine musicians?

So, the Knight is opening alternate fountains, that create dark worlds out of, more mundane places? Interesting…

So, someone new is leading the rebels. This, can’t go well.

Smorgasbord 2.

Oooh, a TP raising Item! Nice!

Oh, the guy who was already working for Queen is a Werewire now. Okay.

66 up arrows. Hmmm, I wonder if I can retry at some point…

Oh boy. Here’s the queens…wait what?

Oh my god.

Go kart time.

Noelle, you traitor! How could you!

Oh, okay. Berdly I believe more.

Also, “beloved”.

I love how Queen apparently didn’t even ask him.

“Light Nerds” Good one, Queen.

That’s one weird Check for Berdly.

Berdly, for God’s sakes, Noelle is a lesbian, you idiot.

You know, given this villain rant, I think I hate Berdly more than I do King. And I’ve dealt with both bullies AND abusive dads.

Oh god, Roller Coaster Tycoon murder (also Berdly is dead)

Garbage! Saved by it again.

Oh, this place looks glitchy.

Also, Susie, you’re not the king of the trash pile. You’re QUEEN of the trash pile.

Oh god, please don’t tell me she’s dying.

Okay, good, she just needed fluffy boy hug.

Fork in the path, advantageous to split up, huh? But there’s three of us, and, two paths probably.

Okay, I can either go with the Fluffy boy who might secretly be evil, or the mean girl who might get lesbian scenes…hmmm…

I’m flipping a coin.

Okay, Ralsei it is!

Oh, Susie is upset at me getting to pick.

Oh, they’re going together.

Oh, this can’t be good.

If I had a nickel for every indie game with a cat themed metropolis on my pc, I’d have two nickels. You can finish the meme.

I swear I just saw Noelle on the right. Something big in the streets, hmmmm…

Okay, definitely saw Noelle that time. Shame the Poppups, popped up.

…I get it, Toby, but I’m still mad.

Blocked 10 ads…okay, I still love this game.

God, I’m already missing my party members.

Okay, so I still have Lancer, but, I’m really hoping Noelle listens to reason, because Lancer is, not.

Oh god no, don’t fight me now Queen. And please don’t join me.

Alright, nobody likes Berdly. Figured.

God they’re so dumb.

“G-got any room for another truce?” Noelle, I would do a No Mercy run for you, of course I’m going to help you.

I can’t believe “No Triple Trucies” is even an option.

Yay! Noelle in party!

“LV1 Snowcaster. Might be able to use some cool moves.” She’s got Heal Prayer, a more powerful (but more expensive) Pacify, and a damaging Ice move for only 16% TP.

I love her.

I don’t know what a sugarplum is myself, actually.

Noelle, you have a one track mind, and I like it.

Lancer, she’s not a cream, and we’re not making her a bad guy.

Oh, and she’s scared of mice, I love it!

Ah, she’s never been in battle before, let’s see how this goes.

See? That wasn’t so bad, Noelle.

Oh, she’s a natural!

“Needles aren’t scary…” Tell that to anyone under 20, Noelle.

Also, “subtle” pro-Vax message?

Oh my god, I just love her animations.

So, the virus and the syringe are fighting…hm…

Okay, so, first, Noelle’s defend animation, also perfect.

Second, so Ambyu-lance’s bullets block and destroy Virovirokun’s…hmm…

Have I mentioned how much I love Noelle? This funky little Christmas Lesbian can do no wrong.

Oh my god, she can’t even confidently say we’re friends, and hearing Kris say it makes her happy, I love her so much.

Okay, so, Queen drinks Battery Acid. Makes sense for a computer.

Kris is so done with this shit, I can tell.

I am both scared of and loving Queen.

Oh Jesus Christ Berdly what the fuck is that.

That is not greatness that is…I don’t know. I’m pretty sure even tumblr isn’t horny for you, Berdly.

Christ, he’s gonna break Queen by being an idiot and then he’ll be the Chapter boss.

Her eyes say lying. Of course.

“I Did Not Know You Had… Nipples” that’s, a good point.

…Berdly, you disturb me.

Second lost control laughing moment: Noelle’s cardboard robot face, and Queen just saying “Wow Cool Face”

Lancer, what is the “illusory nipple technique”?

Oh, of course the music bots built the statue. Berdly would never do manual labor.

Oh, and, they built the next “big” thing…hmmmm…

Why are we, flavors of tea???

Okay, that should be all the werewires for now.

The, clothing store, sold me, a useless mannequin, for $300. Of course.

I am going to touch the cheese.

Maus!

Cheese maze, purposely ruined to spare more Mices.

Hmm, Berdly talks about Noelle’s crush. $20 says he actually thinks it’s him, or maybe Kris at a stretch.

Noelle is now immune to mice! Yay!

Oh, CD Bagel, Seedy Bagel, just got that.

Okay, sacrifice pacifist run to kill Berdly…I’m tempted.

Uh, Berdly, Noelle just one shot both your allies. I’m not alone, you are.

Jokes on you, buddy, I’ve been dodging A+ for years!

“(He hit me in the face with a tornado…)” Yes, Noelle, and I have papercuts on my eyelids. He do be an asshole.

Oh good, they both made Battery Acid Pies. Now we’re in a car together. Perfect. This is exactly how I wanted things to go.

Potassium

Who is this trash man?

Spamton, huh. Oh boy.

Oh god, this song has lyrics.

Oh joy, a mini boss on my own. Just what I wanted.

Oh, new game over screen! Nice.

Anyways, I hate this guy.

Okay, just one more deal, I think. I wonder what’s next.

I’m not giving you my credit card info, dude.

Oh damnit, 1% more.

Okay, I’m very scared now.

Oh, I lost $51. That’s, fair.

Okay, back in the car.

Oh my god, Queen loves Noelle too. Perfect.

Lancer took the mixtape! Nice!

Oh, he ate it…nice!

DECEMB…

Oh god she’s a little kid.

December.

I’m so sorry, Noelle. I really hope you’re going to be okay. We’ll figure out what to do.

Queen, why does everything you have explode?

Now the prize is on my head.

Susie and Ralsei! You’re back!

She can slightly heal me now…cool!

And she taught him Sarcasm. I love them all so much.

Uh, Susie! You can have it!

Okay, so, now Susie is both gay for Noelle, and suspicious of her. Amazing.

And Noelle is turned on by the threat of being killed. Have I mentioned I love these dorks?

The gang’s all here!

Uh, just got past fireworks, and, where’s Noelle?

Oh, okay. She was just watching Fireworks.

Oooo, catching mice minigame!

Oooo, more elaborate but simpler to control mice minigame!

Oooo, bucket hole!

Also, nice gay Noelle moment noted.

Oh no, please don’t take the perfect girl away from us!

Okay, so, I don’t like Berdly, but, Acid river? Bit much…

Oh, okay. He was never in danger. I hate both of you. GIVE US BACK NOELLE

GOD DAMNIT NOT THE CAGE AGAIN.

Oh, great, now we’re captured too. Except possibly Ralsei.

She only plays mobile games. Burn her.

For once Berdly is correct.

Queen, you are dumb.

Is that the super Mario world fade?

I don’t, next question.

No looking at my Search history!

Oh, hey, we can chat in here.

LANCER TIME!

YES I MISSED YOU YOU DOPE

Lancer, never say Pants hole again, and never say you were inside it either.

Lancer, do you still not know our name?!

So this is how they lampshade the tutorial-Toriel thing, huh?

Oh no, Lancer, please don’t die in here.

Um, are there rooms for all the kids at school?

Asriel…

Puzzle time!

Plot twist: Susie is not Susan.

Berdly is dumb.

Admittedly, I did brute force that second one a bit…

Okay, now Susie has outsmarted both me AND Berdly. This is sad.

Oh god, he’s gonna cry now.

Oh, my god, that’s what December meant. That’s why Berdly cares about Noelle. That’s why…oh god.

Oh wow, Susie’s a gamer. This is incredible Lore.

Oh wow, first Lancer’s face returns, now Berdly is Anime. I love this game.

Oh my god, Ralsei in a tux. I love him.

Alright, so, Lancer needs to go back to Castle Town, and we need to get the heck to Noelle. I hope Berdly’s plan actually works…

Aw, I wanted him to stay tuxedo…

Color Cafe, huh?

Oh god, Rouxls came here. I am terrified.

I love this hype manor song!

Toby Fox, why is there so much 3D Shenanigans in this 2D Top Down RPG???

Note: from here, I end up going to the secret of this chapter. Do not read if you don’t want to be spoiled on that plotline. Skip to where I say Pancake Batter.

Okay, I’m going back, and I’m gonna find this third blue check mark.

Okay, found it, now to get back to the guy…

Yay, fireworks, again!

East treasure’s hallway leading to Basement on 1F…

Oh dear.

So there’s a secret here after all…where is…

Found it!

Okay, how to open this lock, now…hm.

Well, one thing was in the field, so, maybe in the city?

Oh Jesus it’s Spamton.

$28, not a penny more.

KeyGen, huh…

If this is as hard as Jevil, I’m gonna be pissed.

Oh, great, just Kris going in. Again. Fantastic.

Oh what the fuck.

Oh Jesus Christ I hate this build up.

Oh, and I died on the elevator. That’s fun.

Okay, so I hate this elevator. A lot.

Okay! Took like six tries, but I made it past the elevator! Now, let’s see what’s waiting for me…

EmptyDisk…hmmmmmmmm…

Maybe take that back to Scamton or whoever?

…Ralsei, Susie, what are you two doing?

Okay, trash man, you better like this.

Oh Jesus Christ.

Okay, this is not what I expected to follow Jevil’s lead. But, let’s see what happens when I turn this disk in.

Oh, nothing happened. Sure it did. Just gonna walk away then…

Oh, wouldn’t you know it, something happened!

Okay, so big puppet robot man. This is terrifying.

THANK YOU SUSIE!

Roller coaster boss! Again! Oh good!

YELLOW SOUL!

Can’t write notes, gotta kill.

Spamton, oh my god. And it’s Neo’s outfit. How the fuck did I not realize before?

Im terrified, let’s GOOOOOO!

Holy shit is that the Undertale Game Over message??????

Many tries later

Okay, I think it’s actually Ralsei and Susie talking…

Quitting the game so they can get their healing items out of storage and buy some good ones extra later

Okay, third turn, and I’ve only been hit once! Granted, it did almost 50 damage to Susie, but, still, doing better this time!

Even more death later

Did he just, attack himself?

Is he surrendering?

I…I did it! I did it in one sitting! Minus quitting so I could grab healing items that did more than 40 HP!

Oh, he killed him by freeing him…….okay.

Dealmaker, huh? Let’s see what this bad boy is…

+4 defense, +5 magic (even on Kris?), and $+30%…”and…?”

Okay, Ralsei, you get that, Susie get’s Jevilstail, and I get many questions.

Alright, now back to the actual plot!

Oh…Kris has goosebumps, and Susie’s asking if they’re okay…no. I’m saying no.

I love these two so much. Now let’s save the adorable lesbian.

Pancake Batter. Alright, we’re good.

Sorry, Noelle, got distracted.

Mouse wheel!

Tasque manager helped!

Man, this room is big and empty, with an odd exit door and screens on the north wall. Hmmmm…

Toby!

Thank you annoying dog!

Okay, I still love this music. Just wanted to say that. Anyways, PROGRESS!

We’re tea covered now. Except Susie. She’s tea filled.

Oh god, I don’t trust Berdly with Susie.

God, Knight teased.

Duck ride with Fluffy Boy.

Okay, so, puzzle time, methonk.

High Five!

More duck ride!

Ralsei, do you wanna do the kissy?

Oh boy.

Oh jeez.

Oh damn.

Rouxls.

Ralsei, you read my mind.

Oh Jesus it’s the tank from the first game.

Okay, so, we, take houses? Okay.

I can’t believe some people thought this dork was Gaster.

Wow, I beat him in like 3 and a half turns because I blocked him in.

Another God Dammit because SOMEONE didn’t pay attention to what happened to Lancer.

His head is still blue…

Hey, Camera! Peace signs and hugs!

Mostly hugs.

Yay, more Susie and Noelle time!

Oh my god, my heart is breaking.

Okay, I love these adorable girls.

Oh boy, this is, weird.

“Point and hearts come out” or “Eat moss”. The choice of a generation.

Fair point, Susie.

She likes scary things, huh.

Kinky

Have I mentioned how much I love these two? Because I do.

Susie and Noelle are best girls ever, no objections.

Oh good, Berdly, don’t ruin this completely, okay?

I fucking knew it.

Noelle, you’re going to kill him, and that’s okay with me.

Susie, stop squishing him like toothpaste!

Oh boy, I get big “final boss” energy right now…

Werewerewire?!

Okay, so I just stole from Noelle’s room.

Okay, boss time.

Shit, I should’ve healed up.

Okay, so, I died, but, I can fix that!

So, this boss is calling back to how the town’s internet has gone out, a fact I didn’t even learn until watching other content last night when I should have been sleeping, because I forgot to talk to Alphys during the brief chance I had.

Also, now both she and Ralsei have made reference to the real world outside…hmmmm…

So I guess the plot is about Google search being evil…yeah that checks out.

Bitch, did you just funny runny way?

Hmm, I’d say 50/50 odds of him being a drama Queen vs. him trying to trick Susie into caring about him.

Yep, he’s trying to score a kiss. Berdly…get a job.

Alright, let’s save Noelle, and possibly the whole town.

The “Roaring” Knight?

Oh god, the determination…who is this Knight, what is going on, and how involved are we?

Wait wait wait wait wait wait WAIT

When she described the Knight making more darkness, she said they took their blade, and showed an image of a knife. Was…was this…

HOLY SHIT IS KRIS’S NIGHT SELF THE KNIGHT?!?!

Oh. It was a giant robot. Not a statue.

Susie’s dancing!

Oh yeah, he can fly.

Resistance! Yay!

Okay, so, we sentai up in this bitch.

I wonder how the hell this story would go if we didn’t go pacifist then? Because in Chapter 1, all that really changed was how the boss was defeated in the cutscene, and like a couple details later. This is, a lot more than that.

Okay, so, three rounds of HP, punch out for her turns, just keep attacking. Got it.

Two rounds down, one to go!

Yes, eat your own Baseball, bitch!

Oh, suicide attack. Well it was just a robot.

Oh. She still has us.

Oh fuck the robot is Noelle’s mom. Fuck.

Okay, so, Queen is dead.

Oh fuck, don’t take over the world with darkness all of you, please.

The Roaring?

Oh fuck, new legend lore.

Titans, Fountains, enveloping the land in devastation. Oh jeez.

Lost eternally in an endless night…that’s not paradise. That’s hell.

QUEEN IS ALIVE?!?! AND DIDN’T KNOW ANY OF THAT?!?!

Thank you, Susie!

Okay, that’s a good ending for a second chapter, it’s dark fountain time!

Susie, please don’t turn evil.

…

And, we’re in the computer lab!

Wait, Ms. Boom? Does, does Gerson have a daughter, or wife?

Lost control laughing #3: this

I love this game so much. Time to explore town again.

Okay, Alphys does crush on Undyne still, at least.

Oops, I just let all the prisoner dogs out.

Awww, Undyne likes Alphys too!

Napstablook, I love you.

Oh shit, Asgore used to be a pig?

Oh god, this Rudy storyline is gonna be depressing all the way through, huh?

Susie, can we steal the tower of the gods?

Hey, we can actually go back to Ralsei’s dark world?!

Okay, this is gonna be interesting.

Oh thank god, we can save in the epilogue now, cool.

Oh cool, King and Queen together.

Oh my god he calls her Queenie Beanie. I love this.

So, a card and a computer fucked to make Lancer, who is a card. Okay.

Okay, so Lancer DOES know Kris’s name! Just not Ralsei’s!

New battle challenges! Yes!

Might save “Ch. 2 All-stars” for another time, though…

Perfection is the mannequin reaction.

Oh my god there’s a dedicated room for listening to music I love this

Alright, time to skedaddle back to the real world.

Okay, so Alvin is Gerson’s son, and he’s depressed. Fun.

Oh, MK and Snowy are by the creepy bunker. That’s…fun.

Okay, so, Susie scared them off after they insulted Kris, because Kris said something about the bunker…hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm…

Hey, Nice Cream Guy is one of the Ice-E’s employees! Nice!

Ah, PizzaPants. Never change.

Oh hey, it’s the little guy, who’s clone is a Gaster follower. And the bird guy’s still in the library, and the donut guy is still in his car…

Hey, Catty and Bratty are becoming friends again! Cool!

Omg, Sans’s store is open. Do I…go in?

Hell yes I do!

Okay, so, Grillby’s music still, but, different interior. Interesting…

Sans, a day and 2 years in this game are not equivalent. It’s a day and 3 years.

The trousle grows further away.

Oh jeez Susie’s been drinking the milk. Oh god.

Cool, Susie’s seeing Onion too!

Oh, never mind.

A song is coming from deep under the water…either Shyren is involved, or this is gonna take a turn.

See you, Su-

Oh! Hey mom! Meet Susie!

Pie for all!

Oh my god, Susie, my heart is breaking.

Okay, so Alphys and Toriel know about the chalk. That, kinda makes Susie thinking she’d get expelled for it, really depressing.

Okay, so, Toriel and Susie are gonna make Pie together, that’s cool. Still, pretty worried about, Kris.

Uh, I just ran the sink, and, uh…

WHAT THE FUCK

OKAY SO MY SOUL IS UNDER THE SINK, KRIS WHAT ARE YOU DOING WHY IS IT BLACK OUT THE WINDOW WHERE ARE YOU GOING

WHAT THE FUCK

…so we get a cute scene with Susie and Toriel, then Susie asks where Kris is and…they do this sometimes?

I’m very concerned.

Okay, Toriel is concerned too, enough to say “hell”. Even Susie is shocked.

Okay, so, they’re coming back, uh, okay, this isn’t good, right?

Stopped the faucet, opened the drawer, and…we’re back?!

Kris what the fuck are you doing

And why couldn’t we find Asgore in the town?

Okay, so, we’re all sleeping in the living room. I, guess tomorrow’s the weekend, probably? I don’t know?

Susie, doesn’t have caring parents, I guess?

Oh god, Susie wants them to come to our world, but, Lancer is a playing card, he can’t…I don’t know. I’ll say it’s “far-fetched”.

There’s a festival, apparently. This seems…suspicious.

I’d take Ralsei, so you could take Noelle.

She’s asleep.

That, might not be good, in this context.

Okay, so, we’re asleep too, I think?

Oh god, Toriel’s tires are slashed, that can not be good, in any way.

Okay, night time, Toriel and Susie are asleep…now what are you doing, Kris?

That, knife…

Okay, so, yep, they’re the Knight, and they just opened Darkness in their living room. This is, not, good. And, the tv’s on, and the door’s unlocked…

What the fuck is happening?

Ending credits song sounds, techno? Is this more of Don’t Forget? Or a remix? I hear the lyrics at least.

“To be continued in Chapter 3” OH IT BETTER BE, TOBY

So, yeah, that's Deltarune Chapter 2. In conclusion: this explains nothing, raises 120% more questions, and overall is still an incredible, wonderful game. I also like how each Chapter so far has been almost as long as a full play through of Undertale, and yet we're still somehow only 2 sevenths of the way through. Oh yeah, did I not mention? After completing it, it brought me to a chapter select with SEVEN DIFFERENT CHAPTERS, only two of which were available. So, you know. THAT'S FUN!

In actual conclusion, please play this game, it's free, it's amazing, and also buy the soundtrack on Bandcamp so Toby can make some kinda living.

[redladydeath]

jhgfdfghjkhgf i was going to just post this in the video’s comment section but for some reason that’s not working so here’re act one of the william and mary play:

Mary: Look, you’re my best friend, okay? And, um, best friends tell each other everything, right? Oh my god. Excuse me. Oh, Maria Regina, it was awful! He was awful, William, my Dutch cousin, or as father likes to call him “the Dutch Dog” *laughs*… I had the honor of being forced to dine with the extended family. My little Dutch cousin William– and was he rude! Oh my god. He spent the entire meal either staring at me or grimacing at the food. No manners. And he’s old too, like, at least thirty, not that you’d know by looking at him, he’s very short, but old enough to know better, and all that I could hear the entire time was his breathing– no, no, no– wheezing, with his tiny little child-sized mouth. *imitates wheezing* [indecipherable] –cause he had [indecipherable] big monster of a nose to use, but I guess that was out of commission. And King Charles II– God save him– and all twelve of his spaniels, seated at the table, eating off of the plates– how am I related to these people?

Anne: Mary!

Mary: Shh! Shh! My sister! We’re fighting! Oh god. Uncle Charles– God save him– William... ew. I’ve never fit in with this entire family and now I find out that my sister’s been ta… my sister– No, no I will not stand here and idly gossip. My sister– no. Sh– no. Sh– no. Sh– nope! Betty!

Betty: Yes, your ladyship?

Mary: Um, take Maria Regina will you?

Betty: Yes, your ladyship. Anne has been screaming for you, your ladyship.

Mary: Yes, tell her I’m dead.

Betty: Yes, your ladyship.

Mary: No, don’t, that’ll get her hopes up. Tell her that I’m resting– exhausted from a fascinating dinner with our exotic Dutch cousin.

Betty: Yes, your ladyship.

Mary: And I can trust you all? Oh, um, and would you bring me an ink, pen, and paper?

Betty: Yes, your ladyship.

Mary: How’s this? Dearest, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear... girlfriend– no, no, no... lover– no, too saucy– um... husband? Yeah… it’s a woman, but we’re gonna call her a husband. Don’t get confused! Um, dearest husband, after my prayers to all-mighty God, I’ve come to make peace with you, for it is a strange thing for a man and a wife to quarrel. What more can I say to prove that I love with more zeal than any lover can? You are loved with a love never known by man–

Anne: Mary!

Mary: You are loved more than can be expressed–

Anne: Mary!

Mary: By your ever-obedient–

Anne: Mary!

Mary: SHUT UP!! –wife. But to my great sorrow, I find out that you’ve been corresponding with *whispered* my sister!

Anne: Mary!

Mary: Shut up! Oh, to be your humble servant! To kiss the ground where you go–

Anne: What are you doing?!

Mary: Shut up! Oh, to be your dog on a string, your fish in a net, your limber trout–

Anne: She writes me too, you know!

Mary: No, she doesn’t!

Anne: Yes, she does!

Mary: Shut up! [indecipherable] If my letter has made the effect, dear “husband”, on your hard ear, I may without scruple call you my dearest, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear husband.

Anne: She is not your husband and your letter to her are weird. Also, she sends me letters and calls me her husband and loves me more than she loves you and you’re a lesbian!

Mary: That word doesn’t even exist yet, Anne!

Anne: Lesbian!

Mary: Keep your voice down!

Anne: She writes me more letters.

Mary: Our love is forbidden.

Anne: Get over yourself!

Mary: She knows unlike you I’ll be queen!

Anne: Whatever. I don’t care. I don’t even want to be queen.

Mary: Oh, good, cause you never will be.

Anne: Of course I will! When your head gets so damned big from all the bullshit praise, even your ugly, masculine, lesbian neck won’t be able to support its weight. Snap! And your head will fall off, like our poor headless grandpa Charles–

Mary and Anne: God save him!

Mary: To imagine the death of a monarch is treason, I could look you in the Tower.

Anne: You couldn’t!

Mary: When I’m queen.

