#who would get her own chapter in my hypothetical thesis

[bronanlynch]

the thing abt thinking of who my favorite fictional woman is is that if I let myself pick too many I'll just start listing like. most women from many gundams and then instead of listing characters Iike I'll be writing an essay abt gender in gundam and the way gender is used thematically in various gundam stories and how sometimes it's done in ways I find incredibly compelling and rich grounds for analysis even if I ultimately disgree with the conclusions and sometimes it's not (in both directions, sometimes it's just good and interesting without the disclaimers and sometimes it's bad in ways that do not compel me and are not interesting for me to analyze) and also why transition would not save char but she should do it anyway and that's maybe a little much for the tags of someone else's post

[wannawritefast]

Whiplash: Chapter 1- Playing Defense

A/N: Hey, y’all. I know the prologue didn’t get a whole lot of attention but I’ve written a substantial amount for this and I am VERY proud of how much I’ve written and what I’ve written. Also, huge shoutout to @andtheswordwentsnickersnack​ for beta reading this beast of a fic that I’ve been working on for WAYYYY too long LMAO...

Pairing: BoRhap!Brian May x fem!Reader

Prologue

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, awful men, sexism

You loved your family. Really, you did.

But there were times, and many times they were, that you would have been more comfortable ripping your own hair out strand-by-strand than having to sit through another session of verbal abuse.

You weren’t entirely certain what you had done, if anything, to deserve such discrimination from your grandfather, father, and brother amongst a few cousins and uncles. It was like 3 generations of men in your family had decided to use you as a verbal punching bag.

You still vividly remembered the time you had told them that you didn’t particularly appreciate how they talked to you. They laughed right in your face and told you to grow a thicker skin. That Y/l/n’s were a tougher breed than most and that if you couldn’t handle it then maybe you weren’t of their blood.

October break wasn’t any different. Your family had met up for your annual dinner together aside from Christmas.

“And what about you? When are you going to settle down, Y/n?” your grandfather quipped after shoveling a spoonful of mashed potatoes. “I want some great-grandbabies!”

Before you could even open your mouth in response your brother, James, chimed in. “I wouldn’t count on anyone banging her anytime soon.”

“Well,” you chuckled, “would you look at who’s talking?” James grumbled to himself and threw a pea at you which you successfully evaded. You turned your head to address your grandfather. “And I’m not your only grandchild. You have a grandson too, you know.”

You nodded toward your brother and your grandfather hardly even blinked at the last sentence. He either didn’t hear you or didn’t care. Proof that he used any and every opportunity to undermine you. Your grandfather scoffed and mumbled to himself gruffly.

You practically heard your father’s eye roll. “Your career is only so fulfilling.”

“Dad, I’m an astrophysicist and a damn good one, I’d like to think. If my career wasn’t fulfilling enough, I’d be seriously questioning all of the time and money I spent at university writing my thesis and graduating top 5 in my year.” You took a bite out of your roll. Why did you have to defend yourself every time you came home? It was exhausting!

“I’m just saying that you aren’t fully happy until you’ve settled down.”You rolled your eyes at your father. You didn’t have the time to focus on your love life. You barely had time to do your studies as it was. Furthermore, no man you had met seemed to like you after finding out you were an astrophysicist. Nobody seemed to click with you well.

“Why do I need more than my career to be fulfilled in life?” You asked seriously.The whole table laughed at your question. Even the kiddie table laughed but it was just hive mind reflex. You certainly did want to get married and have a family someday but you were making a point to your father. Who was he to dictate what made you happy?

“Please, Y/n,” James piped up again, “that’s what lonely people say to feel better about themselves.”

Ouch. That one stung more than you should have let it. You took a drink to keep yourself from letting a tear roll.

“Who ever said that she’s single?” Your sister spoke suddenly. You coughed and sputtered on your drink. Your neck turned to Donna so swiftly that you probably could have snapped it.

“Are you implying that my eldest daughter is dating a boy,” your mother raised her brows at you conspiratorially, “and didn’t tell me? Is it that smart, goofy boy you fancied at university for the longest time?” She couldn’t seem to keep a grin from spreading across her face.You flushed red at her question. Nobody needed to know that. Except now they did because you were, apparently, no longer single. Everybody at the table locked their eyes on you, muttering to each other. You looked at your sister in panic.

“Go on,” her voice cracked and she cleared her throat before bringing her cup to her lips. “Tell them about your boyfriend.”

Gee thanks… She had just started digging you into a hole.“Wait just a second! Let’s rewind a moment.” James questioned incredulously. “My sister, the stick in the mud astrophysicist, has a boyfriend? Why haven’t you mentioned him before?”

“It’s not relevant who I may or-” you looked at your sister pointedly; she fiddled with her fork “-may not be dating.” The fact that James wasn’t buying it was making you quite nervous. You were more offended though than anything. “Is it really so hard to believe that I’d be dating someone?”

“Yes!”

“Believe it, James” Donna insisted, pointing her fork at him. Put down your damn shovel!

“Have you banged him?” Your brother asked in the silence.

You picked up your drink and splashed him in the face. Your mother softly scolded you for your actions but you were completely unapologetic for what James more than deserved. How you shared the same DNA with such a tool was beyond you… 

“That is hardly your business,” you snipped. You turned and stared down Donna. You were going to have to tell them the truth…

“Ok, that’s quite enough,” your mother stopped everything. Oh, thank the Lord. “We’re here to talk about your sister not her boyfriend.” Thank you, mother. “She’ll just have to bring him over for Christmas!”

You stood up from your chair and it scraped along the floor. What had you done…“That’s ridiculous! What if he wants us to spend time with his family for Christmas?” Why were you even going along with this? Why were you defending your hypothetical boyfriend?

“Then you can split the time between the two!”

“What if he doesn’t want to meet you guys yet?” You suggested. This hole is getting awfully big, Y/n. “Meeting parents is a big deal!” The statement came out as more of a question than a defense. You were honestly hoping for one, just one, objection to stick. “I don’t want to scare him off.”

“Who wouldn’t want to meet us?” Your mother asked. You resisted the urge to answer the question.

“Well, what if we’re not even together anymore by that time?”

“Wow, you really can’t hold onto a man for that long, Y/n? It seems to me like you would have been making this whole thing up if you are ‘broken up’ by then.” James finished wiping his face with a napkin after his encounter with your drink. You locked eyes with him. He was onto you.

“I’m not making this up,” you lied. Apparently you hadn’t put down your shovel yet either.“Then bring him home for Christmas,” James challenged. “Otherwise we’ll know it's a lie.”

Your family was on the edge of their seats and, for the time being, the logistics of the challenge didn’t matter. You were fed up with your brother constantly tearing you down. You were tired of your father not being pleased with anything you did. And you were exhausted by your grandfather’s insistence that you were nothing more than a source for great-grandkids. You got no respect at work and you certainly didn’t get any damn respect at home.

And so you did it. You extended your arm toward your stupid brother’s stupid hand and grasped it firmly with a shake.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, brother dearest.”

[{...}]

Eventually the extended family left and you went to your sister’s bedroom since you were sharing the room and the bed for break.

“Why in the bloody hell would you do something like that?!” You lowered your voice so that your family, more specifically James, wouldn’t hear you. Your sister sat on the bed cross-legged, fiddling with the ends of her hair.

“I’m sorry!” Donna yelled. You shushed her as you brushed your hair. “I couldn’t just watch. James crossed a line with that comment. I just wanted to wipe that stupid smile off of his dumb face.”

“Watch your language, why don’t you?” You teased. She rolled her eyes at you. “But I was fine, honestly. I’m used to it.”

“You shouldn’t be!” You hissed at Donna to be quiet again. “It was nice for them to shut up for a few moments and see you as a normal human being.”

Your heart was warm but you were in a state of complete panic. “That’s such a sweet sentiment in such a terrible circumstance!” You dug your fingers into your temples and threw yourself onto the bed. “What am I supposed to do? I can’t just go up to a guy and say ‘I need you to be my fake boyfriend because my sister dug me into a bloody hole’! You know I can barely get guys to talk to me on a casual basis!” Your voice dropped in volume, no louder than a whisper. “What makes you think that I can get one to play my boyfriend?” You let out a frustrated sigh.

“I honestly did not foresee the consequences of my actions and I am very sorry.”

“Do you think?” You growled to yourself. “Bloody hell… what am I going to do?”

Your sister scratched the back of her neck. “I mean, you have time… It is only October…”

“But I’m going to have to find someone eventually… if I find one.” You gnawed on a fingernail.

“You’ll be fine!” Donna breathed. She curled herself into the blankets next to you. You felt sick to your stomach.

“Yeah…,” you inhaled deeply, “and I’ve got time…”

[welcometomy20s]

January 10th, 2021

Action Button Review

Review

Tim Rogers reminds me of Hank Green. They are about the same age, they look about the same age which is a combination of young and old that feel eternal. They also have the same length of experience in writing in online spaces, interest in Japanese media, and apparently have Crohn’s disease? In summary, he might be the closest equivalent to Dave Green that exists in the real world. Well, I guess Dave Green is not apt, as Dave Green is not special in a way, while Tim Rogers is special, but his speciality comes from his failures rather than his counterparts' success.

Tim Rogers is a hypothetical Green brother who did not decide to publish that book. He’s a hypothetical Green brother who went to Japan instead of Alabama or Florida. Whose project crashed and burned rather than a surprise success. He’s forged in fire while the Green brothers are eroded by water. Both are wonderful people, but with a different ground of intensity and differing wealth of wisdom.

I encountered this series because I found a twitter post about a six hour review of Tokimeki Memorial, and a white middle-aged man talking about a dating sim for six hours with laudatory blurbs would always pique my interest, but since I didn’t know the guy, I went ahead and looked if he made other videos, and found he has four other review that were all about three hours or more. Now I knew that I had to watch all the reviews to prepare myself for this six hour review of Tokimeki Memorial.

Now, I wasn’t a stranger to three hour reviews of video games. I watched Joseph Anderson, Raycevick, Whitelight, matthewmatosis, and Noah Gervais-Caldwell. In fact, in the comments below Action Button Reviews, many people talked about a comparison to Noah Gervais-Caldwell (and Brian David Gilbert) and that was quite funny since I actually watched a recent Noah Gervais-Caldwell video.

His first two reviews were perfunctory, him opening himself up and trying out new things and polishing his review style, as he went through the Final Fantasy VII remake and The Last of Us. While I watched The Last of Us, I distinctly remembered and contrasted Noah’s The Last of Us Part 2 review with Tim Roger’s The Last of Us review. I liked Tim Roger’s defense of interactive movies (although he denies it!) contrasted with more cynical but ultimately positive connotation in Noah’s review. And Noah’s thesis pairs nicely with Tim’s observation that Ellie was the main protagonist all along. That fact makes Part 2 much more understandable, even the bad parts.

When I finished watch his first two reviews, I went ahead and also watched several of Tim’s videos on Kotaku, which were slightly shorter, the longest being just over an hour, which is a review of the best games in 1994, and does contain a short segment about Tokimeki Memorial, which his six hour review was my destination. To put in context, Tokimeki Memorial was #3. #1 was Earthbound, #2 was Final Fantasy VI, and #4 was Super Metroid. And I just watched a playthrough of Super Metroid basically on a whim, because it’s a monumental and a great game to play and watch.

