#yes this was inspired by me thinking about barbie and the messages in that

[graaaaceeliz]

You know what I love? Positive permanent framing.

You will grow. There will be joy. The sun will always shine again and the rain will always fall again. We are people and people are all capable of happiness, and you will go out and find it.

The framing of these concepts is positive, and more permanent than "you could find joy" "you can grow". It's all in the modal verbs.

However, I feel like I see a lot of permanent negative framing too.

You will learn to hate your body. You will be depressed and it will feel like the end of the world ((note: this statement MAY be true BUT it is important that it continues with a positive. This paragraph is about statements which are not balanced by a positive frame, and not targeted as "I understand your pain".))

I will learn to hate my body - why? Why must I? Must we tell our children that "Regardless of my encouragement, the world will make you hate yourself, because it hates you because you are hateable. And that's bad, but tough, because that's who you are."

Terrible. I do not feel encouraged. I feel insulted and upset and hopeless. If I EVER frame something like this to the children I teach, shoot me.

"Regardless of my encouragement, don't let the world make you hate yourself, whatever it says, because some people want you to be hateable, and they will hate you, and that's not your fault, and it might hurt, but it's okay, because that's not all of who you are."

I talk to my kids about how they frame their thoughts a lot, because it's easy to become stuck in negative framing (thanks, depression) which takes a lot of work to remove (and I am so thankful I have put in that effort and am still putting it in) and which will destroy a person's hope, happiness and esteem. Just think about this classic example:

I can't do it -> I can't do that yet

Or

I can't do it so it's pointless -> I am going to really, properly try and the trying is enough

Can you see why I think it's so important to have positive framing in not just our words but in how we actually think? Next time you see something which discusses negative emotions, spare a moment to re frame it if you can, and take away a positive emotion.

I hate my body, only sometimes, but mostly my body is here as part of me, and sometimes I hate Me too, but I won't hate me always, because I am trying, goddammit, and that's enough.

You ARE (k)enough.

[yoongihan]

Not Friends - HJS - OneShot

(i've had the above gif for so long, i have no idea who the creator is. credit to them and if they see this and wish me to take it down, please let me know. i thought the effects of the banner were pretty cool)

pairing: jisung x female reader

genre: angst, coming of age, fluff, romance, friendships

romantic trope: boy next door (inspiration from this reel)

word count: ~8k

rating: T

warnings: language, kissing, arguing, mostly the trials of middle and high school, drinking underage (nothing too excessive), sneaking out, abandoned places, mc is stubborn af

there is mention briefly toward the end of something that might be triggering, it is not praised or belabored. it's something characters disagree with, i'm choosing not to list it as it is a bit of a spoiler. if you are concerned, please message me off anon and i will let you know what it is.

a/n: fic #3 in skz as romantic tropes collab with @jl-micasea-fics. i have to admit, this is kinda a weird one. not really sure what people will think. however, it seems hella fitting to post jisung's story after getting so much of him lately (the song '13' is beautiful) and his curly long hair might be my death. hugs to you readers, you have been so lovely.

----------

There isn’t a time where you don’t remember Han Jisung being there. He’s always just there. 

His family moved into the house next door when you were only a year old (so you’ve been told, it’s not like you have any memories of that time) and he was a year old. Your moms started talking over the small fence that lay between your two backyards, so somewhere in your infantile mind, there is an image of one chubby-cheeked Jisung, probably falling over from his seated position then crying loudly because his balance was always circumspect, especially during the dreaded middle school years.

So when in school, someone asked if you knew Han Jisung, you said yes. 

Friends?

No. Not friends.

Boyfriend?

No, ew. He’s just the boy next door.

Yes, you hung out with him when you were both infants and toddlers. When school started, you were sometimes in the same class, but not always. He tended to keep to himself during recess and you had enough trouble trying to find friends who were interested in the same things you were. 

Namely, vampires.

Perhaps expecting other six and seven year olds to be as fascinated by vampires was asking a bit too much. But you were listening to Dracula, a radio performance, at six years old (begs the question of why your parents didn’t do anything, but they weren’t around at that very moment) so why weren’t other kids interested?

Well, they weren’t. 

Maybe your parents thought you’d grow out of it. Most kids grow out of things; horses, wanting to be a fireman, superheroes, etc. 

So many times that your parents tried offering you Barbies and My Little Ponies, on which you painted fangs and blood on.

But you don’t grow out of it. And no one grows into it.

Jisung himself seems to integrate okay into middle school. He finds Felix and Seungmin, and the three of them pal around, playing video games and probably other things that you were and are unaware of.

“You’re going to join the dance team?”

You’re in your backyard, attempting to weed the garden because if you do, your mother might not get as mad about you failing your math test. Jisung comes out to let out his dog, Bbama, and the two of you, though again not friends, aren’t unfriendly; so you chat. 

“Felix wants to,” Jisung explains as Bbama comes to the fence to press his nose to your waiting fingers. “And well, he likes when we do things all together.”

You eye him with skepticism. “Can you dance?”

You’re both newly turned thirteen and puberty is a bitch. Jisung is all limbs, and you’re sure you resemble an egg in physique and color. 

“No. But they aren’t expecting Lord of the Dance or anything.”

Jisung getting sassy with you isn’t new. Though quiet a lot of the time, when it’s only the two of you, he seems to be braver. 

“They want us to do extracurriculars, you know, to get ready for high school.”

“Yeah?”

“So, what about you?”

“What about me?” What you just pulled up out of the ground is definitely not a weed, so you plop it back in and cover it up with dirt. Hopefully, your mom won’t notice. 

“You should join the dance team too!”

You look up at him before watching Bbama run in circles behind him. “No.”

“Maybe robotics?”

“No way.”

“Art club?”

“Jisung, you’ve seen my stick figures.”

“What are you going to do then?”

“What I want to do doesn’t have a club or team, okay?”

You can hear his soft sigh as you dig out an actual weed this time. 

“Vampires?”

You bristle at the implications. “I’m just…” You huff and sit back in your kneeled position. “There are too many accounts for it to be fiction, okay?”

“But what do you do with that?” He asks just as softly. “I mean, if they are real, they want to drink your blood and kill you. So like…you should avoid.”

“Do they? Or is that just Dracula and other novels telling us that?”

He points out a weed you’ve missed. You grumble, but grab and pull. 

“Kids at school–”

“I don’t care what kids at school say or think, Jisung.” 

“Yes, you do. We all do.” He swallows. “You think it doesn’t hurt when they make fun of my braces or glasses, or the fact that I can’t walk without running into something?”

You wince. Jisung isn’t a friend, but he’s familiar. He’s annoying as most boys are, but he isn’t mean. Not usually. You and he have had fights over the years, but most were when you were little and toys were involved. 

“You shouldn’t care what they think.”

“But I do.” 

“That’s why you’re joining the dance team, and I’m going to work on the ultimate vampire hunter kit.”

“Where are you going to get holy water?”

“Amazon.”

He sighs again, calling Bbama to go back inside. “I’m joining the team because Felix is my friend and it matters to him. That’s what friends do.” When he stops at the back door, he calls back. “Seungmin is really good at math if you need help for the next test.”

You don’t answer, not for the first time considering how you don’t have friends. There are some kids you sit with at lunch, but they mostly congregate together because there is strength in numbers, not because there’s any common interests or amiability. 

–

~Ninth grade~

You wonder if maybe you should have tried out for softball or something because each pebble you throw at Jisung’s window actually hits 75% of the time. Who knew you had great aim?

The window opens and he looks down and you can see more than hear his heavy sigh.

“Why don’t you just message me?”

“I don’t have your number.” Why would you?

There’s another heavy sigh and he disappears into his room after closing the window. Your cell phone vibrates in your back pocket. You pull it out.

>> now you have it.

<< can i borrow your car?

>> what?

The back door opens and he comes out in pajama pants and a huge sweatshirt. He’s shoved on his glasses and his hair is tufted in chunks. 

Was he really asleep at 11pm?

“You wanna borrow my truck?”

You nod, tugging on your scarf, a bit too tightly wrapped. “I’ll be careful. It’ll be back in the driveway by the time you wake up in the morning. I could probably hotwire it if I studied for a bit, but I figure, I could just ask.”

He runs a hand through his hair, eyes unfocused. “Why?”

“I don’t have a car.” Your parents don’t think you’re responsible enough to have a car. Something about still living in fantasy, blah blah blah. 

“I know…” He looks both annoyed and amused at the same time. “Why do you need it tonight?”

“Oh. I need to check out a place. There’s been rumor of vampiric activity.”

He actually takes a step back. “You’re going vampire hunting. Tonight. In my truck.”

“Yes.” I hold out my hand. “If you’ll give me your keys.”

“Do you even have your permit yet?”

You drop your arm. “No, but I’ve practiced.”

He turns and stares at his house. 

“So…Jisung…is that a no?”

“If I say no, will you hotwire it?”

“I mean, maybe.”

There’s a lot of muttered curses before he turns back around. “Yes, but I’m going with you. I’m driving.”

“What? No. No way.”

He walks right up, a foot away from me. “You let me go, drive, and you come to see the dance team at halftime; or you’re shit out of luck, Van Helsing.” 

You open your mouth to tell him where he can stick it, but then don’t. You actually need his vehicle. The area that online people have had sightings and encounters is only an hour away and this was the only night that your parents had wine before dinner which would definitely keep them so deeply asleep that you can get away with a nightly venture. 

And maybe it would be fun to watch Jisung, Seungmin and Felix perform. Not that you’d ever admit that.

“Yeah. Okay. But you have to do what I say, okay?”

He nods. “Give me like five.”

An hour and a half later, he shifts next to you as you hold a position in a cluster of trees. “Like…I don’t think they’re here.”

“Shh,” you hush him, half-heartedly hitting his arm. “They don’t billboard-announce it.” You move quickly and as quietly as you can toward the old abandoned cabin.

“Pretty sure it’s just serial killers who do that.”

You spin around to glare at him, but he’s grinning at you. You’re irked, but you can’t help but smile. It’s a little fun to have someone with you.

“Are we really going in there?”

You hand him a flask and move again to another gathering of foliage. 

“Are we drinking?” he whispers once he’s followed successfully. He’s still skinny as a rail, but still provides a little warmth at your back. 

“No, you dummy, it’s got holy water. It’s to protect yourself.” 

“Oh.” You can almost hear his smile. “Thanks.”

It takes a few more minutes of covert movement before you get to the house. You circle it, looking for any tell-tale signs of vampiric activity (corpses or animal remains, displaced or unusual soil, etc), but there’s nothing except overgrown weeds and some tricycle that has been taken over by said overgrown weeds. 

You test the back door. 

“Shouldn’t we get a flashlight?”

“And announce our arrival?”

“They can hear better than us, don’t you think they’d already know, with how you nearly tripped over that root before the gate?”

Yeah, that was embarrassing. You glare at him again. 

“How do you know all that stuff? About their hearing?”

He rolls his eyes and rewraps his scarf around his neck. “I’ve known you all my life. I listen…duh?”

You shake your head and enter the run-down cabin. As you test the rotted wooden floors, making sure to tell Jisung to step where you step, you think about that. There’s no reason why Jisung would just know how good a vampire’s hearing is rumored to be. Unless he listened to you, and remembered.

That sticks with you, even as you find that the abandoned cabin is full of dust, cobwebs, questionable wallpaper choices, with no sign of life…or unlife. 

He never says anything like ‘I told you so’ on the drive back, nearly four and a half hours after the initial request of his car. 

“That was kind of fun,” he says, sneezing when you both get out of his dented-in-weird-places truck. 

“You screamed three times and squeezed my arm so tight, it’s gonna bruise.”

“Those weren’t screams. They were….yelps. Exclamations of surprise.”

You can’t help but smile at him. “Sure.”

He tugs his beanie so it covers his ears. “I’ll do it again with you, if only so you don’t steal my truck.”

“Maybe…” You don’t promise anything. Yes, it was nice to have someone with you, but you don’t put your faith into it. Jisung is on the dance team, goes to pc cafes to game, and actually hangs out with his friends. You do just this. 

You know you’re the weird one here. 

“Maybe I’ll finally get my own car.”

“You could get a job.” He offers, leaning against the grill of his truck. 

“At fifteen?” 

He shrugs. “You could babysit?”

The both of you start laughing at the mere idea of you being in charge of vulnerable little humans. 

“I mean, you could.”

“The world is a better place without me protecting a toddler from the electric outlet.” 

He shrugs and shoves his hands into his coat pockets before pulling out the flask. “I dunno. You protected me pretty well.” He yawns. 

“Go sleep.” You take the flask back. “Thanks.”

He nods, already looking like he might fall asleep leaning against his SUV like that. “Not going to say ‘any time’. Maybe once and awhile.”

You press your lips together to stop smiling at him. “Sure. Night.” 

–

Jisung reminds you of your promise to watch the dance team at one game’s halftime, so you show up to a basketball game, sit and watch a sport that makes the people around you yell at the referees, the other team, and the home team with such passion that you think you must have something wrong with you because you do not get it.

But the half ends, and most people get up to grab concessions or hit the bathrooms while the co-ed dance team comes out in black and red outfits. You find Felix easy enough in the crowd, his vibrant blonde hair bouncing as he finds his position, talking excitedly to another dancer. Seungmin with his characteristic nonchalant expression is behind Felix, seeming unbothered that there’s an audience in front of him, waiting to judge and assess him.

Jisung is near the end of the second line, bouncing on the balls of his feet as everyone gets into place. He glanced up at the crowd, eyes scanning. He sees you because your eyes lock and you give a little wave of ‘see, I came’. You think he smiles, but you are on the top row of bleachers, off to the far side. 

The dancers all drop their heads when the music starts. Felix leads off and the rest fall into sync with him. You try and watch the group as a whole, impressed with how they move together, how the choreography seems like a mix of hip hop and contemporary.

It’s honestly pretty good for a high school group. You have YouTube and you’ve seen the occasional viral embarrassing dance rendition of whatever hit song is popular. 

Your eyes fall on Jisung the most. He’s the only one you know on your side of the gym (most of the time, there are a few formation changes). 

For being all limbs (though admittedly, he’s less like a stretched-out stick figure these days), Jisung is a good dancer. He’s on beat with his moves, and it doesn’t look horribly awkward.

You’re surprised. 

The song isn’t more than maybe two minutes and the applause at the end of it is not the same as the passionate yelling of spectators for some ‘bogus call, ref’. You clap though because you are impressed, and because if you had friends, you think it would be Jisung and his two compatriots. 

You start to head out of the gym into the lobby to go home; you are not sitting through more yelling at where an orange ball travels to. You’re almost home free, but you hear your name and turn to see Jisung running up to you. He’s grinning, face flushed, hair ruffled. 

“Thanks!”

“I mean, I promised.” You glance around to see schoolmates watching the two of you conversing and you wonder if Jisung worries about it. Because if you were less on the fringes (you’re not going to call Jisung popular, but he’s not ignored), you might worry about who you’re seen with. 

“Did I do okay?”

His question interrupts your musing on high school hierarchies, and you look at him in shock. 

“I…I don’t know anything about dance, Jisung.”

He nods. “But you are honest. Sometimes painfully. So, tell me. What did you think?” He crosses his arms and waits. You blink a few times, your mind going back over the memory of their performance, him specifically. 

“I think you’re good. I didn’t see any obvious mistakes or like you didn’t fit in.”

“But?”

It’s unnerving how he seems to know that you have more thoughts, even when you weren’t completely aware of them yourself. 

“I think you can extend more?” You swallow, lifting your arms so they stretch out. “Like your arms don’t go out all the way and I think it looks better when you do?” You shrug and drop your arms. “Also, your shoulders are up when you dance. Makes you look tense.” 

He nods a few times before smiling. “See, I knew you’d be honest.” He drops his arms from his chest. “Thanks…Are you leaving?”

You nod emphatically. “I cannot handle the screaming any longer.”

He laughs. “Yeah, fair.” He watches you for one more second. “We’re gonna go out for burgers and shakes later…you can come?”

“We?”

“The dance team mostly, I think.”