Anne: You wouldn’t!

Mary: I could!

Anne: Nu-uh!

Mary: Uh-huh!

Anne: You wouldn’t be the first queen to do that to a little sister.

Mary: Well, you came in here and started it.

Anne: I know. I have something to tell you.

Mary: You could’ve waited!

Anne: I have a memory. About mummy.

Mary: Did you? Really? Would you tell me?

Anne: When we knew she wouldn’t make it much longer, she asked me to come to her bedside. She had just got her blood let, so she was speaking very openly.

Mary: It’s okay, Anne!

Anne: She asked me “Do you know why I named your older sister Mary but named you after me?”

Mary: Why?

Anne: Mummy said… “Because prefer you to that bitch older sister!”

Mary: Leave!

Anne: Mom liked me more!

Mary: I was named after a queen!

Anne: Yeah, Bloody Mary! “Oh, look at me! I’m named after a fat, bloated Tudor Catholic!”

Mary and Anne: *spit*

Mary: Leave!

Anne: I just came in here to ask how dinner went.

Mary: It was lovely. Leave!

Anne: Was it? I bet it was boring.

Mary: Only for a child but when you’re fifteen years old you appreciate stimulating conversation!

Anne: [indecipherable]

Mary: Good!

Anne: Was he… stimulating?

Mary: Ew! I mean… yes.

Anne: What was he like?

Mary: Tall, dark, handsome.

Anne: Really? Tall, dark, and handsome?

Mary: Mmyeah.

Anne: I’m jealous.

Mary: You should be.

Anne: Did he stare at you?

Mary: What? No.

Anne: I guess he wouldn’t. Not after what I have heard.

Mary: Oh, I don’t even want to hear your idle gossip– what did you hear?

Anne: Oh, it’s just that father told me that Uncle Charles–

Mary and Anne: God save him!

Anne: –Tried to marry you off to him.

Mary: What?

Anne: For some Dutch alliance.

Mary: What?

Anne: Yeah. He turned you down though.

Mary: He turned me down?

Anne: Three times.

Mary: What?

Anne: And here I was going to come in and make fun of you! I thought William was a tiny little goblin man. That would’ve been so embarrassing!

Mary: Right…

Anne: If you were turned down by an ugly little goblin man.

Mary: Right…

Anne: Three times!

Mary: Leave!

Anne: Why?

Mary: Leave!

Anne: I thought he was stimulating!

Mary: I want to be alone!

Anne: Mary the Martyr, you’re so weird! Maybe you’ll actually fit in if you didn’t lock yourself in your room all the time writing creepy letters. Some queen you’ll be! You’re friends with a fish!

Mary: Well, I will be queen whether I want to or not!

Anne: Mary the Martyr, you’re engaged to Louis the fucking XIV, what right do you have to be mad at me?

Mary: ...Have you seen the latest portrait of Louis?

Anne: Yeah!

Mary and Anne: *squee*

Anne: He’s fucking gorgeous! Even for a Catholic!

Mary and Anne: *spit*

Anne: Milky skin, so fucking rich! Full deep eyes, tight little French ass…

Mary: Anne! God is listening!

Anne: [indecipherable] I’m just appreciating the work! Those portraits are rarely accurate though. You saw the portrait of Uncle Charles–

Mary and Anne: God save him!

Anne: –He looked like a Roman god dipped in oil.

Mary: What?

Anne: He glistened Mary! Like a buttered up Roman statue! In reality, he looks more like butter. Well… butter with syphilis.

Mary: Oh my god, you can be quite cruel Anne.

Anne: I’m destined to marry one of our fat, inbred cousins, so I’m allowed to be.

Mary: Sorry.

Anne: Yeah, it’s whatever. Well, I’m going! Unlike you I actually have friends to hang out with.

Mary: Oh, bad company ruins good morals.

Anne: Fuck you! See you at dinner.

Mary: That’s why that little Dutch dwarf was staring at me. Oh my God, could you imagine that tiny, wheezing little man crawling into your bed every night– oh my god, it’s an offensive thought! But the most offensive part? He said no! He said no to me! Oh my God, the man is a slug! William of Orange– blegh! And Uncle Charles– God save him– tried to make me marry that, not that I would’ve! No! I would’ve told him off, right to his face. I’m not afraid of him! I will not be made a sacrificial lamb. I would’ve told him off to his face! Right to his tiny, regal, little mustache: “No, Uncle! You may be king, but I will not marry that creature! Put me in chains; lock me in the Tower; feed me to the ghost of Cromwell; I absolutely refuse to marry that creature!” I would’ve told him off. I will not be made a sacrificial lamb!

*fanfare*

Mary: Oh, Jesus Christ.

Betty: Your uncle, King Charles II– God save him– is here your ladyship.

Mary: Okay, send him in.

Betty: Yes, your ladyship.

*dogs yapping*

Charles: Quiet, quiet, quiet! [indecipherable] Good doggy-woggys! Now, niece!

Mary: Oh, Uncle, God save you–

Charles: Rise dear! You’re one of the few girls at court I’d rather not see on her knees.

Mary: Oh– ew.

Charles: Oyster?

Groom of the Stool: Yes, your majesty! *grunting*

Charles: I’ve just come from your mother and father’s apartments.

Mary: She’s not my mother.

Charles: Charming lady, your new mummy. She’s got those bovine hips, so I assume she’ll be plopping out heirs as soon as James’ dousing rod directs her away from foreign [indecipherable].

Mary: Oh my God.

Charles: Oyster?

Groom of the Stool: Yes, your majesty! *grunting*

Charles: If God is good– and we know he is– she’ll give birth to a few boys before she’s spent. Women are quite fragile, as you know Mary. It’s especially hard with our good Stuart stock and– Oh, Dicky, no, no hump, no hump, daddy has a [indecipherable]. Might we can hope for a few younger brothers– you’d like that, wouldn’t you Mary?

Mary: Oh, yes, dear uncle. How I love being an older sister to our dear, simple Anne and how I’d revel in the opportunity to be an older sister again.

Charles: Oyster?

Groom of the Stool: Yes, your majesty! *grunting*

Charles: [indecipherable] England [indecipherable] worry that another woman would take the throne.

Mary: Yes, poor England.

Charles: Yes.

Mary: Ah, ah, ah, ah!

Charles: Dicky! If that heifer can squeeze out just one little boy, England is saved! Oh, Mary, you see it’s not that women shouldn’t be involved in politics, it’s that they can’t. Their brains aren’t built for it! I don’t even know if you can comprehend what I’m saying to you right now!

Mary: I’m lost.

Charles: Yes, I assumed so. Oyster?

Groom of the Stool: Yes, your majesty! *grunting*

Charles: *chocking, spits* [indecipherable] Go on, up! [indecipherable] Now, where were we? Yes– women are not fit to rule.

Mary: Sorry, once more.

Charles: I am king.

Mary: You are king.

Charles: I am a great king.

Mary: You are a great king.

Charles: Women… cannot be kings.

Mary: No, they’re queens.

Charles: …Very good Mary! I’m very proud. That’s a real thought you just had!

Mary: I’m lost again.

Charles: So, if I am king and women…?

Mary: Can’t be kings.

Charles: Then women…?

Mary: Can’t be great kings?

Charles: Exactly! I am very impressed with your understanding of Restoration politics. As king, I’ve found it requires tremendous subtlety. OW! Dicky, get off! Dicky, don’t let–! God, you bastard! Bite that hand that feeds you, ey? Groom of the Stool!

Groom of the Stool: Yes, your majesty?

Charles: Lock him in the Tower!

Groom of the Stool: Yes, your majesty.

Charles: You made a big mistake, Dicky! No [indecipherable] bites a sovereign.

Groom of the Stool: Yes, your majesty!

Charles: Now, let us break our conversation into greater areas regarding your sex.

Mary: Ah, like needle crappy gossip.

Charles: And… boys.

Mary: Ah, yes, boys.

Charles: And… marriage.

Mary: Ah, yes, my purpose in life.

Charles: You a beautiful Stuart girl– Protestant– a large Protestant wedding to a regal, Protestant husband.

Mary: No, ha, Louis’ Catholic.

Charles: Louis? Yes, he’s Catholic.

Mary: Right, but you just said–

Charles: You, a beautiful Stuart girl– 

Mary: Oh no!

Charles: A large Protestant wedding–

Mary: Oh, god!

Charles: To a regal–

Mary: No!

Charles: Protestant...

Mary: Please!

Charles: Did you enjoy dinner last night? You [indecipherable] to impressed your cousin.

Mary: No.

Charles: William! Were you taken by him, Mary?

Mary: *bahing*

Charles: He was very taken by you.

Mary: *bahing*

Charles: Your first cousin, so you’ll have a lot in common!

Mary: *bahing*

Charles: My dead sister’s boy! She was a real bitch.

Mary: *bahing*

Charles: And you’ll have the line of succession, so you won’t have to worry about being queen, Mary. William can handle it. Sorry he’s such a cold, ugly bastard.

Mary: *spluttering*

Charles: Your Catholic father *spits* is pissed. Not surprising, but I ordered him to shut the fuck up about it. The wedding is next week. La~!

Mary: Wait! Anne!

Charles: Oh, you’re too thoughtful, dear girl! Anne will be fine on her own.

Mary: No, no, no, marry Anne off to William!

Charles: Certainly not! You’re next in line after your idiot father. We’ll marry Anne off to one of the fat, inbred cousins.

Mary: But I learned French!

Charles: And now you’ll get to learn Dutch! It’s not a beautiful language, but it matches the people. The king exits!

Mary: *sobbing*

*church music / exert of “Aria” by Marco Rosano*

Priest: Gathered! His Royal Highness Charles II!

Ensemble: GOD SAVE HIM!

Priest: The bride’s father James (the eventual second)– what? Your father refused to attend!

Mary: *sobbing*

Priest: We are gathered today in the eyes of our Protestant God to witness the eternal joining of two people, and more importantly, two nations. Our beloved England and our at-least-for-the-time-being-not-enemy Holland.

*fanfare*

Priest: The Dutch Stand Stadtholder! ...William? ...The Prince of Orange!

William: *violent coughing*

Priest: William? You good?

William: Ja.

Priest: Do you need a minute?

William: [indecipherable]

Priest: Okay! So… the, uh… the Dutch Stadtholder! The Prince of Orang– William?

William: *violent coughing* [indecipherable]

Priest: We are gathered– we are– we’re gathered– we are gathered– gathered– and we are gathered–

William: [Dutch word]

Priest: Pardon?

William: [Dutch word]

Priest: Sorry, I–

William: [Dutch word], stepping [Dutch word].

Priest: Oh, yes. *groaning* NOW! We are gathered for the joining of two people, two nations, and one [indecipherable] faith. Do you, Mary, take a solemn vow to obey and honor William until you’re parted by death? Okay, good. Do you, William, take a solemn vow to take Mary as your bride and treat her with whatever respect you happen to feel like showing her? Alright, whoo! You’re all good in here. You may kiss the bride.

William: *violent coughing*

*retro dance music* / exert of “Oh! Oh! I'm Goin' Home” by The Peppers

Mary: Wow. Midnight. Where did the time go?

William: Time for bed.

Mary: Right. Yup. Time for bed. It’s late and… it’s late and… it’s late and… it’s time for bed and there’s the bed, it’s time for bed and… we’re married now.

Charles: Now, nephew! To your purpose! God save Saint George and England! *giggling*

Mary: Right, historically, um, all of that actually happened. Well– oh, sorry, I was talking to someone else. Well, I guess it’s late, right? It’s late and it’s, um, time to go do– time to do– time to go do do do do do do do do doing of it. Ah! Wow. A ring… Is it for me? …Should I take it? …I’ll take it. Wow… a ruby… yes, ruby– rubies are very– rubies are red! Red. Rubies are… pink actually, now that I look at it. Funny, they’re really much more pink. Everyone always says “ruby red” but they’re much more pink when you look at it, oh look at that, it’s–

William: My mother’s.

Mary: Your mother’s? Wow. Beautiful. Ring. That was your mother’s. Ring, ruby, ring, ruby, ring–

William: She’s dead.

Mary: What? Oh, I’m sorry. About that– that she’s dead. What happened? Sorry! No, none of my business. Poor Mum! Um, my mom is dead. Died when I was a child so… I know what it’s like. To have a dead mum. *awkward laughter*

William: You don’t have to smile for me. You don’t have to pretend.

Mary: Dearest dear, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear husband– this is the woman again, um... You’ll find a pair of horns on your front door for… it appears I’ve taken another husband. Hm…

*whistle*

Anne: I brought you a going-away present. It’s another goldfish.

Mary: Thank you, sister.

Anne: I knew you already that one, so you’d like it. I hope they don’t eat each other. Do goldfish eat each other? Is it a long trip to Holland?

Mary: I don’t know!

Anne: You seem glum. Story time! When Aunt Catherine–

Mary and Anne: God save her!

Anne: Married Uncle Charlie–

Mary and Anne: God save him!

Anne: She had to leave Portugal in order to marry him. She hadn’t even met him yet, so I guess it could be worse.

Mary: Yes, but she came to England, I’m leaving it!

Anne: Yeah, fair. Just trying to help.

Mary: I don’t need your help, dear sister, this is my cross to bear.

Anne: Saint Mary the Martyr of English diplomacy! If only you were Catholic.

Mary and Anne: *spit*

*whistle*

Mary: I’ve never left London, that’s what scares me the most. God be with thee, sister. God be with thee, England.

William: …Two.

Mary: Oh. Yes, Anne got me one as a going-away pr– okay.

Anne: I hate him.

Mary: Well, he’s your brother now.

Anne: Please, I hated him when he was my cousin. I think you should be the first Protestant saint just for sleeping with him. I can’t even imagine!

Mary: …Neither can I.

Anne: WHAT?! TELL ME EVERYTHING!!

Mary: Well, considering we haven’t, that’s everything to tell!

Anne: Oh my God! You’ve been married a week!

Mary: This stays between you and me, Anne!

Anne: Oh, but Mary, I have to tell my friends!

Mary: I don’t like your friends!

Anne: Fuck you! The court would die if they knew!

Mary: No!

Anne: But Mary, you can’t tell something this juicy and force me to hold it inside!

Mary: Shh!

Anne: But it’s not you Mary, it’s him. That puny prig.

Mary: No.

Anne: But you don’t even like him!

Mary: What wife likes her husband?

Anne: He’s so gross and I used to think you were gross, but he’s like, super gross. Oh thank God you’re not screwing! Your kids would be so gro– I didn’t realize Papa hadn’t told you the truth about him!

Mary: Oh, what did father say?

Anne: He buggers boys. Said he buggers boys. Said if he takes the throne, England gets two queens.

Mary: …I’ll have nothing to do with silly, irreverent myths, Anne… And tell my other husband I’ll send her the new address.

Anne: Gross! [indecipherable] each other!

*Dutch folk music* / exert of “Klompe Dans” by Camerata Trajectina

Citizen: Welkom in Nederland!

Mary: Oh, yes, thank you.

Citizen: Welkom in Nederland!

Mary: Ah, yes, thank you.

Citizen: Welkom in Nederland!

Mary: Thank you.

*fanfare*

Mary: Oh, good day William!

Citizens: Welkom in Nederland!

Mary: Life in Holland. It’s beautiful. It’s very, very clean.

Citizen: Welkom in Nederland!

Betty: Your ladyship?

Citizens: Welkom in Nederland!

Mary: Thank you! Please keep talking, Betty.

Betty: Your ladyship–

Citizens: Welkom in Nederland!

Mary: Anything in English– thank you!

Betty: *whispers*

Mary: Dank u.

Citizens: Ooo!

*fanfare*

Betty: Supper time!

Mary: I’m not hungry.

Betty: Not you, your ladyship.

Citizen: Welkom in Nederland…

Mary: …Dank u.

Citizens: Ooo!

Mary: I must grin when my heart is fit to break, I must speak when my heart is so oppressed I can scarcely breathe.

Betty: Oh, that’s real pretty. The Bastard, your ladyship.

Mary: The Bastard?

Betty: Your half-cousin, King Charles II– God Save Him–’s bastard son, your ladyship.

Mary: Here?

Betty: Uh-huh.

Mary: Whoo!

Monmouth: Cousin!

William: Let me not interrupt your reunion. Continue this.

Mary: How’s home?

Monmouth: England is good! The family not so much. My father, Charles II–

Mary and Monmouth: God save him!

Monmouth: –seems ill. Parliament hates your father, James (the eventual second) since he’s decided to be Catholic–

Mary and Monmouth: *spit*

Monmouth: –since we just had nine years of civil war, ugh! People would rather avoid any foreseeable royalist drama, so Parliament wrote the Exclusion Act to keep your father off the throne.

Mary: Oh no!

Monmouth: No! Charles II–

Mary and Monmouth: God save him!

Monmouth: –refused to sign it.

Mary: Oh, good.

Monmouth: No! That’s why [indecipherable] is shit! Charles II–

Mary and Monmouth: God save him!

Monmouth: –dissolved Parliament, hoping to form a more moderate one.

Mary: Oh, good!

Monmouth: No! Bad! A group of Protestants then tried to blow up my papa Charlie–

Mary and Monmouth: God save him!

Monmouth: –on his way back from a race to [indecipherable]!

Mary: Oh no!

Monmouth: Oh yes!

Monmouth: –[indecipherable] watching the race, ALL OF NEWMARKET CAUGHT ON FIRE!!

Mary: Oh no!

Monmouth: No, that’s good! Charles’– God save him– house in Newmarket was destroyed, so they had to leave the race early, thus foiling the plot to kill him!

Mary: Oh, God is very generous to our family. And how’s Anne?

Monmouth: Married.

Mary: Oh, to one of the inbred cousins?

Monmouth: We’re royal! Inbred cousins are the only dignified option! How’s life in the Dutch court?

Mary: Um… clean, it’s very, very clean.

Monmouth: Ah, thank God you have William.

Mary: *hysterical laughter* ...Yes. No, I do see William from time to time. He likes to walk from stage left to stage right to stage right to stage left.

Monmouth: Incredibly generous man– looking forward to our dinner tonight! He invited me to hunt tomorrow and all the rest of next week! Very charming!

Mary: You’ve only been onstage for a minute and a half!

Betty: There are more officials for you to meet, your ladyship.

Monmouth: See you around, cuz. Ch-cha! …Ch-cha!

Citizen: Welkom in Nederland!

Mary: Dank u.

Citizens: Ooo!

William: …Welkom in Nederland! *laughter, interrupted by violent coughing*

*fanfare*

Citizen: Welkom in Nederland!

Betty: Alright! Her ladyship has another engagement she must prepare for, so sorry!

Mary: Ugh, what’s next Betty?

Betty: Nothing, your ladyship. I just think you’ve been gawked at enough today.

Mary: Oh, thank you Betty!

Betty: What’s a lady-in-waiting for?

Mary: But I’m afraid William might be cross once he finds out I didn’t finish all the state greetings. I guess I’d actually have to spend time with him for him to be cross with me.

Betty: He’s not one to get cross about things; he’s quite charming actually if you get past the hermetic silence.

Mary: I suppose he prefers the company of *whispered* his men?

*fanfare*

William and Monmouth: *laughing*

William: *starts coughing violently*

Monmouth: I love this guy!

*fanfare*

Betty: You’ve heard that already, have you?

Mary: Is it true?

Betty: Rumors, your ladyship. I also heard rumors of a girl who wrote letters to a woman she called her husband. And I now know a woman who still writes these letters!

Mary: Dismissed!

Betty: Your ladyship.

Mary: Wait. Put the children to bed, will you? Wait– wait, wait wait– just [indecipherable]. Don’t judge me! Dearest, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear– stop!– husband… Let me start again: Dearest, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear husband: You’ve not responded to any of my letter as of late!

Anne: Dearest sister!

Mary: Oh good God, Anne! Still able to interrupt me from across the English Chanel!

Anne: It is with good nice that I write. Since we last spoke… I’m pregnant!

Mary and Anne: *squeeing*

Anne: I know! I know! I fucking know! Ah, someone has to produce some heirs in this family!

Mary: Hey…

Anne: What have you been up to? Oh! My friends are here! Thank you, sis!

Mary: Anne is pregnant. My younger sister is pregnant …I’m jealous! Ugh!

*fanfare*

William and Monmouth: To hunt!

Monmouth: ♪ I’ll sing you eight, O! ♪

William and Monmouth: ♪ Green grow the rushes, O! ♪

William: ♪ What are your eight, O? ♪

Monmouth: ♪ Eight for the April Rainers! ♪

William: ♪ Seven for the seven stars in the sky! ♪

William and Monmouth: ♪ Six for the six proud walkers! ♪ Five for the symbols at your door! ♪ Four for the Gospel makers! ♪ THREE, THREE THE RIVALS! ♪ Two, two the lily-white boys! ♪ Clothed all in green, O! ♪ One is one and all alone! ♪ And evermore shall be so! ♪

*fanfare*

Mary: Betty!

Betty: *imitating the song*

Mary: Stop!

Betty: Oh! Yes, your ladyship.

Mary: My cousin, the Bastard, and Prince William have been spending an awful lot of time together!

Betty: William loves the hunt.

Mary: How do you know?!

Betty: He told me!

Mary: You’ve spoken with him? Am I the only person in the entire world who’s not had a single conversation with my husband?!

Betty: You just need to catch him in the right mood.

*fanfare*

Mary: Dearest, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear– Oh my God, you’re pathetic! Two husbands and neither one replies!

Anne: Okay, so I wasn’t pregnant. Well, I was, but I’m not anymore.

Mary: Oh… Anne I’m so sorry!

Anne: I know. But I will be again. Maybe tonight! God be with me!

Mary: I don’t have to be Mary the Martyr. I can fix him. I can make it work. It’s a job, right? I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I’m just doing my job!

*fanfare*

Mary: Oh, William! Um, I was wondering–

William: Nothing!

Monmouth: The hunt did not go well!

William: Ugh!

Anne: Yup, pregnant!

Mary: Again? Wow!

*fanfare*

Mary: Oh, William! I’d love to talk with you!

William: …but–but–but we’re going to the hunt?

Mary: Yes, but I’d really like to talk with you.

William: …Okay?

Mary: In private.

William: Um… After the hunt?

Mary: Yeah, okay, sure.

*fanfare*

Anne: Okay, that pregnancy wasn’t meant to be, but tonight, THIS IS THE ONE!

Mary: Tonight, this is the one!

*fanfare*

Mary: Oh, William! I’m so looking forward to our evening!

William: Not in the mood!

Monmouth: The stag got away!

*fanfare*

Mary: The stag got away…

Anne: Pregnant!

Mary: Ugh!

*fanfare*

Mary: William, wait! Tonight?

William: Eh!

Mary: Wait! Here, for good luck!

Monmouth: *retching*

*fanfare*

Mary: Tonight! Tonight!

*fanfare*

Mary: Oh, husband! How was the hunt?

William: I got the stag!

Mary: Oh, you must be very merry!

William: I… uh… I’m exhausted. Ugh…

Monmouth: Come on. Shake it off.

William: *violent coughing*

*fanfare*

Mary: I will force myself to love this creature.

*fanfare*

Mary: *screams* ...Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh! It must have been a chill!

William: [indecipherable]!

Mary: Oh, oh no! Oh no! Oh, my slipper! Oh, I–I’m so sorry to, uh, keep you from you duties!

William: I’ve been meaning to schedule a time for our talk.

Mary: Oh, you remembered?