And while the segment of the games that I knew to be great and monumental in my absorption of knowing video games was deeply personal and rightly claimed its stake that it deserved its spot, his segment of Tokimeki Memorial never got there. It was almost as if he was deliberately hiding behind something. In the end of 1994 review, Tim pitched an idea about a three hour Earthbound review, which probably was Tim’s idea of floating a departure from Kotaku, which would happen two months later, and I wonder if he was trying to deliberately throw a curveball by making a video of Tokimeki Memorial instead of the promised Earthbound review. This may be a far leap, I admit.

I went back and watched the video about Doom. It was much better in quality and in darkness. I was reminded of Film Crit Hulk’s writing of The World’s End and James Bond, another very long essay that was deeply personal and chapter for easier consumption. Few commenters noticed that Tim Rogers was just doing a dramatic reading of his written reviews on Kotaku and Action Button dot net, and how they liked that approach, and I found myself liking that approach as well. You might believe a video review needs more than just reading an essay out loud, but just the act of reading an essay out loud in the correct intonation and inflection adds ton to experience. And Tim Rogers sounds like he has decades worth of experience to present a dramatic reading of his essay very effectively, much like Hank Green.

I continued scaling the mountain to my goal. I went through his review of Pac-Man and was delighted by his reading of Namco games, and was impressed by the opening sequence, and just generally enjoyed it. I was getting excited to set a day aside and let the six hour review of Tokimeki Memorial watch over me and reduce me to dust.

And it sure did. That six hours was a harrowing experience. What Tim Rogers is best at is telling a story, and so to go through a let’s play was a wish I never made, fulfilled. In the end, I was left with nothing and everything. It was like finishing a really good book.

I wanted to watch it again, then again I never wanted to watch it again. It was almost a traumatic experience. Tim talked about there being endless variation of love, and the love Tim Rogers went through was not the fluffy yet melancholic one that I craved, but one akin to a devotion of an eldritch god. Love made in justification for one’s efforts in attending and maintaining a relationship. A love stronger than most kinds of love, but most draining and taxing as well. Tim Roger’s synopsis of Tennis Monster reminded me of Asking for It by Louise O’Neill, which is also about empathizing a quite hateable character because we kind of have to. Apparently one person knows the full plot because Tim Rogers rambled on about it as he was couch surfing in his house, and unbelieve as it usually is, I fully trust that the commenter is telling the truth.

I was like a heroin addict, who really wanted a different hit, like talking to friends or hiking, my mother wanted me to go hiking with her, and I didn’t because, after the pandemic started, all I wanted to be was inside. Outside felt diseased. The air outside felt contaminated to me, hard to breathe. I was stuck in this place.

Tim Rogers is an exceptional figure. He seems to be a movie protagonist, he reminds me of The Librarian, played by Noah Wyle. Tim has eidetic memory, as he has access every single autobiographical memory formed, but not other types of memory. We know that those types of memory are different because of people like Tim and people who are opposite of Tim, someone who has no memories of autobiographical memory but otherwise fine. These people tend to have very few emotions and have a hard time deciding things. Lack of emotions is correlated with difficulty in decision making.

So Tim is the opposite of that, Tim is full of emotions, complex emotions and he can make decisions and carry it out in a snap. He would be good at school, and he was, but he would be too focused on his grandeur to be under some authority, which is how he became who he was. His anti-authoritarian nature rings throughout his reviews, highlight the general Generation X vibe that Tim exudes but also the modern socialistic movement of Generation Z, which adds to this odd mix of old and new.

Not only does Tim have eidetic memory and intense work ethic that he never seems to move away from, therefore making a three hour video masterpiece at a clip that seems unbelievable for a seasoned viewer, he also has exceptional skills in fast math and language, he seems to be at least familiar with dozens of languages, and of course Tim’s experience is bounded by his decade of living in Japan.

I think this is why Tim naturally gravitates towards video games. When Tim says ‘welcome to video games’ there’s a natural supposition that Tim Rogers is the protagonist of video games, and I think he is. Tim wants to be in video games, because he needs to be in video games, instead of some almighty god cruelly deciding to plop him into a real life. He should be an video game adaptation of The Librarian and go on world-spanning adventure and romance impossibly beautiful girls instead of toiling the grime of what real life portends to. His life is dramatic, but impossibly mundane as well. It’s a simulacrum of a movie or a video game, which is pretty cool on its own.

But of course Tim Rogers isn’t the only part of Action Button Reviews. In the ensuing five videos, Tim Rogers tries to do something. Video games are a wide net. There is so much to video games, something like Gone Home and Geometry Dash are included alongside Wolfenstein The New Colossus and Farmville. What makes a video game? Actually, the more interesting question is, why do we have the term ‘video games’? Why do we put all of this mess into a single category, as if there is some throughline.

Tim Rogers starts to do that. Tim Rogers boldly states that things like Doom and Tokimeki Memorial are intimately connected to each other. And that all video games are in conversation with each other, through deep and complex meta-narratives. Tim Rogers is a cartographer, trying to map out how video games are made whole.

I’ve always strived to be that kind of a cartographer, to showcase the weave of reality, of connecting two seemingly unconnected parts, and showing to a profound implication both existing, instead of one or the other. If you don’t know, I have been trying to write something out of my current obsession with Virtual YouTubers, and mostly Hololive, and while I think I stumbled upon the six hour video review of Tokimeki Memorial outside of my interest in virtual YouTubers, this video, as I expected in the back of my head, gave me plenty of thoughts about Hololive. Its rumination of cyberpunk and idol culture is so directly connected with the peculiarities of Hololive that I was quite astounded.

From the very beginning, I wonder how Tim Rogers thinks about Hololive, especially after he has done that six hour review. I’m sure he will have a lot of interesting thoughts about the prospect. I want to get in contact with him, maybe work under him. But then I don’t want to hang out with him. I want to be near him as he talks to a crowd at a party, but I don’t feel safe to be near him when there’s less than ten people nearby. I think below ten, I would be swept in some danger that I won’t be prepared for.

Tim Rogers and Action Button Review is a fascinating review series and if you have the time, I suggest you should take the journey. It’s well worth it, just to get a different perspective on video games and the world around it.

[joeymozzarello]

Pen to Paper

Chapter Five

Summary: A simple thesis on a simple book she’d read. That’s all she needed to do. She knew it would be at least a little bit arduous but she didn’t think it would cause this much trouble.

Pairing: Tim Murphy x original female character

Words: 3,059

A/N: i got the idea for this in the american natural history museum where i found a note to a Julie T from a Dr. Com on a bench near the t-rex room.

//

Julie was never the ‘blackout drunk’ type. Sure she liked to party now and then, but she never felt she was one to go overboard. However, Saturday night happened in flashes. It all begun at the karaoke bar. Julie remembered her entrance because she spent ten minutes outside the place, practising her introduction. She didn’t want to seem awkward, she wanted to seem casual, smart and funny. She tried to think of all her good traits; a sharp jawline and gleaming blue eyes that didn’t sink too far into her skull, straight teeth, great ass - with a sharp inhale, she suddenly felt a lot more confident. 

She remembered walking up to Steven, who greeted her with a hug she wasn’t expecting and introduced her as ‘JJ’ to the whole group. This was strange because she’d never referred to herself as JJ in the past week, it felt like a very back at home thing, so she politely corrected him and the conversations quickly moved on. The first thirty minutes of the night included Julie being squashed into the corner of the couch whilst having the world’s most uncomfortable conversation with a guy that looked like Clark from the Office and was just as much a douchebag as Clark was and certainly just as memorable, in that, he wasn’t at all.

It had all started with a look up and down, from the top of her head, all the way down to her shoes, as if he had Terminator vision and he was trying to read as much about her as possible in very little time. His eyes stopped at her t-shirt. “How very English of you,” he said. She wasn’t quite sure whether this was a good or bad thing, his tone remained blank and so did his expression as he sipped on what looked like a cosmopolitan. “The Beatles were the only band that could accompany you to this event?”

"Who speaks like that?" was what she thought. What she actually said was, “I didn’t think I was going to be judged on my shirt choice, maybe next time I’ll go for a casual green,” she said, smiling sourly whilst staring at his extremely bright lime button up that should’ve stayed in his closet. He just rolled his eyes.

“You know he died here, right? John Lennon,” he raised his eyebrows.

“Congratulations, you’re a lot more lenient on murder here than we are back in England,” her eye contact didn’t falter. She being challenged and she wasn’t going to lose. “What would you like? An award?”

That’s where the conversation died down. Mr I’m-Ready-To-Catch-You-Out had gotten bored of her quick wit and he’d turned to someone else, leaving Julie on her own, still filling a space that was way too small for her. With a huff and a push at the hipster sitting next to her, she got up and walked towards the bar. “Hey, can I get a vodka martini with two olives? Cheers,” she nodded, looking back at the table full of people she was sure she wouldn’t get along with. “Yeah, just add it to their tab,” she gestured towards them with her thumb.

Leaning back onto the crowed counter, Julie just sipped on her drink, a little tipsy from the two shots she’d had with the group but still not feeling in the party mood. She sighed, starting to give up but in the corner of her eye, she spotted him. Blue jeans and a knitted yellow sweater, it could only be one person; Tim Murphy walked in, looking like he didn’t quite know the meaning of clean shaven and as if he were the advocate of looking scruffy but somehow, he looked more awake and ready to party than Julie had all night.

She wasn’t quite sure how to feel. It was perfectly logical that he was here, these were, after all, his friends but somehow, that didn’t cross Julie’s mind. Okay, maybe it had, just a tiny bit on Friday night, but that moment came and went without a second thought. She hadn’t seen him since their short, but surely not sweet, conversation on Thursday.

Tim Murphy did a sweep of the room, scanning the location as if he was looking for quick escapes just in case. She stared at him, somewhat hoping his eyes would catch hers, just to see what he would do if he saw her. He saw the table his friends were at, there didn’t seem to be any shift in his eyes or composure, he just kept looking around for a few moments and finally it happened. Their eyes locked.

Julie narrowed her eyes, smugly and sipped on her drink as she set one elbow down on the counter and leaned in comfortably. It was almost a challenge, a dare for him to come up to her. She didn’t exactly know what she wanted him to do, she didn’t really expect an explanation for his shortcomings but at least an apology. She would very much enjoy watching the Dr Tim Murphy apologise to her. Her mother always called her a sadist, Julie didn’t see it.

To her surprise, Tim didn’t give it a thought before walking towards her, his back slouched slightly and his walk almost tired but his aura was nothing but soft. As if he was suddenly in the mood to joke around. “Oh yes, you look like the real life of the party,” he approached her, biting the inside of his cheek, the slightest smile grazing his lips. “Tell me, why are you over here, standing alone, when the people who invited you out are all over there having fun?”

Julie straightened up, mimicking his confidence. “So is today one of the days we’re friends or are you going to shut me down first thing I say? I’d just like to be ready so I can pick up the broken pieces of my heart a little quicker this time,” she tilted her head, biting back a smile. After a second, Tim raised his eyebrows and rolled his eyes, sighing, as if he gave up. He sat on the stool next to her.