You’re already shaking your head. “Uh, thanks, but no thanks.” You start to walk backward, a little on edge being this close to Jisung and how he kinda sparkles all sweaty and red-faced. “I’ll see ya.”

He waves as you practically trip to get out of there.

–

~Tenth grade~

He warned you. He said that with both sets of parents going for a weekend trip together that he might have a party. You didn’t care because you had homework and research to do, and a party with Seungmin, Felix, and Jisung didn’t seem that concerning.

Since when did sophomore Jisung know enough people to have a rager? Because that’s what it sounds like next door right now.

You look through the kitchen window. There’s a lot of people, bodies silhouetted in the windows of his house, people in the backyard. Music loud and pumping. 

He invited you. You could go over.

You sigh and look in the refrigerator. There’s a six pack of beer. You could bring it over. Your father would probably just think that he’d already finished it. Or maybe he’d be thrilled that you snuck alcohol like a normal teenager. 

That’s what you’ll do. Just bring the six pack over, say hi to Jisung and remind him that the rest of your neighbors might not be as tolerant of the noise level.

And to be careful. 

You tug slightly on your turtleneck as you walk over. It’s not cold enough to warrant it, but it’s night time and you aren’t stupid.

Easy access to arteries is a dumb move.

You decide to step over the fence between the backyards, hearing a few ‘who is that?’ comments as you do from the outdoor party-goers. You will stay thirty minutes. That’s enough to get the high school party experience, right?

You see Felix the moment you walk in the back doors. He is sitting on a counter laughing at something someone is saying. He sees you, eyes light up and he slides off the counter to come greet you. 

He’s so bright sometimes he makes your eyes hurt.

“You came! Jisung said you wouldn’t!” There’s a hug, enthusiastic on his end, less so on yours. No one dislikes Felix; it’s impossible, but he’s definitely good in small doses for you. “You brought beer?”

You nod and he takes it from you, leaving your hands empty with nothing to do.

“Come, come, have a drink.”

“Uh, I just brought that and wanted to say hi to Jisung.”

He hands you a bottle of something pink with a peach on the label before gesturing toward the middle of the house. “I think he’s in there somewhere.”

Did you mention you don’t love yelling?

The music and the din of human voices is a lot to your head, so you sip the drink to find it’s not too gross and the cold of it is welcome amidst the heat of bodies. You enter into the sea of people, some dancing, most talking, a few touching in ways that makes your skin crawl.

Seungmin bumps into you and greets you with the same apathy that makes you always think that you and he might be good friends if either of you tried. 

“Where’s Jisung?” you ask, wincing as you have to yell it to be heard.

Seungmin smiles and it makes you question everything. Because it’s too wicked to just be a smile brought by an innocuous question or even alcohol. 

“I think he’s over by the stairs. You should definitely say hi.”

If Felix is too bright to take in more than just a bit at a time, you’re more wary of Seungmin. You kinda hope you never see him smile again. It’s too unsettling.

You nod and move on through the house, avoiding touching people as much as possible because they smell of liquor and sweat and so many pheromones. 

It takes a few minutes to get to the stairs, but you do find Jisung who is staring into the crowd that is writhing in the living room. You quietly sidle up behind him (him unaware) to see what he’s seeing.

Ahhh. 

“Mi-sun, huh?”

He jumps and turns, almost knocking heads with you. You step back to give him space. He says your name, eyes wide and then quite delighted. He hugs you.

He hugs you.

Jisung doesn’t hug you. That’s not a thing between next door neighbors. But you can smell the mix of fruit juice and rum on him, so you think that it’s probably not surprising that intoxicated Jisung is affectionate. 

He is friends with Felix after all. 

You pat his back during the hug, but he doesn’t let go quickly. You feel his nose brush the fabric covering your neck before he draws back. 

“You’re here.”

You shrug, a little undone by how damn smiley he is. “I’m here.” You wait but he’s still staring and smiling at you, so you look away, pointing back toward the crowd. “You like Mi-sun?”

He follows your hand then looks back at you. “Uh, I mean…she’s pretty?” His brow is furrowed in confusion. “Why?”

“You were staring at her.”

“No, I wasn’t.” There’s a pout added to his words, so you just shrug because why would you debate this.

“I just came to bring some beer and say hi,” you tell him. 

“What?”

God, do you have to yell everything?

“Come on,” he says when you shake your head. “We’ll go upstairs.” He takes your hand and leads you. You are so dumbfounded that you follow, half-stumbling up after him. 

He leads you to a room and hits the lights before pulling you in and shutting the door. You look around.

“There’s no way this is your room.” You have very vague recollections of his bedroom from when you two were in elementary. 

“It’s my brother’s.” His older brother is already in college. “Why isn’t it mine?” He plops on the edge of the bed and lays down. 

“Doesn’t feel like yours.” You assume that his room looks different from when you were kids, but maybe there are still Alvin and the Chipmunks sheets. 

“Valid.” He sighs. “There are so many people here.”

You sit next to him. “Yeah. I was gonna warn you that I think Mrs. Park has looked out her blinds at least three times.”

Another sigh as he looks up at the ceiling. “Fuck. I really thought it’d be like ten people.” He sits up and looks over at you. “You’re drinking.”

You look at the wine cooler and offer it to him. “I think I had three sips.”

He takes it and drinks it, eyes on you when his mouth touches the rim of the bottle. You tilt your head to the side, then decide not to ask about it. 

“So…a high school party…is it as great as the movies told us?” you ask, looking at his brother’s swimming trophies decorating one set of shelves. 

“Dunno. It’s my first legit party.”

“Same.” You doubt birthday parties from third grade when Doyung had to invite the entire class counted as ‘real’ parties. 

“It’s not horrible,” he says before saying your name. You turn to look at him to find that he’s only a few inches away. 

“What are you doing?”

“Can I kiss you?”

You freeze before jumping off the bed. “What?”

He makes a face before looking at the half-drunk bottle in his hands. “I know it’s weird, but it’s my first party. This’d be my first kiss.”

“There is probably someone down there who’d do that for you,” you stammer, trying not to look at his lips because that’s what the word ‘kiss’ has done to your brain. “I think Felix would.”

Jisung laughs before grinning at you. “He probably would, but…” he trails off, looking at you. 

“But…” You cross your arms, so he doesn’t think you are interested. Then it hits you. “Wait, is this because I always tell you the truth? Like you want to make sure you don’t suck? I wouldn’t know. I’ve never kissed anyone.”

“Okay, maybe there’s some of that…” That shouldn’t be as disappointing as it is to you, but he continues, “But also…” he swallows nervously. “I want to kiss you.”

Your brain has stopped computing. 

“You…want to kiss me?” You are surprised you can even speak. “Why?”

He cocks his head to the side. “Why wouldn’t I?”

You move back to sit on the bed, a foot or two between you and him. “I…” You meet his gaze. “How drunk are you?”

He shrugs with an embarrassed smile. “Two drinks? I mean, I won’t lie, I definitely probably wouldn’t have asked you if I was fully sober, but I’m not…impaired or anything.” He scoots a little closer. “It’s okay if you don’t want to. I might cry about it later, but–” He laughs when you punch his arm with no force. 

It’s hard not to stare at him. Whether it’s the alcohol or something else that makes his eyes all sparkly, he’s turning into someone quite pretty. His nose still doesn’t quite fit his face and he’s more of a toothpick than human. 

But he’s pretty.

And probably the only person you know who you could kiss and not be worried as much about the aftermath. Maybe growing up with him just means he isn’t so scary.

Maybe it just means that he’s safe.

“Okay.”

His eyes widen at your admission. “Yeah? Oh. Okay.” He turns more toward you. “So, you have to be honest. I really have a lot of overcome in the romance department, but I think being a good kisser could like be my chance to outweigh the rest of it.”

You laugh, you can’t help it. “You’re pretty great as is, Jisung.”

His mouth parts, eyes boring into yours. “Thanks.”

You shake your head at the near mesmerizing effect of his big brown eyes. “Rules though.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Hands nowhere that bikini covers .” Even saying it outloud makes you cringe, but you really have no desire to find out if you like being groped or not. 

“Uhhhh, same?” He covers his hands over his chest like the cups of a bikini top and you giggle because he’s funny and cute and you’re going to kiss him. You lean closer. His eyes drop to your mouth, his hands falling from his chest to the mattress. “Anything else?” his voice is pitched high and you wonder if your voice does something to give away your nerves too. 

“I don’t think so?” Yeah, your voice doesn’t quite sound normal. 

He reaches out, one hand touching your cheek while the other rests on your thigh. He lets out a shuddery breath. 

“Soft,” he whispers before his eyes close which reminds you that you should close your eyes, too. You feel his lips brush yours hesitantly before settling with a bit more confidence. His hand cups your face as his mouth moves. 

It’s nice. It’s interesting.

He draws back, but his hands linger. Eyes open, and he gazes at you. 

“Okay?”

You nod, curious because you feel like it should be more. You aren’t sheltered. You’ve seen kisses on screen, in real life, but it’s not like you’ve studied. Kissing for any length of time requires movement. So you move.

You press your mouth to his, hands pushed down on the mattress as you edge ever closer. His index finger traces the shell of your ear when you open your mouth so your tongue can touch the seam of his lips. You feel him visibly jolt, but he gives you no time to question or apologize for that as he returns it. 

Oh…ohhhhh.

As his tongue slides along yours, his hand on your thigh clenches. It’s like a chain reaction; his hand on your leg draws you more to him, your hands finding his waist and hips. He makes a sound that spurs on his tongue so much that you pull back.

“No.”

His eyes flutter open. “What?”

“I mean,” you feel dazed yourself. “Not so much tongue.” You brush back his hair when his hand drops to your shoulder. “No lizards.”

He winces. “Sorry.” The flush on his cheeks catches your attention and you lean in to kiss the heated skin. His breath catches. 

“What about me?” you ask, fascinated at the give of his cheeks. You press another kiss. “Any tips?”

“No.” It’s more of a groan and you raise your eyes to his. “You…you’re very good.” He doesn’t elaborate, but kisses you again. You feel the intrusion of his tongue, but it’s slower…like he’s savoring. 

It’s so much better. 

You’re unaware of much beyond the kissing, your hands having a mind of their own as one slips under his t-shirt to trace the slope of his back. You’re not quite conscious of maneuvering him so he’s lying back on the bed and you are straddling him on your knees, reluctant to break away from his mouth. You do though, you draw away and look down at him; his swollen lips, red and shiny. His dark eyes and flushed skin. How his fingers wrap around your waist, gripping tightly. 

“Better?” he questions, breathless.

“Much.” One more kiss, this one soft and he whines when you pull away again. “I think you’ll be just fine, Jisung.”

He sits up as you move off of him. Reality comes back, your brain returning to its normal functioning. You stay on the edge of the bed, staring anywhere but at him. 

He fills the space next to you, so quiet. He says your name, and you dare to glance over. 

You kiss him again, the urge strong. He cradles your face in his hands, kissing you back. It’s more sweet than heated.

There’s a loud crash sounding from downstairs, and he jerks away before looking at you with wide eyes. 

“Shit.”

“You better go.”

He glances at the door then back at you, his hands leaving your face. “Yeah…are you going home?”

“Yeah. I think…I think I should.” You miss his hands already.

You both stand and you slide your hands into the back pockets of your jeans. He reaches out to touch where your neck is covered by your shirt. You freeze, staring at him. He shrugs, not saying anything. 

“I’ll…I’ll see ya.” He disappears through the door, shutting it behind him. You don’t move for a minute, trying to feel like you have control over your body before you leave. 

As you make your way through the party-goers, you’re almost out the back door when you hear someone (Seungmin you think) holler “Cops on their way!”

It’s a mad dash that you make in front of the departing crowd. You step back over the fence, hurrying into your house before watching the people and the cars all race off. You wait several more minutes once everything has gone quiet to realize that the cops aren’t coming. 

Pretty effective way to end a party, though.

Your phone vibrates.

Night.

—

If you had friends, especially female friends, you might have talked to them about it. Might have discussed the whys and hows and what to do now of it all. But you don’t think your mom is the right person to tell about the party at the Han’s house, and the few kids in high school you do interact with aren’t exactly interested in anything about your life. Your conversations consist of retelling what assignments someone missed and how high school is hell. 

You definitely don’t talk to Jisung about it. 

When you see him at school the following Monday, he smiles at you, but is distracted by one of his dance team members. You maintain the status quo which is little engagement with anyone at school, even Jisung. 

What is there to talk about? It was a kiss (several) and just two neighbors experimenting. It’s not anything else.

It definitely doesn’t mean you like Jisung or anything.

It’s two months later that you see him talking with Mi-sun by the lockers, her hand on his arm that you reiterate to yourself that you don’t like him.

Because that would be stupid. 

—

~Twelfth Grade~

High school is hell, but you weather it well enough. You pass your classes, you get a decent score on the SAT even though you think university is a pointless experience. It appeases your parents that you do apply and do accept going to a school in state, but farther away than you’ve ever been. 

You’ve been working a part-time job at a bookstore for the last two years, finally earning enough for a used car. Which means you don’t text your neighbor for any late night excursions. Even though he’s asked at least twice. 

He’s easy to avoid if you try. 

But not at the graduation bonfire. It’s tradition. The powers-that-be in your small town look the other way when the graduated seniors set up a party on the outskirts, in the woods. Bonfire, drinks, very little food and somehow it’s okay as long as no one drives home. 

You go because you’re curious. You’ve been to maybe three parties since Jisung’s because it makes your parents less annoying when you do ‘normal’ teen things. You haven’t stopped your research and exploring, but you hide it better. 

It’s the last high school thing you’ll ever have, so you go. 

It’s not about Jisung.

But you do see him once you grab a beer to keep your hands occupied. He’s laughing with Seungmin and Felix and other schoolmates that you know by sight. You know that he did date Mi-sun for probably a good year or so because even though you are a nobody in your school, it’s small enough that dating rumors and truths get to everyone, even the outsiders. 

You force yourself to look away from him when he smiles because it’s still bright and happy and it hurts. 

The bonfire crackles and burns bright in front of you as you fiddle with your open bottle. 

“Hey, you came!”

Apparently he saw you too.

You force a smile to your lips. “Hey Jisung.”

He steps in next to you, clinking your bottle with his. “Happy ‘we’re done with this hellhole’!” He seems a little intoxicated, giddy from the ceremony of the day. 

“Sure.”

He turns to you. “Your mom said you were going to Southern?”

“Yeah. And you’re going to State with Seungmin and Felix.” You take a sip and make a face. 

“Yeah.” There’s a pause. “Guess we won’t be neighbors.” 

Why does he have to sound bummed about it? What does he care?

“Yep.”

“What does an aspiring vampire-ologist major in?” His smile hasn’t faded, but you realize that you’re just not in the mood for his teasing. Even if he’s one of the only people who’s never mocked you for your life-long preoccupation.

“What do you major in when you just do everything your friends do?” 

You can see him still in the corner of your eye. The smile drops, the easy and open manner closes off. 

“What?”

You turn to him, angry for reasons you can never tell him because it’s probably not his fault that you went and developed a crush on the boy next door, but you convince yourself if he hadn’t kissed you, you wouldn’t be like this. 

You wouldn’t like Han Jisung.

“Just curious if going to college with your best friends from high school is such a good idea. I mean, will you ever figure out what you actually want to do if you keep following them?”

The bonfire paints flickering light over his face, shadowing the entirety of his expression. But you can see enough. 

You’ve hurt him. You’re not friends but you never wanted to hurt him. 

“At least I don’t live in a fantasy because I refuse to deal with the real world and actually interacting with humans. I don’t prefer mythological creatures over actual people.” He spits out words like they’ve been festering inside for far too long. “At least people know I exist.”

He holds your gaze, your glare for as long as it takes you to let his words settle in your mind. It’s a direct hit. And only he knows you well enough to do it so keenly.

You hate that you just now realize how well he knows you. 

“Have a nice life, Jisung.” You toss your bottle into the bonfire, watching the mini explosion with disinterest before walking away. 