William: What was the subject?

Mary: Us. You and me. Us and our… duties.

William: Ah. Our political duties are not as rulers, but as first citizens. Stadtholder means “the first citizen.” It is very different from life in England. For example, no Dutch citizen kisses my hand. In the Netherlands, we are all equals. Calvinists, Protestants, Jews– even the Jews Mary. [indecipherable] Do you like Holland?

Mary: Oh, it’s very, very clean. I’m not, um… I’m not sure if I’m fitting in.

William: Well, I don’t fit in and I was born here.

Mary: I feel the same way about my family.

William: Our family.

Mary: You’re very close to the Bastard, you know. Hunting and… actually talking and I was thinking, now that we’re actually talking, Anne is pregnant… again.

William: Ja? ...Yes? …This life is not the life you wanted, is that a true thing I just said? Bastard! Where is [indecipherable]?!

Monmouth: *whispers*

William: Your uncle, Charles II–

Mary: God save him!

William: –he’s dead.

Charles: …Oh.

Anne: I had a miscarriage. Oh, and Daddy’s the king now. God save him.

William: To his newly crowned majesty– James II– I send you greetings–

*evil music / exert of “Allegro” by Marco Rosano*

James: James II! Boy, you’re the husband of my eldest daughter, the heir apparent to the throne of England, my father’s grandchild, my son-in-law: it’s King James II!

William: Ah. From one very close ally to another very, very close ally– that is what we still are, right?

James: Say it! Say my name, William!

William: King James II?

James: YES! That’s me, the king! Say it again!

William: King James II, I first wish to send you condolences on the death of your brother, God save hi–

James: I was at his bed when he passed.

William: Surely, you provided much comfort to Charles–

James: Oh, “surely provided much comfort to Charles,” yes! He converted, on his deathbed, to Catholicism!

William: *spits*

James: I’ll never forget his final words to me: “Make sure my whores don’t starve!” Men of power keep mistresses, you know… Do you know that, William?

William: …Well, uh, the reason I write is because, well, I have an offer for you. You see, here in Europe we have a little club. I call it “a league”. Not everyone is allowed into it, actually, but England most definitely would be allowed in “the league”. It is what may be described as “exclusive”. A lot of really great countries have joined: uh, Austria, Spain, the Netherlands, even Savoy.

James: Which countries are not allowed?

William: France.

James: Oh, don’t like Louis, do we?

William: No, I don’t! Louis wants to be king of Europe and he– he is routinely invading us here in Holland. Your son-in-law: who is that? That is me! Which I know you aren’t thrilled about, but your daughter is the Princess of Orange. Louis XIV is invading not just my country, but also her country.

James: Please. Mary’s country is, and always will be, England!

William: And as the future Queen of England, you should protect her.

James: I wouldn’t be so sure about Mary. While she is the eldest, she’s still a woman, and unlike you, William, I plan to perform kingly duties with my queen.

William: I just wanted to invite you to our league.

James: I’m very important, I’ve got to go.

William: France is at our borders as we speak!

James: That’s not my problem. Mary was betrothed to him for years, you know, before she married you. My idiot brother made that happen against my protests but I’m the king now! I wasn’t supposed to be, but God wanted me. God needs me! Sixty years of second-fiddle to King Syphilis and now I’m calling the shots, William! I don’t need you, you need me, and frankly, I don’t really like you.

*evil music / exert of “Allegro” by Marco Rosano*

James: Shh!

William: Why you do that?

*evil music / exert of “Allegro” by Marco Rosano*

James: Shh!! Thank you. Ooo, ooo, how they all loved my brother Charles the Pervert– forced me to marry my daughter to that Dutch abortion! Now, I’d like to speak to the court! You all like… gossip, don’t you? Let’s talk about William.

*retro music / exert of “O Samba Brasileiro” by Walter Wanderley*

Mary: They’re laughing, Maria Regina. They’ve been whispering all morning and I don’t– I don’t want to sound paranoid but… I hear my name. I hear William’s name and I hear… Betty’s name.

Messengers: God save him!

Mary: Hello?

Messenger 1: Your father sends us–

Messenger 2: God save him!

Messenger 1: James II–

Messenger 2: Long may he reign!

Mary: Oh, Father sends you?

Messengers: God save him, yes!

Messenger 2: In his infinite and divine wisdom, we were sent to you–

Messenger 1: His oldest daughter–

Messenger 2: Possibly the future queen–

Mary: Possibly?

Messenger 1: Your mother, the queen–

Mary: She’s not my mother.

Messenger 2: Is hoping to reward England with many sons–

Messenger 1: But one’s eyes are to the future–

Messenger 2: He hasn’t forgotten his eldest.

Mary: Oh, we haven’t spoken–

Messenger 1: He thinks of you often.

Mary: Well, he doesn’t write.

Messenger 1: It’s not that he thinks of you as you are–

Mary: Okay…?

Messenger 2: More for what you could be.

Mary: Well, I’m just happy that he’s thinking of me.

Messenger 2: He’s thinking of your soul.

Messenger 1: Your eternal soul.

Messenger 2: Your eternal, everlasting soul.

Mary: Yup, those both mean the same thing.

Messenger 1: Since Jesus was crucified–

Messenger 2: [indecipherable], mind you–

Mary: Yes, I’ve heard.

Messenger 1: A church was born–

Messenger 2: The Catholic Church!

Mary: *spits* Oh, sorry, habit.

Messenger 1: James–

Messenger 2: King James–

Messengers: God save him!

Messenger 1: Has sent us–

Messenger 2: In his infinite and sacred judgment–

Messengers: To convert you to Catholicism!

Mary: …Yeah, no, I’m good.

Messenger 1: It’s the true faith.

Mary: Yes, next time he could just write.

Messenger 2: [indecipherable] reading materials!

Mary: Right, or even visit–

Messenger 1: [indecipherable] all the celebrities are Catholic.

Messenger 2: Wow, really?

Messenger 1: Really!

Messengers: Like who?

Messenger 2: The pope, you ever heard of him?

Messenger 1: Of course! Wow, the pope is Catholic?

Messengers: Who else?

Messenger 2: God!

Mary: Debatable.

Messengers: Who else?

Messenger 2: Louis XIV.

Messenger 1: Whoah, he’s a heartthrob.

Mary: Yes, okay, I’ve heard enough!

Messenger 1: But Louis’ such a hunk!

Messenger 2: And Catholic!

Messenger 1: And… He’s Catholic?

Messenger 2: You better believe it!

Messengers: A Catholic hunk!

Mary: Okay, I’m married!

Messenger 1: For now.

Mary: …Excuse me?

Messenger 1: Hard to ignore the rumors–

Messenger 2: Naughty rumors–

Messenger 1: Everyone’s tittling–

Messenger 2: A-tittle here, a-tittle there–

Messengers: Tittle everywhere!

Messenger 1: That little Dutch devil–

Messenger 2: Evil Protestant pervert–

Mary: Oh, no, no, no, him buggering boys– that’s just a rumor!

Messenger 1: Boys?!

Messenger 2: Buggering?!

Messenger 1: Boys?!

Messenger 2: Buggering?!

Messengers: Buggering boys?!

Messenger 1: More like buggering the help.

Messenger 2: Dutch devil!

Mary: With the help?

Messengers: Buggering the help.

Messenger 1: Yes, everyone knows–

Messenger 2: Knows her name even.

Mary: Do you know their name?

Messenger 1: Well, I’ve said everyone–

Messenger 2: We’re part of everyone–

Mary: So, yes?

Messengers: Yes!

Mary: What’s his name?

Messenger 1: His name?

Messenger 2: His name?

Messengers: Squinty Betty!

Messenger 1: Squinty Betty’s a man?

Messenger 2: I didn’t know she was a man!

Messeger 1: No, I bet Betty’s a man.

Messenger 2: No, man, she’s a wo-man.

Messenger 1: Wo-man?

Messengers: Wo-man, she’s a wo-man!

Mary: Wait, Squinty Betty?!

Messenger 1: And the Dutch devil!

Messenger 2: Evil Dutch devil!

Messenger 1: Evil!

Messenger 2: Evil: that’s not good!

Messenger 1: No, it’s not good!

Messenger 2: That’s the opposite of good!

Messengers: And what’s the opposite of good?

Mary: Evil!

Messangers: *scream*

Mary: *screams*

Messenger 1: [indecipherable] James–

Messenger 2: King James–

Messengers: God save him!

Messenger 1: Has the fires burning.

Mary: Fires?

Messenger 2: To feel the heat.

Messenger 1: Ow!

Messenger 2: Careful.

Messenger 1: It’s the heat.

Messenger 2: I feel it.

Messenger 1: [indecipherable] King James [indecipherable] our beloved England [indecipherable] burning more evil people than Charles ever did.

Mary: Wait, he’s burning people?

Messenger 2: [indecipherable]

Messenger 1: Evil people!

Mary: He’s burning people?!

Messenger 2: [indecipherable]

Messenger 1: Evil people!

Mary: Father’s burning people?!

Messenger 2: [indecipherable]

Messenger 1: Evil people!

Mary: Jesus!

Messengers: Praise him!

Messenger 1: Praise Jesus!

Messenger 2: Praise God!

Messenger 1: Praise the pope!

Messenger 2: And above all, praise the king!

Messengers: God save King James II, long may he reign!

Mary: …William and Betty– no… No, I’ll have nothing to do with silly, irreverent myths… Betty! Um, throw these away. And, um, put the children to bed, will you? Oh– oh– oh– oh– oh, um… question: how is it you always to find William in such a talkative mood?

Betty: I just run into him.

*laid back retro music / exert of “Rain” by Walter Wanderley*

Mary: It’s late. No, you don’t have to leave. You were in Betty’s room. Do you know how I know that? Maybe because the entire court is talking about it! No, you don’t need to talk! I have tried to get you to talk for months, you do not need to talk now! Fuck off, Betty! The longest I’ve ever spent with you is [indecipherable]. You’re impossible! You’re thick! Uncaring! Cruel! My life here is suffering and now you make me the fool? To my father, to the court, and to myself! I’m the fool! You know, it was better when I thought you were gay; I thought “Well, at least it’s not my fault” but now I know, “No, it is my fault!” You turned down marrying me once before, why did you have to say yes this time? I was engaged to Louis XIV! I could’ve been in Versailles, in the most beautiful place on Earth and I would’ve been happy– no, I would be happy! And I would be liked and my family would love me and I would’ve done everything right, but then you came along! And ruined it! And everything! And me! And– this isn’t right! No! This is not how this was supposed to go! It was supposed to be me and Louis and it would’ve been right and normal and then I would be normal and happy and I don’t know– I don’t know why you had to say yes this time! Louis– Louis– Louis is– Louis– Louis– Louis– Louis– Louis– Louis– Louis’ the king! Right? Right? And he’s beautiful! I assume. I’ve seen the portraits– which are rarely accurate– but I’ve always wanted to marry him! Well, I was always supposed to marry him– but at least he’s nice! Yes, I’ve not met him, but at least I’ve heard that he’s ni– well, I guess I’ve actually not heard anything, but I was alway supposed to ma– Well, I guess I always– Okay, well, I guess I’ve never really actually thought about it! Well, I guess I never actually like Louis, or men… Men in general. I mean, I write to a woman who I call my husband, and I’ve always had a crush on her, but she’s not very nice to me, and she writes to my sister more than she writes to me, AND I DON’T KNOW IF I’M A LESBIAN, OKAY?! I don’t like men! But I don’t know if I like women either– historically speaking, there’s some things we just can’t know about me, okay, historically speaking– but personally speaking, you know what? I’M FIFTEEN YEARS OLD!! How am I supposed to know?! You know what? No! I didn’t want to marry Louis, now that I think about it, because, well, I never actually thought about it because, well, I’M NEVER SUPPOSED TO THINK! But I am gonna think! Like you said, we’re just first citizens here, right? So I’m allowed to think! So I’m gonna think! So I’m gonna think! Right, let me think! …Okay. I have something to say. I’m fifteen years old, William. Do you have any idea how scary this is? Leaving my country, marrying you, a stranger, I… I don’t speak the language, I don’t have any friends, and you, my husband, are still a stranger. You don’t have to love me. You don’t have to like me. But please don’t be cruel to me. I… I do not know how much… more a fifteen year old girl can take.

William: …Betty’s a spy. Before I married you, I had asked her to inform me about you.

Mary: Yeah, a spy, that’s the best you could come up with–

William: It’s true.

Mary: Yes, my lady-in-waiting is a spy! …Well, what did Betty the spy say?

William: She said you weren’t like your family.

Mary: Well, I tried to be like them.

William: I never tried.

Mary: Well, I think that makes you honest.

William: But not liked.

Mary: Well, they don’t like either of us. We share that at least.

William: I need to say something.

Mary: Okay! Good! Yeah! Okay! I’m here! I can listen! …Is it a problem? Is it personal? Is it about what I think it’s about? I know what it is, William.

William: You do?

Mary: Yes. It’s about–

Mary and William: Your penis / Your father

William: Wait, what?!

Mary: What about my father?

William: He terrifies me.

Mary: Oh, yeah, me too.

William: The balance of peace in this world is a delicate thing and James isn’t.

Mary: You can talk to me about these things, William. I know who my father is, you’re not going to hurt my feelings.

William: Yes… My penis?

Mary: Oh, um, well, I mean… why haven’t we…?

William: I’m uncomfortable around–

Mary: Me.

William: …people.

Mary: Oh, yeah, well, same, haha... But, um… It’s just a job, right? We would just be… doing our… our job.

*classical music / exert of “Zadok The Priest, Hwv 258″ by the English Chamber Orchestra*

William: *panting*

William: *panting*

William: *panting*

Mary: I HAVE NEWS! …I’M PREGNANT!! I did it! William did it! We, um… well, obviously, we did it. Oh my God, I feel a strange thing!

William: Are you okay?!

Mary: No! Yes! No! …I feel… happy.

*cheerful folk music / “Bransle de Bourgogne” by Brisk Recorder Quartet Amsterdam*

Anne: I have news!

Mary: Hello, Anne!

Anne: Hello, Mary.

Mary: You’re pregnant?

Anne: No, Mumsy is.

Mary: She’s not our mother.

Anne: They say if it’s a boy, God has chosen to make England Catholic again, but that’s only a 50-50 chance.

Mary: No, he wouldn’t baptize him Catholic, Anne.

Anne: I wouldn’t be so sure.

Mary: But we’ve just had nine years of civil war, why would he lead us into another?

Anne: To save us from the Dutch Devil.

William: Me?

Anne: I prefer “the Dutch Abortion” but “devil” isn’t bad. Gotta go!

Mary: God be with thee, Anne.

Anne: P.S. I may be pregnant, not sure.

*cheerful folk music / “Bransle de Bourgogne” by Brisk Recorder Quartet Amsterdam*

Mary: Ohhh!

Messengers: Glorious day!

Messenger 1: Tra-la!

Messenger 2: We’ve been sent to you by your father, the king!

Messenger 1: God save him!

Messenger 2: Long may he reign!

Mary: Again, he could always just write.

Messenger 1: He has his own pregnancy to attend to.

Messenger 2: His future son!

Mary: Are you certain about that?

Messenger 1: God ordained it!

Messenger 2: A Catholic England!

Messengers: Tra-la!

Messenger 1: We’ve been sent to beseech you.

Messenger 2: Consider your child’s–

Messenger 1: Everlasting soul!

Messenger 2: Baptize your child in the Catholic faith!

Mary: *spits* …morning sickness.

Messenger 1: For your child!

Messenger 2: For your father!

Messenger 1: You must respect him!

Messenger 2: Honor him!

Messenger 1: It’s in the Bible!

Messenger 2: “Honor thy father”!

Messengers: The Fifth Commandment!

Messenger 1: Honor the king of England!

Messenger 2: God save him!

Messenger 1: Long may he reign!

Messenger 2: For England!

Messengers: Make the baby Catholic!

William: Mary?

Mary: Yes?

William: Honor is not obeying.

*cheerful folk music / “Bransle de Bourgogne” by Brisk Recorder Quartet Amsterdam*

Anne: I have news!

Mary: You’re pregnant.

Anne: Besides that, Mary, but yes.

Mary: Oh, congratulations!

Anne: Yes, same to you!

Mary: Thank you!

Anne: Thank you! I have news: people are talking about Mother’s pregnancy–

Mary: Ah, she’s not our mother.

Anne: –And they think it’s all a big fake! Everyone is saying how [video skips]

Mary: Who’s saying that?

Anne: The court, Parliament, everyone! Oh, they don’t like Papa; they say every nineteen out of twenty want him gone.

Mary: Yes, but not likely cause the king does not–

William: Mary–

Anne: Ew!

Mary: Anne!

Anne: Sorry… Hello, William… glad you got my sister pregnant. *retches*

Mary: No. No, it’s not right for me to dance… No! No, I can have this moment! I can be happy! Yeah, nothing’s gonna stop me– *claps* –from enjoying this moment! Go ahead!

*cheerful folk music / “Bransle de Bourgogne” by Brisk Recorder Quartet Amsterdam*

Monmouth: Ah! I thank you for the generosity both you and William have shown me over the last undetermined period of time, but I must leave.

William: Oh, where’re you going? I was going to plan another hunt.

Monmouth: There comes a time in every mans life where the cruel, [indecipherable] eye of destiny looks upon him! The hero of every story has his moment of action! [indecipherable] standing on the precipice of glory to see the apotheosis of my journey’s end on that glorious mountain green! Today I sail! This story shall no longer wander unguided like an orphan clinging from one vague historical anecdote to another! No! Search no longer, poor play, for you have found your hero! And that hero… it’s me. Someone has to save our England! I have a mighty army of almost one hundred men! Eighty two to be exact!

Mary: Wait, with eighty two men you’re planning to–

Monmouth: Invade England, seize the crown, depose your father, my uncle, and save England from Catholic *spits* tyranny?

Mary: You’re planning on doing this with…

Monmouth: Eighty two men! Historically, this is what I did, so yah. [indecipherable] sweet cousin, it will be a Protestant England! ALL HAIL KING BASTARD THE FIRST! CHA-CHAH! Ah! He-yaaaaaaaaaaaa!!

Mary: Eighty two men can’t overthrow the king of England!

William: He’s hoping the people will rise.

Mary: What would they do to father?

William: Kill him.

Mary: Ah! Ah!

William: Okay, okay, okay! The Bastard doesn’t have any support, your father will be fine! You can have this moment; you deserve to be happy.

Mary: How? I may not like my family, but I love them. Yes, I-I deserve to be happy, but Father doesn’t deserve to die!

William: He won’t, he’ll be fine!

Mary: You can’t know that for sure.

William: I do! …I-I promise you– I-I… I promise on the life of our child that nothing will happen to your father. I’ll see to it.

Mary: You will?

William: Mmhm.

Mary: …Okay… Okay, yes, okay… I’m happy.

William: Rest. Nurse? Take my wife to her bedchamber. Make sure she doesn’t want for anything.

Mary: Ooo!

William: [indecipherable]. James?

*evil music / exert of “Allegro” by Marco Rosano*

James: James?! Use my full title!

William: I have grave news.

James: Oh, has France invaded you again?

William: Your nephew, the Duke of Monmouth–

James: Who?

William: …The Bastard.

James: Oh, why didn’t you say?! How is the lad?

William: He’s leading an army to depose you and take the crown for himself.

James: *laughs* You’re having a laugh! …Shit! How dare he! Doesn’t he know who I am?! I’m the king! I’m very well respected and loved– everybody loves me! *gasps* Why doesn’t he love me?! Oh, he’s just a little shit bastard, I’ll crush him! How dare he not see how awesome I am! How powerful and strong and– oh! I am so mad right now! It was a good day too, it was going really well, I had just finished telling the queen “I’m gonna make it a good one today, you know!” Ugh, I am so mad right now I’m literally shaking! *gasps* I need to eat something!

William: I hope you now see that our relationship is very…

*execution drums / exert from “March to the Scaffold” by Paul Edward*

Headsman: *giggling* For your crimes against the crown, you are sentenced to death!

James: Say hello to your father for me, boy. Any last words?

Monmouth: Fuck off!

James: How dare you! Kill the bastard!

Headsman: God save the king!

James: No one questions my authority!

Monmouth: Piss off!

James: Bastard?!

Monmouth: I have still a few [indecipherable]

James: How dare you! [indecipherable]

Headsman: Thank you. One more!

James: Who’s the douchebag now, huh?

Monmouth: You are!

James: Bastard! [indecipherable] I am not a douchebag, I am the king of England!

Monmouth: Douche of England more like it!

James: Cut off his head!

Headsman: [indecipherable] does anyone want to take over, huh?

Monmouth: It takes– ugh! –and this is all true– ugh! –five blows! Ugh! King Douche II! Ugh– *splutters*

James: Who’s the douchebag now, huh? Not me. I am not a douche! You hear me, Bastard?! I am not a douche! You hear me, England? I am not a douche! I am King James II! Not King Douche II! King James II! Charles didn’t respect me, and you, you didn’t respect me, but my people will. OR I’LL FUCKING MAKE THEM! They will fucking tremble in love and adoration– ohh! I want hundreds to pay for this bastard’s actions! I don’t care who they were, if they even so much as saw him walk by, they are to be executed. Churchyard trees are to be littered with corpses, the military men will be order to play in time with the twitching of their feet! And if you think that this is too much, too cruel, I’ll remind you: One, I am just being historically accurate, and two, I am the goddamn motherfucking King of England! William!

William: …your majesty.

James: Oh, I couldn’t’ve done it without you! …But I know what this is. Scared to lose a few more windmills to Louis, huh? What, you thought that you could bribe me with this little quid-pro-quo?

William: I didn’t do it for you, I did it for Mary.

James: Mary? Don’t you dare bring my daughter into this. What? You thought that I was so stupid that little nugget of information would have me on all-fours like a whipped bitch begging to do you any favor you asked? No! That little shit was nothing! I could have fought him off while wiping my ass! I owe you nothing! France may be at your borders, but England could join them just as easily! God knows Louis and I talk about it. *laughs* Tip-toe around me, William. Now, I’d like to speak to my daughter. Now!

William: Mary, could you come here, please? I have a letter for you from your father.

Mary: He’s safe! Thank you, William!

James: Mary, my eldest daughter! *laughs* You know, I fought your uncle Charles about you having to marry that–

Mary: [indecipherable] William’s wonderful, actually. Yes, I–I miss my home very much, but Holland, it’s very, very clean.

James: [indecipherable] they tell me you’re considering a Catholic baptism.

Mary: Oh, no I’m not, Father.

James: You have a responsibility to me, Mary. Biblically, I am your father and you must honor me.

Mary: Well– I do honor you.

James: Then you must obey me.

Mary: Well, honor is not obeying.

James: From King Douche II to you now?

Mary: King Douche?

James: How dare you! I am very [indecipherable] you talk back to me. I am your father and you must honor me!

Mary: Enough of this.

James: You will make the child Catholic!

Mary: Stop!

James: We all know you have no choice. You’re a prisoner.

Mary: Please…

James: [indecipherable], Mary, there’s hope in the distance!

Mary: What are you suggesting?

James: Just because you… lie with the Dutch Dog doesn’t mean you need to get its flees.

Mary: He’s my husband!

James: *laughs* William isn’t long for this world.

Mary: What are you planning?

James: Oh, come now!

Mary: What are you plann– ah! Ah!