“Gotta make this a good night. Shots on me?” He watched her, she was a little dumbfounded, not expecting that to work or even do anything but she was glad they were back on a nice rhythm. She just nodded, swinging back the las bit of her martini and taking her place next to Tim Murphy.

There was a lot of drinking in a very short amount of time but as things got fuzzier, the details started to slip away.

She didn’t know exactly how it happened, the lights were melting together in a spectrum of floating lights and deafening singing. She remembered joking about how the two of them would be much better than the guy who had been butchering a song they both loved. Next thing she knew, Tim was grabbing her hand and taking her towards the stage. “Hello!” He’d giggled into the microphone, getting a sparse response from the crowd. “We are Jim and Tulie - no, wait, Tim and Julie and tonight, we will be singing ‘Dancing in the Moonlight’ by…” he turned to her with wide eyes and complete confusion over his face. She just shrugged. “We don’t know. But everyone knows this song. Just sing along with us. Okay. Enjoy.”

She remembered thinking Tim had a somewhat nice voice, it did crack when he tried to go too high or he shouted into the microphone. Both of them were ridiculously bad at singing in time with the music but people seemed to start to get into it. They begun to sing along and during the second chorus, when Tim’s arm was around her shoulders and they were both slouched forward, singing into one microphone and staring into the screen for the lyrics, people actually started dancing and clapping along. The both of them loved the attention.

There was something about letting go. When suddenly people became unapologetically themselves, when they start to accept each other and live without thinking twice about anything other than the here and now. That’s when Julie knew she was living for real, for herself, and not for some fictional, fairytale world she wasn’t even sure she wanted anymore.

The karaoke bar closed at midnight. Julie wasn’t quite sure what had happened between their performance and the moment they stumbled outside, their jackets open in the chilly October air, clouds puffed out of their mouths as they laughed and soon the only thing that could be heard in the backstreets of New York, over the hushed ambulances and car horns, were Tim and Julie, taking it in turns to shush each other.

“Do you ever feel like just because things happened ages ago they aren’t that far away?” Tim asked after a few moments of silence. Julie wasn’t walking in a straight line, her feet were crossing over each other and she was only looking at the floor as she walked, trying very hard not to step on the cracks. Tim, on the other hand, he walked slower, staring up at the sky, no stars to be seen, just a foggy dark sky and lots of buildings.

“Do you mean like the saying ‘it feels just like yesterday’?” Julie said slowly, trying her best to focus on the conversation.

“I guess,” he sighed. “Or like, when you think about it so much and it always plays over in your head even when you don’t want it to.”

Julie thought of a second, stopping in her tracks and bringing her gaze a little bit higher so she was staring ahead. Tim noticed she’d stopped so he turned and just watched her, his hands in his big grey coat. “I dunno, sometimes I think about the time my dog pooped in my bed because I forgot to take him on a walk,” she paused, thinking. “But I don’t think that’s the same thing.”

“No,” he giggled. “But it was good to know.”

They walked and talked; their conversations consisted of made up gibberish, hypothetical scenarios and some truthful outbursts. Julie found herself bumping into Tim’s shoulder to make him stumble over to the side, only for him to look at her from glazed, tired eyes and rush to push her back. Suddenly, nothing about the two of them was sarcastic, everything that tumbled out of their mouths was pure interest asked through croaky chuckles. It was as if they were children again.

“…so, I’m thinking, we get the boat and we just let it float and see where it gets to!” Tim laughed, throwing his hands up as if he’d just told her the most magnificent plan anyone has ever thought of. Julie had a couple of questions, to which Tim had all the answers. “You seem to not be sure of my plan, trust me I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. Why you may ask? Well, you see -"

“I’m broke,” it came out of nowhere. Julie wasn’t sure why she had said it, it was the first time she’d said that out loud, probably the first time she’d properly admitted it to herself not as a passing joke or remark. “I thought my parents were going to help me out, I really did. They still haven’t and I’m starting to get worried. I’m living in a terrible hotel and I haven’t had a proper meal in a week. I’m tired and I haven’t really slept. It’s just been bad. All bad.” 

There was a bit of silence. They’d both stopped walking now, Tim was standing awfully still, not quite sure what to say since he’d never had the issue himself. Julie felt embarrassed, now that it was out in the open, she felt like she shouldn’t have said anything at all. Her face went warm, she was sure her cheeks were flushed as she heaved a sigh and stuffed her hands into her pockets and bit her lip. “Sorry, that was a bit much, what were you saying about the boat?”

Tim just blinked, he begun looking a little amused at her attempt to change the subject. “Text your parents.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Pardon?”

“You heard me, text your parents.”

She considered it. “Okay.”

Someway, somehow, almost an hour and a half later, they ended up at Tim’s apartment, a cat brushing past her legs almost immediately as they walked through the door. Tim pointed at the three cats, his keys in his mouth as he took off his jacket and shut the door. “That’s Peanut and Butter and Jelly.”

Her mouth fell open with a laugh. “Really?”

He hummed, squatting down to greet his cats, all of which were now around him, meowing, probably ready to be fed. He looked so calm and loving, something she’d never seen before, and for a split second, she saw the hood over his eyes falter. For a split second he didn’t look tired or as if he was somewhere else. “Peanut and Butter came together, one of my neighbours had kittens and didn’t know what to do with them,” he hummed. "Jelly was a rescue, I was afraid she wasn’t gonna take in well with the other two but they love her. She’s become the alpha of this apartment, it’s wonderful,” he laughed. Right as he said that, Jelly meowed at him, loudly and jumped onto the counter. “Yes, yes, hang on.”

Julie watched Tim as he got up to feed the cats, no longer drunk but somewhat quiet, like he was in deep thought or just extremely calm. There was no explaining it, the best she could do was look at his shoulders, there was no tension in the way he stood and the slouch he usually sported was now just a relaxed stance. He moved slowly but with care and his eyes, slightly glazed over from a yawn, blinked slowly in the dim light of the kitchen.

He sat on one of his massive leather couches, picking up a blanket and patting the space next to him. “You can stay here tonight, I doubt you know your way home,” he said quietly. Julie bit her lip. “I mean, if you want, if anything, I can get you a taxi,” he backtracked.

Julie shrugged. “I walked here.”

“You what?” He sat up. “From Brooklyn?”

“Yeah, I walked across the Brooklyn Bridge and just sort of - made my way,” she sat beside him, an awkward space between them. “I actually passed a shop on the way here,” she grabbed her bag, pulling out a book that looked like it hadn’t been opened since the early 1900s. “They just sold cookbooks, vintage cookbooks. This one is called Twenty-four Little French Dinners and How to Cook and Serve Them. Not that I’ll be cooking any French dinners anytime soon, but I just thought it was really cool.”

Tim took the book from her. “We should cook a French dinner,” he blinked.

Her chuckle came to a halt when she turned to him and saw he wasn’t kidding. “I don’t actually know how to cook, I’ve been living off of digestives for the past week and baked beans out of a can for the past three years, I don’t wanna burn down your apartment,” she wouldn’t admit it but something about this idea excited her. She wasn’t used to it.

“Then we should definitely do it,” he seemed determined, something about this amused her. “Come on, don’t you think it could be fun?”

“I think we should make this decision sober,” she laughed. Tim got up and just stared at her. He reached out his hand for her to grab.

“I’m as sober as I’ll ever be, darling,” he winked. This surprised her, the sudden burst of bravery and the impulsiveness of his actions. She liked it, though, she still felt this was a bad idea, she took his hand and they made their way to the kitchen. “Now let’s see, which French dinner is best?”

It was now nearing five in the morning and their food was in the oven, Julie was still in the kitchen, trying to figure out how to make dessert and Tim, covered in flour, walked over to Jelly who was sat in front of the TV, waiting for Tim to turn it on. He smiled, ready to comply. He flipped through the channels, trying to find some documentary or other about animals in the wild when a news story caught his eye.

His heart sunk into his chest, breath getting heavier through his gaping mouth. He could feel his eyes get wider and his spine curl. The news castor’s voice buzzed through his ears as he watched what he thought could never have happened again.

“Simon Masrani, most known as the son of Sanjay Masrani, founder of the Masrani Global Corporation has just announced his plans to fulfil the late John Hammond’s dream to create a ‘functioning dinosaur park’ that will be open to the public. John Hammond is best known for his failed and short-lived creation of ‘Jurassic Park’ in 1993. This park is set to open at the end of the year and Masrani assures the public of its complete safety and assures it will be ‘fun for the whole family’. Masrani worked with fellow high-ranking members of InGen, including Dr Henry Wu to ensure this park’s success -”

“Hey, Tim? How much is 280 degrees in Fahrenheit? I just need to put this thing in the oven and then we’re set,” when he didn’t reply, Julie looked up at him, confused. “Tim?” She looked over at the TV, he was frozen. Julie walked over to him, recalling his memoirs from his book and placed a hand on his shoulder. He jumped up, making Julie stumble back, shocked and she just watched him. “Are you okay?”

“I need you to leave,” he said quietly, avoiding her eyes. She tried to say something but he just held a hand up, shaky. “Please?” His voice cracked. “Just please leave,” he picked up her bag and handed it to her, motioning towards the door.

And with her heart in her throat, she hugged her bag and picked up her coat and walked out into the hallway.

Master List!

[the--blackdahlia]

Armageddon Chapter 2 (Dean x Reader)

Title: Armageddon Chapter 2

Summary:  Space. The Final Frontier. But for Dean Winchester, space was the last place he thought he would ever go. His family life isn’t perfect, his job isn’t ideal, but he has (Y/n), the woman he loves. Sam Winchester never thought his life would turn out the way it did. He is divorced, alone, and his brother most likely hates him. Working for NASA was not going to be easy. But, when a threat to the earth has him calling on his family for help, what can he do? can Sam and Dean push past his family issues to keep the Earth spinning another day? Based on the movie of the same name.

Pairings: Dean x Reader; Sam x Jessica

Warnings: Mainly language for this chapter

AN: The song for this chapter is Under Pressure by Queen & David Bowie

Winchester Oil Rig

(Y/n) was showing the clients around as the men worked on the rig. Her eyes drifted to Dean as he worked on the drill and smiled when she saw his face. He was calculating what would happen after he had the drill working last night. He rushed to the top of the rig putting on his helmet as he went up the scaffolding. (Y/n) went back to speaking in Chinese to the clients as shouts began to surround her. With a quick motion she found John and the clients gave a thumbs up to him.

“What’s he smiling about?” John quipped, giving them a thumbs up back.

“Could be that you might be about to strike oil,” (Y/n) drawled. “No thanks to the son you almost tried to shoot.” John groaned.

“Don’t give me that (Y/n)!” John growled. She was like a daughter to him, and honestly, she deserved better than some roughnecks. In fact, if she wasn’t so good at her job, he would’ve found a way to get her away from the oil company. (Y/n) made her way through the rig showing the clients around.

“I can’t believe you John!” (Y/n) turned to face him. “You are NOT my father, thank god.”

“No, but I promised him I would protect you,” John argued. John and (Y/n)’s dad had been buddies during the war. They had both went to Vietnam with young kids waiting at home for them. They came back and stuck together. And when he died, John had promised to take care of (Y/n).