—

~First Year at University~

When you see Jisung in his backyard during winter break, you pause in your thoughts about going out to look at the stars. You haven’t spoken to him since graduation night. You saw him load up his truck and leave about three days before you left for your college. There has been no contact in any way. You almost made a profile to see if he posted on tiktok or instagram or anything, but school takes over as it always does, and you don’t want to feel weak. 

Even if you wish you could apologize. 

You don’t go back home until winter break. Your parents check in with you, but you’re convinced that they’re just grateful that you’re finally out of the house. As the semester wears on, you don’t blame them. 

It’s three days before Christmas when you see Jisung in the backyard with Bbama. You were about to walk out, look up at the stars and soak in the wintry quiet. You hesitate in seeing your neighbor, wondering if you can actually do this. 

You go out anyway.

In a tufted beanie and big puffy jacket, Jisung spins around at the noise of the sliding doors opening. Even from this distance, with the back door lights illuminating, you can see his eyes widen.

You wave. “Hey Jisung.”

His shoulders drop in relief. “Hey.”

You walk over to the fence, pulling tighter on the hood of your sweatshirt. You squat down to pet Bbama over the fence. 

“So…” you begin, looking up as your neighbor walks over. “How was college?”

He half-smiles and squats down too, eyes on Bbama. “Is it strange to say life-changing?”

You stare at him as he rubs Bbama’s hindquarters. You need to know. You need to know if getting away from home, from the drama of high school, from everything of before also irrevocably altered him and the journey he thought he was on. 

“No,” you say. He looks at you then and seems to understand that there’s a lot you’re not saying. “Wanna tell me about it?”

The half-smile stretches into a full one. “Yeah, okay.”

He drives you both out to the woods, to a very large clearing so you both can lie in the bed of his truck and stare up at the stars, unpolluted by light. He throws a blanket over you before adjusting an old hoodie under his head for a makeshift pillow.

“I’m sorry.”

You still look at the stars, but you can feel his gaze. 

“You are?”

“For what I said at the bonfire. I was…” One of the reasons you never apologized was that you weren’t sure how to without revealing how angry you were and that the source of your anger was your silly crush on him. “I was angry and I took it out on you. I’ve always thought your friendship with Seungmin and Felix was really nice.”

He lets out a soft breath. “You could have been friends with them too.”

You snort. “Yeah, I wasn’t really about that.”

He chuckles. “I’m sorry too. For saying what I did about you living in fantasy and–”

“I don’t think you were entirely wrong,” you interrupt. “I think there was some element of avoiding life.”

“Did you have to take Psych 101 too this semester?”

You laugh, turning your head to look at him. He’s looking up at the sky, giving you a picture-perfect view of his profile.

He’s grown even more, in just five months. 

“I did.”

“Me too. So, I think you weren’t completely wrong either. About me.” He moves and sits up, leaning back against the cab of the truck. You do the same, wrapping the blanket around you. “It’s easier to be what others what you to be than to figure out what you really want.”

You’re both quiet for a few minutes, hearing the wind whistle through the bare and needled trees. 

“Did you? Did you figure out what you want?”

He nods. “I…I started writing.”

“Writing?”

In your peripheral, you can see him swallow nervously. 

“What kind of writing?”

“Lyrics. Music. Poetry.” He turns toward you. “I had to take a writing class to get it out the way and only one was available…poetry. I shouldn’t have even gotten into it, it’s a 300 level…a total glitch, but it was so good and I liked it so much and–” He cuts himself off, looking away and even though it’s dark you can tell he’s blushing. “I think I’m pretty good at it.”

“Are you going to like…be a song-writer?”

“Maybe? I’m taking two music production classes next semester. It might be awful. I might be awful at it.”

“But you might not be.”

He looks back at you and does that half-smile again. “Yeah. I might not be.”

“That’s really awesome, Jisung.” You reach out and squeeze his arm, which really is just you squeezing the puffy jacket. “I’m happy you found that.”

“What about you? You made it sound like…like college was life-changing for you too.”

You take a deep breath.

“Still researching?”

“No.”

If you were in a drama, he would have gasped with such a reveal. But it’s just quiet. Cold and quiet. 

“Why not?”

“Because they’re not real.”

Maybe that’s when a gasp would happen. 

“I…um, really?”

You laugh at how he’s trying to sound surprised. 

“I mean I noticed you aren’t covering your neck like you usually do at night, but–” 

You shouldn’t be surprised that he noticed that.

“I know. I know. I was so adamant about them being real. And who knows? Maybe they do exist. They’re just really good at hiding.” You sober up. “There was this flyer-poster thingy on the bulletin boards and on the community website for extracurriculars and clubs and stuff. It said something like “Find out about real vampires’ or whatever. I thought maybe I’d found others like me.”

You look back up at the sky.

“But you didn’t.”

“No. It wasn’t a big group. In some tiny classroom in the history building. The person who spoke was an activist.” You feel your voice break. “About sex-trafficking.”

“Oh fuck.”

“Yeah. And like, went on about the statistics, and how it happens here, not in some country a million miles away. I almost cried in the meeting. These kids, people our age and younger are being enslaved and assulated on the daily and…” You trail off. “I mean, we’ve all heard about it before, just something about then, that moment. Here I was, trying to write a manifesto about some fictional character trope and there were children out there, being…” You press your lips together and take another deep breath. “It was eye-opening.”

“I can imagine.”

You swallow your emotions a little, wondering if you would ever become jaded when you thought about it. 

“Anyway. I finally picked my major. I’m doing sociology and criminal justice. I don’t know what that means really, except…”

“I think that means you know what matters to you.” 

You turn to him. “Yeah. I guess so.”

He smiles. “Well, my lyric-writing turn feels really underwhelming right now.”

You laugh and lightly punch his shoulder. “I bet your words are really wonderful. Thoughtful. Powerful.”

He cocks his head to the side. “You don’t know that.”

“Well, no, I don’t. But you were always a good friend to me…You’re really empathetic which I bet comes out in your writing.”

“I think that’s the first time you’ve admitted that we’re friends.”

You huff and punch him again before crossing your arms to look back out into the dark night. “Whatever.”

“I think your obstinacy will serve you well in what you wanna do, Van Helsing.” 

You smile at the nickname. 

“Hey.”

You turn again toward him. He’s moved closer. 

“I’m excited for you.”

You can’t help but soak in his warmth from being closer and that smile of his. “Thanks. I’m terrified.”

“I think that’s good. I’ve never seen you scared.”

“I’ve seen you scared.”

He makes a face. “Well, that’s what I get for having a girl like you next door.” He meets your eyes for a couple seconds. “I’m sorry too.”

“About?”

“The party at my house.” 

You can actually feel your heart speed up. 

“We were kids.”

“But I liked you.” He shrugs. “And I got to kiss you but did nothing about it. Which feels both dumb and spineless. You didn’t seem to be interested so I just kinda decided to not bring it up again.”

You can’t take looking at him in the eyes for this, so you stare at the trees in the distance. “You liked me?”

“Of course. So I’m sorry I kinda made it about it being my first time and like, practice when it was definitely more than that. I took your first kiss too.”

“I agreed,” you say softly. “I agreed because it was you.” You reach out and smooth the wrinkles in his forehead from his worry. “I didn’t bring it up either. Even though it mattered.”

He doesn’t look away from you. “Yeah. It mattered.” He links his hand with yours. 

You stare at your connected hands because it’s almost as unfathomable as you pursuing something that wasn’t vampires. 

“Jisung.”

“Hmm?”

“You said you ‘liked’ me. Past tense.”

“I did.”

“Well, I like you.” You force your eyes back to his. “Present tense.”

“Yeah?” If there’s a trace of knowing in his voice and expression, you can forgive him. Because he’s always been perceptive and observant. Maybe your crush wasn’t as unnoticed as you thought. 

“Yeah.” You laugh in self-reproach. “I mean, I think you’re the only thing outside of my research that I even thought about.”

He doesn’t say anything, but he’s grinning, still holding your hand.

“Say something.”

“That’s the best compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

You roll your eyes, but don’t move away. “Are you a better kisser now?”

You can see and hear how his breath catches at your question. “Um…I think so. I got really good advice from a friend, once. Not too much tongue.”

“That is a good friend.” You aren’t sure which of you is moving closer to the other, or if both of you are doing it simultaneously, but his lips are definitely nearer. 

“Yeah. I like her.” 

“Still?”

He nods, so close his lips brush yours just from that movement. He lingers, before kissing you more firmly, his other hand coming around to cup your face. 

Maybe you don’t remember it that well, but you think he has improved. His tongue touching yours sends shivers through you that have nothing to do with the cold. But he notices. 

“I better get you home. It’s freezing.”

You protest, and he kisses you on the lips in response before dropping his head and pressing his lips to your neck.

“I wanted to do this that night,” he whispers against your skin, then looks up at you. “Kiss you here.” 

You cup his face in your hands, mouth meeting his, your fingers sliding into his hair. The way he kisses, the changing rhythm; his hands trailing under your hoodie and up your sides; all of it just causes your fingers to tighten in his hair, relishing the silky feel and hearing how he shudders at the slight pull. 

He drags you closer, almost into his lap, but the wind picks up, blowing through the both of you so you simultaneously shiver. He chuckles against your lips. 

“I better take you home. Getting sick on winter break would be the worst.” 

You agree, but not without wrapping around him, kissing again. He eventually draws away, but lets your noses brush.

“The image of you above me, kissing me that night. Seared into my brain for eternity.”

He doesn’t say anything else as he climbs out of the bed of the truck and holds out his hand to help you, but you throw the blanket over his head before climbing out on your own. He’s laughing when he gets into the driver's seat to drive you back. 

When he parks in his driveway, it’s quiet again. And your mind wanders.

“So…what does this mean, exactly?” you ask carefully. 

He takes your hand in his, turning his body toward you, eyes soft and warm. “Means whatever we want it to.”

“We go to different schools.”

“True.”

“We are just now figuring out who we are and what we want to do.”

“Also true.”

You huff at him. “Long distance, even two hours or whatever rarely works.”

His smile grows. “You looked up how long it takes to drive between our schools?”

It’s beyond embarrassing so you pull your hand out of his, and get out of his truck. He follows soon after, wrapping his arms around you in a hug, his mouth pressing against your temple. 

“It’s cute. You’re cute.”

“Whatever.”

He draws back, not letting go, but so you can look at each other. “Two hours is nothing. We drove almost that far to look at an empty house.”

It reminds you again. That he pays attention. That he cares so deeply about his friends that he does stuff with them. Even hunting something that doesn’t exist. 

You kiss him before drawing back to say, “True. Two hours is nothing.”

His answering smile fills you with so much affection, you wonder if it was inevitable; falling for the boy next door. 

---

(c) yoongihan 2024. please do not steal, translate, repost, or whatever. stray kids belong to themselves and all idols used in this piece are just the inspiration for characters and do not in any way reflect the actual humans.

[rheasmusings]

So I just watched Barbie.

It's amazing, fantastic, and missing quite a bit of queer representation but I'm going to roll with this anyway. I have so so many thoughts about the movie and all the messages and you know they just did feminism so good and Barbie and Ken and Margot and Ryan and Greta and ksdjfdkjsf. Yes.

What I found unfortunate about the movie is that I felt like a lot of people in that theater only understood parts of it. Not all of it, even though all of it is so incredibly important to understand.

My mom, dad and little sister went to see it with me, and they really liked the movie even though there were parts they didn't fully get. The movie was done very elegantly, but I can see why it seemed a bit high-level to someone who is not, for unknown reasons, obsessed with interested in gender studies (me). But you know what? The movie made them curious. It made them think. And it gave me the opportunity to talk and explain and have them listen and finally get it. An opportunity I have been waiting for. (And you know, I really won't shut up for days once I get going.)

So even if people found it complicated, I think it inspired them to open their minds a little, and that in itself is a huge impact. Greta Gerwig was so subtle and it worked. Those ideas just about nudged their way into people's heads (sneaky). This movie will have an impact. Maybe Greta was trying to show us the way out of our own shit-show. Remember, it's not just us who will be watching this, not with Barbie in the title.

Watch this movie.

[yandere-kokeshi]

Hi yes please can you write Yandere fanfics about the Barbie movie I think it’s a good thing that you are willing to expand things you write about I encourage it strongly to any author, because authors that do tend to write for fandoms for a long time without changing or adding a new one, tend to go through writers block because their inspiration is depleted and then sometimes just stop writing all together that’s what I’ve noticed from my personal experience of authors I follow in my account. But I also wanted to ask you a question have you ever thought of expanding your fandoms more than what you already have and if you have, what are they? I read once before that some other anon asked you if you would write for Game of Thrones or House of the Dragon overall the fandom of a song of ice and fire and you said you did consider it, but you did not want to I can’t remember the reason sorry but whatever reason it’s your reason and I’m not saying this in any offensive way and please don’t take this message as me pressuring you to expand your writing it is your choice in then end and I respect either way I just wanted to say that I think it’s a good idea to start writing for a new fandom and wanted to know what else have you considered writing about out of curiosity only. Have a nice day or night. 🫂😊��️

Hi anon :)

For the first question, I have! I’ve now decided to start writing GoT, the Barbie Movie, Hitman, and Tekken 8.

Although, I’m still thinking the two last ones through, the top 2 are most certainly gonna pop up.

Secondarily, you weren’t being offensive. You were asking a few questions and giving your opinion; which, I greatly admire.

Thank you for sending this in, anon! You have an amazing night/or day <3

[imustbeamermaidrango]

Tonight I saw Barbie.

I think people are going to be watching this movie, talking about it, finding inspiration in it, arguing about it, loving it, hating it, thinking about it, studying it, and in some way engaged by it, for decades to come. It is possibly the most existentialist-themed film to come out of Hollywood in a long while.

Yes, it’s a feminist film too. That much is obvious going in. The “It is literally impossible to be a woman” speech needed to be there, even if it’s not an especially new message— some variation of it has crossed my social media stream almost every day for many years.

I get that that message needs to continue to be said until the people who need to get it finally get it.

But I think the existentialist theme is the more interesting one. At the beginning of the film, Barbie is an object. She’s so perfect, that she isn’t even interesting. She lives in herself, but not *for* herself. And Ken is an object, too: in fact he wants to be an object, for as the narrator tells us he feels entirely unfulfilled unless Barbie is looking at him. He lives neither in himself nor for himself. So far, Barbie-land is fine, if a little weird. And then, Barbie drops the existential question: “Any of you guys ever think about dying?”

At that point, I felt able to settle into my seat in the cinema and enjoy myself, able to ignore that I was the only guy in the cinema who had gone to see it alone. Don’t believe me? I’ll photograph my ticket for you. But then, wouldn’t that be a Ken-ish thing to do? That is, to need to be seen as something, and to feel that need so deeply as to feel empty and angsty without it?

(Whoa, I think I just had an out-of-movie experience.)

I love that Barbie’s quest is a quest for realisation, a quest for the real. I love that Barbieland is Plato’s Cave. That the real world is messy, complicated, and a little dangerous. That Ken craves Barbie’s gaze so deeply, he organizes a patriarchal takeover of Barbieland in order to get it— and then he doesn’t get it, because he finds himself neck deep in a Hegelian master-servant dialectic. I love that Weird Barbie is a shaman. That Allan sees both early-film Barbieland, and the Ken kingdom, for the dead ends that they are. I love that Barbie accidentally finds herself on a quest for God— that is, Ruth Handler, her creator. And most of all, I love that Barbie decides what she wants is “to be part of the people that make meaning, not the thing that is made.”

That’s what I want too, Barbie. That’s why studied philosophy.

In fact I love something else about this film more than that. I love that all over this planet, millions and millions of girls are going to watch this film, thinking that they’re in for a semi-escapist, feminist-themed, family comedy film, about nothing more consequential than a toy. And on one level they’re going to get that film. But they’re *also* going to get an introduction to several of the most important and influential ideas in existentialism and phenomenology. They’re going to learn about the patriarchy. And Plato’s Cave. And Sartre and de Beauvoir’s Le Regard, and Le Regard Masculaine. And Hegel’s Dialectic. And the social construction of identity. And Hume’s Bundle Theory. And Heidegger’s being-towards-death. And Brechtian meta-theatricality. They’ll even get a touch of Marxism— but not too much, as Barbie is still a corporate IP, and the film is full of product placements. They’ll see an homage to 2001: A Space Odyssey. And Pinnochio. And the goddess Innana. And they’ll get a demonstration from Barbie, Ken, and Gloria, of what speaking from the heart, and from a place of pain, can look like, and how it can be healing.