James: *laughs* You look like him. Can’t even walk without wheezing, spits blood; your time in the tower is almost over, Mary.

Mary: He is the father of my child. William, could you come here, please?

James: *scoffs* Is he the father? Last I heard, he couldn’t perform.

Mary: You’re one to talk!

James: My performance isn’t to be questioned!

Mary: I know the rumors of the queen’s great belly!

James: [indecipherable] rumors: just a few!

Mary: Nineteen out of twenty! That’s what– ah! Ah!

James: Make the child Catholic!

Mary: *spits*

James: Your mother–

Mary: She’s not my mother!

James: No, your real mother! Remember the day she died?

Mary: Please, Father, I’m in pain! I don’t want–

James: The day she died the priest came to administer her last rites, to cleanse her soul. Without it, your mother would be damned for all eternity! Her skin would scorch, blisters would form– weeping blisters!

Mary: *voice breaking* …William?

James: A priest came… and she refused him.

Mary: William! …That’s a lie!

James: After my counseling she refused the Protestant priest. The Catholic bishop was called in and all was confessed. So, in your philosophy, Mary, is it your mother or your child who’s damned to unfathomable pain and suffering? Which is the one true faith? If you baptize that child Protestant, it means you believe it’s your mother suffering, right now as we speak. Have you ever considered hellfire, Mary? *laughs* It’s something to think about. Oh! Your new mummy’s in labour now. Got to run.

Anne: Mary– and William *scoffs*– the queen’s had a baby. It’s a boy. They’ve baptized him Catholic *spits* toldja so. But there’s something else. I have some gossip! All of London– they think it’s a changeling! They think it’s not a real child. They think she snuck a child into her bed to pass off as our brother! Oh! Papa’s going mad. Something’s going to happen. Something bad.

William: May I see it?

Betty: There’s nothing to see. ...You should go to her, William.

*dramatic music / exert from “2020” by SUUNS*

♪ And what you see is really what you see ♪ ♪ What you, what you, what you, what you ♪ ♪ Do what you please, the thing what you see ♪ ♪ What you, what you, what you, what you ♪ ♪ And what you see you feel ♪ ♪ Coming real, take your way ♪ ♪ All through the way… ♪

~ Intermission ~

*guitar strumming*

Chorus: ♪ Good fortune [indecipherable] William and Mary [indecipherable]-tend ♪ ♪ May glories increase and their lives never end ♪ ♪ [indecipherable] daily successes our nation may find ♪ ♪ For England [indecipherable] they both are designed ♪

Mary: William?

William: Huh?

Mary: Why is there a Greek chorus?

William: [indecipherable] chorus now.

Mary: Yes, why?

Chorus: ♪ Over the hills and it must be done ♪ ♪ To England, Glorious Revolution! ♪ ♪ William commands and we will obey ♪ ♪ Over the hills and far away ♪

Mary: Shoot, shoot, shoot! What story with a Greek chorus ends well?!

William: It’s just a device, Mary, it doesn’t mean–

Mary: The letter! They’re here because of the letter!

William: We received a letter?

Mary: From England. They call themselves–

Chorus: ♪ THE IMMORTAL SEVEN! ♪

Mary and William: The Immortal Seven.

Mary: Parliament has invited us to England.

William: They’ve invited us to invade England.

Mary: Why would they do that?

William: I don’t know.

Mary: We can’t invade!

Chorus: ♪ Invade you must, there’s no time to waste ♪ ♪ James is a monster! Our country defaced ♪ ♪ Blood in the streets and corpses in trees ♪ ♪ Come and put our minds at ease ♪

William: Your father is in talks to invade with Louis. Where? Here! He’s–he’s had his boy and he’s baptized him Catholic and all of England is on the brink of Civil War again!

Mary: What does that have to do with us?

William: Um, well… They want us to depose your father.

Mary: It has to be us?

William: I don’t see another alternative.

Mary: Shoot, shoot, shoot! Is it right?

William: Right? We–we save England, we save the Netherlands, we keep Europe in balance– yes.

Mary: But is it right for a daughter to depose her father? It’s the Fifth Commandment, right? “Honor thy father!”

William: He doesn’t need to die.

Mary: Well, I know my history, William! You only depose a king by killing him. How many former kings do you see walking around?! But… He can’t invade Holland! It’s your country and you care so much for it and the people and it’s so very, very clean– Okay, yes! We should do this. But we have to do it a different way. No blood. No killing. If it’s an invasion, it has to be a bloodless invasion!

William: I don’t know…

Mary: Can you try?

William: Invade one of the most powerful countries in the world, other-throw its king, and not hurt anyone in the process?

Mary: Please?

William: …Ja.

Chorus: *gasps* ♪ What’s that you say? ♪ ♪ We prick up our ears ♪ ♪ [indecipherable] you come ♪ ♪ To end all our fears ♪ ♪ Think of what you both could be ♪ ♪ You’ll go down in history! ♪

Mary: We could, couldn’t we! Imagine all that “First Citizen” stuff here in the Netherlands– we could do that in England! You could bring all of your wonderful ideas to my country! Imagine: Freedom of religion!

William: Freedom of the press!

Mary: And no more torturing! Or bloody pomp and circumstance! And we do it bloodless! We ride into England and the people will rise with us and father will say “Oh wow, that’s what the people want!” And it’ll all work out [indecipherable] Why shouldn’t we be king and queen?! Neither one of us want the damn job so we’re the ones who should have it…

William: Would I be king?

Mary: Yes.

William: Who would you be?

Mary: The queen.

William: Right, but who’s the one in charge?

Mary: …Oh.

William: It would be you, you’re first in line.

Mary: Oh, me? No. 

Chorus: *murmuring in agreement*

Mary: No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no! I’d rather not.

William: It’s not up to you, you’re first in line.

Mary: Ah, but you! You–you are after me!

William: Right, but you still come first.

Mary: But I don’t want to be queen– okay, wait, wait! Let me think… Okay, solution. ….We’ll… both be king and queen!

William: It does not work that way.

Mary: [spluttering] Listen! We go to England; you raise an army and depose– aw– depose father and then we say “Alright! We’re both king and queen!” What’re they gonna do, say no?

William: Joint monarchs– it would be a first.

Mary: [indecipherable] I don’t know if it’s right. God says to honor thy father, but… that doesn’t feel right.

William: We can say no, Mary.

Mary: No… You okay?

Anne: Yes, quite, sister.

Mary: Okay, good.

Anne: Stop staring at me!

Mary: Let’s keep going. And my heart says to bother you.

William: Your heart says that? What do we want to do?

Chorus: ♪ To England, to England! We sail, we sail! To England, to England! At last, at last! A tempest, a tempest! Begins, begins! And [indecipherable], and [indecipherable]! [indecipherable], [indecipherable]! ♪

Soloist: ♪ To England, we sail / [indecipherable] / [indecipherable] / [indecipherable] ♪

Chorus: ♪ The men are afraid ♪ ♪ There’s no debate ♪ ♪ Revolution now must wait ♪

*storm sounds*

Mary: Ahh!

William: THEY’RE CALLING IT THE CATHOLIC WIND! WE CANNOT SAIL FOR ENGLAND UNTIL IT PASSES! WE’VE ALREADY LOST A THOUSAND HORSES! WE HAVE FORTY THOUSAND MEN WAITING TO INVADE– BUT THIS WIND!!

Mary: There have been so many omens! This wind; the miscarriage! Is it a sign from God?! Can a daughter who deposes her father be a Christian?! Can doing what’s right and God’s will be at odds?!

William: WHAT?!

Mary: CAN DOING WHAT’S RIGHT AND GOD’S WILL BE AT ODDS?!

William: Oh, it is over.

Chorus: ♪ [indecipherable] ♪ ♪ William and Mary, our God has ordained ♪ ♪ Rex and Regina, this we say ♪ ♪ Sail on the future king’s birthday ♪

Mary: Wait, really?

William: Ja. It’s my birthday. The fourth. Historically, that’s just how it happened to work out.

Mary: Oh! Well, that’s a good omen, right? Happy birthday to you!

William: Yes.

Mary: William, wait! Look… I respect you. And, under normal circumstances, I would never breach this, um, unspoken agreement, but, um, it’s his birthday– ah, could we– um, uh– you know– could we do just one round of “Happy Birthday”? Um, what’s a good starting note? *hums* Is that good? *hums* Ready?

Mary, chorus, and audience: ♪ Happy birthday to you! ♪ ♪ Happy birthday to you! ♪ ♪ Happy birthday dear William! ♪ ♪ Happy birthday to your! ♪

*cheering*

William: This is the greatest birthday present I’ve ever received. Thank you.

Chorus: ♪ William has come and we will defend ♪ ♪ To kick out the tyrant and and then will ascend ♪ ♪ His first steps on English soil ♪ ♪ Defender of faith and [indecipherable] ♪

William: Hello? Where the hell is everyone?

Peasant: *screams* Oh, it’s [indecipherable] Day. Everyone’s busy catching cats.

William: Ah. Well, um, I am William of Orange, Defender of the Faith and– wait, why are you catching cats?

Peasant: To [indecipherable] the pope.

William: Ah. Well, I am William of Orange, Defende– the pope?

Peasant: *sighs* Not the real one sadly, but yeah. [indecipherable] cats and set them on fire.

William: Why you do this?

Peasant: For God! It’s tradition! …You’re not from around here are ya, foreigner!

Chorus: ♪ Over the hills and it must be done ♪ ♪ To England, Glorious Revolu– ♪

Peasant: [indecipherable] you are making such a racket!

William: I am William of Orange, Defender of the Faith!

*cat screeches*

Peasant: [indecipherable] you scared the cat!

William: Good woman, have you not heard of our coming?

Peasant: …[indecipherable] in England?

William: I–

Peasant: [indecipherable] and whip em til their backs be bloody!! Ngyeehhhhhhhhh!!

William: *screams* I AM WILLIAM OF ORANGE! I COME FROM THE HAGUE BY INVITATION OF PARLIAMENT! Good lady! We come to overthrow King James II.

Peasant: *spits*

William: Progress. I am the [indecipherable]’s husband and myself, third in line. We come to bring stability and religious… freedom to this… country.

Peasant: Oh, you and what army?

Chorus: ♪ We are [indecipherable] ♪ ♪ Join is so you [indecipherable] ♪ ♪ [indecipherable] ♪ ♪ James will soon be overthrown ♪

Peasant: Oh, [indecipherable], sir! I don’t have anything of worth but… I’d be proud to give you my cats.

William: *coughs*

Peasant: Oh, must be the cat smoke.

William: Oh, this air is filthy. I need a little rest.

Messenger: ♪ One man tried to poison your food ♪

Anne: ♪ Some with bullets [indecipherable] ♪

Chorus: ♪ Mostly [indecipherable] ready to fight ♪

Charles: ♪ [indecipherable] horse was white! ♪

William: Let us move forward!

James: William! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!

Chorus: ♪ James was appalled by the sight that he saw ♪

James: ♪ I’ll have your head, boy, remember [indecipherable]! ♪

Chorus: ♪ Soon his generals started to fall ♪

James: ♪ Troops, make an example of him! ♪

Chorus: ♪ James’ troops then began to abandon ♪ ♪ Our glorious William now [indecipherable] ♪

James: Did you not all swear your loyalty?! You are all my subjects! *gaps* Mary! Ungrateful daughter! You must swear your loyalty to your father! It is God’s will! The Fifth Commandment! Consider the hell– *splutters* What the hell? Anne, Messenger, and Monmouth: ♪ Blood from his nose ♪ ♪ [indecipherable] to God ♪ ♪ James was denied ♪ ♪ His royal throne ♪

James: No! No! What the hell?! *spluttering* The Fifth Commandment– shit! This is terribly inconvenient

Anne, Messenger, and Monmouth: ♪ To James [indecipherable] ♪ ♪ His nose really bled ♪

James: WAIT, WHAT?!!

Anne, Messenger, and Monmouth: ♪ To France, King James ♪ ♪ Finally fleeeeeeeeeeee– ♪

James: STOP SINGING!

Anne, Messenger, and Monmouth: ♪ –eeeeeeeedddddd ♪

James: What, is this really historically accurate?! You’re just gonna let me go, William?! HA! Coward! I will return, William, I promise you that! Mary! Ungrateful daughter! You will suffer the fait of an unfaithful daughter. This is not how my story was… suppose to be told… To France.

Chorus: ♪ William has won now that James has fled ♪

William: *prolonged violent coughing*

Chorus: ♪ London is happy! ♪ ♪ With bonfires lit ♪ ♪ Willy’s lungs can’t take the smoke ♪ ♪ And all the fog just made him choke ♪ ♪ Over the hills and it must be done ♪ ♪ To England, Glorious Revolution! ♪ ♪ William commanded and now we’ve won ♪ ♪ Our new day begins with the rising of the sun! ♪ ♪ Of the sun! ♪

William: *groaning, gasping for breath*

[arse-crack-thistle]

gifts

rwrb and the five love languages | part two

in which june struggles to have a nice valentine’s date with nora

June never expected to care this much about a stupid holiday like Valentine’s Day, but here she is, practically renovating the apartment to give her girlfriend a perfect night. She strings LED lights around the entire living room ceiling and uses Command hooks to drape the sheer, white Ikea curtains she bought on sale months ago in preparation for this. The lights glow pink through the curtains, making the usually neutral-toned living room appear like Aphrodite’s palace. June’s moved the coffee table into her room and replaced it with a fluffy blanket and a picnic set-up to rival TikTok lesbians.  All she needs now is Nora, if only she weren’t stuck at school.

The texts say, Will be late! Data mining for the gods! [Monet X Change gif] I want to be home with you though. Will bring noodles! And chocolate! Scratch that, I ate the chocolate. Sorry.

June knows she shouldn’t be annoyed because Nora has no idea what she’s coming home to. She also knows who she got into a relationship with—a brilliant mind that’s constantly moving parsecs a minute and has a hard time communicating her feelings. June has to remind herself that Nora loves her even if she doesn’t always show it.

That’s what tonight is for. It’ll give them time to slow down and just be together. Break the routine. Talk or not talk. She doesn’t expect it to be mushy or obnoxious—June isn’t a super, flowery romantic herself—but she does want another sentimental moment to hold onto forever.

Like the night of the 2020 election over a year ago. After Alex and Henry slipped away and everyone else was celebrating in their own groups, Nora pulled June into a storage closet at the venue and kissed her point blank, leaving no questions in her mind that their dabbles the months before meant something more than spectacular.

Or like six months ago when Nora asked her if she wanted to move in with her. She didn’t do anything particularly special, but she slammed her laptop shut while June was throwing on one of her sweatshirts and asked her to stay—to take the second bedroom because Nora needs space sometimes—but to stay with her because she was her favorite person. June answered with a happy “yes,” and Nora got up and kissed her. They didn’t talk much more about it; June just packed up her room at the White House and let the world think they were very best friends.

June pours a glass of wine and waits on the couch, flipping through social media. A few hours ago, her brother posted a picture from the Valentine’s gala he and Henry threw for the London queer youth center. Alex, Henry, Bea, Catherine, and even Philip and Martha hold champagne flutes with cheeky smiles on their faces. The POTUS account has a sweet yet posed picture of her mother and Leo. She likes everything she sees, from the various celebrities she follows to the photos she’s tagged in by fans. The time on her phone reminds her Nora’s now over an hour late.

She texts her, Home soon?

Ten minutes later her phone dings. Need more time. Almost done!

You are aware it’s Valentine’s, yes? And that we had plans?

Yes!!!! But flexible plans, right? Not like we can’t eat noodles and make out later. Will leave soon though. Promise.

I got food covered. Just get home please.

June sighs. She thought she made it clear this morning that they deserved a night with no distractions. God, they need to talk; she’s afraid to, but nothing will get better if she doesn’t say anything and if they don’t try.

The charcuterie board spread she copied off of Pinterest has been sitting out for a while so she moves it from the floor to the fridge. “Soon” for Nora could mean an hour. Empty coffee mugs line the sink. An open pack of weed gummies sits on the counter, hardening. Binders of paperwork and schoolwork collect on the kitchen table. There’s so much Nora in here. June redecorated the living room and kitchen when she moved in, but Nora’s managed to touch everything.

She smiles. If this were Alex, she’d be pissed at the mess, but it’s Nora. The beautiful, erratic mess that is Nora. The girl who can have four different shows on at once and can still get shit done. The girl who always burns pancakes when she tries to cook breakfast for June. The girl who never fails to kiss her first.

June won’t lose her. So she sits down on the floor, runs her fingers over the fleece, and waits. And drinks more wine.

Sometime later, when a key turns in the lock, she downs the last sip in her glass and sets it down. Some old love songs play from her phone, the ones she and Nora love to make fun of. She hears her girlfriend curse when her key gets stuck, and then she bursts through the door and catches herself before she could slip on the hardwood.

“I know you said you got food covered, but I got noodles any—Whoa! You did all of this?” Nora walks into the living room with takeout bags in her hands and stares, mesmerized, at the ceiling. Her contacts must’ve been bothering her because she has on her back-up glasses.

“Hi. Happy Valentine’s Day,” June says and reaches for Nora’s hand to pull her down.

“I’m sorry, June. I had no idea. I thought we both hated this holiday, so tonight wasn’t that big of a deal. But this—this is beautiful,” Nora says, having a hard time meeting June’s eyes.

“Thanks.” June rubs Nora’s hand with her thumb. “And this isn’t really about the holiday. I just wanted to give something nice to you—to us—just us. With no distractions.”

The strings from “At Last” by Etta James play from the phone. The curtains billow from the air blowing out the vent. As much as she hates to ruin the moment, June has to start the conversation.

But Nora takes a deep breath and talks first. “I know I’m a bit all over the place but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. I just have a lot going on.”

“I know, but sometimes it feels like you don’t care about us as much as I do. It feels like an afterthought to you,” June says.

“That’s not true, June! Come on! You know me.” She grabs June’s other hand and squeezes.

She squeezes back. “You don’t act with feelings in mind, but I know you have them. And I know it’s hard for you, but I need you to share them with me more. I need a reminder that you care every once in a while.”

Nora’s quiet. She uses her arm to wipe her eyes, knocking her glasses off.  “I—I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do.”

June’s chest collapses. She wraps Nora up in her arms. “I’m sorry, Nor. I don’t mean you’re not enough for me. I love you so much. I—”

“No, I understand. I just—I need help with that. I need you to tell me when you need more—maybe not after the fact like now but—”

June laughs and pulls away. “You’re right. I have a stewing problem. I just assume you’ll eventually get it.”

“Yeah, don’t assume that.” Nora laughs too—the big kind that shows all of her teeth. “Reign me in when I’ve been off for too long. And know it’s not on purpose. I’m seriously spiraling in my own head the majority of the time.”

“Ha! And a hot head it is too.”

They both pause and look into each other’s eyes. And bust out into laughing fits. June makes a fart sound with her mouth, and Nora tackles her. They rumble around on the blanket for about forty seconds before June’s wine glass tips over and surprisingly bounces instead of shattering.

The girls take that as an opportunity to stop and pour some more glasses of wine. Nora preps the takeout while June brings the charcuterie board back to the indoor picnic. Nora changes the music to some weird techno shit, but June snatches the phone. They compromise with One Direction, which makes no sense since 1. June only knows their last album and 2. Nora definitely remembers the story of June turning down the advances of one Niall Horan when she did the daytime talk show circuit after her book deal was announced.

Either way, they stuff their faces and end up cuddled on the floor.

Nora interrupts the moment. “Before we get to sexy time—"

“Jesus Christ.”

“I just wanted to give you something. I would’ve saved it for your birthday, but I can get you something else.” She pops up from the floor and jogs to her bedroom. When she reemerges, she’s carrying a bunched-up blanket. “I didn’t have time to properly wrap it because—you know, you weren’t going to get it yet—although, it probably wouldn’t’ve been wrapped later either—but anyways, happy Valentine’s Day.”

She crouches down and hands over the present. She smiles and bops up and down in anticipation. June unwraps the blanket and sees a book.

It’s one of those photobooks you can get at Walgreens, and on the cover, it reads, “Catalina June Claremont-Diaz and Nora Elizabeth Holleran are NOT good friends…” June flips it over. “They’re fucking GIRLFRIENDS!” Inside is page after page of pictures as early as the day they first met and as recent as New Year’s Eve a month ago. A lot of candid pics they take of each other—Nora’s favorites. A lot of sleepy, cuddle pics—June’s favorites. It’s so perfect.

“Nora—this is—wow.” She feels the tears coming. No one has given her anything like this before.

“I’ll be better—”

“So will I.”

“No matter where my head’s at, I’m always thinking of you—just 50 million other things as well,” Nora says and cups her chin.

June leans in. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Nora kisses her, and everything wound up in June relaxes. Her body is so warm. “Best Song Ever” starts playing.

Cue sexy time.

check out the rest of my rwrb and the five love languages series: part one, part three, part four, and part five. (links to come as they’re released)

so this could be for quality time or gifts, but i decided to go with gifts since i had no other ideas for it! it’s definitely not my love language (quality time for the win!) but i had to write something lol. so i made it sapphic bc everything gay is better! <3

rwrb romance week | @rwrb-fests

[artificialqueens]

Girls in Love, Chapter 1 (Viopearlax) - Grey Darling

A/N: Hello friends! It's been a while lol. Anyway, here's the first chapter of my new Viopearlax fic, in which useless lesbian Pearl must navigate the perilous landscape of polyamorous romance while trying desperately not to lose it altogether. This is mostly just setting the scene - things are gonna get shippy in the next chapter. Special thanks to @dollalpaca for beta-ing this literal centuries ago. Hope you all enjoy!

“I’m getting married.”

Pearl almost choked on her water. “I’m sorry. You’re what?”

When Scarlet had asked Pearl out to dinner that night, Pearl had assumed it was just for a catch up. She hadn’t seen her little sister for ages, so of course she’d jumped at the opportunity when Scarlet had messaged her that morning. All she’d expected was banter, a good laugh at all the stupid shit they used to do when they were kids; the last thing Pearl anticipated was for her baby sister to tell her she was getting married, while Pearl herself was struggling to get someone to go out with her on more than one date. Wasn’t the older sister supposed to find their soulmate first?

But Scarlet was beaming. “I’m getting married!”

“Since when? Jesus, Scarlet, I didn’t even know you were dating anyone.”

“You so do!” Scarlet retorted, pouting. “You literally met her last year.”

“I did? Who the hell was it?” At this point, Pearl had no idea whether to be angry or just confused. “I mean, seriously, Scarlet, you’re what, twenty? Twenty one? You’ve got shitloads of time before you need to make any big decisions like that. This isn’t the kind of thing you can just decide to do on a whim.”

Scarlet stared down at her half-empty plate, tugging at her bottom lip with her teeth. When she spoke, she was quiet. “I thought you’d be happy for me…”

“I am- I mean- I don’t know.” Pearl slumped back in her chair. “I just… I think you’re a little young, that’s all. Give it a bit longer with this guy, maybe a year or two. If you’re still into him by then, then by all means, tie the knot. But-”

“She isn’t a guy, Pearl. She’s a she.” Clearly upset, she stabbed into a piece of pasta with force. “I thought you knew I liked girls?”

“I do.”

“So why’d you assume she was a guy?”

“I don’t know! I’m not exactly in the greatest headspace right now, Scarlet. Fine, you’re engaged to a girl you barely know-”

“I do know her! And I’m in love with her!”