“Yeah, so you’re protecting me from your own son?” (Y/n) crossed her arms and raised her eyebrow at him. “You are unbelievable! Dean and I have been seeing each other for two and a half years now!”

“You what?” John shook his head as he rubbed his face. How the hell had he not seen that?

“Knowing Dean for as long as I have? You must have been blind.” (Y/n) turned to the clients and pointed at a chart she had mapped out with projections. She spoke in Chinese for just a moment gesturing to the rig and smiled. She turned back to John, “Between you and Dad, I was raised on this rig along with Dean and Sam, you know that!”

Before John could respond, there was a shout for more help on the rig. The drill had hit a gas pocket and the rig was struggling to hold the pressure. John watched as Dean went rushing to get everything stabilized and started to get the drill out as the pipes began to shake. Before anyone knew what was happening, (Y/n) had the clients huddled in safety as John ran up to help Dean stabilize the pressure but it was too late. The rig began to shake as the drill hole began sprouting oil.

“Get down, everyone down!” John yelled as more men tried to stabilize the pressure, but it built up too strong. A couple of them fell down and everyone was covered in the thick, black oil.

“Woooo, We hit oil! Dean was right!” Garth cheered.

“Yeah but right now we need to get down!” John growled.

John slid down a ramp that was slick with oil followed by Dean as they hid from a fireball that erupted. Dean gave a slightly defeated but happy look. He was angry because he had miscalculated the gas pocket and how strong it would be and how the rig could handle. But he was elated they had struck oil. His calculations were right about that. But John’s face was not happy. All his happy feelings melted away as he saw John’s glare.

“Are you happy? You could have gotten someone killed!” John growled.

“I miss calculated the gas pocket but I new there was oil in that spot! I tried to fix it!” Dean argued.

“And (Y/n), she goes back on the crew ship tonight, understand?” John walked away as he walked with his second in command to assess the damage.

“Dad, we have more clients coming in the morning. Who’s going to deal with them if she’s not here?” Dean reasoned.

“I’m her employer, and yours. No office romance, especially out here.” John ran a hand down face. “Let’s just get this cleaned up,” John drawled.

“Winchester you the man!” one of the clients said giving John a thumbs up. (Y/n) walked up to Dean, handing him a rag and helped him clean his face, “You ok?”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “If my name was Sam though, I’m sure he’d be happy right now.”

*************

NASA Headquarters

Houston, Texas

It was morning, at least, that’s what Sam thought it was. He hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours and he was trying to catch a few winks at his desk. They had been all hands on deck since the piece had hit the east coast. Sam’s eyes had been hurting and he just needed a little rest. And that let him have a moment to dream.

Sam was ten, Dean was fourteen. They spent their summers out on the rig with John. It might not have been the best way to spend the summer, but Dean always looked forward to it. Sam really wanted to stay home instead. He was taking summer classes as part of the gifted program, and he wanted to be at home in his own room as he read through the textbooks instead of in the small room he shared with Dean, where Dean always got the top bunk and snored a little too loud.

“Okay boys, I’m going to show you this, because some day, you might be taking over this company and I want you to be out here helping like I do.” John told them. He showed them how to control the drills, how to do different things. “Some of the gas that comes through there is like a bomb. It can be pretty flammable. Someone told me once that there’s enough gas in there just to rip the planet apar…”

Sam woke up with a gasp then. Quickly, he scrambled for a piece of paper and a pen, jotting down his idea. He couldn’t lose this.

Charlie Bradbury knocked on Sam's door. She watched a he was scribbling furiously on a paper.

“Did you have one of your, Winchester ideas?” she came in and say down.

“What is it Charlie?” Sam looked over the math and sighed. He rubbed at his head. He was notorious for headaches.

“Rufus and Bobby are calling a meeting to see what we've come up with,” she played with one of his desk toys. A vampire bobblehead that Dean had gotten him many years ago.

“OK…” He sighed as he stood up. “it's the best idea I could come up with.” He didn’t show Charlie it though. He wanted to be told from the higher ups that his idea was stupid. They made their way to the other scientists who were pitching their ideas and yelling at each. Sam went up to Bobby and Rufus then.

“This is ridiculous!” Rufus grumbled. “the best minds in the world all gathered and not one of you can come up with a plan? Bunch of bullshit if you ask me,” Rufus day back in his chair. “Winchester!”

Sam flinched slightly. He gave a nervous smile.

“I'm glad you could fit us into your… busy schedule,” Rufus drawled.

“In his defense, he has been up for going on,” Bobby looked at his watch. “Thirty-six hours.” Sam slid the piece of paper towards Rufus, who looked it over.

“You’re joking, right?” He looked at Bobby. “He’s joking.” Some of the scientists gathered around.

“This is stupid.” One of them said. “There’s no way that this is remotely a good idea.” The chattering started going on among them as Charlie leaned over to get a look at Sam’s idea.

“Actually, I think it can be done.” She said. “I read about diamond drill bits. I’m not saying we call up Tiffany’s and get them to make us a custom one, but see if we can construct something out of the same makeup. And we would need one hell of a powerful bomb. And the right crew to do it all.”

“We have astronauts.” Rufus said. “They should be good enough.”

“With the space stuff, yes.” Bobby said. “Any of them ever run a drill of this magnitude?”

“So we train the astronauts how to use it and we build a big ass bomb?” Rufus asked.

“It’s going to take too much time.” Bobby explained. Sam took a glance back down the hallway to his office. Where Dean’s masters thesis for Sam to edit for him. That thesis contained a bomb that Dean said could make or break mankind. Sam looked back at Bobby and Rufus, while the scientists all talked to figure out what to do.

“I’ve got the plans for the bomb.” Sam explained. That silenced everyone quickly. “It’s all hypothetical, of course. But we can take these plans and build it.”

“Okay that’s one problem down.” Rufus grumbled. “What about our other one?” Sam smirked a little.

“I think I have just the right guys in mind.”

************

Winchester Oil Headquarters

Austin, TX

(Y/n) winced as the muffled voices came through the closed door. She hated when they fought. But John and Dean were both stubborn men. Dean hadn’t gone to college right away like Sam did. Dean had decided to come up with extra cash to help Sam with his books and supplies. Of course John got mad that Dean had halted his own studies to rough it out for the extra cash. (Y/n) had helped Dean up until Sam had made it past his Masters and into the NASA program with a Doctorate. By then, Dean was working on his bachelors in Mechanical Engineering. (Y/n) helped him with his late night studying and with some of his papers. But he didn’t need it, he was brilliant all on his own. When he graduated she was right there cheering him on, while John was getting a tour of NASA with Sam. She hated that, it was Dean’s best moment and his own father missed it.

That very night was when they shared their first kiss. With a bit of help from a bottle of whiskey. They had kept their relationship a big secret. How it lasted they couldn’t tell, but they were lucky to have two and a half years of being together. (Y/n) had just gotten off the phone with the Japanese investors when the door to John’s office burst open and Dean stormed out.

“I mean it Dean, this is not acceptable. People could have gotten hurt!” John pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Don’t you think I know that?Which is why when I realized my mistake I tried to fix it! I didn’t cower, I didn’t stay back,” Dean yelled just as fiercely. “I bet if I was Sam you wouldn’t be on to me like this!”

“Dean...stop it.” John growled.

“No, I won’t. I stand by my actions.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest.

“Then I stand by mine. You’re suspended.” John snapped at him.

Dean clenched his jaw and his cheek twitch, “Fuck you dad! I quit!”

Dean turned on his heel and marched out of the door. (Y/n) looked to John who stood there frozen. She shook her head and ran out after Dean.

“Dean!” (Y/n) rushed to him grabbing his arm making his stop. “Dean, you can’t mean that? You love this company.”

“I don’t know any more (Y/n)/N,” Dean whispered as he shook his head. His eyes staring at the asphalt.

“What don’t you know, Dean?” (Y/n) placed her hand gently on his stubbled cheek as he got him to look into her eyes. “What aren’t you telling me?” (Y/n) searched his eyes, she saw a small hint of guilt in them. “Dean?”

“(Y/n), I don’t want to get into this right now.” Dean sighed.

“Tell me right now Dean Winchester!” She crossed her arms, “We promised no secrets.”

“I got offered a job at McLeod Oil.” Dean said. “I’d be running it. And their based out of Louisiana, not Texas.”

“When were you going to tell me this?” (Y/n) whispered, “Were you just going to leave me behind?”

“I wasn’t even sure I was going to take it. I was going to tell you after I turned it down. But that asshole,” Dean motioned towards where John was. “He screwed it all up.”

“You wait here.” (Y/n) turned on her heel and marched back towards the office, “We are not done discussing this!” she yelled over her shoulder.

Throwing the door open, she marched right up to John as she grabbed her purse. Standing right infront of him she raised her hand giving him a hard slap.

“I hope you’re satisfied,” She growled, “You didn’t just lose Dean,” She shook her head as her eyes filled with tears, “You lost me too.”

(Y/n) turned around and walked out towards Dean. not stopping she grabbed his hand and dragged him to the Impala.

“You better call McLeod and tell him we’re a package deal,” She grumbled as she climbed into the passenger seat. As they drove away from the building, a few US government vehicles pulled up. MP’s got out and headed inside.

“We’re closed.” John grumbled, not looking up from what he was doing. He was so pissed about the whole thing.

“We’re not here as clients.” One of the MP’s said. John looked up. “You need to come with us Sergeant Winchester. It’s a matter of national security.”

“What’s going on?” John asked.

“We will explain everything in due time. We have to go now.” John looked around, feeling the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“Okay, let’s go.”

Forever Tags:  @anathewierdo @dekahg @marvel-af @feelmyroarrrr @imboredsueme @gemini0410 @aiaranradnay @babypink224221 @mogaruke @xxwarhawk @sandlee44 @shatteredabby @caswinchester2000 @supernaturalwincestsblog @lauravic @nanie5

Dean Winchester/Jensen Ackles Tags: @queenslandlover-93 @screechingartisancashbailiff @strab0 @maaryisafangirl @deathofmissjackson @hellabrothers@luciathewinchestergirl @sheris532 @bobasheebaby @bella-ca @akshi8278

Supernatural Tags:  @bandobsession98 @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @fangirlsencyclopaediaofweirdness @ilovetardis @missihart23 @cloudyskylines @flamencodiva @sams-serialkiller-fetish @theas-bedtime-stories @huntingfreewill @ocholove

Armageddon Tags:  @thefaithfulwriter

[tertiaryembarrassment]

Unexpected (Pt.8) - Paul Lahote x Reader

I’m so sorry about the long wait! I’ve been very busy and tbh just didn’t want to write that much but I pushed through another chapter and hope it can live up to your expectations! Strap in loves under the cut cause this one’s 4388 words long oof

@bookluver01 @mrs-hemmings96 @glimmering-darling-dolly @eleganttravelercloud @vxidnik @wandering–in–fangorn @fangirlbitch02 @steggy4ever @the-main-pumpkin @alphakelsey @thisgirlisahufflepuff @delnquents @my-current-fandom-is @tlittlet @lime-001 @newtycuty

              “Which do you like better, Y/N, the peach or the cream?” Emily faces you, elbows perched on the table, waving two cloth napkins before you, one in a light pink colour, the other, a tasteful off-white. You’re sitting together at her kitchen table, a place you’ve made many visits to in the past weeks since you’d met the rest of the pack. The tabletop is blanketed in a thick layer of bridal magazines, wedding advertisements, craft ideas and, of course, napkin options.