And on most of these themes, the film doesn’t just “ask the question”. It takes a stand. It picks a side. It builds the argument. And it’s too busy dancing to care if you disagree.

I hope that a generation of boys will watch this film, and see how absolutely ridiculous Ken looks when he’s running his Ken kingdom. (Aside: in that phase of his story, he looked, moved, and spoke like all the bullies who made my life miserable in primary school and high school.) I hope that in watching this film, they’ll see there are ways to be a man that don’t involve perpetuating the patriarchy. And it’s up to us to find them. Although I worry that some of those boys watching this film will grasp that self-aware Barbie, living both in herself and for herself, doesn’t need Ken. And then they, too, might throw a patriarchal temper tantrum, as Ken did for a while. Perhaps they’ll tape a Bible to a baseball bat, and trash a Barbie dollhouse with it?

Oh, I see. That happened. Oh dear.

Incidently, I was not the only Ken in the cinema tonight. But all the others who I could see, were there with their kids, and they looked like they were fulfilling a family duty and very uncomfortable doing it. One of them was in a hurry to leave, when the credits rolled. But credit to them, for showing up anyway, for their kid’s sake if not for their own.

As for me, I’m glad I saw this film. And I’m glad I saw it in a cinema. I think that I have work to do, now. People with whom to relate to better. And meaning to create. Also, questions to ask, concerning what it means to create meaning.

All right, those are my off-the-cuff thoughts for tonight. Let me know what you think, too. And if any of you know someone in the cast and crew, thank them for me, please.

~ Brenden Myers, post from the 'Science Fiction' Facebook group

[retrowaving1]

My painting of Basia in 2023 / My drawing of “the Queen” Basia (to the left) and princess myself as a cat ( to the right  ) in 2010 - yes, I was a weird child  :D

Despite the description, this post is going to be deeply personal   One month ago, I lost my dearest friend and one of the most beloved family members - my cat Basia. She was fighting a lymphoma since 2020, when she also had a surgery, but even afterward, the problem returned and started progressing again. By the end of May, my mom, who, together with the rest of my family, currently lives in Ukraine, wrote me a message that Basia stopped eating and drinking, and had trouble walking. Clearly, she was in pain and couldn't function anymore. We made a painful mutual decision to put her down the next day, so she wouldn't have to suffer anymore. 

That day, I called my parents on Telegram to say goodbye to my pet. She was looking very ill, she lost most of her weight, and her fur, once silky and smooth, was looking like hedgehog spines. I cannot choose the words (even in my native language, let alone English) to describe the emotional state I was in, knowing that I couldn't be there for her at that moment. I felt guilty and I was so sorry. However, there was nothing to be done. The next day, that was the 1st of June, her 14th birthday, a vet came over to my parents' house and sent her to her last, peaceful sleep. My parents buried her at a beautiful, safe place near the river together with her favorite toy, a mouse, which she had since she was a kitten. 

Basia was an amazing cat. She was very loving and supportive, as much as a cat can be for a human, and even more. In a way, Basia provided me with advice, when I needed one, by gently biting me on my hand when I was misbehaving as a teenager and not accepting my abusive ex-boyfriend into the family, as if she was protecting me. She was an extremely wise pet. She also was my bestie. We were together since I was 8, and she was a 2 months old little piece of fluff. She used to support me through my pain and health issues, both physical and mental. 

She was my painkiller and my inspiration. When we adopted Basia, I had been attending art school for about one year. I have always liked painting, but if before Basia I would paint trees and barbie dolls, after I got her - everything was about her. I used to paint her in different costumes, as if she was a human. Once I painted her on an a2 canvas in my school uniform and I think this work won some kind of competition, and even was hanging on the art school’s wall for some time (even though it actually was awful, if you ask me now XD). 

I guess what I want to say is that I loved that cat so much I could honestly paint her forever and even write short stories about her, as she had her own character and her approach to life, and her eyes were always filled with some unattainable cat wisdom. I truly believe that this cat had a huge influence over my interest in arts and was my first-ever muse. Thus, the most reasonable homage I can pay her is her last portrait, which would capture her young, silky and beautiful, the way I remember her, sitting on the porch of our cottage.

Basia, my dearest pet to whom I owe so much, I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you in 2020, when you first got sick, and in 2023 when your time came, but I hope you didn't hold grudges against me at the moment when you found your final peace, as you have always been in my heart and no other pet will ever replace you. I still rewatch the videos of you, jumping and playing with your mouse, and I appreciate you so much for fighting this horrible disease for such a long time. You were always so strong. Thank you for all the happy memories and for all of your support throughout the years of our mutual friendship. Thank you for everything. I love you and may your cat soul, wherever it is right now, rest in peace.

_______________________________

[principiumindividuationis777]

What Hollywood (and Others) Need to Fix in Movies

In no particular order other than what occurs to me:

(A) Enough with the CGI. It looks as fake as it ever did, and vastly inferior to the expert practical effects that immediately preceded it (e.g. The Howling werewolf transformation). Yes, I know superhero and action films make a lot of money, but if an actor does not have the guts to do at least some of his or her own stunts, do not cast the actor in an action movie, and there have been stunt doubles at least since Yakima Canutt.

(B) Stop trying to make every villain sympathetic. Some bad people are just... bad. As far as film narratives go, antiheroes and tragic villains have their place, but so do absolutely, 100% evil characters, partly because such people do exist, and partly because part of what, in fact and fiction, forces a hero to become heroic is the enormity of a villain's actions. Imagine trying make Tommy Udo or Michael Myers or any other absolutely villainous character sympathetic: If the villain were not so clearly horrible, it would diminish what heroic characters do in confronting him.

(C) Conversely, stop making everything about politics or social issues. We live in a polarized world, and we often just want to escape. "Barbie" is a great example of this hyperpoliticization. I do not care whether you agree or disagree with the political "message". Now, I cannot see a Barbie doll or Barbie fashion without thinking of politics, so thank you very little, Greta Gerwig, for ruining a defining aspect of late 20th century pop culture.

(D) Horror films are intense mysteries, not action films or mere gore. This is coming from a huge fan of 1980's slashers, but in those movies, you did not know who the killer was until the ending, and the person who (usually) takes down the killer does not do so in action movie style. He (or more often, she) seems vulnerable, which is what makes the audience sympathize with her, and makes her victory against all odds all the more inspiring, even in the most campy context. Typically, in fact, the brash "action hero" type is outwitted by the villain before the final act.

(E) An obvious one: Too many prequels, sequels and remakes. Take some risks, because that is how all great art is made. There are so many unused (or essentially unused) literary adaptations, for instance, that this can be a font of creativity. If you must imitate, at least imitate what has not yet been on screen, but only in print.

[priscilawithonel]

Bamboozled by Barbie

I finally watched the Barbie movie, and lemme tell ya it was not the simple feminist manifesto I expected.

I went into Greta’s barbie dreamland fully expecting trite capitalistic expressions of patriarchy hate and general women-run-the-world monologues. To my surprise, I came out of it with somewhat that plus so much more.

Look, there is A LOT going on in Barbie. A lot. What makes it fun to watch, though, is the (delicious) pepto pink cinematography which delivers a funny and what I would say an okay story about girl power. But for me what is a success, yet unfortunately fades in and out throughout the movie, are threads of a tender exploration of mortality, of being human, and of our relationship to time itself. The heart of the movie is the scene where Barbie is blissfully dancing with her fellow Barbies and suddenly blurts out loud, “do you ever think about dying?” Throughout the rest of the movie Barbie explores her existential discomfort through the experience of being a woman (beauty, aging, patriarchy, motherhood), a valuable lens but one which unfortunately drowns out the thoughtful introspection around being alive. After that line, clever and quippy jokes about society's unattainable expectations for women fill scene after scene making me roll my eyes, for those are things that have been said before - nothing unique. Margot Robbie's masterful skills at showing sadness though tell me that something more universal was tugging at Greta's story. Towards the end, Margot Robbie's interaction with Rhea Pearlman as Barbie's creator, a fleeting moment in the middle of an extended chase scene where Mattel Execs are trying to box Barbie back up, is what completely and thoroughly moved me to tears. She says to Barbie, “Sometimes being human can be uncomfortable…”

Scenes like that one reminded me of movies like Bicentennial Man or AI where robots develop human emotions; but I'd also maybe compare Barbie to Arrival, a movie in which the central question is, “if you could choose, would you live life knowing already what’s going to happen?”

For Amy Adams, the answer is yes. And for Barbie, (spoiler alert), by choosing to be human, regardless of all the obstacles she is presented with, the answer is also yes. By leaning heavy on the patriarchy, Barbie leaves on the table too much unexplored on the topic of the ability to choose which I think is arguably the movie's more human, compassionate, empowering message.

TLDR: Barbie is generally inspired though ultimately tangled up in themes of trendy feminism. Looking forward to Ken’s take on consciousness 🎥

#iamKenough

[southsidestory]

Can't Afford Love on Minimum Wage

"Do you have lavender-infused non-dairy macrobiotic sorbet?"

Sasuke felt his left eye twitch. "All sorbet is non-dairy. That's what makes it sorbet."

The customer flipped her long, blonde dreads over her shoulder, which disrupted the dreamcatcher resting on her pale forehead. "Whatever. Do you have it or not?"

Sasuke pointed toward the blackboard behind him. "Is it on the menu?"

Cultural Appropriation Barbie's eyes narrowed. "Shouldn't you know what's on the menu?"

"I do."

He could recite all twenty-six ice creams listed on the board, along with their primary ingredients, any allergens, a short description of their flavor profiles, and suggestions for which ones paired together best. Sakura had drilled all of that info into his head during his first two days at Jeni's.

Sasuke really wished he could go back to memorizing flavor facts.

"Then why are you asking me what's on it?"

"Because apparently you didn't read it," Sasuke said.

The customer gaped. "Where's your manag—?"

Sakura swooped in before she could get the question out and said, "Hi, I'm the shift leader! I think what Sasuke is trying to say is that we have some great options you might like. For a similar flavor, we have a wildberry lavender ice cream—"

"I don't condone enslaving cows for their milk."

Sasuke gestured toward the end of the freezer. "How do you feel about goats? We've got a goat cheese one down there."

"Sasuke, why don't you take your break?" Sakura said brightly.

"Sure."

As he headed toward the back, he heard Sakura describing their newest vegan flavor, a refreshing, bright sangria-style frosé sorbet, made with pear, strawberry, and watermelon.

Sasuke took a seat on a cardboard box filled with jars of fudge, butterscotch, and caramel sauce. He checked his phone. Only one message. From Naruto, naturally.

Good luck on your first day dealing with people. Try not to get fired this time lol

Sasuke could hear Sakura telling the vegan customer that her four-scoop cone and a pint of frosé sorbet were on the house and that she was very sorry about the employee who had been so rude.

"He's still in training."

Might have fucked that up already.

Dude. You've only been there three days 😂

Shut up

Do you know what macrobiotic means?

Macrobiotic? I think that's like the stuff they give you when you get syphilis

Sasuke rubbed his eyes. He must have gone temporarily insane to think Naruto would know the meaning of a word with more than three syllables.

That's penicillin you moron, a kind of *anti*biotics

"What the hell was that?" Sakura asked.

Gtg get fired ttyl

Sasuke put his phone in his pocket. "Sorry. Guess that was a little rude."

"A little? I'd hate to see your version of being very rude."

Sasuke waited for the verdict. On the one hand, Sakura was only a shift leader, not a manager, so she might not have the power to fire him. On the other, this was his third strike in as many days, so he had to be on thin ice.

Sakura ran a hand through her chin-length pink hair, and he had the stupidest thought: her hair is the same color as the frosé sorbet.

"You obviously need some guidance on how to give quality customer service. Have you ever worked at a place like this before?"

Sasuke had spent the last five years caught in a revolving door of food service and retail jobs. So he wasn't being entirely honest when he said, "A couple times, yeah."

"Okay, well, whoever trained you before must not have done a very good job," Sakura said. "I'll try to teach you how to deal with difficult customers with more… grace. And patience. And better manners. And—"

"I get it. I suck with customers. Can't you just stick me on the waffle cone station or make me clean shit?"

"As often as I possibly can," Sakura said flatly. "But sometimes you're going to have to scoop or run register, and your pissy attitude will break the tip jar. Half the money I make here is in tips, and I am so not letting you gut my paycheck."

"Wait, what? Half?" Sasuke asked. "You make seven bucks an hour in tips just for scooping ice cream?"

Sakura smirked. "Closer to ten, actually. And I make good tips because of my excellent customer service skills. Watch and learn, unless you want to live off minimum wage."

He could more than double his paycheck by being nicer to customers?

"Okay. I'm all yours." Sasuke held out his hands. "Teach me how to not be an asshole."

Sakura hid her smile behind her hand, giggling. Damn, her laugh was as pretty as the rest of her.

"I don't make any promises to improve your personality," she said, her voice teasing. "But I'll teach you how to fake it."

Sasuke doubted that. Chances were, he'd cuss out an annoying customer before the end of the week and be job searching again by Monday.

Until then, at least Sakura would keep him company.

.

.

Author's Notes: Here's a sneak peek at my SasuSaku romcom! Yes, you read that right, I'm writing comedy. It's based on an absolutely hysterical tiktok by Scott Seiss (which I'll link to in a reblog later, bc for some reason tumblr hates links). Many thanks to @birkastan2018 for inspiring the first line of this fic! And this is entirely @toondoon1010's fault for giving me the idea for this story.

[imaginewarehouse]

Various Males x Fem!ExModel!Reader || Oneshot

Plot: You, a retired model get hired at Cloud 9 and, not-at-all-surprisingly, you get harassed by every allegeable (According to them) bachelor in the place- but god fucking damnit! You’re just here to get a paycheck??!  

“You can’t knock ‘em out, you cant walk away,

Try desperately to think about the politest way to say,

“Just get out of my face,”, “Just leave me alone,”

“And no you cant have my number,”,

“Why?”

“Cuz I lost my phone.”

(Inspired by Lily Allen’s Knock ‘Em Out)

Includes (In order of appearance after the introduction bit): Sal Kazlauskas, Garret McNeil, Tate Staskiewicz, Isaac (And I think my favouritism here definitely bleeds through*Cough*), Elias Greene, Cory, Jonah Simms, and Marcus White.

Warnings: Sal, harassment (They leave after you say no though. Just to be sure) 

🔆  🔆  🔆

“And uh, yeah one last thing before we all hop off to work! We have a new Cloud 9 family member. Y/N! Would you like to stand up?” Glenn, the lovely man who took your interview a week ago and then went out of his way today to look for you out front in the morning to show you around quickly and guide you through clocking in, finds you in the crowd of workers and gestures for you to stand.

Oh, uh- uhh, okay! Up we get, then, you think as you stand up like he said and take a look around at all the judging eyes, which normally wouldn’t phase you but here is a lot scarier than what you’re used to. This an entirely different environment to getting up at a modelling gig- you know nothing about working this kind of job! You’ve never done it, so, you’re afraid they’ll judge you right off the bat and make it difficult for you to ask questions. And you can’t keep bothering Glenn- he has more important things to do.

Oh god, you hear whispering. You peer around. Where is that coming from?-

“This is Y/N L/N! She’ll be working with Go back’s today,” Right, Go Back’s Easy enough; Glenn explained them earlier before the meeting started. “So if you see her in your area- be sure to say hello and see if she needs some help, K? Good. We’re jazzed to have you with us Y/N.”

“Thank you!” You quip quickly, then sit down and focus on Glenn again, hoping dearly at the same time that attention disperses from you immediately.