By now, it felt as though the entire restaurant was staring at them. Pearl shot Scarlet a narrow eyed look. “Can you keep it down?”

“No! I thought you’d be happy for me, but I guess that’s just too fucking much for you. I was gonna ask you to be one of my bridesmaids, but if you’re gonna be such a bitch about it I’ll ask someone else!”

Pearl sighed heavily, squeezing her eyes shut. By the time she opened them again, Scarlet was pushing her chair out from the table, the harsh scraping of wood against wood just making everything feel worse. “Wait, Scarlet-”

“I’m done. Good fucking night.”

Pearl just watched as her little sister stormed out of the restaurant, clearly not intending to pay for their meal judging by the way she breezed past the counter without so much as a glance. Well, this wasn’t how she wanted this meal to end.

Pearl knew she was right. She knew that Scarlet was way too young to be getting married, and she highly doubted Scarlet had known this girl long enough to make a serious commitment. If Pearl couldn’t even guess who this fiance was, it was a bad sign—if something important happened to Scarlet, Pearl was always the first to know about it. Surely if she’d met the girl of her dreams, Pearl would’ve received at least five essay length texts about her by now. But she hadn’t, and that made Pearl incredibly suspicious.

At the same time, she absolutely hated the idea of her little sister being mad at her. From the moment Scarlet was born, she and Pearl were as thick as thieves, and any argument they ever had was always resolved ten minutes later, both of them sobbing and apologising profusely to each other. But somehow, Pearl knew she’d overstepped the line this time, and that it would take a lot longer than ten minutes to win Scarlet’s forgiveness. And frankly, that made her feel sick.

Sighing, Pearl hailed the waiter, deciding that a stiff drink was in order.

***

“She still hasn’t texted you back?”

“Nope.”

“Shit. You must have really pissed her off.”

Pearl groaned, turning around to softly bang her head against the metal surface of Katya’s all American Russian food truck. It was a place Pearl would often go to for wise counsel and sage advice, although often the hardest part was figuring out where Katya had parked the damn thing. Katya herself, who’d been one of Pearl’s best friends since she moved to the city, reached through the window of her truck to pat Pearl on the head.

“There, there.”

Pearl glanced up at her with a glare, not in the mood for half-assed comfort. Katya raised her hands in mock surrender.

“Sorry! What do you want me to say?”

Letting out yet another groan, Pearl turned back around to lean with her back against the truck. “I don’t know. Can you tell me I’m not a massive bitch?”

“Ok. You’re not a massive bitch.”

Somehow, it didn’t sound as comforting as Pearl thought it would. But then again, she’d imagined it coming out of Scarlet’s mouth, not Katya’s. “Thanks, I guess.”

“You’re just a bit of a sour puss today, aren’t you?” Katya started rearranging the various condiments she had adorning the window of the truck, not having much else to do since the lunch rush had come and gone. “Or are you just having an existential crisis?”

“Probably the last one. I just feel conflicted, Kat.”

“Right.”

“I want to feel happy for her, but I’m also worried about her. Does that make sense?”

“Yep.”

“Good. So I’m not going crazy.”

Katya thought for a moment before responding. “I don’t think anyone would think you’re going crazy. You’re worried about your sister getting married when she’s like, still at college. Why wouldn’t you be?”

“But you should’ve seen her last night. She looked like I murdered her puppy or something.”

“I mean, by the sounds of it you did stomp all over her romantic dreams.”

“Oh, fuck off, I did not.”

Katya chuckled, bringing out that bright, toothy grin of hers. It was usually infectious, but not today. Pearl was inoculated with guilt. “Well, would it make you feel better if you met the person she’s getting hitched to?”

“I mean, I’m trying to convince her to meet up with me again, and I’ve told her she can bring her girlfriend - uh, fiance. But she isn’t replying. I’m literally blowing up her phone and getting fuck all in return.”

“Hmm. It’s a tricky one. Maybe she just needs time to cool off?”

“Maybe. I just don’t want to wait - I want to be friends with her again.”

Katya pursed her lips before reaching her hand out. “Gimme your phone, I wanna see what you said.”

“Katya, I’m not giving you my phone.”

“Come on! I wanna see if you’re being apologetic enough.” When it was clear Pearl wasn’t going to relent, Katya pushed harder. “Trix says I’m really great at being a warm and friendly person, y’know. Maybe I could write you a really good apology.”

Pearl shook her head. “That’s not happening.”

“Aw, why not?”

“Because I’ve fucked up enough as it is. I’m not going to be that disingenuous to let someone else apologise for me. If Scarlet finds out about that, it’ll just make things worse.”

“You’ve got a point. Well, I guess you’re just doomed to wait it out.”

“Fuck…”

Just as the curse left her mouth, Pearl’s phone pinged. Katya’s eyes widened as Pearl scrambled to grab her phone out from the pocket of her jeans. It had to be a reply from Scarlet, it couldn’t be anything else. Somehow, she must have subconsciously known how much Pearl was beating herself up over their disastrous dinner the night before and felt the need to text her and reconcile. That was how the universe worked, right?

Pearl grabbed her phone, Katya leaning out of the window so she could see the screen. Almost nervous, Pearl tapped on the home button, lighting up the screen and revealing the text she was so desperate to see.

SHEA: Can you fill in for my shift tonight? Not feeling too hot. Thanks!!

*** Being the good friend that she was, Pearl did fill in for Shea’s shift that night. No, spending an extra seven hours at the dodgy bar she worked at wasn’t exactly what Pearl wanted to be doing, but at the very least it would take her mind off of Scarlet.

Or at least, she thought it would.

No matter how many cluttered trays of drinks she was made to serve, she kept on replaying her and Scarlet’s argument in her head again and again, the sense of guilt almost too much for her. Every single female customer she served had her wondering - is that the girl my sister’s getting married to? She knew it was a ridiculous thought. Scarlet would rather die than spend a second with the lowlifes that frequented the bar, but that didn’t stop Pearl from worrying about it.

Maybe she should’ve just been a good sister and supported Scarlet’s idea to get married. It wouldn’t have been that hard, right? She didn’t have to go all responsible, killjoy big sister on her and crush her romantic dreams. Scarlet was old enough to make her own mistakes, right? And who even knew whether or not this marriage would be a mistake? Maybe Pearl was just being paranoid?

These were the kind of thoughts that plagued her the entire night. She’d arrived at work at 8pm, all decked out in her skanky waitress uniform, hoping that work would take her mind off of her current crisis. But there she was, three hours later, hiding out in the break room because she just couldn’t calm down about it. Did that make her a bad worker? Yes - her break wasn’t for another hour. But she’d be no good to anyone if she spilled a tray of drinks all over a customer because she was too distracted by the image of Scarlet crying her eyes out to look where she was going.

Scrolling through all the text messages she’d sent to Scarlet, Pearl began to second guess what she thought had been perfectly acceptable apologies.

PEARL: I’m sorry about last night. Can we meet up and talk about it?

PEARL: I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just worried. Sorry again - let me know if you’re free to meet up?

PEARL: I’m sorry, Scarlet. Please text back.

PEARL: I could shout dinner? We could get Indian takeout and talk this over. Like adults.

PEARL: You could bring your girlfriend? I want to meet her.

PEARL: Sorry. I was a bitch last night. Please text me back?

And still no reply. Maybe Pearl would be able to get by on the theory that Scarlet had lost her phone, or was out of credit or something. But she didn’t believe any of that for a second - she knew perfectly well Scarlet was pissed at her and not answering her texts for that very reason. It was silly to try and assume otherwise.

“Pearl? Pearl, where the- Oh my god, could you please go back upstairs?” Pearl looked up as one of the other waitresses poked her head into the break room, her full lips shaped into a defined frown. “We’re dying out there, there’s so many people.”

“Sorry, Aja, I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

“Yeah, and I’m probably gonna get my assed handed to me by dozens of impatient customers. Get your ass up here already!” With that, Aja was gone, her summons impossible to ignore.

Sighing, Pearl quickly checked her makeup in the mirror, straightened her dress, and stepped back out into the bar.

***

It should be illegal to make people work past two am. Pearl trudged into her tiny, cupboard sized apartment, head pounding from an unpleasant mix of not enough water and not enough sleep. At the very least, her daydreams (nightdreams?) about her bed and a nice, cool glass of water had distracted her from the Scarlet issue. So that was a small blessing.

Pearl flicked the light on as she arrived, wincing as the brightness made her headache even worse. She didn’t hate her apartment - it was tiny and under heated, sure, but there was space for a bed, a little kitchenette, a small bathroom off to the side, and her favourite bean bag chair. Plus, it had an amazing view of the city, something Pearl wasn’t planning on complaining about. Her artistic sensibilities had told her that if she didn’t get that view, she’d never forgive herself. She had to constantly remind herself about how great the view was when she was freezing her ass off in winter and would kill for a well heated apartment.

Making a beeline for the kitchenette, Pearl turned on the tap and poured herself a glass of water. It felt like magic as the water passed through her lips; the sticky, dry feeling in her throat vanishing in an instant. It even made her head feel a little better, although the brightness of the light cancelled out any progress on remedying it completely. You win some, you lose some, Pearl supposed.

After a second glass of water, Pearl didn’t even bother getting out of her uniform before collapsing into bed, dragging the duvet covers up to her chin and snuggling down into comfort. She was more than ready to drift off when she realised that she still needed to plug her phone in to charge. So, without making any effort to get out of bed, Pearl reached for her bag and pulled it towards her, digging her phone out from amongst the other items that cluttered it - wallet, pack of tissues, a worrying amount of receipts from Katya’s food truck. It was as she stuck the charger into her phone that the screen lit up, revealing a notification that made Pearl’s heart skip a beat.

It was a text from Scarlet.

Thoroughly jolted awake, Pearl scrambled to sit up and open the text, her thumbs impatiently tapping the screen as she waited for it to open. She bit her lip once it did, her wide eyes reading the text with more concentration than she’d ever read anything before.

SCARLET: Starbucks at 12. I’m bringing Yvie.

[jenniferdiazisatransgirl]

My Journey

Hey everyone, As you will likely know by now I am a trans woman and I live in the UK where lately trans people have been under significant scrutiny by the press, government and groups claiming to be acting in the name of feminism.

One of the arguments used when not directly attacking trans people, is that the medical institutions that help us in the UK fast track us through transition, even the NHS and I know so many trans people in this country that I can say without a shadow of a doubt this is not true. This includes a significant number who have been under the care of Tavistock and Portman, the under 18s service which was recently banned from giving its patients hormone blockers without the approval of the courts.

But anyway, I’m gonna share my story and how lengthy the process actually is and I will warn ahead of time this deals with suicidal ideation, gatekeeping, mental health, etc. So proceed with caution. This will also be a long post.

September/October 2008

I can’t remember which month but it was just before my 16th birthday, my Dad encouraged me to go to my GP regarding my gender dysphoria. I lived with my transphobic Mum at the time and had to go behind her back which was terrifying to say the least. I saw a doctor called Dr Moulsher and explained everything I was going through and his response was, “I don’t think the NHS funds any of this.” He was very ignorant on trans issues but it actually fortunately worked out in my favour, I got lucky, I know, but he just wanted me off of his hands.

I explained in Sheffield there was a GIC (gender identity clinic) operated by the NHS known as Porterbrook and he was just like, “Oh right. Well I’m more than happy to refer you but they likely won’t see you till you are 18.”

He asked me some questions, wrote up a detailed report and put in the referral to “get the ball rolling” as he worded it.

I was terrified at the time of the referral letter going to my home address though and he was like, “Well it needs to be sent somewhere.” So he agreed to send it to my grandparents address.

Later That Year

About a month or so later a letter arrived at my grandparents saying I had been accepted onto Porterbrook’s waiting list, explaining it is substantially long, that they wouldn’t be able to see me till I’m 18, etc. Your typical boiler plate stuff. Also as I understand it they don’t typical accept referrals for under 18s so I got lucky there. I remember getting so excited when I got my letter though, that I took it into school to show all of my friends.

Back then it was a requirement that I have a mental health assessment while on the waiting list though. So I returned to Dr Moulsher who I had become rather comfortable with and had made him my regular GP. He made a referral to the local mental health clinic and that was that.

January/February 2009

A letter came in the post asking me to ring to book at appointment at the local mental health clinic. I couldn’t ring from home cos my Mum would overhear and she was spying on me a lot at the time due to really being against the fact I’m trans. My school - which was a Catholic school shockingly enough - had already decided my home environment had become so toxic that I needed removing from my Mum’s care. They would be a process that wouldn’t be completed till June 2010 but yeah, it had got that bad. Anyway, I ended up asking the school receptionist if I could ring on their phone to book the appointment. That was booked for February.

The appointment was a weird one to say the least. The doctor asked me a quite a lot of questions but these are the ones that stuck out.

So with this first one, I am going to preface with that as far as I am aware, I am white and of white ancestry for all the generations I know of. However I do have remarkably curly hair that left to its own devices grows into an afro (or at least what looks like an afro). So the first set of questions that stood out; Dr: What’s your mother’s ethnicity? Me: White British.

Dr: Sorry, did you say Afro-Caribbean? Me: No. White British. Dr: And your father’s ethnicity? Me: White British. Dr: Sorry, was that Afro-Caribbean?

Me: Nope. White British.

Not really sure how you can get Afro-Caribbean and White British verbally mixed up but he seemed very adamant at least one of my parents must be Afro-Caribbean.

He then later goes;

Dr: Do you have a partner?

Me: Yes.

Dr: Are they male or female?

Me: I have a girlfriend.

Dr: Then you can’t be trans. You can’t be trans if you like girls.

Me: What about lesbians?

Dr: That’s beside the point.

Shockingly, in the end he agreed with my GP’s assessment that I am trans but Jesus, as you can probably guess from above that mental health assessment was a minefield of weird.

24th October 2010

In June 2010, I was finally removed from my Mum’s care at the age of 17 and placed in supported housing and on the date about I got a phone call from Porterbrook GIC on my 18th birthday no less, inviting me to my first appointment in November.

22nd June 2012

I legally changed my name and title by deed poll to Miss Lily Nichole Robinson.

22nd October 2012

I’d now been at Porterbrook for almost 2 years, had lots of appointments, most of which repeated the same mundane questions and it had started to feel like nothing was ever going to change. I had become increasingly depressed and suicidal and I had decided that if nothing had changed by my 20th birthday I was going to take my own life. I did not want to enter my 20s still living my life as a man. I didn’t want to lose another year of my life.

I remember this date exactly, not because I marked it in my calendar but because Taylor Swift’s album “Red” came out that morning. Despite everything, I was dancing along to 22 that morning while ironing some clothes, before I headed off to Porterbrook. I didn’t really feel like it mattered, I was going to kill myself 2 days later but I figured what is the harm in going through the motions one last time.

I sat there, trying not to let on how miserable I was, didn’t see the point in letting them in on how I was feeling. Nothing would change.

I remember being asked some really gross questions that day though. I got asked if I masturbated and I just declined answering. When challenged I was just like, “I maybe trans and I may hate that equipment but I’m a human being. I still have sexual urges. What do you think the answer is.”

The appointment though, shockingly ended with them telling me they were going to put me on hormones. I was gonna get my estrogen. It was enough to give me a reason to keep on living.

But just bare in mind how close I got to taking my own life there. 2 days away from my 20th birthday. Also it took almost 2 years for them to say they’d be placing me on hormones.

January/February 2013

In January, I had my bloods taken to get a baseline and I was told about options for storing gametes. I did decide to consider this but in the end it ended up being too costly for me at the time. So in February, on a day it was snowing I got the train and was adamant the snow was not stopping me getting to Porterbrook and I had an appointment with the head clinician, Dr Kevin Wylie.

He oddly listed all the testosterone blocker options to me with side effects and risks and all the estradiol options to me with side effects and risks. In the end I chose Cyproterone Acetate for my blocker and Estradiol Valerate pills for my hormones.

50mg per day of Cyproterone Acetate and 2mg per day of Estradiol Valerate. I was ecstatic and took them both the second I got on the bus 😊

May 2013

Slightly unrelated to the medical process but just 3 months in and my mental health had improved drastically. Since I was removed from my Mum’s care I had become a bit of a shut in. I didn’t have any friends, my anxiety was through the roof, I was insanely depressed and I just avoided everything and everyone, only leaving my house for work. Hormones changed that though, I just felt so much happier and I also remember that Spring just being like really vividly aware of the colours of all the flowers and plant life for like the first time in my life. I actually wanted to go out and social and make friends and there was a local LGBT youth group for 18-25 year olds that I decided to join and I started to have and social life again. And by September 2013 I started university and soon came getting drunk with the LGBT Liberation Group at the various socials. I was happy and finally starting to feel like myself.

2013 - 2016

Porterbrook became very gatekeepy in the final stage of my transition. They didn’t like how I dressed. Apparently girls wear dresses while I preferred jeans, t-shirts and hoodies. I didn’t like wearing make-up. I wasn’t the 1950s image of a girl that Porterbrook seemed to expect. I actually have a trans guy friend who around the same time had been told he couldn’t start on testosterone unless he cut his hair short, cos apparently men don’t have long hair.

It pissed me off to no end because I transitioned to be me, not to be a performance of how the world thinks a woman should be. I refused to give ground on how I dressed, etc but in the end I ended up telling a few white lies to get past the final level of gatekeeping. And I can’t remember most of this dates as they happened while uni was going on in the background. But eventually Porterbrook gave me the go ahead for surgery, about 6 months later I had my second opinion and then I was referred for surgery.

January 2016

I had my pre-surgery assessment at Nuffield Health Brighton and I was told if I wanted I could have my surgery as early as March 2016. Due to university though, this proved a bit too soon and the date was pushed to June 2016.

22nd June 2016

The day before the EU Referendum I had my gender reassignment surgery. I don’t actually remember feeling all that ecstatic after the surgery. There was lot of pain and I was on a lot of drugs. But a friend, Rosie, who I hadn’t seen since high school lived in the area and she was at my bedside when I woke up. I was in hospital a week and had 3 months of recovery ahead of me.

Post Surgery 2016

Having surgery had been great, things finally felt right. My entire body felt right for once but I had tunnel visioned my life towards surgery and put a lot of stuff on the back burner and had some major post-surgery depression so I sort counselling at my university to get through these issues and once that was sorted I felt a lot more stable in myself and like nothing was in my way.

October 2016

I put in my application for my Gender Recognition Certificate only for it to get rejected because they did not like the assessment from Porterbrook GIC and Dr Wylie who wrote the assessments was off on leave. Me and a nurse had to sit down and look through my medical record to find a medical report they might accept and we finally found one. However they wouldn’t say what was wrong with the original which made Porterbrook kinda stumped on what was wrong.

February 2017

I received my Gender Recognition Certificate and my new Birth Certificate.

March 2017

I was discharged from Porterbrook GIC.

For those who are under the impression gender reassignment is a fast process it isn’t, it took me 8 years and 6 months start to finish, from initially seeing my GP at 15 to finally being discharged from Porterbrook GIC at the age of 24. It is a long ass process with a shit tone of gatekeeping and honestly going through the process as it stands isn’t something I’d wish on my worst enemy. When I was discharged from Porterbrook GIC in 2017 my first thought was, “I’m free. I’m finally in control of my own life.” As up until that point, I felt I had no autonomy and that my life and happiness was in the hands of doctors. It was miserable.

But there it is.

[writethehousedown]

Things Are Really Cool (In Nazareth) (Ninex)- Ortega

a/n: wow hi, welcome to whatever the hell this is? this is a sort of a kind of a n19f verse/masp verse crossover set some years after the originals take place (but you don’t need to have read either to read this), borne out of the semi-autobiographical experience of my last few weeks at work trying to teach five year olds mid-pandemic. basically Nina’s a stressed primary teacher and Monet is her primary teacher girlfriend. this is fulfilling the prompt “Nice” only ten days late and also probably has one million and one typos in my haste to get it out in time for at least Christmas xo regardless, i hope u all enjoy and in the words of boyband JLS, “mewwy cwistmas”.

disclaimer: there are a couple of lines i’ve yoinked out of tv shows here- “lesbian having a panic attack” is adapted from Kimmy Schmidt and the “what are you, forty?” ones are from Always Sunny. leave me alone i’m too tired to be funny at this time of year xo

fic summary: When Nina’s headteacher asks her to pull a Nativity play out of thin air with only a week to organise it, Nina is simply too nice to say no. As a consequence, she is blindly oblivious to what her girlfriend Monet is planning, with useless lesbian results.

Nina knew she was a people pleaser. Always had been, always would be. She was simply too nice to say no to anyone. She had never been one to say no to anything.

She’d never taken the last remaining teabag for herself way back at uni; she’d always elected to leave it for Brooke or Yvie, knowing that Brooke would be grumpy all day if she didn’t have her morning cup of tea and not wanting to deal with the caffeine crash Yvie would experience if she made coffee as a substitute.

It had even started way further back in her life than her twenties. The most rebellious thing she’d ever done in high school was to pull out one of the cables of her German teacher’s computer at the back so she’d spend the whole lesson fixing it instead of teaching their class. In Primary, she was the stereotypical, insufferable goody-two-shoes: didn’t ever lose a minute of Golden Time, finished both her set tasks and the extension work that accompanied them perfectly, and was the worst kind of tell-tale.

(At the time, she thought her teachers loved that- the fact that she acted as their five-year-old corporate spy, ready to report any wrongdoings to headquarters. Contrarily, now that she was a teacher to five year olds, Nina thought that if she heard one more story about who skipped who in the line she would climb very slowly and very carefully into the staffroom microwave and blow herself into fifty million partially-heated bits.)

So when her headteacher ducked her head into her classroom on a cold, wet, rainy Wednesday after all the kids had been dispatched home, Nina panicked. Her eyes darted up to the displays on her walls. Fuck, there were still Halloween pumpkins blu-tacked up there. There was, so far, nothing on her December learning journey wall. And there were still Very Hungry Caterpillars made from bottle tops pushed into dollops of paint stuck to bright green backing paper which had been there since the kids’ first week at school back in August.

Well. Red and green were Christmassy colours. Right?

But Mrs Del Rio didn’t seem all that interested in the state of her wall displays. She’d come to ask Nina if she could film a Nativity play with her class.

“It’s for the parents really,” Bianca had rolled her eyes, folding her arms in her usual no-nonsense way. “Just something they can watch and share with the families since we can’t do a real Nativity. It doesn’t need to be anything big- just a few songs…one, two…say four. And then just have the kids in their costumes with a couple of lines. With a backdrop, y’know, there doesn’t need to be props. Just the baby Jesus…the gifts for the three Kings….maybe a couple of no vacancy signs for the innkeepers…that sort of thing. Just for before we finish up term. Maybe if it could be done by next Friday. That okay?”

And Nina, because she was a people pleaser, had nodded and said yes! and of course! and Bianca had nodded curtly at her in the frostiest thank-you the world had ever seen before leaving.

It had only taken the time in which Bianca’s heels had slowly disappeared from hearing distance for the reality of the situation to sink in for Nina. She’d just agreed to do a whole Nativity play, with songs, and costumes, and props, in the space of eight days.

She was going to be sick like little Jack had done that day he’d come into class and projectile-vomited halfway onto the carpet and halfway into Nina’s outstretched hands.

Nina was so consumed by the all-encompassing panic that she didn’t even flinch when there was a loud, jaunty knock at her classroom door.