              “Cream,” you say, finally, leaning back in your chair. For a woman with only a month left before her wedding, Emily was massively unprepared. The two of you had spent many of your last few (increasingly frequent) visits together making last-minute decisions on everything from cake decorations to photographers.

              She nods finally, turning both napkins over in her hands to examine them again herself. “I agree.” Finally, she blows out a long breath, setting the napkins on the table and running her free hands through her hair, an exasperated look overtaking her cheerful demeanor. “I am so glad to have you here, Y/N. Seriously. I have no idea what I’d do without you.”

              You laugh, leafing through a magazine on wedding dresses. “Well, for starters, you might have peach napkins.”

              She snorts, a playful swat to your shoulder. “I mean it! There aren’t many people around here I can share this kind of stuff with – the boys aren’t any help, and Leah…”

              “She’s Leah?” You guess.

              “Exactly,” She sighs. Although Leah has softened up on since that first night on the beach, lifting her near-radio silence to talk with you from time to time, your conversations were still scarce, and nowhere near as friendly as they had once been. If this is how she responds to Paul’s imprint on you, you can’t imagine how much worse it must have been with Sam and Emily. You and Paul are merely her friends – Emily is her family. “Have you heard from her recently?”

              You shake your head. “Only a bit. We haven’t seen each other one on one in weeks,” you answer, letting your gaze drop from Emily’s to examine the tablecloth of magazine cutouts and wedding decorations. There’s been a question perched on your lips since the moment you met Paul, since he imprinted, since this all began. Your voice, quiet, you let yourself speak it to the only person who knows the answer. “Does it get easier?”

              Sighing, Emily lets the napkins fall into her lap, twirling them in her fingers, chewing on the question. “Yes and no,” she begins, and you feel your heart drop with her uncertainty. “Just know… she isn’t mad at you, just like I don’t believe she was ever mad at me. Neither of us could help what happened, and she knows that as well as we do. But she’s hurt – the nature of the wolf can be like that sometimes, I think. The shift is a great gift, but also a great burden. One I fear may be heavier for Leah than the others. Give it time. She’ll come back to you.”

              Pressing your lips into a line, you nod in understanding. Give it time was the advice you’d gotten again and again, every member of the pack assuring you that it wasn’t your fault, she’d get over it, you’d both be okay in the end… and maybe this was true, but it didn’t make the waiting any easier.

              You shake your head, banishing your own lamenting from it. Huffing a breath, you run your hands down your face, leaving a forced smile in their wake. “Oof, okay. We have work to do.” You turn your attention back to the table.

              As you set to thumbing through various articles, pointing out floral arrangements and chattering on about the adorable little bakery that did the cake for your cousin’s wedding, last year, and how you were certain they could make something work on the short notice – did she want cake? Because you’d seen some people opt for cupcakes instead, and you thought maybe that would be cute too…

              Emily leans in, an eye running over your face, seeing right through the calm expression you’d sewn on. That was the thing about Emily – she didn’t need a telepathic spiritual wolf-link with you to always know what you were thinking. She also knew when to keep her mouth shut. And she does, swallowing her worry, nodding along to your rambling about the bakery in Forks.

              The afternoon crawls by like this, two friends hunched over a mountain of marriage memorabilia, jotting ideas down in notebooks and making desperate phone calls to vendors. After a few hours, the two of you are broken from your stupor by the sound of footsteps as they make their way towards Emily’s front door.

              It swings open without a knock – not uncommon, for this house, as most of it’s usual guests feel comfortable enough just barging in – to reveal Sam and Paul, laughing as they enter, deep in some conversation regarding a joke Seth had apparently told them earlier. Emily raises her head, resting her chin in her hands as she leans over the mess on the table.

              “Hey, babe,” she says, smiling as she earns a kiss of greeting from Sam. He straightens to stand behind her chair, placing a hand on her shoulder and massaging it. Her hand reaches up to meet his, fingers wrapping gingerly around his touch. “Hi, Paul.”

              He nods his hello back to her, then turns to you. “Hey, Y/N.”

              A smile creeps across your lips at the sight of him, his frame towering above you from your place on the chair. “Hey, Paul.”

              “How’s the planning going?” Sam says, and you tear your gaze from Paul’s beaming face to address him. He’s looking down at Emily, who returns his gentle expression with one of exasperation, apparently fatigued by the long afternoon of phone calls and appointment booking.

              “Exhausting,” she moans, taking his hand from her shoulder and pressing her lips to his knuckles. Laughing, she adds, “We should just get eloped.”

              He lets out a low chuckle, but shakes his head at her idea, which everyone understood to be only half a joke. “It might be a little late for that – everyone’s already been invited.”

              She groans, letting the frustrated noise melt into a laugh as Sam throws muscular arms around her in a warm embrace before settling down in the chair beside her. She smiles, a thumb on his chin, pulling his face closer to hers as she whispers something like, “I can’t wait to marry you.”

              You suddenly realize how long you’ve been staring at them, watching your two friends in awe as they move in harmony, fitting together like matching pieces in a puzzle. Averting your eyes, you let them land on Paul, who you find is doing the same thing. His lips break into a grin, and he shields his mouth with his hand so the two lovebirds can’t see his words.

              Wanna give them a minute? He mouths.

              You nod, simply pushing out your chair and standing from your place at the table, grateful both for the escape from the room and a reason to stretch your aching legs.

              “Y/N and I are gonna talk a walk,” he says, addressing Emily and Sam, who are too busy mumbling to one another about various wedding plans to acknowledge him. “Try not to miss us too much,” he tacks on, motioning for you to follow as he makes his way out the open front door into the warm sun.

              A giggle slips past your lips as you trail behind him, passing by the to-be spouses, who nod their goodbyes before turning their attentions back to the other. Out the door you step, welcoming the warmth of the early summer evening as it blankets your skin. You fall into step beside Paul, the two of you making your way down the porch steps to the road, walking in unison along the path.

              He sticks his hand deep in his pockets, leaning back on his heels. A beat of silence passes, and you can almost hear the cogs in his mind turning, searching for something to talk about. You decide not to help him out – it can be amusing to see what he comes up with.

              “How did your thesis defense go?” Is what he comes up with.

              You suck in a breath, thinking of the paper you’d turned in a few weeks ago now. “Well, I think,” you start. “It was very nerve-wracking, I was worried I wouldn’t have enough to say, but once they started asking questions, I almost couldn’t get myself to stop.” You let out a laugh, relaxing your shoulders. Paul had that effect on you – you could never be tense around him.

              “Probably helps knowing that all that stuff you’re talking about is actually out there, huh?” He jokes, poking a finger into his chest. “Mythology’s not all hypotheticals and fairytales. Some of us are flesh and blood.”

              “Flesh and blood and hot air,” you retort, throwing your head back in laughter at his feigned wounded expression. More seriously, you finish, “It does help, actually. So, I guess I have you to thank for my Undergrad.”

              He dips in an exaggerated bow, tipping an imaginary hat at you. “You’re very welcome.”

              You laugh again, shaking your head in unconvincing disapproval. He rights himself and the two of you continue down the path, the sky settling into an orange-pink hue on the horizon, sun slowly falling below the treetops.

              “Have you decided yet if you’re going to go for your Master’s?” Paul asks after a moment.

              Your lip curls inward and you feel yourself instinctively bite down on it, contemplating your answer. “I’m not sure,” you say finally. “I might take a break first. Two more years – university has already been so expensive.”

              He nods, tearing his eyes from you for the first time since you’d left the house to examine the sky. “Makes sense. I mean, you’ve got a whole life ahead of you. Why rush, right?”

              Your eyes flicker to him. His jaw straight and sharp, lips just parted as he breathes in warm fresh air, arms extended behind him in a wide stretch as his joints comply in a series of satisfying cracks and pops. His warm skin almost glows in this light, you think, and suddenly he’s turning to you with big brown eyes.

              “What?” He says.

              You shake your head. “Nothing.”

              There’s another moment of silence where two sets of eyes settle on the ground, examining two pairs of shoes as two pairs of legs make their way down one long path. A blush heats your cheeks, and you furrow your brow in an effort to banish it, wondering what you had done to warrant it in the first place anyway.

              It is you who speaks first this time. “Are you looking forward to the wedding?” You say, hooking a thumb over your shoulder to where you left Sam and Emily’s house a few blocks away.

              Paul smiles, nods, tearing his eyes from his feet to meet yours again. Your heart skips for a moment, but you ignore it, focusing on his words. “Very. It’s been a long time coming – I can’t believe they even waited this long to tie the knot.”

              “They’re so happy,” you say, softly, thinking of the two of them sitting at the kitchen table, so enthralled by the mere sight of each other it was like you and Paul just disappeared. “It’s like they’re perfect for each other.”

              Paul lets out a low chuckle, but it’s dipped in sadness as it reaches your ears. “They are pretty perfect together.” He says. He turns to you suddenly, placing a hand on your arm to stop you in your tracks. You comply, confusion evident in your eyes as you meet his gaze, intense and kind. “Hey, so, I know I’m gonna be the best man and all – but, when all that stuff is over, I was wondering, I guess, if this isn’t weird to ask beforehand – do you wanna… save me a dance?”

              The heat returns to your cheeks, this time without question as to why. His expression so earnest, genuine, you can’t bring yourself to point out that this isn’t 19th century England – Sam and Emily weren’t going to have dance cards at their wedding for the ladies to fill with the names of potential suitors, and yours certainly wouldn’t be so full that he would have to claim one weeks ahead of time anyway. Instead, you smile, biting your lip to avoid laughing at his sweet gesture. Although you would mean it as a compliment, you’d rather not chance whether he would accept it as one. “I’d me more than happy to, Paul.”

              Again, he straightens, standing to his full height, a mountain of a man, and you both continue down the path together. You feel the ghost of his hand at the small of your back and he mutters under his breath, “I’m glad.”

--

              “Y/N!”

              The call comes from somewhere across the open field, white chairs arranged in neat rows on bright green grass. A crowd mills around the lawn, folks clad in buttoned shirts and floral dresses announcing the occasion as they chatter, awaiting the top of the hour when they’ll take their seats for the ceremony. It takes a moment for you to locate the voice that calls your name, until you spot a tall, muscular man in a black suit jogging towards you.

              “Paul!” You smile in greeting, tossing your arms around him when he reaches you. He returns the hug, almost lifting you from the ground as he pulls away – he’d been a wolf for years now and still hardly understood his own strength.

              His hands linger on your arms, and he leans back as he takes in your appearance for the day, an obvious disparity between your everyday attire and this one. “You look incredible,” he says.

              You suck in a breath, letting a smile ease across your lips. “Thank you,” you return, glancing down at the dress you’d chosen for the big day, patterned with blossoming white bouquets and deep brown branches, and run a hand over your hair. You’d tried your best to tame it, trying to emulate the more stylish women you’d seen around town with a sort of soft, subtle curl to it. Upon failure, you’d opted for one of those ‘intentionally messy’ looks, braiding your unruly locks back into a low ponytail. “I could say the same for you. You clean up nice.”