Glenn smiles, glancing down at his clipboard for any last-minute messages. “Okay! I think that’s it, so- “

The whispering from before suddenly cuts off. “Uh yeah, question?” Glenn stops short when a man in the back kind of rudely cuts him off, but sighs out a ‘Yes, Marcus?’ as the woman beside him - Dina, - rolls her eyes severely. Oh, you let a tiny ghost of a smirk slip over your lips. That’s kind of a reaction, isn’t it? “Yo- new girl.” What- me- w h y- You immediately get awkward again and twist around in your chair, but don’t really know who to look at. Luckily the tall brunette in the warehouse uniform is pointing, so you figure it out pretty quick that that’s who you’re looking for, and calm down. Mostly. 

Yeah? You raise one eyebrow. “Hi?”

He grins back to the right and the left of him, to his equally pleased buddies and pals, before raising a Vogue magazine- and it’s the issue on which you scored the front page. Jeez, that was months ago! “Is this you?”

A chorus of ‘Ohhhhh’ and general excitement travels around the room and for the first time ever, you’re half ashamed to admit that yes that is you. In your usual circle this is something to be proud of… but you get that it isn’t really like that, in non-modelling circles. In fact, it could be something to be embarrassed about.

Especially seeing that oh dude and his gang of Michael Myers fashion wannabes look like a hungry, dim-witted, wolves rather than plainly interested about your modelling career.

But, still, you smile politely and nod. Hopefully it’ll be forgotten before the afternoon, at least. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“Nice.”

Hmm… you really, really hope that it’s forgotten soon, at least, as you turn back around to face the front again as Glenn sends everyone off to work. Because if not, then these boys are going to learn the hard way that models take self-defence classes religiously.

Or at least you are going to have a very uncomfortable day, which is just great. You groan inwardly at the thought, as you gather up your coffee from the table beside you and drop it in the trash can on the way out.

~

You’re just doing your own thing and someone

Comes out of the blue,

They’re like,

“Alright”

But he’s saying

“Yeah can I take your digits?”

And you’re like, “No, not in a million years, you’re nasty.

Please leave me alone.”

There’s already so many Go Back’s! You think excitedly, as you get to work looking for where things should be. You’re glad to have something to do- at your first job with Chuck E Cheese, before you got into the modelling thing, you were basically useless the first day because you weren’t allowed to grill yet, you didn’t know how to assemble, and they didn’t want you out on the floor for the birthday party that was happening, in fear that you would mess up royally. So you just sat around trying not bother anyone, and that felt terrible. So, wandering the aisles of Cloud 9 with a full shopping trolley searching for products and neatening things up? Sounds like a good deal to you. Yes please.

“Uhh, hi.”

You practically jump entirely out of your skin, hearing the voice right beside you and whip your head around to see a balding guy in a blue Cloud 9 jacket. Is this man licking his fingers!?

“Uh,” You step back with your brightest, most polite smile, picking something up from the Go Back’s cart and rounding it to put it between you and the man, before acting like you’re stupid enough to be putting barbecue sauce in the Barbie section, and then… “Oh, oops! Silly me!” You flash the guy a nervous look. “I’m still working things out… “

Well? Better to look like an absolute idiot, then be standing within grabbing radius of the creepy man licking his fingers that you’re all alone in the middle of an empty aisle with. “Um… so, what’s up? Did someone send you to find me, or… am I doing something wrong? You know better than me, after all!”

“No… “His gaze licks up your form and if it weren’t for all your ‘training’ in staying still and not feeling this kind of thing- you absolutely would have wigged out. “You’re doing fine… Just wanted to see you.”

Boy- if anyone else could see your face right at this moment, full of disgust and mild horror, you’re sure you would be YouTubes next hit. Or a meme. “Oh… “You nervously chuckle. “Um, well, I’m gonna… go… “You pull the trolley around so that you can back up out the back of the aisle and escape through stuffed toys, into the open but his hand comes down on the other end of the trolley- stopping it. Before you can stop yourself, verbal diarrhoea spews from your lips. “Glenn has my resume- there’s a photo on there you can have.”

“That’s okay I prefer them to be breathing.” Both his hands are on the end of your trolley now, tight so his knuckles turn white, and he’s breathing unnecessarily heavy. He’s even leaning over the trolley some like his body really can’t handle whatever terrible heat is plaguing it right now. Oh god, oh god oh god oh god… this is so gross.

“Well, that’s… u-understandable...”

He looks up into your eyes, now, and doesn’t blink. Who the hell is this guy?! “Say… “ Oh no, oh no- he’s coming around the trolley-he’s coming around-he’s close-too close-too close-mayday-MAYDAY- Slowly, in your face, he licks up his thumb, makes an ‘Mm,’ sound, and you deeply wince; So much so in fact that one of your eyes completely closes. “Could I take your phone number?”

You absolutely couldn’t have helped what happened next if you had wanted to.

“Eeeeuuuwwwwwwww no not in a million years, your nasty, please leave me alone!!” You exclaim in a high voice before abandoning the trolley and rushing off to customer service.

~

“No you cant have my number,”

“Why?”

“Cuz I lost my phone.”

By the time you got to the front desk, you had basically calmed down and were mostly just stressed that you left the Go Back’s behind- but still must look troubled as the guy manning the front desk makes a confused, half-concerned but mostly intrigued kind of face at you as you stop there. You’re about to explain your appearance - that or just shrug, not too bothered about reporting whatever mess that was. Not on your first day, at least. No way. - when his face relaxes, and he nods. “Ohhh. Damn, Sal got to you?”

Sal? Was that the guy’s name? You didn’t check. “Oh, was that his name? I was a bit too preoccupied by his eyeballs sucking out my soul, to notice his name tag.” Now that you’re thinking about it, though, you glance at this man’s name tag. Garret.

“Yep, that’s Sal. That’s just one of the wonderful things involved in working here that you’ll just have to get used to.” Garret grins, offering you a chill perspective with a side of cynicism. You sigh, truly feeling relieved that you’ve found a normal person and relax your back against the taller part of the desk.

“Brilliant.” The sarcasm drips off the tip of your tongue.

“You’ll have to deal with a lotta that here, though, looking like you do.” You turn your head to the side to look already exhausted just by the idea, at him. He shrugs. “Hey, I don’t make the rules. I just speak the truth.”

“God- I feel sorry for the other women working here.”

“Oh, no. They’re in a completely different wheelhouse to you. Sorry.” Garret leans on his forearms on the desk, and you roll over to lean on your shoulder and pay attention. “See, you’re a model- “

“I was a model,”

“You were a model- which through primitive male thought process makes you prime real estate. Whoever manages to ‘bag’ you, for lack of a better word I apologise, gets some serious bragging rights.” He shrugs, and looks vaguely apologetic but still some how shameless as this utter bullshit slips out of his mouth. “We can’t help it- some of us don’t even know we’re doing that, but we are. Actually, I’m probably the only one who’ll admit it… which… kinda makes me your best option. Self-awareness, and all that.”

Oh. A dry laugh comes out of you as you feel a text come through in your back pocket and pull out your phone. As you see that its not an urgent message, you immediately put the phone back and glance around for any supervisors before returning to your conversation with Garret. “Oh- of course it does.”

“Exactly!” He grins, and you can’t tell through his expression at all whether he’s genuinely this clueless or if he’s just shooting his shot. “So- “

“No, you can’t have my number.”

“Why?”

Deadass, in a very monotone voice, you say: “I lost my phone.”

Then the two of you just have a stare off for a minute. Garret because he just saw you use your phone, and you because you wont back down.

~

“Oh yeah, actually yeah I’m, I’m pregnant. I’m having a baby in like 6 months, so no. Yeah, yeah… “

“You know,” The chemist pipes up from behind the Pharmacy desk as you put back some pill boxes he said were fine to return to the shelves, and you glance over at him to show you’re listening, and check his name tag. “I myself considered a career in modelling, before this. People even say, now, that I could model.”

Oh boy. You think, fighting not roll your eyes. And how old are you? Early 30’s? I don’t think so buddy.

“Oh, well, I wouldn’t recommend it.” You flash him a nervous grin before returning to your shelving. “You’re good for, like, 3 years. But then you hit 22 and unless you look like Victoria Justice shared with you whatever youth fountain she got chucked into, then you have to find something else to do with your life- despite having nothing to fall back on.” Okay… so… I might be a bit bitter.

Tate chuckles - and oh boy, he sounds just like your old manager. Totally fake, -, hiding his hands in his lab coat pockets. “Yeah, you’re probably right… Besides, I got the better end of the deal, anyway. Doctor for the doctors, they call us.” They call Pharmacists that? Who? That’s news to you. “Ahhh, yeah… I’m doing pretty well for myself.”

“Yep.” Forcing a fake smile his way, you leave the shelf you were stocking and get closer to the desk to stock another, as Tate’s eyes follow you waiting for encouragement of some kind. Doesn’t he have a job to do?? “You chose well!”

“Yeah, thanks. I know.” Ffffff-f a r out. This guy! “You know, you and me, we’d make a good couple.”

Oh? Dear god? You pause your shelving in surprise at the bomb this man has just dropped so casually, fish oil tablets paused on their journey to the shelf mid-air. Could Garret’s crazy-pants theory have been right?

“Ohh,” You giggle nervously, returning to work a bit faster now. “I don’t know. I think for a pharmacist like you, I would envision, like… “An actual doctor? No, I can’t say that. “A personal trainer, or something. Keep you both healthy all-round, you know? Now that’s a power team.” As long as that personal trainer has humility enough for the both of them, at least.

“Mergh,” He makes a face, like ‘What the heck are you talking about??’, before shaking his head of the things you just said and leaning over the desk towards you. You keep packing, even faster now. Like the Flash. Go! Go! Go! Death Con 5!! “So, whadaya say? I could pick you up Friday after work, and we could head up to one of my timeshares?” He says that like it’s such a selling point! You think, fighting off the powerful urge to laugh but still feeling the panic deep in the pits of your soul. “Stake it out together for the weekend? Get to know each other?”

“Uhh… “Excuses! What are they? You slowly stop stocking, turning around to face him and crossing your arms. The man deserves to at least be faced as he’s rejected; You’re kind enough to give him that, at least. “I’d love to! But, the thing is… “Chewing your bottom lip, you think hard.

Ding Ding Ding!!

“The thing is, Tate… “You fake some nerves, now. “I’m actually, uh… “You look up, face relaxing. “Pregnant.”

Oh boy, the way that man recoils at that word, like a terrified, disgruntled, blonde hedgehog. You’re going to laugh so hard about it, later!! “Oh.”

“Yeah! Oh, I mean, yeah… I’m gonna be having a baby, in like, 6 months so… yeah… Yep.“ You shrug to him, as if its just so unfortunate. “Shame.”

~

She looks in her bag, takes out a fag, tries to get away from the guy on a blag,

Can’t find a light.

‘’Here, use mine.’’

‘’See the thing is I just don’t have the time.’’

Ahh, lunch. Now you can check your texts! Hmm, you look through your notifications and gradually lose excitement. Mum… mum… mum… phone bill company… friend… mum again…

Ah, the glamorous life of the famous.

You roll your eyes, and get to responding to your mothers texts about dinner and when you’ll be home and how your first day is going, not noticing the not-so-jolly, not-so-green-(unless-you-meant-pot) giant approaching you. When you finally finish responding to both your mum and your friend, you put your phone away and start unwrapping your lunch- a typical ham sandwich that you’re actually pretty excited about. That’s one good thing about your sudden drop in financial status; You can put in your damn sandwich as many pieces of ham and cheese as you like. Grinning excitedly, you pick it up and have it halfway to your mouth before another person - a very heavy, large person, - drops down beside you on the bench you’ve commandeered behind the store. You close your mouth without any delicious lunch inside it and look up, politely to the person who’s joined you.

And all you can think, is wow.

He could put you in a suitcase and walk off with you right now and have no problems.

That’s wow.

“Hi! I’m Y/N,” You introduce yourself, offering a hand for him to shake.

“I know.” Oh, well yeah okay that’s understandable. Glenn did introduce you to everyone this morning. Despite the man’s less-then-excited response, he takes your hand in his and shakes. It makes you all giddy inside, honestly. So b i g. “Names Isaac.”

Do you remember Isaac in the breakroom this morning? You wrack your brain for him, because surely if he was there you noticed him-

Oh. Yep, you remember him. He was one of that Marcus-Dude’s pals chuckling and whispering behind him. He was one of the men that had the magazine with you on the front, and if there’s one thing you know about men who carry Vogue in their locker’s it’s that they fit into only 2 groups- interested in fashion, obviously… and interested in the women. And this man clearly is not interested in fashion. Immediately, on this realisation, you feel disappointed- you really could have liked this man right off the bat…

But it looks like he’s just going to be another of the men at this store you have to get to know, before becoming friendly with.

“So,” He starts, and you fight off a wince. Hopefully, you don’t know what’s coming. But… the likeliness of that is not high. “You wanna go out, some time? I’m a big fan of your work.” He smirks.

“Oh, ha ha.” You laugh sarcastically, shaking your head and returning to your sandwich. You take a bite and- Ahhhhhh, so worth the wait. Oh my god. Food orgasm. “At least you’re honest!”

“Yeah, so is that a yes?” His face brightens a smidgeon, which is a lot seeing as he doesn’t seem to be totally all there, in the first place.

You look up at Isaac, and look apologetic. He was honest with you so its only fair that you’re genuine with him. “Sorry… “

“Ah- actually, I don’t know if this’ll change your mind, but I have 2 weeks to live, so… “

Never mind on that honesty thing, then.

Dull-eyed, you stare up at him. “… Uh-huh.”

“Its true! I have, uh, cancer.” He insists, nodding his head and forcing his eyebrows up his forehead all serious-like.

“Cancer.” Right.

“Yep.”

Right, time to look in the bag... You start to wrap up your lunch again - sadly, as now you’ll have to wait until the end of the day and the bus ride home to eat it, - and plop it back away in your bag, getting up and pulling out a cigarette instead- that should hold you over until the end of the day. “My lunch break is actually over, so I should go- Damn, where’s my light?“

Isaac rifles through his pockets until he pulls out an old looking neon orange lighter, and offers it to you. “Here, use mine.”

Oh, no. You stare at it like a deer in headlights. If you accept that, like you really want to right now because it’s been a month since your last smoke, then you have obligations to sit with him for another couple minutes, at least.

Aghh… You groan and whine on the inside, before making up your mind and flinging the cigarette into a puddle. “See the thing is, I don’t actually have the time-”

~

“Go away now, let me go.”

“Are you stupid? Or just a little slow?”

“Ughhh… “This one has been giving you looks all day, but had no courage until now to speak to you- but the thing is? He didn’t have the smarts, either, to take off his wedding ring at least before he decided to be a bastard and bother you. So you feel absolutely no regret about being exactly as dismissive or plain rude, as you feel. “Elias? Go away now.”

The nervous man, who’s been ringing his hands this whole time and stuttering through failed date requests that you pretended you didn’t understand because of his struggle, gets panicked. “Just let me ask!- Will, will you go out with me?”

“No.” You yawn, dropping a piglet toy into a basket.

“But!- “

Turning away, you start pushing your trolley along to get to the next aisle. “Let me go.”

“We can go wherever you like!”

Sighhhhhhhhh. You turn around and grant him an audience, putting your hands on your hips and raising you brows at the wedding band on his left hand.

“Are you stupid? Or just a little slow?”

~

“Please fuck off.”

Oh good god in heaven, they’re going bigger with their proposals.

“Y/N! Will you go out with me?”

This man, Corey, has grabbed the announcement phone now that you’re walking away, making you freeze like the dad possum in Over The hedge and seriously consider playing dead, too, as you slowly turn around to look at him again.

Oh, if only looks could kill- he would be so dead that even Vlad the Impaler’s victims would laugh.

This is your first day, and the fact that you’re being harassed by multiple stupid men is bad enough but now he’s calling attention to you like this? Glenn’s going to think you’re a troublemaker!! Jesus fucking Christ- you need this job! Corey continues to talk into the speaker phone, even as he looks into your eyes and sees his death.  “And… now… you’re looking at me like that, so uh… I’m just gonna… say please?”