“High Court Enforcement,” came a loud, brash voice, Nina finally turning to see who was there with glazed eyes. Willam leant against the doorframe, her messy blonde waves falling over the shoulders of her dark blue jumper like curly vines. She was the only teacher who could match the sass levels of the Year 6s and was a colleague that Nina both loved and feared. Loved because she was straight-talking and blunt and altogether hilarious, but feared because her girlfriend was the deputy head of the school and anything Nina said to her would definitely be reported back as gossip.

Also because she was, for all intents and purposes, a pint-pot riot.

“Nina. Nina. Nina,” Willam said repeatedly, her voice monotone and her persistence irritating. Nina mumbled something out.

“What?”

Nina raked her hands through her shock of frizzy blonde curls and sighed, her stress levels already rising. “I said I’m a lesbian having a panic attack.”

“Oh, that’s a mood. I was sent round to do the collection for the support staff but I’ve already spent forty minutes chatting to Alyssa instead of doing what I was asked. Got a grand total of a fiver so far,” Willam shrugged blithely, coming into Nina’s classroom and perching on one of the tiny munchkin-sized tables. “What’s up?”

The pressure-cooker that her mind was rapidly becoming told Nina to throw caution to the wind and vent, so she told Willam everything in a series of babbles barely comprehensible in the English language.

“So you’ve just agreed to doing a full Nativity video in the space of a week?” Willam cocked her head, pulling a confused face. “Why didn’t you just tell Bianca to fuck off?”

Nina paused, feeling all her panic momentarily leave her body as she fixed Willam with a glare. “Are you expecting me to answer that?”

“No, no. Shit, wouldn’t it have been amazing if you had, though? What d’you think would’ve happened? Maybe she’d’ve shouted so loud at you her lungs would’ve just exploded.”

Nina couldn’t help but blurt out a small laugh. “That’s way too dramatic. She wouldn’t even fire me on the spot because that would mean management having to go in and cover my class tomorrow while they tried to find my replacement.”

Nina regretted the small barb at their management team as soon as it was out, but Willam seemed nonplussed.

“Yeah. Court’s way too impatient to deal with your lil’ rugrats.”

“I’m too impatient to deal with them. I’m too impatient to deal with them on a day to day basis. How I’m going to teach them four Christmas songs in the space of a week, fuck knows.”

Willam cocked her head again, her smile becoming patient. “Well if anyone can do it, it’s you.”

Willam’s words were a small source of comfort to Nina. Suddenly everything seemed doable. She matched her colleague’s smile, glad she’d arrived in that moment. “Thanks, Willam.”

As soon as her words were out, she saw the small, playful twinkle in Willam’s eye. “Because nobody else would’ve been mad enough to agree to the damn thing.”

***

Getting her class sorted and organised for the day couldn’t really be likened to herding cats. No, this process was far more chaotic than that. At half past nine each day what could only be described as a minor tsunami of children hit Nina’s classroom: throwing their jackets into the designated tubs with wild abandon and subsequently knocking anything and everything off her adjacent desk, unloading every possible snack in their lunchboxes into their trays and Nina’s pleas for them to only take one snack out falling on deaf ears, spilling their water bottles and getting the zips on their jackets stuck and wanting to tell Nina a billion and one things that seemed to have happened in the 18 hours they had spent outwith her care.

During the month of December this chaos only intensified. Hats, scarves and gloves littered the classroom floor as they fell off the kids like baubles off a dead Christmas tree, shrieks filled the air as they discovered a new chocolate in the advent calendar, and at least half the class surrounded Nina like festive zombies as they all battled to win the competition of “Who can tell Miss West about what their elf on the shelf had got up to overnight the loudest”.  

Nina hammered the little bell she kept on her desk with the palm of her hand, stress levels already rising. “Okay, Reception! Jackets in tubs, snacks in trays and bums on carpet!”

As her class giggled about their teacher’s use of the word “bum”, Nina sat down in her wheely chair and waited for them all to join her on the little strip of carpet in front of her smartboard. It was moments like these where she’d be hit with a sort of out of body experience; she was someone’s teacher, she was this class’ first teacher. She was sitting in front of her class waiting to take the register and start their day. It was slightly overwhelming, even though she’d been doing the job for a number of years now.

Eventually her kids were all organised and she’d taken the register and made sure they all had a lunch to eat that day. Nina made sure to put on her best excited face as she prepared to tell them about the Nativity.

“Right, Reception!” she said, injecting lots of mystery into her voice like a storyteller. “I have got some very exciting news for you all today!”

Their little faces all grew equally excited as they were expectant, and Nina’s heart almost popped. Just then, Harry, a boy with enough gel in his hair to single-handedly keep Brylcreem in business for a year and huge bottle-top glasses’ hand went up.

“Yes, Harry?”

The boy bounced on the carpet, incredibly eager. “Can I tell you what my elf did last night?”

Ten more hands immediately shot up, and Nina’s heart sank. Great.

But she was still teaching four and five year olds and this was truly the most important thing in their little lives, so she fixed a bright smile on her face and tilted her head inquisitively. “What did your elf do?”

Harry was now sitting on his knees, towering over the other children and threatening to knock himself over with every passing second as he swayed in the nonexistent breeze. “He did a poop in my Dad’s shoes!”

The rest of the class shrieked with laughter in response. Internally, Nina was rapidly reaching her wit’s end. Love it. A bit of toilet humour to start off the Nativity rehearsals. Great. Exactly what’s needed. “Oh my goodness! What a cheeky elf!”

“He did three poops! And you know what else? They were cola jellybeans! I ate them!”

Sophie, a girl with long ginger hair in a low ponytail and a gap in her smile where two baby teeth once lived, gasped in horror. “You ate the elf’s poop?!”

The rest of the class fell about laughing. Nina had to get control back of the situation.

“Well thank you very much for sharing, Harry! Okay everyone, let’s pop our hands down.”

There were still ten hands waving proudly in the air like rebellious flags.

“We can do more elf stories at the end of the day if there’s time!” Nina lied. There would not be time. There was never time. But it placated most of her class enough for them to follow the instruction. There was, however, one remaining hand up which belonged to Jason, a boy with hair so platinum blonde it seemed otherworldly.

“It’s not an elf story! I’ve got a question,” he insisted, shouting out despite the fact his hand was already up. Nina relented, just in case he did have something important to ask. Maybe he was about to pee himself. Highly likely with the Reception kids.

Jason, pleased as punch that Nina was allowing him to speak, put his hand down. “Can I tell you a rhyming word I’ve just thought of?”

Nina’s smile grew all the more gritted, and the muscles in her face all the more tense. This was going to be the longest week she had experienced in living memory.

***

Nina would never get tired of living with Monet. The sound of her singing as the shower provided a backing track, the unholy racket she seemed to make when she cooked (a symphony of swearing, the banging of kitchen utensils, and the clattering of saucepans and baking trays). The smell of the Dior Sauvage she used instead of perfume and the Cantu hair custard she combed through her hair after she washed it. The fact that Nina could get a cuddle from her any time she wanted and the soft squash of her arms around her.

But living with Monet was best at Christmastime. The endless arguments they got into about their Christmas decorations and what looked best where, both stemming from a fierce loyalty to their own family traditions. The way they’d write their Christmas cards to their friends with a Christmas film playing in the background, and the way Monet would tease her about having such picture-perfect, font-like, primary-teacher handwriting. The way Monet would get too excited in the supermarket and load party food into Nina’s shopping basket like a child trying to sneak chocolate.

Even though Nina was completely exhausted, she still felt herself smile as she turned her key in the lock and heard her girlfriend loudly singing along with Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree, paired with the blast of the extractor fan.

“Hello?” Nina sing-songed as she closed the door shut, shedding her heavy jacket and her scuffed trainers and her backpack full of jotters that had been haphazardly stuffed in as she left work.

“Hello!” Monet chirped back, in what had become their tradition since moving in together all those years ago. “Your timing’s perfect, I just finished dinner.”

“Ooh. What is for dinner?”

Monet gestured to the pile of grated cheese, pan of bubbling baked beans, and loaf of white bread. “Beans on toast.”

Nina snorted and leaned against the counter. “Wow, don’t I have the most perfect domestic housewife! That must’ve taken, what…two hours?”

Monet reached over and squeezed her side, eliciting a yelp that would probably give their downstairs neighbours the wrong idea. “Shady bitch. It’s this or two rice cakes that’ve been in the cupboard for so long I swear they’re turning fossilised.”

“No, I’m kidding. Of course I’m hungry, thanks hun. I’ll make dinner tomorrow,” Nina promised, sliding into one of their second-hand wooden dining chairs as Monet plated up.

“No you won’t,” Monet frowned. “You look dead. What’re your kids doing to you, beating you with their tiny little chairs?”

“The fucking Nativity,” Nina sighed, pausing to thank Monet as she placed two slices of golden toast covered with beans and flakes of grated cheese down in front of her. Admittedly it did look like absolute heaven.

“Have you told Bianca to piss off yet?” Monet scowled, stabbing her toast so hard she threatened to break the plate in two.

“What kind of fantasy-land school do you work at where you can tell your headteacher to piss off and she actually listens?” Nina cocked an eyebrow at her, and Monet shrugged in agreement as she chewed a mouthful. “No, of course not. I’m going to make it happen, though, even if it kills me. We started learning the songs today, which you would think was a simple enough endeavour. Except my class, who usually can’t shut up if their lives depend on it, have all the singing volume and skill of one of Yvie and Scarlet’s cat’s chew toys. They don’t even sound like cats being strangled, that’d probably be louder. It’s like trying to have a sing-song with a room full of laryngitis patients. Except it’s not a room, because apparently we’re not allowed to sing inside because of covid. But I can teach Phonics and the kids can all make the ‘p’ sound at me until their hearts’ content and shower me with their spit like the world’s shittiest production of Singin’ In The Rain? Anyway, we have to rehearse outside. In December. I think my feet actually fell off.”

As Nina finally finished what had unintentionally become a fully-fledged rant, Monet attempted to compose herself as she wiped away a small tear of laughter from her eye and clutched at her belly. Nina watched as her girlfriend took a few deep breaths, then fixed her with a humoured grin. “But apart from all that, how was your day?”

Nina stuck her tongue out at her in response. “Shut up. How was yours?”

Monet rolled her eyes as she speared a bean. “Awful. Tried to assess time with my class today. God I love them, Neens, but they’re so bad, how can they be that bad?”

“If anyone can help them progress, it’s you,” Nina smiled encouragingly, only getting a shaken head in reply.

“No, I can’t. Nobody can. They’re beyond help. Some of the answers I got today wouldn’t even be believable if they were part of some TV comedy show. What month is Christmas in? ‘Santa’. The kid answered Santa. How many months are there in a year? ‘Sixty six’. How many days are there in a week? ‘Two’. TWO!” Monet cried, outraged. Nina couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up in her throat, and Monet pointed warningly at her in response. “Don’t you dare laugh. This is my reality.”

“Hey, you laughed at my Nativity nightmare!” Nina giggled, to which Monet chuckled guiltily. Nina paused to swipe a bit of toast around the plate with her fork, mopping up any stray tomato sauce. When she looked up from her plate, she saw Monet tapping at her phone. Nina frowned disapprovingly. “Hey. No phones at the table.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Monet apologised quickly, though didn’t put her phone down yet. “Monique’s just sent me a screenshot of her friend that’s getting engaged. Look at the damn size of this ring.”

Monet turned her phone to show Nina. Pictured was a diamond the size of a small Pacific nation and a band encrusted with tiny gems on the finger of somebody she’d never met. Nina couldn’t help the way she screwed her face up, which made Monet blurt a laugh in response. “Not a fan, then?”

Nina pulled a face in thought. She was sure that kind of ring made some girls happy, but to her it just seemed tacky and over-the-top, not to mention heavy. “I’m sure she likes it, but I wouldn’t want something that huge. Imagine working in a Reception class with that?! Play-dough stuck in all the little crevices. And Jesus, what if you lost it? Nah, it would stress me out owning that. I would just want one simple little gold band and one singular tiny diamond. Much less of a burden.”

Monet snorted a laugh as she finished her last mouthful of dinner. “You are the only girl I’ve ever met that would consider an engagement ring a burden. Christ on a crucifix.”

“Well!” Nina protested, before realising she didn’t really have anything else to defend herself with. Then, she narrowed her eyes at her girlfriend playfully, kicking her under the table. “Why’re you so interested in my engagement ring opinions, anyway? You asking?”

Monet chuckled as she put her phone face-down on the table. “Bold of you to assume I can afford council tax, never mind a diamond.”

Nina smiled, shrugging in agreement. “Yeah, fair. What should we do tonight? I have Maths jotters to mark but then that’s me done.”

Monet tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. “I would say fucking our shit days out but I don’t even have the energy to operate a vibrator.”

Nina almost choked on her food as she laughed. “Christ, that’s a mood. Finish dinner, pyjamas, rewatch The Office for the ninety billionth time then bed at 7pm?”

“Sounds good, babe,” Monet smiled, lifting her glass of water up to cheers with as if it was sparkling wine.

***

“Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way! Oh McFun it is to ride in a waffle sofen sleigh, HEY! Jingle bells, Jin-”

“Woah, woah, woah, woah, woah,” Nina cut in, waving her hands frantically and stopping the twenty-three five and four year olds that had previously been singing their little kidney bean-sized lungs out. “What are the words?”

Her class stared back at her as if she’d just asked her what twenty-eight times thirteen was. Although Jeremiah, who was already working at Year 5 level, could probably have worked that out given enough time.

“Oh what fun it is to ride in a one horse open sleigh,” Nina said, rhythmically and clearly. “You try.”

The children all parroted it back to her in their little voices, word-perfect. Thank God, thought Nina. Jingle Bells seemed to be the only song they recognised, so if they turned out to not know it after all then Nina would very probably need an inhaler despite the fact she wasn’t at all asthmatic.

“Let’s try it with the music!” Nina said cheerfully, making sure the bluetooth speaker she’d brought outside was still on.

“Miss West,” a small voice piped up belonging to Amber, the human embodiment of a whine. “I’m cold!”

“We’ll get inside soon!” Nina replied patiently. “Just let’s practise it one more time!”

“I’m cold too,” piped up Joshua, Amber’s male counterpart.

“I’m freezing,” Amber offered again.

“I know, it’s very cold outside!” Nina smiled sympathetically, even though her teeth were gritted. “But we can’t do our singing inside because of the virus!”

“Why not?” Amber pouted.

Nina didn’t really know. The answer was because of the care inspectorate guidelines, but that was incredibly far beyond the realms of a five-year-old’s comprehension. Just then, an idea struck her.

“Well we need to sing our songs outside so that Santa can hear them when he’s taking his sleigh out for a test drive!” she said animatedly. The wide eyes and ohhhh-s she received in reply made her feel like a genius. Move over, Steven Hawking. “Okay, one more time with Jingle Bells. Nice and loud for Santa!”

“Miss West?”

Nina blinked slowly and heavily, taking a small breath before answering the newest child that demanded her attention. “Yes, Sophie?”

“I’m cold.”

“I’m cold!! We’re all cold!!” Nina replied quickly, just that shade away from snapping so that her class knew she meant business. “We’re doing the song one more time and then we’re going inside! So nice big smiles, nice loud voices, and here…we…go!”

Nina pressed play on the song before any more children could regale her with tales of how their body temperatures had dropped to that of a snowman’s.

“Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way!” they all enthusiastically sang. “Oh McFun it is to ride in a waffle sofen sleigh!”

Nina rubbed so hard at her tired eyes that she thought they might disappear into her skull. She was momentarily glad of the fact that she didn’t have a teaching assistant to help her, as to have any other adult witness this would be embarrassing in the extreme.

Just then she noticed around five parents queued up at the nursery adjacent to the playground, watching with wry smiles on their faces as they waited for their children.

“One more time!” Nina cried, as she stopped the music with freezing cold hands.

***

“So Nina, when you gonna wife your girlfriend?”

Nina very nearly spat out her tea, a horrifying milky brown hurricane only just avoided. She hadn’t been expecting to answer deep, meaningful life questions in the staffroom during a lunch hour, but Willam was the human incarnation of petrol on a campfire and with her around things were always in danger of going from zero to a hundred very quickly. To Nina’s relief Courtney was also in the staffroom, and she whipped around from the countertop and gave her girlfriend daggers.

“Willam!” Courtney chastised her in a hiss that Nina wasn’t quite sure was meant to be audible. Willam only gave her an incredulous glare, affronted that she seemed to be the voice of reason in the conversational chaos.

“What?! Just askin’. I mean you’re what…twenty-nine? Twenty eight?”

“Twenty-six,” Nina replied. She was now at the age where being assumed she was older than she was was a curse, not a blessing. (If she’d told seventeen-year-old Nina that one day she would be disappointed at no longer being ID’d for wine at Sainsburys she’d have laughed in her face.)

“Exactly. That’s wifeing age. Mid to late twenties.”

“Hey, I passed that stage long ago, where the hell’s my ring?“ Courtney asked Willam, stirring the coffee she’d poured into one of the many, many “World’s Best Teacher!” mugs that littered the staffroom cupboards. Willam responded by turning around in her chair and positioning her pencil skirt-clad ass in the air.

“Right here, bitch!”

“Christ Almighty,” Courtney turned away from her, rolling her eyes so hard they looked like little spheric dice. As Willam gave her best impression of a seal on laughing gas, Nina cast her eyes over to Sasha who was sitting at the other end of the staffroom. As they caught each others’ eyes they shared a long-suffering smile that mourned the death of peace and quiet.

Nina was glad the conversation had been diverted from the subject of her perceived lack of marriage plans. Until Sasha opened her mouth, that is.

“I wouldn’t worry, Nina. Me and Shea haven’t had that conversation either. I mean we’d both love to, but there’s more important stuff for us right now, you know? We’re saving for a house and I think we’d rather live in a place we’ve chosen for the foreseeable future than just having one singular big lavish day.”

“It’s all about what you want to do with the person you love the most, isn’t it? Not just doing what society wants you to do,” Courtney chipped in, her voice warm and kind. “Like me and Willam used to be total party girls before we got our shit together. And now, like…there’s nothing I’d rather do of a weekend than curl up with her on the sofa and get all cosy with a film and a blanket and a cup of tea.”

Willam scoffed affectionately. “That’s your ideal weekend plan? What are you, forty?”

“Yes? As are you?” Courtney replied incredulously. Nina heard Sasha snort in her chair. As she turned her gaze back to the other two girls she realised that Willam was still looking at her expectantly. Nina sank back into her seat, a little reserved.

“It’s not really something we’ve spoken about? Well…no, we have spoken about it, obviously,” she babbled, watching as Willam took on the look of someone witnessing a victim of cardiac arrest. “Like we both want to get married. To each other, of course. But teaching is just such a busy job all the time and…you know, we only bought our flat last Summer and…I don’t know, it’s nice not to have everything happen all at once, right?”

Courtney nodded emphatically in agreement. “Of course! And I mean, if she asked, you’d say yes, right?”

Nina had to stop herself from pulling a face. How am I having this conversation with my boss? “Well, yeah. God, I couldn’t imagine life without her at all.”

Willam pretended to gag, which Nina thought was pretty rich from the woman who had begun the entire conversation. Courtney seemed to pick up on her girlfriend’s distaste.

“I don’t think Willam has ever said anything that cute about me!”

Willam turned around to look at her girlfriend, disbelief on her face. “Yeah, I only left my damn husband for you. Fuck me, right?”

Nina’s eyes widened as Sasha gave a yelp from across the staffroom. That was a small piece of workplace gossip she hadn’t expected to learn today. As Courtney’s face turned red and she shot Willam a warning glare, she turned to Nina once more.

“Nina, how’s the Nativity going?” Courtney beamed artificially at her, moving the conversation along with all the grace and decorum of a one-wheeled snow plow.

Considering the question, Nina thought that she’d rather be discussing marriage plans with her boss and colleagues again. “It’s going.”

“That’s a ringing endorsement. I’m sure that was on the poster of Titanic too,” Willam chipped in.

“It wouldn’t be any less disastrous than the actual fate of the Titanic, at least the passengers could’ve probably remembered the words to fucking Jingle Bells,” Nina deadpanned, causing Willam to break into fits of clubbed seal laughter.

Sasha pouted sympathetically from the other side of the room. “It’s those cute bits that the parents love, though, isn’t it? They won’t mind if they get the words wrong.”

“I’m sure there needs to be a foundation of at least an audible tune though, Sash,” Nina smiled resignedly back at her.

“If Bianca wants a Nativity so bad, just tell her to come teach your class,” Willam half-suggested, half-yelled. “Or get Court to teach them! They prolly don’t need to be in tune anyway!”

Courtney’s expression appeared to be the same as Nina’s after her morning’s rehearsal. “Do you ever stop talking shit?”

“You think I’m bad? That bell is going to go for the Comp’s lunch break in five minutes, Bob is gonna arrive, an’ then it’s RIP our eardrums,” Willam said, pointing to the staffroom door for dramatic effect.

“At least Bob has never presented his clothed arsehole to his partner in front of his colleagues,” Courtney cut in at once, her tone deadpan and making Nina splutter a laugh.

“Aw, c’mon Court! That’s just banter. These girls don’t mind.”

“It’s unprofessional!” Courtney clutched her chest. Willam only snorted in response.

“Unprofessional? What are you, forty?”

“We’re the same age!!” Courtney cried in response, her incredulous tone only setting Nina off in a further fit of laughter.

It was only later on that night once she had driven back home, parked, and approached her and Monet’s flat that Nina remembered the staffroom conversation. She cast her gaze up to their first-floor window in their red brick building, almost being able to feel the way her heart gave a swell at the sight of their Christmas tree framed proudly within the glass. And as she got in through the front door, Monet greeted her with a hug and a takeaway leaflet.

“We’ve got nothing in the fridge, so I thought we could get noodles? This came through the door today and I think-” Monet raises her eyebrows, slapped the leaflet into the palm of her hand decisively. “- it’s a sign from God.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” Nina laughed, shrugging off her coat and feeling grateful for not having to cook.

It was only when they were both curled up on the couch, empty pad thai containers in front of them, that Nina turned to Monet and saw the lights on the tree reflected in her eyes. She turned to her girlfriend, threw an arm round her and snuggled in to her side.

“What’s up?” Monet asked, her voice soft and sleepy and a little concerned.

“Nothing,” Nina sighed. It was true. There wasn’t really anything up, and she was the happiest she’d ever been. But she still turned to Monet, tilting her head up inquisitively. “You don’t feel under any pressure at all, do you?”

Monet snorted. “I feel under pressure to get fifteen children who can’t write the word cat on their own to magically be able to write a sentence by the end of the year, yeah.”

Nina rolled her eyes. “No! I mean, like…in life. You didn’t just…buy this flat with me because you felt you had to, right? You wouldn’t do anything because you felt obliged to?”

Monet raised a single eyebrow back at her. “Yeah, I decided to piss my life savings away on a deposit for a flat because I felt I had to. Jesus Christ, Neens.”

“No, no, I know,” Nina chuckled, realising how silly the whole thing now sounded. “But I just mean…in life, like milestones and stuff. You’d never do stuff because you felt you had to keep up, in some way? Reach some goal by a certain age?”

Monet brought an arm around Nina and cuddled her closer, kissing her hair and resting her chin on top of her head. “Everything I do in life, I do because I want to. Especially when it comes to you. Promise.”