              He beams at this, tugging on his necktie and raising one brow. “I do, don’t I?”

              You laugh, gesturing behind him to a group of boys in matching suits, shouting and elbowing one another in what you’ve come to recognize as their classic fashion. “The whole pack does. I can’t believe Sam got all of you in suits.”

              “It wasn’t easy,” laments another voice from behind you, and you feel a strong arm wrap around your shoulder in a brotherly side-hug, the sort of protective motion that was not uncommon from Sam, who you recognize as you turn to meet his eyes. “Thanks so much for coming, Y/N. It means a lot to Emily and I.”

              “Thank you for inviting me!” You retort, leaning into the hug before he pulls away. “Congratulations are in order, I suppose.”

              He smiles widely, his eyes as bright as you’d ever seen them. Sam was not an unhappy man by any means of the word, but nothing made him light up quite like Emily. “Crazy, right? I can’t believe I got her to agree to marry me.”

              “Don’t be stupid, you’re a total catch, man!” Says Paul, who claps his friend on the back.

              You nod in agreement. “Paul’s right. You’re both very lucky to have found each other.”

        ��     Sam lets out a subtle laugh, checking his wristwatch from under the sleeve of his tuxedo. “Oh, man. We should probably get everyone to take their places, it’s almost two o’clock.”

              Paul’s smile fades, replaced with an expression of determination. His best man duties, you’d gathered over the last few weeks of planning, were something he did not take lightly. His friend’s happiness was very important to him, and, although he could be a bit silly, you found it quite endearing. “Let’s hop to it then.” He swings around, cupping his hands around his mouth to address the group of rowdy boys behind him. “Hey! Places, guys. Em will be here in a few minutes. Get everybody sitting down!” He nods back to Sam, who offers a smile and a squeeze on your arm before jogging away to take his place at the altar, leaving you and Paul alone. He turns to you. “You gonna be okay alone?”

              You laugh, a hand on his arm. “I think I’ll manage,” you say. He doesn’t respond, only looking at you with raised eyebrows, as if awaiting your okay. You wave your hands towards him, shooing him away. “Go! You have things to do!”

              With that, another grin passes over his lips, and he turns, disappearing into the crowd. Suddenly aware of yourself, you scan the crowd for familiar faces, coming up empty. The whole wolf pack stands at attention beside Sam, and you know Leah must be with Emily, begrudgingly clad in a bridesmaid gown. Other than that, you notice, you cannot recognize a face.

              Nonetheless, heeding the boy’s request, you take a seat near the edge of a middle row, so as not to take the reserved seats of close family and friends. It isn’t long before the other guests follow suit, settling into their chairs, checking watches, wondering when the bride will arrive. After a moment, the seat beside you is occupied by a tall, lithe young man, light brown skin and a mass of curly hair atop his head. You’ve hardly taken notice of him when he speaks.

              “Andrew,” he says, extending his hand towards you. His blue collared shirt is unbuttoned two from the top, neckline dipping lower than one would expect. You return the gesture, shaking his hand in yours.

              “Y/N.” You answer, turning back to the stage.

              He continues. “How do you know the bride and groom?”

              “Old friend of the Clearwaters,” you say, pointing across the way to Sue, one of the few faces in the crowd you knew, and a middle-aged man you don’t recognize. “Newer friend of the Uley-Youngs.”

              He nods, apparently satisfied by your answer. A hand on his chest, he speaks again, answering a question you didn’t ask. “I’ve known Sam since we were kids. Grew up down the street from each other.”

              You offer a polite nod, willing the ceremony to start. Conversation with strangers was not your favorite pastime at the best of times, and this man, although he’d been polite thus far, kept a wandering eye on you so closely you couldn’t help but feel your skin crawl beneath it.

              “You look lovely, by the way.” He says, twirling the sleeve of your dress gently around his finger.

              You pull your shoulder from his reach as subtly as you can, offering a quiet “Thank you,” in response. Awkwardly, you feel your eyes scan the stage, unsure of what you’re searching for before you find it – always a welcome sight, the smiling eyes of a tall, muscular, shapeshifter boy. You widen your gaze at Paul, furrowing your brow, flicking your eyes from him to Andrew, back to him. You hope the message is understood.

              It appears to be, as Andrew chats away about nothing in particular, wondering if this is how he handles all his conversations, a constant stream of words without letting his partner interject their own word edgewise, as Paul narrows his eyes and mouths four words in your direction. This guy bothering you?

              A silent laugh escapes you, and you try to disguise it as a quick breath, as Andrew begins to explain to you his utter disdain for modern social media culture – though you’re not sure how he travelled to such an unrelated topic so quickly – and you return Paul’s message with your own: Help!

              Determination setting on his brow, he’s about to step off the stand when a soft melody plays from a set of speakers somewhere behind you. The crowd takes the cue to settle down, conversations fading into the background as the guests await the sight of the bride. Even Andrew stops mid-sentence, lamenting about his hatred for selfies or something or other, as the sweet sound of violin fills the breeze.

              Paul backs into place beside the other boys, another glance in your direction to make sure you’re alright. You nod, thankful for the music for stopping the conversation, and offer a thumbs-up to calm his obvious nerves. He straightens, apparently satisfied.

              The bridesmaids enter first, a few faces you don’t recognize, and Leah, smiling as widely as she can, given the circumstances, which, for her, is tight-lipped but genuine. She looks beautiful, short hair tied back in a fancy updo, rings of black hair falling from the style to frame her face. Her dress is soft, light and pink, so long it drags along the grass on the ground, ruffled straps framing her shoulders, revealing toned arms beneath. It’s the first time you’ve every seen her look like this, and, you admit, it took you a moment to even recognize her.

              Finally, the crowd rises, instructed by a woman in long robes at the front, in preparation for the bride. The music swells, awaiting Emily, long moments ticking by before she appears.

              You try hard to remember a time when you’ve seen a woman look more beautiful, or smile wider, than Emily does now. You can’t. Her look of excitement rivals any you’ve ever seen, beaming with joy so brightly you fear she might blind her guests. Her long, white dress is strapless, a curved heart-shaped neckline over her breast covered in soft lace. The skirt flows like water behind her, helped on by the breeze, layers of fabric dancing behind her as she approaches the altar, slowly, timed with the music. Her hands clasp a bursting bouquet of white flowers, bright green leaves and lavender – just as she imagined during the planning, you remember.

              When she reaches the altar, Leah accepts the flowers from her hands, and she places then instead in Sam’s open palms, entwining their fingers together. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen two people look at one another the way these two do. It a love you’ve never quite seen before; unlike movies, where the love is fast and harsh and forceful, this is soft, quiet and clear, two people sharing something the rest of the word can’t possibly understand. So natural, it seems strange to think that they ever lived without one another. Two halves.

              The rest of the ceremony passes in a daze, your heart full to bursting with happiness for your new friends and their union. The officiator shares stories of love, what it means and how the couple can pledge themselves to one another. They share vows, promising support, love, and companionship to the other in sickness and in health, and you feel tears forming in your eyes as Sam says the final words of his speech, and the officiator speaks again.

              “Sam, you may now kiss your bride,” she smiles.

              There isn’t a moment of hesitation before his arms are around her, fingers curling in her hair as she cups his face, lips dancing on one another as if they’ve been waiting for nothing else for months. Cheers erupt from the crowd, friends and family whooping and hollering as the couple breaks apart, turning to address their guests, and Sam raises his hand, still entwined in Emily’s, above his head in a victorious salute.

              Paul cups his hands around his lips, letting out a long, high-pitched howl at the sight of his best friend and his new wife. The rest of the pack follows suit, the boys clapping one another on the back and howling like the wolves only they knew each other to be. Even you, from your spot in the crowd, can’t help but join in, a long howl whistling past your lips as you lock your eyes on Paul. He picks you out of the crowd immediately, a broad smile splitting across his face at the recognition of your howl.

              The party is led out by the bride and groom, hands clasped together as they’re followed by their friends, each boy offering an arm to a bridesmaid. Paul tosses a wink in your direction as he passes you down the aisle, Leah’s hand wrapped half-heartedly around his arm. They disappear after a moment, piling into cars to head to their next location, for picture-taking and reception preparation as you find yourself once again without a friendly face in the vicinity, and cringe at the voice over your shoulder.

              “I assume I’ll see you at the reception?” Andrew says, his voice deep in an effort to sound… coy? You nod politely, lips pressed together in a thin line without word. “Maybe you’ll save me a dance, then?”

              You once again, like so many times in the past few weeks find yourself without words, wondering how to respond to such a comment. You must act fast, you think, as your silence will eventually become unbearably awkward, even more so than this interaction already has been. The ‘no’ you want to respond with gets lost somewhere in your stuttering, instead opting for a quiet “Sure thing,” and a swing on your heel, down the aisle and through the crowd, hoping to lose him before he can respond. A long breath of relief escapes your lungs as a moment later you’re leaning against a tree, surrounded by strangers, at the realization that Andrew hasn’t followed you. Perhaps come the reception, you can hope that he won’t notice you. Another quick glance through the crowd and a tall, lithe figure with dark curly hair catches your eye, waving an awkward goodbye as he elbows his way through the mass of people, and something tells you that won’t be likely.

[bat-besties]

On Impawsibility - 7

Chapter 1   Chapter 2    Chapter 3    Chapter 4   Chapter 5   Chapter 6

Chapter 8   Chapter 9

A popular!Logan and loser!Roman high school AU based on @2pointomg’s idea with eventual Prinxiety. 

impossible 

ɪmˈpɒsɪb(ə)l

adjective

·       not able to occur, exist, or be done.

Eg. It is impossible to fund both the sports and drama programmes with the school’s limited budget.

·       very difficult to deal with.

Eg. The situation which Logan Sanders, Student Body President, is in after he convinced the school board to cut the unsuccessful drama programmes is impossible.

·       (of a person) very unreasonable.

Eg. Roman Prince.

To Roman, nothing is impossible. Not following his older brother Patton to acting college, not being a loser taking on the school’s popular Student Body President and definitely not writing and performing an epic school play with no money and six cast and crew members.

Edited by @alpacasarethegreenestanimal, who has an amazing fanfiction on AO3! If you like superheroes, sarcasm and Virgil angst then you’ll love this

@toolazytothinkofcreativename

@entitydark

@romanasanders

@barclays-sides

@cashmeredragon

@jughead-is-canonically-aroace

@immacrazyfangirl

@narniasfinestavengingsociopath

@featuredfander

@what-a-catch-joe

@mightaswellenthuseaboutbooks

@candiukas​

@whatamessofwords 

@zoalis

Logan’s father had made him promise to do his best in the debate, and to be careful of the New York boys as his own heart had once been broken by a pink-haired artist from the Bronx. His mother had told him to not bring revision and have fun instead. As soon as he got onto the coach Joan was in charge, making sure everyone was ready, and he’d uninstalled email from his phone so the only motions he’d be worrying about were hypothetical questions with meticulously researched answers. His bag was full of notes and Agatha Christie novels. Virgil and Roman had never been connected to debate at all.

‘Alright, guys, we’re almost there so we need to wake up a bit.’ An orange beanie popped over a seat.

Susan threw a travel pillow at Joan and groaned, ‘It’s five in the morning!’