… “’Please’ fuck off.”

“Yes ma’am-“  

~

“Go away now, I’ve made myself clear.

I don’t think so.

Nah its not gonna happen.

Not in a million years.”

Since the run-in with Corey and the following spike in your blood pressure, you’ve calmed down again. But now you’re looking into the two faces of a ‘Mateo’, who you apparently work with, and a ‘Castor’ who does not work here and is not shopping but is still in your face and is t h i s close to feeding that ugly tie to his cousin.

But, still, you’re going to stay graceful, because Castor constantly looks like he’s 3 seconds from pooing himself. “Now please go away, now… I think I’ve made myself clear.” By explaining, politely, that you aren’t looking for a man but thank you for the offer, Castor.

“Oh, but you haven’t heard what Castor does for a living! He’s in insurance,” Mateo explains to you, like this is some huge game changer. When you don’t react, he adds that there’s good money, insurance.

You almost laugh. Does this boy really think you’re such a gold digger? Boy- if I wanted riches then I could’ve easily become a C-Class actor who has no skills in the area, but is pretty so gets praised like she does- like a lotta my model friends.

Instead I’m here, at Cloud 9.

Come to your own conclusions.

But instead of saying that, though, you just shake your head nervously. “I don’t think so… “

“But!- “

“Nah… sorry, its… not gonna happen… “

“But Castor is- “

“Not in a million years… “

~

“Aw, no. I gotta go. My house is on fire.”

Now, at least this one is respectful, you think, listening to him talk about the products you’re shelving together. He had come over and offered to give you a hand when you looked confused, as a ‘Cheyanne’ had handed you a scanner earlier and then promptly ran off, despite your utter incompetence. You were so relieved that this guy turned up!!

“… so, you just punch in reduce .50, and scan! Its pretty easy, if you have it properly explained to you. I- I was actually in the same situation, as you! When I first started here, except I ended up, uh, reducing all the items in electronics to 15 cense rather than discounting it all 15 percent.” A grin spreads across your lips at the story, and thank god that Jonah had turned up before that happened to you and, with your luck, you got fired for it.

“Oh no!”

“Yeah- Amy, our uh, floor supervisor, was pretty cranky with me about that… “He laughs himself, resting his hands on his hips; Still looking nervous at the memory.

You look back down at the scanner you’re holding and shake your head. “Well at least you know, now! And thank you so much for coming to my aid, haha. I was so lost- you’ve been a huge help! A life saver, truly.”

“Yeah… “ He gives a cute little, reserved smile. “So, uh, its basically the end of the day! Hope you’re first day hasn’t been too strenuous. At the end of my first day, I know I was tired. But I got to go out with a couple of the other employees and have a drink, to destress. If-If you were free, we could… do something. Together.” Your eyebrows slowly raise up your forehead at that, and you turn to look up Jonah, sceptical. What was that? You sure have had a long day, and its about to get a lot longer if this boy is asking what you think he is. “Sorry! Sorry, that sounded weird. Um, I guess what I’m really asking, is… would you like to, I dunno, go out with me sometime? I know some great places.”

Oh, noooooo! You cry, on the inside. You thought you found a normal one!

Still, he is being so nice… The least you could do is let him down easily.

“Oh, Jonah, I actually… oh- sorry.” Your phone beeps in your pocket and you take it out quickly to have a glance - its just your mother… again, - … and suddenly get an idea. Feigning shock, you quickly put the phone away and put down the scanner. It’s time to clock out and go home, anyway, thank god. “I have to go! That was my mum, uh- I really have to go!”

“Wow, wow, wow, what’s wrong?? Can I help with anything?”

Oh… he looks so concerned. He’s sweet.

But before you can rethink your words, this living horror slips out. “My-my house is on fire.”

Oh god, you’re a horrible person.

~

“I’ve, I’ve got herpes. No- Syphilis!”

Oh thank god the day is over. Rolling your shoulders back, you kneel down at your bottom locker, open it up and take out your bag. Now you can go home and put on Gotham on Netflix, wear no pants and eat thin mints until you fall asleep.

When you get up, you aren’t watching out for a man to be standing barely half a foot away from you - Your mistake, obviously, - so you jolt right out of your skin when you see him and curse. What is wrong with these men? Does Cloud 9 offer complimentary staff ninja classes along with their lack of health insurance? Man, classy company. “Sorry!” You look up past the coveralls after stepping a safe distance back from him, and immediately feel dread deep in your chest. “Oh, hi. Marcus, was it?”

“That’s me! How was your first day?” He asks, seeming polite enough despite the fact that you’re cornered between tall boy and the lockers. And you’re too tired to try and slip away- this boy will get out of your way.

“It was good! Thanks for asking. I’m ready to go home and collapse, though.” You admit, shoulders dropping and a tired smile on your lips. Mmm… thin mints… bed… blankets… Cory Michael Smith… I can taste it… Marcus just needs to get out of my way.

“I hear that.” Evidently not quite as deeply, though, as he moves on pretty fast. “Listen- I was thinking if you’re into it we could… go out, some time.” He tilts his head forward to clarify, “On a date,”, in case that part hadn’t translated, and chuckles. “We could see a movie or get drinks, or something, I don’t know. How about tonight?”

T-tonight? The word nearly slips from your lips; All disbelief and tears and exhaustion, included. You’re so tired. “Um… you know, tempting offer, but um… “He looks so hopeful. It nearly changes your mind. “Not tonight.”

“OH! So like, tomorrow?” Oh christ- “Cuz I’m supposed to watch Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here with my mum, but… no, I can blow that off! So, tomorrow?”

You take a deep breath, not really knowing what you can say. “Marcus… “He raises his eyebrows, waiting for an answer. “… I have herpes.”

“Wait, what??” He steps back, nearly tripping over a table in his fear that just being near you will cause him to contract the disease, and you let your guard down in relief. Yep, for sure, definitely. If it makes him back off, then yes- you have herpes. You have a raging, festering case of herpes.

“Yeah! Or-“ Squinting, you pretend to sift through your brain. “Was it Syphilis?” This boys eyes basically bulge out of his head and you’re totally going to laugh about it later, but right now you have to get out of there. You waive your hand dismissively and walk on by him towards the door like you don’t have a care in the world. Before you leave though, you turn around a flash Marcus a big smile. “Either way, ew, right? Well, see you tomorrow buddy! Gotta go! Enjoy I’m A Celebrity with your mum.” Then you’re gone.

Tomorrow is going to be a much better day, once that rumour is properly spread.

[pauleonotis]

I was tagged by @rockmarina, thank you 💗

1. Why did you choose your url?

Because of a plant I found interesting looking.

2. Sideblogs?

I actually had one - but I created it on my laptop and forgot the mail I used for that one + my password. Oops.

3. How long have you been on Tumblr?

I created my account at the beginning of 2019 I think. So I’ve been on here for roughly 2 years.

4. Do you have a queue tag?

No I don’t— I probably should put one.

5. Why did you start your blog?

Because after 5 years I finally managed to get out of a really toxic friendship with my crush back then. She absolutely hated Tumblr (for no particular reason — tho to be fair she hated everything she didn’t use/watch/read lmao) so I thought to myself „HA, Ima start a Tumblr now and this time you can’t talk me out of it“.

6. Why did you choose your icon?

I love Barbie Of Swan Lake and I love Draco.

7. Why did you choose your header?

It was something spontaneous when I drew it and I am a rather spontaneous person- well at least most of the time I like to tell myself that.

8. Post with most notes?

Probably that ferret meme.

9. How many mutuals do you have?

Wait you can see that-? I had no idea :0

10. How many followers do you have?

Definitely not gonna tell that today~

11. How many people do you follow?

579

12. Ever made a shitpost?

Yes, quite a lot actually. Most of it is just super random art/sketches though.

13. How often do you use Tumblr each day?

I tend to login in the morning and afternoon to check and delete negative asks lmao. But other than that I’m basically just online whenever I post or get tagged somewhere. :0

14. Did you ever have a fight/argument with another blog?

Not that I know of - however I am blocked by an artist I wanted to follow. No idea what I did though since we never interacted.

15. How do you feel about „you need to reblog this“ posts?

They make me feel really guilty when I ignore them but I don’t want anyone to feel like they have to reblog that too.

16. Do you like tag games?

I LOVE them.

17. Do you like ask games?

yES. Even tho I don’t reblog ask games as often - even if I want to lmaooo.

18. Which of your tumblr friends/mutuals do you think is famous?

I actually never thought about that— I mean if anyone even wants to be famous and they are then I’m super happy for them.

19. Do you have a crush on a mutual?

Listen I— omg. If you’ve ever reblogged something from me and added some nice tags or if you’ve ever commented or messaged me or tagged me or sent a kind ask or gifted me something or inspired me with your beautiful work then I most likely have a platonic crush on you. So yes, I do. I love y‘all.

Tagging everyone reading this right now, yes YOU, if you’d like to do this. <3

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 18: Summers In Florence] [Series Finale]

A/N: If it doesn’t end with a wedding, is it even my fic??! 😂 For those who somehow haven’t yet read Baby You Were My Picket Fence (my most popular series), you might be a tiny bit confused during this chapter. Just roll with it. 😉 Also, COVID-19 doesn’t exist. What a wonderful world. Thank you so much for sticking with me and BYCNL. I love you all. 💜

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​ @hardyshoe​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @sevenseasofcats​ @tensecondvacation​ @queen-crue​ @jennyggggrrr​ @madeinheavxn​ @whatgoeson-itslate​ @brianssixpence​ @simonedk​ @herewegoagainniall​ @anotheronewritesthedust1​ @pomjompish​ @writerxinthedark​ @culturefiendtrashqueen​ @allauraleigh​ ​@deakydeacy @bluutac​ @johndeaconshands​ @nyxaura​

It’s May 25th, 1984, and Roger and John are in Perth, Australia to promote Queen’s eleventh album, The Works.

Interviewer, daytime television host Ronald Inglewood: “Good morning and welcome to our viewers across Australia! We’re sitting down this morning with Roger Taylor and John Deacon, respectively the drummer and bassist of Queen, who are here to talk about the band’s brand new album called—quite self-assuredly, if I may say so, gentlemen—The Works. Hello to you both.”

Roger: “Good morning, Ron!”

John: “Hello.”

Interviewer: “And this latest album has been rather well-received so far, is that right?”

Roger: “It has, yes, and we’re enormously proud of it.”

Interviewer: “Now, The Works is a very different album than Hot Space, Queen’s sort of notorious foray into disco...do you think the back-to-basics, classic rock and roll feel of The Works has been the driving force behind its success?”

Roger: “Well, you know...I think experimentation is very important. We’ve always been an experimental band. The single Bohemian Rhapsody was hugely experimental, and that’s why it was such a phenomenon. We were experimenting long before A Night At The Opera, and I suspect we’ll keep on trying new things until we run out of ideas, whenever that is! I didn’t love every song on Hot Space, I’ll be completely transparent about that, but I certainly don’t think the album was a failure or a waste of time. It was an experiment. And The Works is an experiment as well, just one that runs in a different vein, I suppose.”

John: “Some people did actually enjoy Hot Space.”

Roger: “I think I know one or two.”

Interviewer: “Of course, it did have its bright spots. Under Pressure remains one of Queen’s biggest hits, doesn’t it?”

Roger: “Yes, and John wrote the bassline for that one!”

Interviewer: “Really?!”

John: “And Roger has his own hit on The Works, at last. We’re all very happy for him.”

Roger: “Only took ten years.”

John: “Fourteen, actually.”

Roger: “I’m going to murder you as soon as we get backstage.”

John: “You’re welcome to try.”

Interviewer: “Now this hit of yours, Roger, is Radio Ga Ga. And I’m sure we’ve all seen the famous music video, the hovercraft, the futurism, the clapping...we’ve all seen it, right? Where on earth did you get the idea for that song?”

Roger: “It actually originated from something I heard my daughter Violet say.”

Interviewer: “Fascinating! And you’ve just welcomed another one recently, haven’t you?”

Roger: “Yes, last month, in fact. A little girl named Nora. “

Interviewer: “Congratulations!”

Roger: “Thanks so much, Ron. Our eldest, Violet, turned two in January, and the idea for Radio Ga Ga came about when she was first learning to talk. She would always stumble around—you know how babies do—clapping her hands and squealing the most nonsensical things, and one day she started trying out ‘radio’ and then adding random words to it, ‘radio goo goo,’ ‘radio mama,’ ‘radio dada,’ etcetera. Well ‘radio ga ga’ got stuck in my head and I started sort of lamenting how television had begun to eclipse the radio as a medium for music and entertainment. We were on vacation in California at the time, and I locked myself in a hotel room with a keyboard and a drum machine to get it written. I initially thought it might end up on one of my solo albums, but then John heard it and wrote a bassline, and Freddie really thought it could be a hit and pushed to have it on The Works...and here we are today!”

Interviewer: “That Freddie Mercury has awfully good instincts about these things, doesn’t he?”

John: “Oh, he’s a genius, no doubt about that.”

Interviewer: “And John, I understand you wrote the other single released from The Works, I Want To Break Free. Any deep philosophical messaging in that one?”  

John: “Well I suppose we’ve all been in situations that feel...rather constraining or hopeless. And then things that bring us back to life again. So this song is about a character going through that process and coming out on the other side.”

Interviewer: “Indeed.”

John: “But we wanted to keep things amusing and lighthearted in the music video, hence the dressing in drag bit. And to our absolute horror, Roger was very alluring as a schoolgirl.”

Roger: “It’s true. I have irresistible legs. I was born to wear miniskirts.”

Interviewer: “Ah, this is the music video that is beloved in Europe and here in Australia but has stirred up so much controversy over in the States. Has the hullabaloo dampened your enthusiasm for the song, or even the entire album, somewhat?”

Roger: “We’re not bothered much at all, to be honest with you. It’s like I said, Queen is always going to have fun and experiment and take creative risks. And if people don’t like it, then they’re welcome to not listen.”

Interviewer: “Yes, yes, I suppose you could say that.”

Roger: “Americans, you know, they can just be so bloody puritanical. It absolutely takes all the enjoyment out of life. All the humor. Americans these days can be very difficult for us to connect with.”

John: “Well, not all of them.”

Roger: “No, of course, not all of them.”

John: “But we’ll start touring at the end of August, and we’ll be spending several months in the States, so they have time to come around to us. We’re all really looking forward to being on the road again.”

Interviewer: “It has certainly been and will continue to be a very eventful year for Queen. And for the four of you personally. A new baby for Roger, and you’ve just gotten married, haven’t you John?”

John: “I did, yes. And Roger was in attendance! No miniskirt that day, though. Sadly.”

Roger: “The whole band was there. And my girlfriend and children too. It was quite a party.”

Interviewer: “That’s wonderful to hear, considering the...the...well, not to bring up tabloid gossip, but the complexity of the situation. It was a destination wedding, wasn’t it?”

John: “Yes, we were married in the Basilica di Santa Croce in Florence, Italy. It’s breathtaking, the largest Franciscan church in the world, built in the 1300s. And we filled it with friends and family and live music and flowers and food...all the trappings. Took about a million photos. Celebrated until dawn.”

Roger: “It was a very sentimental occasion. Everyone really enjoyed it. John cried.”

John: “I did, it’s true.”

Roger: “He promised he wouldn’t and then he did.”

John: “Well, you don’t have to bring it up all the time!”

Roger: “It was touching, really.”

Interviewer: “It must have been a magical time. You’re positively radiant, John! Marvelous. And some much-needed good news, I imagine. I understand you’ve recently gone through an exceptionally antagonistic and protracted divorce.”

John: “Well...uh...I suppose that’s...uh...”

Roger: “How about we ask you the same thing? How was your divorce, Ron?”

Interviewer: “What?”

Roger: “You’re on your third marriage, is that right? And I think I heard that the latest Mrs. Inglewood is very young indeed, almost thirty years your junior. How did your former wife take that news? How did your adult children? How was your goddamn divorce?”