Nina gave her girlfriend a squeeze, happy. She took a deep breath, smelt the fabric softener on Monet’s jumper that they both used but just seemed to smell better and feel softer on everything Monet wore.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

***

Nina sat in a child-sized chair with her knees practically up to her chest, a crumpled, printed-out script on her lap that she’d hastily typed up on her work iPad’s notes app the following evening. Her class sat behind her in costumes pulled on over their school uniforms, with books and pens and pieces of paper with botched photocopying on the back under strict instructions not to talk until the whole thing was filmed.

“Okay, Amber!” she smiled breezily at the small girl whose school blouse was sticking out under her angel costume. “You’re kicking off the video. So your line is two thousand years ago, an angel came to a woman called Mary. Practise it for me?”

Amber gripped the hem of her taffeta skirt in two tiny white-knucked fists. “I don’t want to.”

Nina bit her lip. Great start. Fantastic. “We can give it a try together?”

Reluctantly, Amber parroted the words in tandem with her. So far so good.

“Okay. Now do you want to go up against the backdrop and I can film you doing it?”

Amber’s ponytail full of flyaways swung wildly as she shook her head. Nina thought for a moment. Then her eyes came to rest on Hazel- the class’ Mary and, coincidentally, Amber’s best friend.

“What about if Hazel stands with you?”

That seemed to change things and, only slightly hesitantly, both girls got up in front of the hastily staple-gunned silver tinsel.

“Okay Amber. Two thousand years ago, an angel came to a woman called Mary. Ready?”

A nod in reply.

“Go!”

Amber took a deep, shaky breath in. “Two thousand years ago….a woman called Mary.”

Nina stopped filming, fixed the girl with a kind smile. “An angel came to a woman called Mary. Try again?”

The iPad was back in filming mode, and Amber went again. “Two thousand years ago, a…a…a little cute angel came to Mary.”

Nina stopped filming, fixed Amber with two thumbs up. That’ll do.

Things seemed to be going well as Hazel and Oliver (or, Mary and Angel Gabriel) got through their lines without too many bumps in the road. Then, it was time for Amber to take to the stage (or blue curtain with a tinsel border) once more.

“Okay Amber, so your line this time is…Mary told her husband Joseph. Want to practise?”

“Mary told her husband Joseph,” Amber repeated, with all the enthusiasm of a patient about to undergo a colonoscopy. With two days til the deadline, this would have to suffice.

“Perfect! Ready? Three…two…one…go!” Nina smiled encouragingly, as she hit record.

Amber stood beside Mary and Joseph, a little grin on her own face. “Mary told her husband Joyce.”

“…Joseph,” Nina reminded her. Where the fuck had Joyce come from? She hit record again.

“Three…two…one…go!”

“Mary told her husband Joyce.”

Nina couldn’t stop herself from bursting out laughing. “Joseph, Amber!”

The little girl nodded earnestly. “Joseph Amber.”

Nina spluttered. “No…Amber is your name. Joseph is Mary’s husband.”

“Ohhhhhh.”

Nina shook her head, amused. This was what she loved about teaching. None of the other girls working from home could say that they got to spend their day feeling like they were stuck in an episode of You’ve Been Framed.

“Go again. Mary told her husband Joseph. Three…two…one…”

“Mary told…em…um…I can’t remember,” Amber giggled. Nina could feel her own giggles bubbling up inside herself, but she had to stop otherwise it would set her whole class off.

“Mary told her husband Joseph,” Nina repeated, both Amber and Hazel now giggling to each other. “Shh shh! Okay…three…two…one…”

Amber composed herself, took a deep breath. “Mary told her husband Joyce.”

Christ Alive. Nina gasped incredulously, unable to help herself from laughing now. The whole class, Amber herself, and Nina was pretty sure God, were all doing the same. She put her head in her hands, her whole body now shaking with laughter. “Joseph!!”

She already couldn’t wait to tell everybody she knew this story. Not least so she could cement in her mind that it was something that actually happened to her, and not just simply the script of a comedy show she’d dreamed up. Miraculously, mercifully, she managed to get the rest of her class settled down and for Amber to say the correct line on film, even if Nina could be faintly heard frantically mouthing “Joseph!” in the background.

Eventually they reached the innkeepers. Easy enough, in theory.

“Okay, Carter,” Nina smiled encouragingly at the first innkeeper. “When Mary and Joseph ask for a room, you say ‘no, sorry!’. Okay?”

Carter nodded, half a finger stuck up his nose. Nina gestured to him to put his hands down, then began filming. As directed, Mary and Joseph asked if there was any room at the inn.

“YES,” the little boy shouted. The whole class burst out laughing. Nina did not.

Just then, Willam walked past the open door with her class. She gave her a look of inquisition, shooting her a tentative, questioning thumbs up.

Nina put her head in her hands in reply.

***

By some miracle of nature (although it could also have been Nina giving up on work that afternoon) Nina had made it back to the flat before five o’clock. This never happened- five pm was usually the time she left work, but a day full of recording Nativity clips and then putting them together on iMovie while her class played (read; caused havoc) had been tiring and she needed Monet, chocolate, and Merlot.

Only the first thing she heard when she opened the door to her flat wasn’t Monet singing, or the hum of the extractor fan. It was the grainy crackle of a Zoom call and an incredibly distinctive voice.

“So when you doin’ it? Do it tonight. Do it when she gets home from work.”

Monet’s voice- humoured, long-suffering. “I’m not doing it then, Vanj, she’ll be exhausted.”

“That was honestly your best suggestion? When she gets home from work?” Brooke’s voice. “Aren’t you the pinnacle of romance!”

Nina had realised that Monet was on a Zoom call with all the girls, from the way Vanessa had obviously kissed Brooke on camera was being met with half a dozen cries in protest from the others. She excitedly shrugged off her coat and unwrapped herself from her scarf, eager to see her friends again. Part of her was intrigued, though. Why were they all calling each other without her?

“My question is how you’re going to do it,” Akeria’s voice came, as questioning as always. “It needs to be good but it better not be too damn cheesy.”

“An’ you better make sure she got her nails done, she might say no if she ain’t got her nails done!” Silky came shouting through Monet’s Macbook speakers.

“Yeah, you better make it as romantic as you can, Mo,” Scarlet added, making Nina wonder what the hell it was they were all talking about. Before she could wonder any further, she heard Yvie’s distinctive snort of a laugh.

“You are in no position to speak about romance, I mean, need I remind you how you asked me?”

“Shut up,” Scarlet replied, her tone a little bashful as the other girls laughed.

“Monet I could hire you a plane if you really wanted,” Plastique offered, making Nina snort despite the fact she had no idea what the conversation was about.

“Shut up, bitch,” Nina could practically hear the roll of Akeria’s eyes.

Nina toed her shoes off and finally padded through to the kitchen, where Monet’s eyes grew wide when she saw her, her body visibly flinching.

“Hey, babe!” she smiled, looking a little startled. “You’re home earlier than usual!”

“Oh sorry, am I interrupting your Zoom call with all your side chicks?” Nina deadpanned, forcing her way onto Monet’s lap to see her friends on the screen.

“Ninaaa!!!” Vanessa’s face popped up first, her friend waving excitedly as she sat on her sofa in Brooke’s arms. “How are you, girl?”

“Shattered,” Nina sighed, rubbing her eyes harshly. “Just filmed the whole Nativity with the rugrats today. Think it took ten years off my lifespan. How’re you?”

“Good,” Brooke smiled back through the screen. “We ordered our Christmas food today. Trying to convince this one that we don’t need twelve pigs in blankets between two people.”

Vanessa scowled back at her from their position on the sofa. “Uh, yes the hell we do!”

“Twelve pigs in blankets as well as the turkey, stuffing, and all the veg? Y’all are gonna explode,” Akeria said disapprovingly.

“Kiki! How are you?” Nina cried with delight, seeing her friend’s tired but smiling face appear on screen.

“Good. Don’t stop work for a while yet, but it’s fine. Still flat hunting.”

“How’s Pri?” Nina asked, heartened by the way Akeria looked down, trying and failing to suppress a smile.

“Yeah, she’s good. Still batshit crazy. Horny all the time.”

“The ideal girlfriend, really,” Yvie said, a wry smile on her face.

“Nina!” Silky suddenly cut in, yelling. “Did you hear any of what we were talkin’ about before?”

Nina frowned, shook her head. “Something about planes and nails. And cheese. I’m too exhausted to have paid enough attention. Why, were you having a mad bitchfest about me?”

“Trying to ask the girls how best to dump you,” Monet deadpanned. Nina shot Monet a look and squeezed her leg, resulting in her girlfriend yelping and cracking her knee off the table.

Whatever the previous conversation was was soon forgotten about as excited catchups took over. Silky was excited as she was interviewing some singer that Nina had never heard of and wanted the girls to help her work out what questions she was going to ask her. Yvie and Scarlet were lamenting the fact they had to host both of their families for Christmas and had bought a turkey so big Scarlet wasn’t sure it would fit in their oven, and Plastique was telling them the weirdest things she’d been gifted by companies desperate for her to endorse them on Instagram.

“I got a box of sex toys from LoveHoney. That was probably the most random. Me and Naomi had a wild fucking night that night.”

“STOP BEIN’ GROSS,” Silky had yelled down the line, causing Nina to hammer Monet’s volume down button.

Eventually the call came to an end, but not before lots of promises to catch up soon once the situation across the world was better than the shitshow it was currently. As Monet closed her laptop, Nina threw her arms around her neck and nuzzled into her side.

“I miss them,” she sighed, and Monet patter her back comfortingly.

“I know, babe. I miss them too.”

There was a moment of pensive silence, and then Nina spoke again, the Nativity never too far away from her mind.

“I can’t export this video.”

“What?”

“The Nativity video. I can’t export it,” Nina muttered pitifully against her girlfriend’s shoulder.

Monet kissed her hair, making to stand up. “You get a cup of tea. I’ll fix your video.”

“You’re the best,” Nina sighed gratefully, walking over to the kettle.

It was only after she’d sat down with a cup of tea and Monet had promised she’d sorted her video that Nina thought about the conversation she’d walked in on earlier.

She had a strange feeling that it had something to do with her.

***

When Nina arrived at work that morning, she could tell something was…a little different. She couldn’t really tell what it was. It started with the slightly knowing smile Tatianna shot her from across the corridor.

“Congrats, Nina!” she shouted down to her before she ducked into her own classroom.  

“Uh…thanks,” she replied a little too late. Okay, the Nativity process had been stressful, but did she really need congratulated?

She supposed she appreciated it. It had been a whirlwind of a process, after all.

Only the odd thing was, it continued. The congratulations came pouring in; Alaska, Ivy from the Nursery school, Alyssa had cooed and gushed for ages about how exciting it was and how happy she was for her.

Nina had only blinked in reply, a little bewildered. “Thanks, Alyssa. It was a stress, but they managed to pull it off in the end.”

Alyssa gave her a funny look, then realisation seemed to dawn on her. “Oh…they’re non-binary! You know I never knew that, sorry sugar. Well congratulations to you both.”

With that, Alyssa hurried away only leaving Nina more confused than ever.

What in the fuck?

When the bell rang and Nina went to collect her class from the line, things only got weirder. Before she could hurry her class inside, Harry’s Mum waved at her from behind the school gate, beckoning her over. Nina’s heart began to sink- she was going to ask her why Harry was only a shepherd, wasn’t she, or why he didn’t get a solo during Little Donkey, or some-other-bullshit-like-that.

To Nina’s surprise, she held up a sparkly gift bag.

“Hi, sorry for bothering you!” she beamed at her. This was already unheard of- a parent apologising for taking up her time? Nina was beginning to question if she had slipped through a crack in the fabric of reality while she’d been sleeping when Harry’s Mum spoke again. “Me and the other parents had a quick whipround and got you a couple of things and a little card to say congratulations! We thought it was the least we could do given your lovely news.”

It was only after Nina had thanked her profusely, taken the bag and led her children into class that her words sank in. What lovely news was she on about?

Nina taught that morning in a daze. Well, ‘taught’ was pushing it; the last few days of term were always movie days or games days, and today was the former. Nina had decided to inject a bit of an educational element to it by showing her class Nativity and then asking them if they thought the film’s play was better than the one they’d put on. Despite it being one of her favourite Christmas films, though, she still wondered why everyone had been congratulating her today. Maybe her Nativity video had really been so amazingly good that people just had to comment on it. Nina decided that this was the only plausible explanation, and so was feeling particularly spirited as it reached breaktime and she sent the kids out to play.

She was sitting in her classroom reading all the messages she’d missed on her group chat when Willam practically crashed through her door.

“Oh my God!” she yelled, practically vibrating with excitement. “Congratulations, you lucky fucker! That’s gotta be the cutest damn thing I’ve ever seen. I mean Bianca probably wants your head on a plate for keeping it in, but still! How’re you celebrating? Should we go to the shop at lunchtime and get prosecco? I mean it’s the last few days of term, I’m sure drinking on the job’s allowed. Court wouldn’t tell anyone.”

Willam was talking with such speed that it took a few seconds for Nina to register everything she’d said. “Why…would Bianca want my head on a plate?”

Willam snorted. “I mean it’s kinda obvious. You don’t think she’s gonna be pissed about it? Then again, maybe she won’t. I don’t know, I can’t get inside her head. I’m not on that Honey I Shrunk The Kids kinda bullshit.”

Nina felt her head was so clouded that even if she possessed the brightest fog lights in the world she still couldn’t see what Willam was trying to say.

“Willam,” she asked, slowly and carefully as she rested her head in her hands. “What the hell are you talking about?”

There was a pause as Willam froze, then as her eyes became huge and wide as she slowly raised a finger to point at Nina. “Jesus Harvey Christ. You…you don’t know, do you?”

Nina frowned, bewildered. “Know what?”

“Oh my God. You don’t know. This is the best thing ever. You don’t even know!” Willam howled with laughter, then, before Nina could ask what she was meant to not know, Willam had dashed out of her classroom and had begun yelling into the hall. “Courtney! Court! She doesn’t know!”

Nina began to feel her heart beat in heavy thuds as the bell went to signal the end of playtime. What didn’t she know?

Eventually Nina managed to reach the end of the day. How, she didn’t know. She was so confused by all the different odd events of the day that she felt she didn’t properly make sense at any point to her class, but that probably didn’t matter as they were all so wrapped up in Christmas nonsense that Nina could’ve left the classroom and they wouldn’t have given a shit.

She was just getting ready to leave work for the weekend when Bianca stuck her head into her classroom and made her almost jump fifty feet in the air.

“Nina,” she began, in her own blunt, abrasive way. She didn’t wait for Nina to greet her as she continued. “I know you must be wandering around with your head in the clouds at the moment, but next time do you think you could maybe just run the video by me first? I mean you’re very lucky that the parents took that well. I mean it’s really about the kids, y’know?”

Nina could only blink at her wide-eyed like a deer in the headlights, getting into trouble but not entirely sure what for. Loath to say anything in response, she simply nodded.

“I mean you should’ve really kept it out,” Bianca frowned. She let the awkward, tense silence hang in the air for a few moments before a humoured smile appeared on her face. “But congratulations. I’m very happy for you.”

Without stopping for Nina to reply, Bianca had turned on her heel and left her classroom. Nina could only look at the space she’d previously been standing in. Maybe all of this was a dream. A fever dream. She’d probably contracted some sort of illness and was experiencing some hallucinogenic vision.

She didn’t know how she made it home without causing a crash, but she managed, and as soon as she was through the door she began to vent to the person she loved most.  

“Monet!” she called through to the kitchen, hanging her belongings up. “I’ve had the weirdest fucking day in living memory. So first all the teachers were congratulating me…then I got a present from the parents…then Willam was screaming about me not knowing something…and then Bianca gave me a row at the end of the day…but I still don’t know exactly why…but then she said congratulations to me too?”

It was only when Nina stopped and walked through to the kitchen that she saw the kitchen table all done up with candles and laid beautifully, Nina’s favourite meal (slow cooker beef and buttery mash) on two plates, and Monet sitting at the table with her makeup done, dressed in a backless blue bodycon that Nina had once very nearly broke the zip of trying to rip it off her one weekend away.

“Uh…” Nina frowned, more confused than ever. Slowly, as a smile spread across Monet’s face, she began to connect all the dots of weird and the picture it presented illustrated that somehow her girlfriend had to be behind it all. “Okay, what’s going on?”

Monet got up and leant against the kitchen counter. She very gently took both of Nina’s hands in hers. “You didn’t watch the whole video once I exported it, did you?”

Something like dread crossed with excitement began to pool in Nina’s gut. She narrowed her eyes. “Monet…what did you do?”

Wordlessly, Monet reached back across to the table where she picked up her phone and loaded up the Nativity video. Skipping to the end, she got past the end of Jingle Bells and showed the video to Nina. The screen faded to black, and then, Nina watched as another little title card faded into view.

To the teacher that always gives so much of herself to others, I now want to give all of myself to you.

Miss West, will you marry me?

Love, Monet x

And suddenly everything in Nina felt as if it was made of fire, adrenaline and jet fuel. Her eyes flew open, her hand smacked against her shocked, gaping mouth. Her pulse raced and her heart hammered and all of her limbs turned to jelly to the extent she wasn’t sure she was able to stand any more. When she took her eyes off her phone screen and looked at Monet, her girlfriend was down on their kitchen floor, down on one knee like in every princess movie Nina had ever seen, her hair soft and curled and loose on her shoulders and a bright smile on her painted taupe lips. Gemstone tears brimmed in her dark eyes and hung from her lashes like icicles, and there, in her outstretched hands, was an open navy box.

Inside was a ring - gold band, one small diamond - and it was when Nina saw it that she gave a sob, her own tears springing from her eyes like a broken fountain, uncontrollable and erratic.

“Oh, baby, c’mere,” Monet gave a small laugh, shaking her head and immediately rising from the floor to wrap her arms around her in a hug. Nina took a few shaky, shallow breaths, pawing at Monet’s chest to release herself from her grip and look her in the eyes.

“You! You knew…all this time, and you…you put it in the video, oh my GOD, Monet, I could’ve got in so much trouble…I did get in so much trouble, oh my God…and you didn’t even tell me-”

“I thought you’d at least watch the damn thing through before you uploaded it!” Monet burst out laughing through her tears, and Nina joined in in a lightheaded, giddy way.

“I can’t believe this is real. Fuck. My whole body feels like that time we did poppers in Crete. Oh my God. Is this happening? You want to marry me?”

“Well, I would love to marry you, but I’m waiting on an answer,” Monet smiled bashfully, bringing her arm out from around Nina’s waist and holding the ring up so Nina could see it.

The diamond only seemed to glisten more when she saw it through the tears in her own eyes, and the gold shone warm like the brightest star. It was an engagement ring- her engagement ring- and it was real, and it was surreal, but Monet was in front of her waiting for an answer with tears in her eyes and hope in her heart that matched her own.

And Nina had never been one to say no to anything.

[tomorrowimjustdirt]

Forty miles from her home in South Los Angeles Mitrice Richardson sat in a Lost Hills Sherriff's Department located in Calabasas, California.

Mitrice was an intelligent, goal orientated, care free, 24 year old, college graduate with a bachelor of arts in psychology. In 2009 she was working towards a masters degree. To support herself she worked at ex-girlfriend Tessa Moon's family business and part time as a go go dancer at a popular lesbian night club.

For the past several months leading up to the event which took place, Richardson had been increasingly acting in ways those close to her deemed "strange" and "odd". Most notably her mother Latice Sutton had began receieving text messages from Mitrice, one reading, "Im writing a book (my journals) because u told me I can be anything I wanted…u told me I was Miss America, u told me I was Americas Next Top Model…now do u know what I want to be when I grow up? Miss Mother Nature…cuz Miss America is a fake ass joke along with everything else we 'see' so I'm trying to find my way to Michelle Obama to see if she will talk to Mr. Obama about creating my position within the White House."

Latice replied "Call me!" to which Mitrice responded "I feel joy mommie…not everyone has to die to live. I heard in the Bible Jesus dies so we can live forever… now I have to prove the 'unlogic'

On the afternoon of September 16, 2009 Mitrice stated that while at work she had been watching a soap opera and that Jesus spoke to her telling her to take the rest of the afternoon off, which she did.

She ended up at Geofferys, an upscale restaurant located in Malibu. Once there she used the valet service. Before going in to the restaurant she went and sat in the valet staffers own car. He had asked why she was there, "its subliminal" is all Mitrice answered.

Inside the restaurant Richardson ordered a cocktail and steak. She spoke of avenging Michael Jacksons death and joined a large group of guests she did not know. She spoke to them about astrological signs and an upcoming trip to Hawaii, she promised she'd call them once she got there. Staffers checked on the group and while this was all strange, the group assured them that everything was fine.

Mitrice eventually returned to her own table and once finished with her meal proceeded to leave without paying. She was stopped and asked to pay. She wouldn't be able to she said, unless she could offer sex as payment, or maybe call her great grandmother. The manager allowed her to call Mildred, her 90 year old great grandmother whom she was currently living with. Mildred was offering to pay the $89 bill through credit card over the phone. However, they would need a signature which would require Mildred to be there in person, something she wasn't able to do.

During the conversation Mitrice seemed unfazed by what was going on and continued to make odd remarks. With staffers growing more concerned for her well being, the police were called.

Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department arrived and talked to staffers and Mildred regarding Mitrice. A field sobreity test was conducted on Richardson, she was sober. They could see Mitrice was acting a bit strange, but overall thought she was fine. They were not going to arrest her until the manager decided to press charges for her not paying the meal ticket in hopes that she would be taken to the sheriff department or hospital for a mental wellness check.

With Mildred still on the phone she commented to Mitrice, "they're gettin' ready to take your black ass to jail." to which no response came from Richardson.

Richardson's car with her purse and phone inside was searched and taken to a nearby impound lot.

Mildred notified Richardsons mother Latice letting her know the situation that had unfolded.

Latice called the L.A. Sheriffs Department around 9:30pm asking when her daughter would be released. They assured her they wouldn't relase her until the next morning. Latice had her 10 year old daughter asleep at home with her and didn't want to drag her 40 miles away in the middle of the night, so she stated to a deputy, "I think the only way I will come out there tonight is if you guys are going to release her... she's not from that area and I

I would hate to wake up to a morning report of 'Girl Lost Somewhere with Her Head Chopped Off' "

Upon their loose assement of Mitrice's mental state, they found her to be well enough to be released at 12:28am, even though several statements have deputies claiming they believed Mitrice to be suffering a bipolar episode.

At 5:35am Latice called the department and became enraged and extremely concerned to learn Mitrice had been released to wander off alone.

Little is known about what happened after Mitrice Richardson left the Sherrifs Department, other than she set off down the desolate road on foot.

Latice was advised by Deputy Kenneth Bomgardner to wait at least 24 hours to report Mitrice missing, which she did.

Over the next 11 months several searches of the surrounding area were conducted as well as the reviewing of the security footage collected from the sheriff department. Unfortunately any signs of Mitrice never came to light from the ground searches, but a possible lead came from that night she was released. Edited footage shows Mitrice leaving the sheriffs department followed out the door by a deputy. After being questioned on numerous occasions by journalists the unnamed deputy commented, “The night this nonsense happened, I was one of the guys that kept away from this, minding my own business.”

On August 11, 2010 the mummified body of Mitrice Richardson was found in a creek bed.