‘We’re going to do word association games!’ Logan sat up, grinning at Joan, who had looked right at him when they suggested that.

‘Debate!’ shouted Miles at the back.

‘Happiness!’ was Logan’s reply.

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

Below-gan a cheerfully shabby apartment near the best theatre school in New York City, a bespectacled teen was psyching himself up to ring a doorbell with a pawprint on it and a handwritten label in multi-coloured felt tip. ‘You need help, kid?’ asked someone half-dressed in costume for their audition in Heathers. ‘I’m fine, thank you.’ replied Logan stiffly, trying not to stare at the garish tartan blazer.

The girl squinted at him for a moment. ‘You Patton Prince’s little brother?’

If there was one thing Logan wanted to do less than approach the brother of his nemesis the night before the most important debate competition of his life, it was small talk. ‘I sure am.’

His voice was shaky and he was desperately avoiding eye contact. Taking pity on him, the girl quickly leaned over him and pressed the button. ‘Patton, your brother.’

There was a crinkle on the line while Logan awkwardly manoeuvred himself under the girl’s arm. ‘Send him up right away! Boyo am I glad to see you!  Whatcha doing out here? Well you’d buzzer come right up. Thanks Gabriella. Good luck!’

‘Thanks Pat!’ The girl shrugged at Logan’s scowl, put her croquet stick over her shoulder, and marched off, whistling ‘Candy Store.’

Recalibrating the school legend of Patton Prince with this goofy character, Logan started up the stairs, needing to reach the apartment as quickly as possible before he began to panic and rethink this truly, truly awful plan. Oh, look at that – he was already panicking! He paused outside 109, rehearsing what he would say. Then he rapped smartly on the door. It was flung open by a – woman? With glasses? He’d thought that Patton was a guy, but clearly-

She was singing. She was singing at him. She was wearing a trilby. A man jumped out behind a hat stand and swirled her into a kiss before two more men came out with synchronised jazz hands. Unsurprisingly, the group’s singing was very good. In time with the music, a man in a baby blue polo, the same glasses as Logan himself and a trilby jumped out ‘I want to be a part of it – New York, New York!’ He cut out suddenly, leading the other four to trail off, looking at him in confusion.

‘Who are you?’

Logan tried to practice socialisation, he really did. He could do small talk with students, ask intelligent questions about music with Elise and had stopped using probability percentages and fronts in his discussion of weather. But he was not ready for this. The display explained Roman but not really anything else. Patton recognised the boy in the doorway – although based off the pictures Roman had sent him he should have devil horns in red biro ink. It just took him a moment to process what that particular boy was doing here, some thousand miles away from their home town. The boy readjusted his tie and decided to break the silence. ‘Greetings, Patton Prince. I am Logan Sanders, the Student Body President of your alma mater, Simmons High.’ He paused for a moment, observed the expressions of the five roommates and explained further. ‘I am not Roman. Nor do I like or even tolerate singing, dancing and such frivolities in make-believe.’ When no-one responded to this he continued. ‘However, I am here about Roman and his play. On behalf of the school.’

Patton’s face broke into a sunshiny grin, ‘Well, shucks, come on in.’

Logan quickly unlaced his shoes, although he didn’t like the lack of formality that afforded him. He was pretty sure that the yellow of the hallway walls and the purple of the carpet were clashing colours, and he did not understand why there were multicoloured handprints on the kitchen cabinets or a host of stuffed animals on the sofa even though the average age of the occupants was twenty-two. Despite the fact that the other four students had each been in the middle of something before trying to surprise Patton’s little brother, they made themselves comfortable in the living room, interested in the next instalment in the saga Patton relayed to them each week. Logan elected to stand, not taking off his backpack.

Larry spoke incredulously over the quiet noises from Patton making tea in the other room ‘Logan who closed the theatre programmes?’

‘I did not close the theatre programmes, I advised the school on the best course of action to take to help the sixty-five students in sports-based extracurriculars.’ Logan replied to a spot one metre over Larry’s head.

Dot continued – ‘Logan from Patton’s old high school? In Florida?’

Corbyn broke in, ‘Do you want to sit down, at least? We’re not scary people.’

‘Yes, yes and no thank you. Scariness is subjective.’ Logan still couldn’t make eye contact.

‘What’s your favourite Disney film?’ was Sloane’s question.

‘Big hero six. I fail to see how that is relevant to the matter at hand.’ He was being weird, he was being weird, what would Virgil say? ‘Since we are all destined to die alone anyway.’ Reading the room, he should not have taken socialising tips from a guy who hissed when people annoyed him.

‘Well…’ Sloane replied, trying to keep his expression neutral, ‘I have a Baymax plushie in my bedroom if you want to hold it?’

‘I am not a child.’

‘So…’

‘Yes please.’

Patton nudged the door open with his hips, holding three mugs in each hand. With a swiftness caused by bitter experience, Corbyn took a few off him. Logan was now sitting cross-legged on the floor holding a Baymax toy and cradling a mug of tea, surrounded by college students and cartoon memorabilia.

Patton sat near him, leaning his back on an empty armchair. ‘So, kiddo, what’s up?’

‘You may be aware that Roman is attempting to put on a play without any school funding.’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, I am here to ask for your assistance. It is likely students here would donate to putting on the play given their passion for theatre and probable affection for you. As both a fourth year and scholarship student it is also likely that you could ask a scout to go and see the people performing, as well as the set and costumes.’

‘I’ll do whatever I can, sure. People love an underdog. How’s Roman doing?’

‘Whoa, whoa, whoa!’ broke in Corbyn, ‘Logan, do your parents know where you are? Why are you in New York?’

‘I am here for a national debate competition.’

‘Yeah, I’m still a bit confused.’ added Sloane, ‘aren’t you trying to stop the play, so they won’t get funding.’ He broke off at Patton’s ‘parental warning’ eyebrows.

Logan put his mug down on the coffee table with a bang. ‘Falsehood!’

‘Alright slugger, calm down. Sloane here was just getting a little carried away, is all. I’m sure you’re all president and correct.’

‘Humorous.’ said Logan with no expression whatsoever, ‘If you are in accordance with this plan, then I shall leave, I have a competition tomorrow after all.’

‘We do need to iron out some details first. Could I get your number?’

As they exchanged numbers Dot made an escape back to her thesis, but the rest of the students were in this for the long-haul.

Corbyn was not going over his Hamlet monologue one more time, so he grabbed a piece of paper and a pen in the intent of taking notes. ‘How much money do you need?’

‘About $200 should be sufficient. That will cover costumes and the last few props.’

As Corbyn scribbled that down Patton tilted his head to the side. ‘Roman didn’t mention that you co-ordinated this with him. He could have just called me.’

Logan stood up a little straighter, ‘Well, uh, the thing is – he doesn’t know I’m here. Technically he does know that I am in New York, but not that I visited you. I asked Talyn for the hypothetical price of costumes and decided to set this plan into motion.’

‘A random, anonymous act of kindness?’ squealed Patton.

‘…sure.’  This was strictly true, even if Logan’s reason for not wanting to have a conversation with Roman and his friends was a little more complicated than that. ‘It is common knowledge that you came here for college, and Elise asked her older brother where you lived. He gave me the address on the condition that I told you ‘spotlight llama’. What does it mean?’

Patton burst into laughter. ‘Just a little incident involving us two when we were in ‘Singing in the rain’ together. Nothing to…’ he broke off giggling, ‘Nothing to….hoo boy….nothing to allarma you.’

Inside jokes and people laughter at something Logan didn’t understand. Another one of his favourite things.

‘So rather than talk to Roman and email Patton, you estimated the costs of the costumes plus props and visited us in New York?’ asked Corbyn, looking up from his sheet.

‘I do not understand everyone’s confusion. I am here to help. Just let me sort this out.’

‘You don’t have to do too much. I know I may seem like a big ol’ goofball but I’m four years older than you and perfectly capable of doing this. We just need to find a way to transfer the money.’

Logan frowned at Patton. ‘I never said you weren’t capable. I do not doubt that you will perform your part of this adequately.’

The man shrugged guilelessly as Corbyn smiled down at his sheet, still not quite used to Patton’s ability to read people after four years. ‘Well, let’s sort this out.’

Eventually everything was prepared and Logan got ready to go back to the hostel for dinner and last-minute practice with the team.

As Logan put his shoes on, Patton leaned on the garish wall opposite him, looking at the door rather than into Logan’s eyes.

‘Everything’s going to be fine, kiddo. Be easy on yourself.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘A feeling.’

‘The bane of my existence.’

Patton smiled then held the door open for him. ‘Good luck tomorrow – have a de-great debate! Yeesh, not my best. Ooh, also! Say hi to Elise for me! And tell Roman to sleep and to call me if he has a problem with the play.’

Logan straightened his shoelaces, then stood. ‘I can’t do that. From the way your roommates were behaving, you should know how much Roman dislikes me. I mean, he thinks I would sabotage his play!’

Patton folded his arms and raised his eyebrows. ‘No. You’re going to tell him. You’re going to tell him that you came to New York and asked me for help, and you’re going to tell him that I think you’re pretty neat, and you’re going to tell him to stop overworking himself on the play and to go out on the weekend with his friends, and you’re going to do the same thing!’

Logan saw his mother in that speech and was rightly scared of the sound of tough love.

He nodded.  ‘Alright. Thank you. Farewell.’

So Roman hadn’t told Patton that Logan didn’t have any proper friends now. Perhaps it was hard to tell when from the outside Logan was objectively one of the most popular people in their school. Still, it was a small mercy, and since he had no intention of following through with any of Patton’s orders he was glad that there was at least one promise he wasn’t breaking.

[jasonhaw]

How ‘Jane the Virgin’ gets Bisexuality Right

Spoiler alert: If you have not been updated on Jane the Virgin, update yourself first then read this article.

Even with the assumption that mainstream media is becoming more and more “liberal,” LGBT representation in American media is still very poor. The latest Studio Responsibility Index from LGBT media monitoring organization GLAAD (Gay and Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation – but the acronym is now being used to stress the inclusion of bisexual and transgender people) gave “Poor” and “Failing” ratings on all major Hollywood studios.

Minority representation is important for many reasons. Sociologist Eric Anthony Grollman, in his personal blog, summarizes the reasons very neatly: it gives minorities a voice, makes them more visible, and validates their identity. When you see someone on TV or the movies that you identify with, doesn’t it get you excited? Doesn’t it make you feel like you’re not so alone after all?

This TIL post dissects the latest episode of the CW comedy Jane the Virgin. I’ve recommended this show in a previous blog post (which you can read here), but fundamentally the show is a meta-telenovela – it takes on every telenovela trope in its plot and makes fun of it. It also injects socio-political commentary on topics such as immigration, religion, and the family. My personal favorite episode is Season 3, Episode 3 (Chapter 47), when she finally loses her virginity, and the way that the show portrayed it is probably the best sex episode I have ever watched anywhere. There’s a great Vox article, and many others, that analyze this episode, so I won’t touch on it anymore.

But my second favorite episode would have to be this week’s episode – Season 4, Episode 5 (Chapter 69). The show’s producers probably wanted to talk about sex because of the chapter number but I did not expect that they would touch on something that still is invisible even within the LGBT community – bisexuality.