Interviewer: “That’s a rude question.��

Roger: “Yes, you’re right, it’s an extremely rude question. So you shouldn’t fucking ask it.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s December 25th, 1986, and the children are tearing open presents under a fifteen-foot-tall Christmas tree in the living room of Garden Lodge.

Freddie and Jim Hutton are serving cookies and milk and clapping their hands as they tower over tiny shoulders, cheering the kids on as they litter the floor with wrapping paper and bows and scatter their new toys everywhere: Care Bears, Magic 8 Balls, My Little Ponies, Mr. Potato Heads, Barbies, Etch-A-Sketches, Transformers, miniature Lukes and Leias and Chewbaccas, View-Masters with scenes of oceans and deserts and forests and stars. With so many fragmented families, there was only one logical approach to handling major holidays: convincing everyone to celebrate together on neutral ground.

Mary and Veronica are chatting by the roaring fireplace. Phoebe, Joe Fanelli, John, and Roger are embroiled in a brutally competitive Scrabble game; Dominique, smirking stealthily, leans over Roger to read his tiles and periodically whispers ideas to him. Brian and Anita are circling the flock of giggling children—Laszlo, Anna, Teddy, Evelyn, Lena, Antoni, Violet, and Nora—and snapping photos with your Canon between long, yearning gazes at one another, wearing matching Christmas sweaters that are a deep, passionate crimson. Chrissie’s husband Denny is admiring Freddie’s extensive vinyl record collection as he sips a hot chocolate and compulsively strokes his green-and-red striped tie. Tiffany the cat rolls around between his feet and occasionally hisses or gnaws on an ankle, which Denny takes in stride, as he does most things.

Meanwhile, you and Chrissie are camped out by the wet bar, drinking mulled wine and nibbling on cookies shaped like snowmen and reindeer. You give Veronica a wide berth with the children anytime you’re in the same space; she hates you, and she’ll probably always hate you, but she loves her children too much to poison them with that reality. Their happiness is her whole life, her purpose. And that’s the only thing that finally convinced her to come to the bargaining table.

“She seems...nice,” you tell Chrissie, gesturing to where Anita is crouching to wrestle a Yoda piggy bank away from Antoni before he can lob Teddy on the head with it. To John’s children, Veronica is “mum” and you’re the distinctly more American “mama”; and no one ever really taught them that, they just started doing it somewhere along the way.

Chrissie rolls her eyes and shifts Stevie to her other hip. For two and a half years after leaving Brian, Chrissie made it her mission to date at least one man from every country in Europe. She managed to cross off Ireland, France, Germany, Austria, Italy, Sweden, Switzerland, Portugal, Poland, and Greece before meeting professional archer Dennis Clarke at the 1984 Olympics in Los Angeles. They got engaged at Christmas, eloped on New Year’s Day, and had a daughter that Chrissie named after Stevie Nicks nine months later. Stevie Clarke has adorably chubby baby legs, wide blue eyes, and blonde hair without a single spiraled ringlet.

“My therapist said I needed to cultivate a rapport with Brian for the good of the kids,” Chrissie says. “You know. Be the bigger person. Get amnesia and forget about how he made my life a living hell. Act like I don’t want to freaking decapitate him. So I, trying to be nice, trying to rise above and make polite small talk with my nauseating ex-husband, made a comment about how much I liked EastEnders. So he starts watching EastEnders. Then he begins to fancy one of the actresses. Then he meets her at a movie premier in Beverly Hills and invites her to the concert at Wembley. Then he ends up in love with the woman. What the fuck. You couldn’t write this shit.”

“Love is a roulette wheel,” you agree.

Chrissie scoffs sardonically. “Yeah. Russian roulette, maybe.”

After his marriage fell apart, Brian bounced between New Orleans and London, liberated bliss and aimless, disgraced, black depression. Whoever Peaches is as a person, she couldn’t tame Brian’s demons. You worried about him almost constantly until he started seeing Anita. She’s cheerful and magnetic and persistently hopeful in a way that reminds you of Roger. She’s good for Brian. She’s good for all of you. Well...Chrissie is still coming around to the idea.

“I do like that she wasn’t fucking my husband behind my back,” Chrissie muses. “So that’s something.”

“And she’s good with the kids.”

“True...”

“And her hair matches Brian’s.”

Chrissie laughs. Her sparkling ornament earrings jangle, and Stevie paws for them with minuscule, uncoordinated, wrinkly hands. “Okay. You win. I don’t despise her.”

“That’s the Christmas spirit.” You knock back the rest of your mulled wine. “I’m gonna go search the refrigerator for cheese cubes, you want anything?”

“Yeah, a Valium.”

“Slavic Jesus would be horrified. And on his birthday!”

Chrissie grins. “Surely drugs would be the least of our sins.”

Freddie’s sunshine-yellow refrigerator is enormous and a labyrinth of shelves and crevices without a single tray of cheese cubes in sight. You sift through jars of olives, bottles of champagne, a glazed ham waiting to be put in the oven, a sack of yams, eggnog, rising bread dough, and numerous pies—apple and cherry and lemon chiffon, naturally—swathed in aluminum foil.

“Damn,” you mutter, and then you try a mysterious drawer beneath the double doors of the refrigerator. Lo and behold, it contains a sprawling tray of cheeses. “Yaaaaassssss.” You lift the tray out, set it on the kitchen counter, and peel back the clear, clinging saran wrap. As you spear cheese cubes with a decorative toothpick—the handle is a little plastic Christmas tree—and plop them onto an appetizer plate, you hear the click of heels on the hardwood floor behind you.

You glance back. “Hi, Dom. Can I offer you any of Fred’s extremely expensive and exotic cheeses?”

“Sure,” she replies in that effortlessly elegant French accent; but that’s not why she’s here. She’s wringing her delicate hands, which are bronzed from her last holiday to Ibiza and ringless. Dom divorced the husband she had back in France—or maybe he divorced her, who knows, that’s not your business, although Roger would tell you if you ever asked—and she and Roger signed papers for the good of their daughters. But being Roger Taylor’s wife is not always such an easy thing.

“He’s getting bad again, isn’t he?” you ask softly.

Dominique nods; but you already knew.

Roger was perfect for years after they had Violet: attentive, content, startlingly domestic. He rarely popped pills. He went to physical therapy. He quit smoking six months ago at Dominique’s insistence, around the same time John quit for you. But since the Magic Tour ended in August—and with no new tour in sight, considering Freddie’s seeming reticence about scheduling another—he’s started to drink more, stay home less, disappear at night citing dinners or parties or recording sessions that Dom isn’t invited to. He’s edgy and irritable. He’s rarely home when John calls. And you can see all those immortal shadows of imperfection creeping back into him like storm clouds, like smoke.

“I’m going to tell you something,” you say. “It’s very similar to what somebody else once told me. I wasn’t ready to understand it yet, to really let myself feel it, to believe it, but you might be able to.”

She watches you with those vast oil-well eyes, biting her lower lip, waiting.

“Roger is wildfire. He’s bright, yes, he’s warm, but he’s reckless and insatiable too. He always has been. He always will be. And that has nothing at all to do with you. It’s not your fault. He’s wonderful, of course, and you already know that; he dazzles people, he makes life so exhilaratingly beautiful that you forget what it felt like without him. But he’ll always disappoint you. He’ll relapse, he’ll cheat, he’ll come home late, he won’t come home at all. And he’ll hurt you. He’ll do it as many times as you’ll let him. But here’s the thing other people won’t tell you.” You smile at her, with empathy, with sorrow, with hope. “It might still be worth it.”

Dominique blinks, not understanding.

“It might be enough for you to only ever have part of him, because that part is so incredibly brilliant. It was almost enough for me. And I would never blame you for leaving Roger. But I wouldn’t blame you for staying either.”

And then you embrace her, and she latches onto you, her long manicured nails nipping through your sweater, her Coco Chanel perfume a plume that fills the kitchen. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. You hold her until she pulls away, swiping at her tearing eyes with slim fragile fingers, sniffling, looking away to hide her heartbreak behind her shock of glossy bangs.

“Here.” You pile an appetizer plate high with cheese cubes and shove it into her hands.

Stunned, she giggles. “All my woes have vanished.”

“That’s exactly how stolen cheese works,” And then, seriously: “Don’t be sad on Christmas, Dom. There’s plenty of time for that later. And I’ll do everything I can to help him.”

“That’s why you’ll never leave the band, isn’t it? You can’t leave Roger alone. You can’t let him destroy himself.”

“I owe him,” you say simply. “Without him I never would have followed Queen to London. I never would have found this family. I never would have married John. Roger took things from me, yes, of course he did. He took until I felt empty. But he also gave me the world.”

She nods slowly, thoughtfully.

“Please, Dom. Go enjoy yourself.”

“Alright. Joyeux Noël.” She gives you a parting wave and slips back out into the living room, where Freddie is now playing the grand piano and signing Thank God It’s Christmas. Roger is assisting in an increasingly hoarse falsetto.

A moment after Dominique leaves, John strolls into the kitchen, humming merrily. He stops dead when he sees your somber face, your shining eyes. “Who do I have to fuck up?”

You chuckle and shake your head. “No one. I just heard something sad.”

“Not about you, I hope.”

“No, I don’t have many sad stories anymore.”

“Yeah, me either.”

He reaches out to take your hand. A sapphire glints on your left ring finger, and it means everything.

“You sure you don’t need me to torment anyone for you? I could get drunk and plow my Benz into their house. Or write a scathing diss track about them. Was it Brian? Please tell me it was Brian.”

You laugh and twirl a lock of his fluffy hair. “That won’t be necessary.”

“In that case, you’re needed in the living room immediately,” John says, smiling. “Antoni climbed halfway up the Christmas tree and says he won’t come down for anyone except his mama.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s November 3rd, 1999, and Roger, John, and Brian are promoting Queen’s upcoming compilation album, Greatest Hits III.

Interviewer, daytime television host Brad Chenoweth: “Today we have a very special treat for our viewers. Here with us in our London studio are the men of Queen: guitarist Brian May, drummer Roger Taylor, and bassist John Deacon. Good morning, and thank you all so much for being here.”

Brian: “It’s our pleasure.”

Roger: “I do screams as well as drums, Brad.”

Interviewer: “Hahaha, yes, of course. Now Queen has had an extremely busy year, and this Greatest Hits album has a few new selections on it, right? Take us through that process.”

Brian: “It does have a few new tracks, that’s correct. You know, ever since Freddie...ever since we lost Freddie Mercury, I mean, you know, it’s impossible to fill a space like the one that he left in the world.”

Roger: “Yes, yes.”

Brian: “But as difficult as it was, after finally finishing Made In Heaven in 1995 and getting it just right, feeling as if we had really done Freddie justice...we were left with this distressing feeling of ‘what’s next?’ What are the three of us supposed to do with ourselves? Split up and never work together again? Retire to the seashore? Open up some corner store to putter around in until we die?”

Roger: “A clog shop, perhaps.”

Interviewer: “You were thinking, ‘well hell, we’ve got plenty of talent ourselves!’”

Roger: “Well, talent, yes, but also energy. Drive. We’ve been working at being one of the best bands in the world for almost thirty years now, Brad. I wouldn’t even know how to begin to stop.”

Brian: “None of us wanted to stop, we came to that realization. And so we’ve done a tremendous amount of benefit concerts and recording sessions with some of the best artists of our time, and I think people who listen to this album are really going to appreciate that. We’ve got a live version of Somebody to Love with George Michael, and The Show Must Go On with Elton John, he’s just lovely to work with...oh and a rap version of Another One Bites The Dust with Wyclef Jean, which John was not exactly a fan of. But we all have to learn to give and take, don’t we?”

Interviewer: “Absolutely, and I’m really looking forward to getting my hands on a copy of this record. Is there any chance Queen might settle on a permanent new front man one day?”

Roger: “If we can ever find somebody John likes enough!”

Interviewer: “But, truthfully...none of you wanted to quit after Freddie passed away? It was a unanimous decision to keep with it?”

Roger: “Essentially, yes. I mean I think it was an all or nothing deal, wasn’t it? If one of us left then that would throw the whole thing off. I was always adamant from very early on in the band’s lifetime that I wouldn’t be interested in continuing without John. And I couldn’t imagine him and Brian being left alone together, my god, there’d be literal bloodshed, someone’s throat would be cut within the hour, believe me.”

John: “We might have lasted a day or two. But yes, it was more or less unanimous.”

Interviewer: “Now you’ve always been known as the quiet, domestic one, John. You weren’t tempted by the thought of retirement? Not even for a moment?”

John: “Well...I think it depends on the circumstances, really. I like working, and I like touring and traveling a good part of the year. But I imagine I’d get very homesick if I was alone on the road. Fortunately, that’s not the case. So the thought of retirement didn’t appeal to me nearly as much as it might have otherwise.”

Interviewer: “That’s right, I understand that your wife has been Queen’s touring nurse for...how long now? Twenty years?”

John: “Since 1974, so that’s twenty-five years.”

Roger: “Wow. It’s been that long?!”

Brian: “Feels like yesterday, doesn’t it?”

Interviewer: “How lucky for you, John. And look, you’re beaming!”

Roger: “Get it together, Deaks.”

John: “I’m an astronomically lucky man. It’s like having home with you anywhere in the world.”

Roger: “She’s good for curing hangovers as well, so that’s useful. And she knits everyone hats.”

Interviewer: “And you’ve got children, haven’t you John?’

John: “Four from my first marriage, yes. They’re all adults now so they come to visit us quite often, especially when we’re travelling. It worked out beautifully really, because they’re very close to their mother, of course, but my wife and I got together when they were all still fairly young, and so she’s always been there for them as they’ve grown up. My youngest especially was a rather...how would you say it diplomatically? A spirited child. But he warmed to her right away.”

Brian: “All the children are still friendly with each other as well, mine and Roger’s and John’s.”

Interviewer: “One big happy family, huh?”

Roger: “There are still a good amount of screaming matches between us dads, to be completely forthcoming.”

John: “You have to keep things interesting.”

Roger: “Exactly!”

Interviewer: “Yes, one can sense that there are still plenty of egos in this room, even after all these years! Tell me, Queen is nearly three decades old now, a worldwide phenomenon, the second-bestselling artist in the UK of all time behind the Beatles...how have you stayed together for so long when most bands last only a fraction of Queen’s lifespan?”

John: “Well I think we’ve all, you know, for the good of the band we’ve all had to grow towards each other to bridge the disagreements and keep peace. For example, I’ve had to learn to be more communicative, more open to collaboration and change. I can be someone who’s very comfortable being in the background. But then I’m resentful if people don’t see my point of view, even if I haven’t properly expressed it. So I have certainly had to work on that quite a lot.”

Brian: “Yes, John, I think that’s very true. Personally, I’ve had to learn to not get lost in the details so much. I have a bad habit of getting so fixated on something that I cause a massive row over a vanishingly small aspect of a song that no one else will ever notice. It’s just not worth the strife. So I’ve really tried to avoid that. Although, I’ll admit it, I still occasionally cause my share of drama.”

John: “Oh, sure.”

Roger: “And I’ve had to work on being less...”

John: “Annoying?”

Brian: “Combative?”

Roger: “Fiery.”

John: “That’s one word for it.”

Interviewer: “Was there ever a time when Queen’s existence was in serious jeopardy? And if so, how did you pull through?”

Brian: “Well, to be perfectly honest, as a band we went through quite a difficult time in the early 80s. And then we did again in the early 90s. And on both occasions there was a real worry that Queen might be over and we would all go our separate ways. But what kept us together through that...and feel free to disagree, Rog, John, if you have a different perspective...but what I feel kept us together was this profound sense of family. Queen predates all of our marriages, our children, our successes in the music industry or otherwise. It has become a constant place of belonging in the midst of professional and personal turmoil. And now our partners and children have been integrated into that network as well, so even if an individual relationship is strained or falls apart, the gravity of the band keeps us all in a perpetual symbiotic orbit. And I don’t see that ever ending.”

John: “Yes, well, I suppose that about sums it up, doesn’t it?”