Her remains were poorly collected by police without supervison of the lead coroner, and the surrounding area was not secured for investigation. The usual procedure of collecting soil samples and taking photos fell to the wayside. The lack of regard for proper collection made it very difficult for any sort of evidence to be collected and lead to the coroner not being able to conclude a manner of death, just saying there didn't seem to be any foul play.

Lt. Michael Rosson, who supervised the LASD in the removal of Richardson, stated that he believes: animals removed Mitrice's clothing, she may have been bitten by a rattlesnake, or that she may have went into anaphylactic shock after being in contact with poison oak.

Rosson along with other LASD spokesmen state that in no way was this a homicide and that the LASD is in no way responsible for Mitrice Richardson's death.

The retrieval of Mitrice Richardson was so sloppy and unethical that it drew concerned interest from Clea Koff, a former FBI United Nations forensic anthropologist. Koff now runs the Missing Person's Identification Resource Center. Koff stated her disgust for the lack of evidence and disputed the theories given by Rosson.

A few months after Mitrice's body was found, Latice, a family friend, and Clea Koff went to the creek bed and found a finger bone belonging to Mitrice.

In July 2011, Latice Sutton had Richardson's body exhumed for further investigation. Koff hoped the FBI would conduct the autopsy, unfortunately they declined. LASD's crime lab conducted the autopsy with no new findings.

Latice Sutton and Michael Richardson each filed lawsuits against the LASD for their negligence in Mitrice's case. They were each awarded $450,000.

They also asked for the California attorney general Kamala Harris to review the LASD's reports regarding Mitrice. In 2005, after the 500 page report was reviewed Harris announced "there was insufficient evidence to support criminal prosecution of anyone involved in the handling of the case."

Sadly as of 2020, Mitrice Richardsons case remains cold.

[zwritestuff]

Some Things Are Bound To Be (Chapter Seven) - Kyara

A/N: I'M SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT, I've been going crazy with school, but I'm almost free, and true to my fashion, I wrote this instead of sleeping 😌 It's fine, I'm fine. Hopefully y'all like the chapter, thanks to Emerald ( @fromthenorthernskies​ ) for beta-ing! We're nearing the end, but these dumbasses still can't figure their shit out.

Read on AO3.

***

Priyanka doesn’t slap her when she tells her, though she wants to. Badly.

“You stupid bitch,” she exclaims, invading her personal space as she leans foward, mouth agape. Kyne doesn’t know if she should laugh or push her away, so she does the next logical thing and shoves Priyanka off, reaching for the bowl of chips. “You like her, but you’re gonna break up with her? Kyne, what the fuck.”

Kyne cringes only a little, partially because she’s sure even the people from the other building are able to hear Priyanka’s annoyed yell, and she knew this would be her reaction the moment the words left her mouth. The moment she had gotten that message from Kiara, she knew their scheme was bound to end—what else could she possibly want to talk about? Not the weather, obviously and not-- not Kyne’s stupid fantasy of a love confession, definitely not that.

So, only one option was left, and the clearest one at that. Kyne couldn’t bear the anticipation pooling at the pit of her stomach, so she did the next logical thing and invited Priyanka over, otherwise she would’ve ended up without nails by Monday.

She sighs a little, not letting the defeat show in her face.

“Not everything has a happy ending, Pri. And, y’know, we could still be friends, I guess.” Kyne shrugs, taking a mouthful of chips, and Priyanka knits her brows in a frown, silent for a moment too long. Kyne tenses.

Oh no. Priyanka, silent? Something is coming. Most likely, something Kyne won’t like to hear.

“No,” Priyanka finally says, quizzically. Kyne cocks a brow, setting the chips bowl back on the coffee table. 

“No?” She repeats.

Priyanka gives her a look; not a fiery one, like she always has when she’s about to give her a heartfelt speech when she feels like she might need one. No. It’s hard to put a finger on the emotion she’s looking at her with, but it’s neither pity nor concern—it might just be easier to call it a Priyanka-esque look. 

“No, this isn’t like you at all,” she says, folding her arms, an accusatory tone dripping from her tongue. Ah, shit. Not another pep-tak. “Fuck, if you were to tell me years ago that Kyne, the one bitch that stuck up to fucking Professor Brooke Lynn Hytes back in college, because she knew she had graded her papers wrong, would even think of giving up on a girl she likes, just because she might get in trouble with her parents I woud tell you to fuck right off, because that’s not my friend. Not at all.”

Kyne groans, rolls her eyes and grabs the nearest pillow to smash her head against. It annoys her that Priyanka is right, again. She hasn’t let her live down the fact she had to tell her she liked Kiara for her to realize, to begin with. And she’s convinced she’s never going to hear the end of it when--

--when there’s a pat on her head, and a heavy sigh.

She looks up and sees Priyanka, gazing at her with a more understanding gaze. She doesn’t look like she wants to strangle her—not for now, at least.

“You should tell her, y’know,” she says, with a tone that conveys she knows she’s right. Kyne knows she is, and she hates it. Priyanka might be stupid sometimes, but she’s stupidly cunning—for important things, anyway. And this, Kyne thinks, she’s deemed important.

So she just avoids her gaze, fidgeting with her hands. “But what if it’s not mutual? What do I do then? She’ll think I only accepted to be her fake girlfriend to use her.” She chews the inside of her cheek. It had been more than a recurring thought ever since she realized her feelings for Kiara, and more than once it had slipped through her mind. The idea that Kiara would just straight up stop talking to her if she thought she’d been used this whole time. That, or she would be fired on the spot.

(Bo’s words still run through her mind every so often, and it’s becoming rarer and far in between the times when she lets Kiara touch her in any way. Because if she does, Kyne’s not sure if she would be able to hold back.)

Priyanka groans, pulling and pinching the skin under her eyes. “God, I know you’re-- that we are lesbians, but god damn, not even I am this useless, and I’ve been pining for Kiara’s secretary for months now!”

“You’ve been pining for Lena?” Kyne echoes, but Priyanka dismisses it with a wave of her hand.

“Don’t change the topic, that’s my job, and I don’t wanna change it now. What I mean, is that Kiara definitely likes you, but you’re literally the last to know. Again.”

Kyne blinks, what Priyanka said not fully sinking in just yet. Then, she bushes furiously, much like the first time, and shoves Priyanka.

“No she doesn’t.”

“Oh my God, I will actually murder you one of these days.” Priyanka pinches the bridge of her nose, and then looks at her with a tired expression. “Yes, she fucking does. You literally spend all your time with her, and you haven’t picked up on the way she looks at you? I swear it’s the most stupid, lovey-dovey look I’ve ever seen, I’m disgusted just thinking about it,” she says, making faces and pulling her tongue out, and it really doesn’t help the blush that takes power in Kyne’s cheeks.

Dear Jesus, not another thing Priyanka had been able to pick up on her relationship with Kiara before her. She should get her a date with Lena, maybe that way she’ll stay out of her business.

But right now, there’s really no escaping Priyanka, since this is her own apartment, and she can’t kick her out at 1 a.m., so she sits through the scolding with an annoyed glare that Priyanka can’t care less about.

“Pri, stop, I get it; I’m dumb, blind, whatever. I know,” Kyne finally says, stopping Priyanka’s pointless rant about Kyne being the biggest useless lesbian she knows. She sighs heavily, knowing Priyanka won’t like what she’s about to hear. “And as much as I’d like to believe you, I don’t wanna risk my job, just because you’re delusional again.”

Priyanka yelps, slightly offended, and squints at her. “You know she can’t fire you just because, right?” She asks slowly, and Kyne scoffs. Of course she knows. But if she fired girls she slept with and no one batted an eye, then what are the odds she’ll be any different?

She tells Priyanka what Bo told her in big details, and she looks at her in disbelief.

“Fuck all the way off, that’s not true.”

Kyne cocks a brow, “How do you know?”

“Because Bo hates Kiara’s guts since her father fired one of her friends, but, like, they were on their right to fire her. She was purposely sabotaging projects, I think it was because her sister had married some dude owner of a rival company; the details are kinda blurry.” Priyanka folds her arms, an accusatory glance twinkles in her eyes, though it’s not directed at her, not really. “Didn’t you know? It’s all she talks about since you became closer with Kiara.”

Kyne blinks repeatedly, not really believing what she’s just heard. Priyanka’s stare is burning a hole through her, expecting an answer, but Kyne swears there’s white noise engulfing her, numbing her; the only thing she feels are her nails digging in her palms.

Bo lied to her? How could she? Even if she didn’t like Kiara, she had no right to lie to her; especially knowing full well she’d believe her. They were friends, after all.

Well, maybe tomorrow they won’t be.

“Why— why would she lie to me? I don’t get it.”

She knows Bo is as fiercely protective as she’s petty, holding grudges until she forgets why she was mad in the first place. But this? This is a low blow.

Priyanka shrugs, not really sure either. “I don’t know, girl, but she must have a good explanation. This doesn’t sound like her at all,” she offers, and Kyne desperately hopes she’s right.

She would never be able to forgive Bo for making her replace all the eagerness and comfort she felt around Kiara with panic and heightened fear of losing her job, every time their hands brushed and Kiara’s tentative fingers tried to reach for her.

Well, maybe she would, but it would take many apologies and a drink or three. Or maybe a whole bottle.

***

Monday morning comes around, and Kyne tries to not break the foam cup with Kiara's coffee with her tight grip, anxiety pooling in her stomach at the sole thought of what she's about to do.

Priyanka spent the entire night trying to convince her to just tell Kiara about her feelings, to woman up and rip the bandaid at once without much thinking. Kyne had finally relented only when they were about to fall fast asleep, and the alcohol was making the room spin ever so slightly, as she decided she didn't have anything to lose by telling Kiara of her feelings.

If she ended up losing her job, Priyanka had said she could hook her up with one of her cousins, a well-respected lawyer, so they could sue the Schatzis for all they had. Of course she wished they didn't have to go to that extreme, and even dared to dream of a movie-like moment.

Of course, dreams are a thing completely different in reality, she reminds herself of that when she lets herself in Kiara's office, briefly greeting Lena and sliding past her, who doesn't even give her much of a glance.

(At some point Lena stopped caring about her, even developed a sixth sense to know whenever she was around to not waste her time in telling her to wait a second so she could tell Kiara she was coming.)

Kiara is already scribbling something on a notepad, holding her phone to her ear with her other hand, and Kyne knows that by the scowl plastered on her face she should wait a second before saying anything.

But then she glances up, her expression easing up in a second as a smile blooms on her face, signaling her to sit down, doing silly faces when she points at the phone, and she wants to laugh stupidly loud because anything Kiara does she finds endearing, but they'll have time for that later.

“They were out of chocolate chips, so I brought you a blueberry muffin,” Kyne says once she hangs up, omitting the part of her knowing blueberry is her second favorite flavor, because she mentioned months ago and she never forgot. She can say that later, so she just passes her the paper bag with the muffin and her cup of coffee. 

Kiara smiles at her, saying a polite thank you as she gives the muffin a bite, leaning back on her chair, looking already tired of work when it's barely starting.

There's silence for a moment too long, where they just eat and sip, but nothing lasts forever, so Kiara is the one to break it.

“I think you'll remember I wanted to talk about something,” she begins, and Kyne nods, prompting her to go on. She's too confident in what she's about to say, thinks they're on the same page. 

Nothing prepares her for when Kiara leans forward, the smile all but gone and replaced with a neutral expression, and Kyne just knows something is bad. That this won't end like she wants.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” she continues, fidgeting with her rings, avoiding her gaze. When she locks eyes with her, there isn't any hint of the warmth and kindness is used to see in them. They're hollow, void of any emotion. Her throat closes up in anticipation. “And I think you're right, we should end this pretend relationship before it goes too far.”

Kyne blinks, once then twice, until she's awkwardly staring at Kiara, digging her nails in her palms.

Fuck, she thinks. And for a long second her mind is just a loop of the word fuck. This isn't even Kiara's doing, it's hers, her own words and actions came back to bite her in the ass, and there's no way she can blame Kiara for wanting to call it quits after she snapped at her.

Her plans are gone to waste, there's no way she can bring up the way she feels about her after this. It just wouldn't be right. So she does the next thing she knows best; she deflects.

“Well, I mean, do you think it's been enough time for people to not get suspicious?” She manages to stutter out, trying for the love of her dignity to not let the quiver in her voice give away the tears that are to come at some point.

Her nails dig in her palms further, probably drawing blood, when Kiara just shrugs. Like she doesn't care. And it stings like a bitch.

“Does it matter? For all I know, we've done more than enough. I think it's a good time to stop before-- it's just the time.” Kiara clears her throat, and Kyne wants to ask before what, before she falls even more in love with her, if that's even possible? 

So she inhales sharply, taking a long sip from her coffee, finishing it all in one motion, and tries to not let it show in her expression how much it actually affects her.

“For all I know, I really liked being your fake-girlfriend,” she confesses, and it's not really a lie, but it isn't the entire truth. Kyne did like every second of it, even if at the beginning her mind was clouded with anxiety and fears, she liked having lunch with her and spending time together outside work hours, liked when she laughed so hard she ran out of air, and her nose scrunched up and she made a weird sound that she said she was ashamed of. She liked when she'd absent-mindlessly run her hands through her hair when they were watching a movie together, and it would send shivers down her spine. 

(And Kiara, she just likes all about Kiara. She likes Kiara.)

It’s just that, for a fleeting moment, she hoped they could be real, that even if Priyanka was wrong and Kiara didn’t like her back, she could grow to like her.

Maybe she could’ve loved her if she had been given the chance. Maybe she could’ve loved her either way, if she had been given more time. Maybe she could’ve loved her.

(She could’ve.)

“You can keep my cupcake, I'm not hungry,” Kyne says, giving her a smile, one that doesn’t reach her eyes, one that probably looks forced and not at all real, but she can’t be bothered right now. Not when she feels her heart ache and a lump in her throat prevents her from speaking. 

Kiara just blinks, about to say something else when Kyne leaves without saying anything; she knows the second she opens her mouth, a choked sob would come out.

In exchange, Kiara doesn’t say anything to her for the rest of the day, and the day becomes the week, and it stings deeply in Kyne’s chest. She was so close to saying it, to stop letting the words linger in the air and manifest them. 

But it’s over now. So suddenly and abruptly, and it's all her fault.

Kyne supposses it’s her own fault for not being honest sooner, for letting the lies numb her good judgement. She knew Kiara, it was impossible that she was capable of any of the things Bo said she did were true, and yet—

She shakes her head, trying to concentrate on her job.

Kiara not talking to her isn't the end of the world she thinks it is, even if it feels like it. She'll eventually get over it, find someone new and forget she ever felt something for her. 

But God, it's easier said than done, when she sees her every day around the company, and for once she knows where the rumours of her being cold hearted come from; she doesn't see her crack a smile once. Not even the tiniest smirk, and if Kyne didn't know better she'd say the two women she's always hanging out with look at her when she passes by with an annoyed glance. 

Kyne wants the earth to open and swallow her whole. 

By the second week of silence, she catches Kiara's glance on her way to a meeting by pure chance; she's looking at Bo, who's telling her about this guy from Tinder she's been seeing, just when Kiara is coming out from another office. Their eyes meet for a fleeting moment, and it digs a deeper hole in her chest when she finds they're still void of any emotion.

Fuck, she misses her so much. Kyne swears she could cry right there and then if she didn't have to speak at a stupid budget meeting for a new project.

“So is it true?” Bo says enigmatically, and Kyne cocks a brow.

“What?”

“That you and Miss Bitch Heiress broke up.” She stops in her tracks, shit, news fly fast, don't they? Bo gives her a pitiful smile and a pat on the shoulder, but Kyne swats her hand away.

“Don't act like you didn't want this to happen,” she snarls, resuming her walk. She hasn't brought up that she knows she lied to her, because that implies reminding herself how much she royally fucked up, so she's been avoiding it. Kyne sure has a talent for avoiding her problems until they blow up in her face.

“Well, I sure as hell didn't want you getting hurt because of her,” Bo tries to defend herself, but Kyne just rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, sure,” she merely replies, not looking at her, hurrying her steps, feeling a lump growing in her throat by the second. 

It bottles up, like it always does, even though she promised Priyanka she'd try to let it out. The thing is, as much as Kyne knows she can trust Priyanka, it's not like she isn't constantly worried of being a burden with her feelings ever since Kiara called their pretend relationship quits, so she tries to limit the amount of things she tells Priyanka. 

She doesn't tell her she barely sleeps, that she can't see cupcakes without feeling nauseous, that she picks up her pace when she walks by the restaurant she took Kiara to for the first time - that she's even contemplated burning the damn dress she bought her. That it pains her to look at it every time she opens her closet and sees it hanging there, among her other clothes, because it sticks as a sore thumb out and it reminds her of how happy she was that night with her. 

It all bottles up, and admittedly, she should've known better than to drink her feelings away.

It's Friday night, and they're at a new bar that opened around Scarlett's place. She's actually put effort in her appearance, curling her hair and picking one of her prettiest dresses, done her best eyeshadow in ages—and yet, no amount of tequila shots can fill up the void she feels in her chest.

She ends up crying and admitting how she really feels when she accompanies Priyanka outside for a quick smoke that turns into a full therapy session. Or well, something akin to it.

“I miss her,” Kyne cries out, Priyanka wipes the tears away before the rimmel ruins her whole face.

“I know,” she replies simply.

“Shit, should I call her now and tell her everything?” Priyanka groans, visibly cringing.

“Baby, gimme your phone, you’re not calling anyone at three a.m. unless it’s an Uber,” she says, reaching to grab Kyne’s phone, and for a drunk person she’s far too quick to move her hand away.

“But--”

“Listen, bitch, you know I love talking and giving pep talks,” Priyanka cuts her off, “But, I am sure you would forget it by the morning, so we’re not having this conversation right now.”

Kyne rolls her eyes, folding her arms; why Priyanka has to be right even when both are one shot away from being drunk out of their minds? It’s not fair.

“So, now that’s sorted out,” she says, stomping on her cigarette, “We’re going home bitch, I can’t have you following me around the bar looking like a raccoon,” Priyanka speaks matter-of-factly, and Kyne gasps offended, swatting her arm. But she ends up giving in when she unlocks her phone and sees what her tears have done to her rimmel.

They go back inside to find the others to tell them that they’re leaving, and Kyne doesn’t have time to think of an excuse to give Scarlett as to why her eyes look puffy when Priyanka tells them what happened. Scarlett immediately coos and wraps her in a clumsy hug, saying how sorry she is, that she looked so happy with Kiara, she never would’ve imagined it would end so soon.

“Bobo, shut the fuck up before I cry again,” she warns, half-jokingly, half-serious. Scarlett lets her go, but a decided look settles on their face.

“Fuck no bitch, you need us now; we’re all goin’ back to my place, and we’re not lettin’ you go to sleep until you crack a smile-- and stop lookin’ like a damn raccoon.”

“I don’t look like a raccoon!” Kyne yelps, offended.

“Yes, you do,” Bo pipes up, and Kyne grumbles while her friends laugh at her expense.

So, they make their way back to Scarlett’s apartment, arms linked as they talk about anything that comes up to their minds to distract Kyne. And it works, she laughs until her stomach hurts, and tears pool at the corner of her eyes, except they’re not sad tears this time, and she feels so grateful for her friends as she kicks off her shoes, and Scarlett drags Priyanka to help them re-arrange things in her room to fit everyone.

She’s left alone with Bo, who’s been rather silent towards her these past days. Kyne knows why, but she isn’t sure right now it’s the time to bring it up.

Of course, nothing ever goes like she wants it to, so Bo clears her throat before speaking.

“Kyne, listen, I have something to tell you--”

“I know,” Kyne cuts her off, not wanting to deal with this right now. “Priyanka, she told me you hate Kiara. She told me why, she told me everything.” She meets Bo’s gaze, and it hurts her only a little when she sees the regret in her expression. Her petty side is stronger when she’s drunk.

Bo inhales sharply before speaking, “Yeah, I know. Priyanka scolded me about it when you refused to go out for lunch with us for the third time in a row,” she admits, toying with the hem of her shirt. “Listen, I didn’t mean for this to happen, I was trying to look out for you so you wouldn’t get hurt, but--”

“But it happened either way,” Kyne finishes, sinking further into Scarlett’s couch. Bo sighs, sitting next to her.

“And I’m sorry about it, you really did look happy,” she muses quietly, giving her a pat on the shoulder. Kyne can’t be bothered to swat her away again. “I guess I never really forgot her for breaking my friend Abril’s heart.”

Kyne frowns, curious; Kiara never spoke of any Abril. “Is that your friend that sabotaged projects and shit?” She wonders, turning to look at her. Bo sighs heavily.

“Yup, the one and only. She was Kiara’s friend from college, and she was the one that got her the job. I think they were dating at that point, I don’t remember well,” Bo recalls, trying to make sense of the blurry memories. In the end, she dismisses it with a wave of her hand. “Whatever. Now that I’m being honest, I wasn’t even sure the rumors about her sleeping around were true, I just believed them out of spite.”

She blinks repeatedly, not really believing what she’s hearing.

“So you feel bad for the girl that used Kiara and betrayed her trust, instead of feeling bad for the girl that got her reputation ruined before she actually started working at the company?” Kyne says slowly, and Bo cringes at herself.

“When you put it like that it makes me sound like an asshole,” she complains, and Kyne almost snaps her optic nerve with the way she rolled her eyes.

She’s over this discussion already, and she’s not really sure what did she gain out of it; closure, maybe? Whatever it is, she decides she’ll think this new information through when she’s more sober—and her face doesn’t itch with the ruined foundation. So she just stands up and asks Bo if she’s going to take her make-up off, and Bo follows her to the bathroom without saying anything.

Later on, when Priyanka and Scarlett are done scattering blankets and pillows on the ground, she’s able to sleep peacefully for what feels like the first time in years. Maybe she should keep this in mind for the next time a rich girl breaks her heart; there isn’t a better way to sleep than using Scarlett as a pillow, while Priyanka is sprawled over her and, ironically enough, butting heads with Bo.

***

Another Monday comes around, and Priyanka has decided to put the non-sense to an end. She solemnly walks up to Rita Baga’s office, saying to Tynomi that she has important business stuff to discuss with her. Yes, like that. 

Tynomi side-eyes her, but ends up letting her in, anyway. It’s still early and she knows for a fact Rita doesn’t have anything important until ten a.m., so she sends Priyanka in.

Rita looks as imponent as she always does, and the way she quirks her eyebrow at Priyanka absolutely does not intimidate her.

Fine, maybe a little.

“How can I help you, miss…?” She squints, and only then Priyanka remembers she’s never properly talked with her. 

“My name’s Priyanka, and you can help me by listening to me and then talking some sense into your friend,” she says, and Rita cocks her head, furrowing her brow. Okay, maybe she should be more specific. “I’m Kyne’s best friend, and if my instinct is right, Kiara is as sad for their break up as her. Which is why I need your help; you see, my idiot is convinced your idiot hates her, but I know better than that, so if you’d help me to push them to talk things out, I will be eternally grateful.” 

Should she be calling Kiara an idiot in front of her friend and fellow CEO? Probably not, but anyway, what’s done is done.

Rita goes from confused to surprised, to confused again. She clears her throat before speaking, “I’m sorry, I thought Kyne was the one that wanted to end things…?”

“Oh, it’s a bit of a complicated situation, but I assure you, she absolutely regrets snapping at Kiara.”

They stare at each other for a long second, before Rita finally reaches for her phone and calls up her secretary.

“Tynomi, would you mind coming in for a minute? We have a bit of a problem.”