Some (spoiler) context: Adam is Jane’s newest love interest. While he’s a new character on the show (he was introduced in the Season 3 finale), he’s not a new character in Jane’s life. When they were teenagers, they planned on getting hitched, much to the disappointment of her mother Xo and grandmother Alba. The wedding never pushed through because they discouraged Adam, and Jane and Adam never saw each other again until Adam found a letter by Jane’s ex-husband Michael (May he rest in peace!). By this latest episode, they have been dating together for quite some time, Adam has warmed up to Jane’s son Mateo, and Adam has already turned down a major career offer, which would have demanded him to move, to be with Jane. So they’re really in love at this point.

But from a plot perspective, there’s this gap between Adam and Jane as foolish teenagers and Adam and Jane finding each other again. The show is starting to fill in the gaps, and this episode gave us the reveal that Adam is bisexual. His coming out process to Jane is beautifully portrayed, and I want to spend a lot of detail how Jane the Virgin gets the portrayal right.

I split the post into headers – which I will call the three stages of the bisexuality coming out process. The process works both ways – for the person coming out, which is Adam in this case, and for the person accepting the news, which is Jane in this case.

 Stage 1: Adam: Embarrassment Jane: Reflex Acceptance

Jane (J): So you’re bisexual?

Adam (A): If you’re into labels.

Here, Jane clarifies Adam’s sexual orientation. Adam gives an answer that is both clear and vague at the same time. It is clear in the sense that he is not straight, but vague in the sense that he does not definitely confirm that his “official” sexual orientation is bisexual.

Jane’s question insists on a label. Some bisexual people may want to identify themselves as “bisexual,” but a lot also want to define bisexuality as a rejection of the notion that one has to play for only one team. I like to define bisexuality as one that transcends the need for gender to be a definitive criterion for choosing a romantic partner.

J: Do you date men and women?

A: I had a boyfriend in our school when everyone was experimenting, and another in Fort Green, when everyone wasn’t.

J: Cool. It’s just that we’ve had so many long talks. How come you’ve never mentioned this?

A: It just didn’t feel that relevant.

Narrator (N): I mean, more relevant than who’d win in an epic battle between Batman and Wolverine, which has been discussed at length.

Here, Jane demands an answer why she was not informed about this. Adam’s response is an insistence that he does not want to be defined by his sexual orientation alone. While it is understandable for Jane to be entitled to intimate details about her romantic partner, it is also Adam’s prerogative when he wants to reveal those to Jane. As a comic book graphic artist, Adam would rather have a lengthy discussion about a hypothetical battle between Batman and Wolverine than have a lengthy conversation about why he is bisexual.

A: And I guess I was… nervous. It’s become an issue with people whom I’ve dated before.

J: Well, you’ve never dated me before… Okay, you have… Not recently. My point is… is… I’m totally okay with it. You have exes, I have exes, everybody has exes!

And these two lines really define what Stage 1 is really about. Adam is really embarrassed to come out to Jane because he knows that to a lot of women (and even the gay guys he has dated before), this is a relationship deal breaker. Adam knows that Jane is entitled to know about his sexuality, and he has been probably planning when to tell her since that fateful night he delivered Michael’s letter. But he also needs to be comfortable in coming out – that his coming out should not also mean the end of their relationship. Because such a dichotomy is not fair, and a problem that most bisexual men encounter on a regular basis. Most bisexual men self-select the women they date because if they feel that a woman is not open to begin with, then the whole thing is really a non-starter.

Jane’s response is very interesting because it reflects every self-proclaimed liberal who grew up in a very Catholic (read: conservative) environment. A lot of Ateneans would love to identify as liberal (as the Jesuits are the most “liberal” Catholics!) but I have come to realize that their self-proclaimed liberalism has gone unchecked. I know this for a fact because I went through a series of stress tests when I was living in Washington DC for a year. And Adam’s coming out is that kind of test for Jane. In her head, she knows she should be okay with it, so her reflexive response was that. But as we move on to the next stages, we realize that she is totally not okay with it.

 Stage 2: Adam: Disappointment Jane: Paranoia

(Lunch date)

Male waiter arrives with their orders

Waiter: Here you go… (Looks at Adam) Nice tats.

A: Oh, thanks.

Sexy, romantic music plays in Jane’s head as she thought the waiter was flirting with Adam and Adam is flirtatiously smiling back, then the waiter flirtatiously winks and leaves.

J: So, is that… your type?

A: What?

J: Just asking.

A: If I’m into the waiter?… I didn’t notice ‘cause I’m with you.

J: (whispering) Right. (nods) Sorry. I’m acting weird. I’m just trying to wrap my head around it because I’m not into women.

A: Maybe… or maybe you just haven’t explored that side of yourself?

…

A: Hey, look, is this something that’s gonna get in our way?

J: What? No.

A: ‘Cause you seem so pretty hung up on it

J: Honestly, I’m not

(Scene changes to Jane talking to her mom Xo)

A: I’m completely hung up on it! And I don’t wanna be.

Xo (X): Well, it makes sense that you are

A: Yeah because it took him so long to tell me and because there’s a double standard, you know. When women hook up, it’s looked at as sexy, but men are immediately marginalized because our whole culture revolves around the male gaze.

X: I’m not exactly following all that, but I hear you about the double standards (changes topic)

Jane was paranoid during their lunch date. She was paranoid even in a later scene, where she wondered if Adam hooked up with one of his friends, and Adam called her out on her paranoia, disappointed. The waiter was attractive, so he probably is someone’s type, but the possibility that it could be Adam’s type puts her on edge. Up until this point, she has not expressed jealousy in any of her relationships (case in point: she was never a jealous lover when the romantic plot of the show revolved around her love triangle with Rafael and Petra). This suggests that as a woman comfortable with her womanhood, she need not be jealous of other women coming near her lovers. But she is not comfortable with her personhood, that it could be the primary object of desire for Adam. She thinks of other men as competition she cannot compete with, because she cannot give what a man can. Adam loves her as a person, who just happens to be a woman. This is the fact that she needs to reconcile with herself as the show progresses.

Jane starts to realize that her reflexes were not reflective of what she truly felt about the situation. And Adam is very clearly disappointed about it. Adam knows that this is something that is going to take some time for Jane to process, but the subtext of his lines suggest that she should not have given him false hope that she was okay with it.

I appreciate Jane’s self-awareness in the scene with her mom. In the earlier episodes of the show, she was a graduate student in literature and her thesis adviser on her novel was a well-respected authority on gender studies. So she understands how the male gaze is applied to Adam’s context, and she also understands how her upbringing has prevented herself from straying away from the male gaze. She begins to struggle with her principles and how she applies it in real life. Xo not understanding how the male gaze applies to Adam’s context but applies to her own (she’s trying to convince her husband Rogelio to get a vasectomy) is a reflection of a bigger societal incompetence – not being able to wrap their heads around the concept of bisexuality.

 Stage 3 Adam: Acceptance Jane: (True) acceptance

(During Lina’s bachelorette party – Lina is Jane’s best friend who is about to get married.)

Lina (L): And you’re the longest relationship I’ve ever had (context: She just realized she was marrying the male version of her best friend Jane)

J: And you’re the longest relationship I’ve ever had

L: I love you Jane

J: I love you too

(sexy music comes on, Jane tries to kiss Lina)

L: What the hell, were you gonna kiss me?

J: What? No, don’t be ridiculous! I mean… Yeah I was…

(cut to commercial)

J: I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking

Narrator: Seemed like you were thinking of making out with your best friend

(Lina chuckles)

J: I guess I’m still a little freaked out by Adam big bisexuality reveal.

L: Well, a pretty smart friend once told me, “You fall far who you fall for”

J: Yeah, but this is different. I’m not freaked out by his sexuality. I’m freaked out that he kept it from me.

L: (rolls eyes) Hmm…

J: What?

L: As your best friend in the world, and the person you just tried to make out with, that’s a bunch of crap.

J: Excuse me?

L: Don’t try to make this about him hiding. Figure out what is really going on.

J: (exhales deeply) Well, I guess it’s because…

L: Lady, tell him, not me… because it’s my freaking bachelorette party…

This is my second favorite scene of the episode. First, Adam’s suggestion that Jane explore her “bi” side really got to her and so she tried to experiment with her best friend. Second, Lina called her out on her bullshit (which is what best friends are really supposed to do) that her issue was about the timing of the reveal, when in fact it is really about Adam being bi. This show has always been reflexive, and I’m glad that they have remained consistent with the self-awareness plot device.

(later that night, back in Adam’s apartment)

J: Can we talk?

…

J: So yeah, it wasn’t that you waited a long time to tell me, it was what you told me. Which became pretty clear after I tried to kiss Lina

A: What?

J: I know. That was a momentary lapse of judgment. But you’re obviously right. I did freak out. I guess, I… I just have questions, which are silly and stupid.

A: Go on, ask me.

J: Is being bisexual a stop on your way to coming out as gay?

A: Definitely not. It just means I am open to a connection with a man or a woman. What else you got?

J: Well I guess I feel a little insecure, you know. It’s not like I can give you what a man can.

A: Yeah, you’re right. You can’t. But you can’t give me what another woman can give me either. But it doesn’t matter, because I choose to be with you. I don’t want to be with anyone else, regardless of gender.

A: Yeah, really. We’re in a monogamous relationship, which means that you’re not allowed to kiss anyone else.

J: (smiling) I know, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. If it makes you feel any better, she hardcore rejected me.

A: (smiling) Well then, she’s an idiot…

(Kiss scene)

A: (joking) Oh, Bob. (Jane gasps, laughing). I’m kidding, kidding, it’s Jim, right?

Now, this is my favorite scene, and the first time I watched it, I was in tears because Adam said the perfect words to Jane. Jane’s admission of her biases is a relief to Adam, because he knows that she is now along the road of true acceptance. Her embarrassment in asking questions is also another societal representation – our friends would love to accept us, but they are not educated about it. But they are afraid to ask.

And if there is one thing that you would pick up with this 2000 word blog post, it is this: 

The best way to make your LGBT friends know that you accept them for who they are is when you ask thoughtful questions. 

Don’t be afraid to ask, as long as you are not coming from a position of condemning your friend. Of course you are ignorant – you’re straight and you do not have the capacity to understand what non-straight people experience on a daily basis. It’s the whole idea about being with the “other” – we can never know what others are truly experiencing, but we can journey with them.

The two questions Jane asked are probably the top two questions everyone asks about bisexual people, and I promise you 100% of your bisexual friends are going to answer the exact same way that Adam did when you ask those questions to them. These questions are not intrusive – in fact, it’s an admission of your biases that allow your bi friends to accept you also as part of their journey. It means that you are open to being informed, changing your opinion, or even join them in fighting for their rights. It wasn’t just Jane accepting Adam for who he is, it is also Adam accepting Jane as a woman capable of understanding what he is going through. Let’s go back to what Adam said – he knows that his sexual orientation has been a deal breaker before, so naturally he will be skeptical when he has to come out to a new person. But Jane’s openness has allowed him to be accepting as well. He’s changing hearts one person at a time.

If you haven’t watched Jane the Virgin, then please do. And if you want talk more about bisexuality, leave me a DM at @mockingjason on Twitter. Let’s have a thoughtful and informed conversation.