Roger: “Bleeding christ, Brian. ‘Perpetual symbiotic orbit.’ Just say we’re friends, you pretentious twit.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s August 19th, 2020, and John’s 69th birthday party is winding down as the sun dips lazily into the rust-colored western horizon.

You’re standing on the cobblestones in the garden behind the Surrey house. You had always thought it was too extravagant, too massive; it wasn’t until Roger sold it to you and John in the spring of 1982 that you realized it was the perfect size after all. Six bedrooms meant one for each of the children, one for you and John—the one with the blue-grey wallpaper and nautical decorations, to be exact—and the last for when Chrissie and Denny or Roger and Dom stay the night, which is fairly frequently. Your vacation home, where you and John spend most of the summer when Queen isn’t on tour, is a little country cottage in the sunlit Alpine hills of Florence, Italy. John designed it himself, every last detail; right down to the white picket fence grown over with ivy.

“Look what we got in the mail.” You hold up the invitation to show your husband, grinning, raising your eyebrows. “Guess we have to buy him another toaster.”

He reads the names on the shimmering cardstock patterned with jungle ferns and dinosaur footprints. Interesting choices. “Is Ben actually going through with it this time?”

“John!”

“Wasn’t he supposed to marry some Italian heiress or something?”

“Love can be complicated, Mr. Deacon,” you remind him.

When he smiles, crinkles spring up around his eyes. “Yes, I suppose it can be.”

“Ben Hardy’s having another wedding?” Chrissie calls over from where she’s shooting arrows at the archery targets set up in the backyard. Denny periodically steps in to correct the angle of her wrist or elbow. “And Queen’s invited this time?”

“Apparently,” you reply. “You could go too if you were still married to Brian.”

“Ha!” Chrissie cackles and looses an arrow. It hits damn near the bullseye. “Not worth it.”

“I’ll bring back all the scandalous gossip I can scrounge for you.”

“You better. What do the kids call it now? Spilling the tea? Spill all the tea, bitch.”

“Oh, kettles and kettles’ worth.”

“So a teapot,” John says. “Not another toaster. Maybe decorated with...” He squints at the invitation again. “What’s the theme? What do they like? Fossils? Brontosauruses?”

“Bizarre people,” Chrissie mutters.

“I’ll figure something out,” you say. “Something special. Something old.”

“John?” Brian shouts from the doorway that leads into the kitchen. Inside the refrigerator is covered with sketches and birthday cards and photographs curling and fading around the edges. “Anita and I are heading out now, can we get a hug goodbye?”

“Ugh,” John jokes. “Well, alright.” He gives you a wink as he trots off.

The Surrey house isn’t exactly roaring—John has never been one for crowds, and incidentally neither have you—but it is alive with his children and grandchildren and life-long friends. Not just his, you correct yourself. Ours.

Veronica—once Tetzlaff, then Deacon, then Tetzlaff again, and finally Kowalski—is not in attendance. You see her only at holidays and birthday celebrations for the kids and grandchildren, and even then only in passing. She is still cold towards you, resentful, extremely Catholic...although somewhat less dogmatic since her second husband Ivan, a former priest, left the Church to marry her. When the last of her children were grown, Veronica got certified to be a doula and now primarily serves unwed mothers seeking assistance from Catholic charities in London. She mentioned to Chrissie, who later told you, that something you had once done for her had inspired her to pursue it. That’s the only nice thing you’ve heard her say about you in almost forty years.

Roger wanders over to meet you, nursing a Heineken, stroking his white beard with his free hand. He and Dominique have always been off and on—including a few years in the late 80s when he moved out of their three-story Kensington townhouse and had a daughter called Adeline with some leggy, platinum blonde supermodel—but these days they’re mostly on. He and Dom had two children after their reconciliation: a son, Blaise, and a daughter named by Freddie after the Japanese word for tiger, Tora.

You gaze out into the sunset. Half of the garden is flooded with white calla lilies, a new bouquet for every February 15th since 1978.

“You’ll be sending back an RSVP in the affirmative?” Roger asks.

“Of course! Any excuse to visit the States. And I like Ben. Although he doesn’t look anything like you.”

He groans. “Those wigs, bloody hell.”

“It’s like they produced a whole movie just to have an excuse to make fun of your atrociously crunchy bleached hair.”

“And I bet you enjoyed that.”

“You deserved it.” When Freddie’s health began to fail and Queen stopped touring, you went back to school to get a degree in physical therapy. You and Roger have sessions three times a week, provided he’s on the wagon; and he usually is, nowadays. When he’s not, John’s the one to get the call from Dominique, and he hunts Roger down, convinces him to come home, works whatever quiet, soothing magic he carries around in his deep pacific blood. But right this moment, Roger is awfully quiet himself. His large, pale eyes—like clear water, like unraveling delphiniums, like the harmony that only comes when age burns away all those last entrenched talons of bitterness, of fear—skate over the calla lilies.

“Do you think things would have been different for us?” Roger asks softly. “If she had lived.”

It took you a long time to understand why Roger was in no hurry to get a divorce, to move you out of the Surrey house. They were the only ties he thought he had to anchor you to the band, to him. They were the only cards he thought he had to play to keep you in his life in any capacity. But John fixed that dilemma. He can fix just about anything, you’ve learned.

“No,” you tell Roger. “You would have worn me down eventually. You and your drinking and drugs and late nights and interminable recklessness. It might have taken longer, but we always would have ended. And John always would have been my home. She wouldn’t have kept us together. She just would have lived. And I wouldn’t have loved her for being a part of you. I would have loved her for whoever she was, whoever she grew up to be. But now I’ll never know who that would have been. I love the children I have, Roger, I do. But I still miss her, miss the person she would have been. It’s like chasing a shadow. It’s like a page of a book written in a language I can’t read. And it’s a feeling that never quite goes away.”

He smiles at you wearily, immensely sad, full of perfect understanding. “I know.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s October 10th, 2020, and the reception is held under shedding autumn leaves the color of rubies and imperial topaz and amber and yellow jade. The exuberant bride and groom weave through the crowds milling about the quaint farm, which is nestled in the hills of a small town in Northern California called Zenia. It belongs to Gwilym, apparently, and he and his flame-haired girlfriend Shiloh are shuttling tirelessly this way and that making sure everything goes according to plan. They don’t speak much to Ben or his new wife directly—there’s a stiltedness there, an uncomfortable period of readjustment that reminds you of how John and Roger were for a while after all the secrets came out—but there is undeniable kinship as well. Love can be complicated, you find yourself thinking, for the innumerable time. But that doesn’t mean it’s not real.

Making the rounds with the bride and groom is a strikingly beautiful, dark-haired boy who wears a miniature suit and a perpetual, mischievous grin. The new Mrs. Hardy almost always has her hand on his shoulder, his back, wiping cake frosting from his cheeks, ruffling his hair.

“Eli is kind of a demon kid,” Joe Mazzello warns you. “But in the best possible way.”

“Hm. I have somewhat of an affinity for demons myself.”

“Clearly,” Roger quips, sipping pink champagne. The snack table is Halloween-themed and extremely casual: Cheetos and pumpkin pie and caramel apples and dinosaur-shaped brownies. Per usual, you’re grazing through an orange paper plate stacked high with enough nibbling material to keep any undesirable small talk at bay. But strangely, in all of the times you’ve crossed his path since Bohemian Rhapsody’s filming began, you’ve never minded chatting with Joe.

“Yeah, you two were married at some point, right?” Joe asks. Then he immediately blanches. “Oh my god. That was so rude. I did not just say that. I’m so sorry. I saw it on Wikipedia. I’m gonna go drown myself in the stream now.”

“No, you’re right!” you admit in a peal of laughter. “Briefly and disastrously.”

“It wasn’t that disastrous,” Roger protests, thieving a Cheeto off your plate. He misplaced his prescription sunglasses on the flight over and is thus relatively helpless.

“Rude. Get your own. They’re over on the other end of the table.”

“I can’t see that far—!”

“Dom?” you call as she sashays over in a flowing white dress and licking a stick of orange rock candy. “Please control your husband.”

She smiles. “If I haven’t managed it yet, I don’t think there’s much hope.” She nods to Joe. “It’s so nice to see you again. Meeting you people was the only bright spot of that whole movie ordeal.”

“What, you didn’t fancy it?” Roger jests.

“At least they included you,” you tell Dom, smirking. “They ignored my existence entirely. They threw in some random woman with zero lines and called her Veronica in the credits. Whatever.”

Dom rolls her expressive umber eyes. “Yes, how flattering, I was in two scenes and one of them involved a joke about Roger cheating on me.”

“You’re a star, baby,” you say. “Deal with it.”

Dom smacks your arm playfully. She may be annoyed, but it doesn’t pain her the way it used to. She’s had decades of practice.

“The script could have been better,” Joe concedes. Then he spies John as he approaches, almost drops his caramel apple, waves frenetically. “Hi, Mr. Deacon! Hi!!”

“Wonderful job with all of this, Joe.” John shakes his hand as Joe gapes at him, starstruck. He’s always like that around John, appreciative, in awe, acutely aware of John’s legendary place in rock and roll history; and you love that someone besides you and Roger look at him that way.

“Thanks, I did it myself. Just kidding. It was 99% Gwil.”

“Well, I’ll still get you front row seats at the next Queen + Adam Lambert show.” It had taken a long time for John to find a front man he liked...a long time. He drove Roger and Brian insane. He kept saying he wanted someone who was like Freddie and yet simultaneously not trying to be Freddie, someone genuinely kind and charismatic and empathetic, an otherworldly talent, a natural performer. And then, on an unassuming spring night in 2009, they found him.  

Joe claps a palm on John’s shoulder and grins, his eyes glistening. “I’m obsessed with this little old guy! Obsessed, I tell you!”

“You want to see how old he is?” Roger teases. “Lift up that hand-knit hat and see what’s underneath. I’ll give you a hint. Not much.”

“At least I made it through the 90s without requiring hair plugs,” John counters.

“It was from all the bleaching!!”

“Hi, Rog!” Ben shouts as he rushes to embrace Roger, nearly knocking him off his feet. Mrs. Hardy is still across the field, talking to Brian, Anita, Rami, and Lucy, and trying to convince Eli not to crawl into a chocolate fountain.

Ben Hardy has always been somewhat of an enigma to you, mostly because he’s nothing at all like Roger. He’s subterranean-voiced and emerald-eyed and brooding and guarded and seems so much older than his twenty-nine years, and then every once in a while someone will come along and light him up like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Unlike Roger, Ben doesn’t light up for many people. He does for his son Eli, of course, and for Joe Mazzello...and for his new wife. He lights up for her like fucking wildfire.

“Ben,” you say, holding out a bag speckled with black cats. “I have our gift for you.”

“You shouldn’t have! Thank you so much.”

“You can’t thank us until you open it,” John chastises.

So Ben does. Inside is an album of hundreds of photos you’ve taken of Queen since Roger bought you your first Canon for Christmas in 1974: pictures that have never been released publicly of the boys at the Rainbow, at the Budokan, in Rome, in Boston, in Japan, in New Orleans, at Montreal, at Madison Square Garden, at Live Aid, at the Surrey house, at Montreux. Interspersed are some of John’s sketches, the only ones you can bring yourself to part with: close-ups of a long-haired Freddie drawing on messy eyeliner, Roger adjusting his sunglasses with a cigarette smoldering between his fingers, Brian tuning his Red Special.

“Oh my god,” Ben whispers.

“Most of those are very old,” you explain. “And I heard you both like old things.”

“We definitely do.” He hugs you, suddenly and fiercely and warmly; and you catch a glimpse of what it must be like to be one of the few people that he allows to truly know him, those shadowed depths to balance Joe’s uncomplicated light.

Maybe that’s it, you realize. Maybe Joe is more like Roger and Ben like John.

The wedding playlist is exclusively classic rock songs: the Doors and Aerosmith and Fleetwood Mac and Led Zeppelin and Queen. As A Kind Of Magic ends, the eerie opening notes of Hotel California ripple out over the breezy autumn fields.

“Not this fucking song!” Roger cries.

Joe turns to you, confused.

“LSD,” you inform him. “1977. I would not recommend it.”

“Noted.”

Roger continues, rubbing his forehead: “It makes me think of...freaking...weird, creepy shit...like swimming at night through cold water. But I just keep swimming and can’t get anywhere.”

“It makes me think of sharks,” you say. “Maybe they’re related.”

“Freddie always said it made him think of birds,” John sighs. “And the color blue.”

The three of you pause, nodding, remembering.

Joe frowns solemnly, peering down at his shoes. “I’m sorry I never got to meet him.”

“He would have adored you,” you say.

“Really?”

“Are you kidding?! You would have been best friends. Always looking out for people. Always plotting the next escapade. That charming chaotic energy. The utter inability to bake anything.”

“Awwww.” Joe beams, delighted. “I fucking love you guys.”

“That’s the thing,” Roger says. “People don’t realize it. We’re more of a family than a band. We find people we take a shine to like ancient treasure, snatch them up, sand away all their rough edges, show them everything the world has to offer. And if they can survive the casualties of stardom, that trial by fire, they become permanent. They grow like roots into our blood, our bones...and perhaps we claim a part of theirs as well. They become things we can’t live without.”

“And once you’re in the family,” John tells Joe with a fond, crafty smile. “You can never leave.”

[resilientdolan]

Drown (G.D) - part 1

A/N: GAHHH IT’S MY VERY FIRST WRITING AND I’M FEELING NERVOUS TO SHARE THIS WITH Y’ALL (but excited too, of course). Please don’t hesitate to leave me comments or message me for suggestions! Another note, I’m lowkey inspired by the song Drown by Boy in Space. I highly recommend y’all to listen to the song as well to get the FEELS kdjdjhsh

Word- count: 1.1k

Summary: Bianca Reine has been crushing on her childhood friend, Grayson Dolan. He’s literally her everything, the one who her soul craves the most. She’d do anything for him, though she knows that to Grayson, she’s nothing more than his childhood friend; not really that important to him that he decided to break her.

T/W: angst (what’cha expect? it’s douche!gray)

———————————————————————

“Earth to Bianca!,” Bianca blinks her eyes several times, shifting her gaze to meet the other girl’s who is sitting in front of her. Hannah. Her best friend.

“Yeah?,” it was the only word coming out of her mouth as a response. She brings her hand up to give her eye a gentle rub with the back of her hand as she shifts her gaze back to the meal in front of her. Just a plain cheese burger and fries, but she’s a sucker for it. Typical school cafeteria meal, what does she expect?

“Bianca, you’ve been so quiet. What’s wrong?,” this time, the other girl places her hand on her shoulder to bring Bianca closer to her. Her another best friend, Tiffany.

“No, nothing, really. Just… thinking about the test tomorrow. I’m nervous,” Bianca quickly give her best friends a quick nod, hoping that her action will convince them that there’s literally nothing to worry about. 

“Jesus, Bi, try to chill. You’ll nail it,” A soft sigh comes out of Hannah’s lips as she runs her fingers through her hair. She takes another sip of her drink, her favorite iced lemon tea, with her eyes remain locked on Bianca’s to watch her closely. “You sure?,” Tiffany adds. Biance just give her a thumb up, running out of words to convince her that there’s no other thing running inside her mind, unless the upcoming test.

“Hold up, Reine. Was it really the reason or that one?,” Hannah brings her index finger up, pointing at the direction of the other table behind Bianca. She gives her a slight frown, feeling lost. Completely don’t understand what she meant with her last question. 

“Take. A. Look, Miss Reine,” God. She gives her one playful glare as she replies, “Stop calling me by my surname, Jesus,”. Hannah can’t help but rolls her eyes, in a playful manner, of course. A light giggle escapes through Bianca’s lips as she watches her reaction before she finally turn around to see something that she actually has been avoiding.

Him.

It’s him. Grayson Bailey Dolan.

Her childhood friend. Her neighbor. Her favorite guy alive. Most importantly? Her all time crush.

Bianca has been friends with Grayson for over 10 years. It all started when her family moved to New Jersey.  Bianca’s mom’s originally from Jersey, and she’s been friends with Grayson’s mom, Lisa, since high school. They’re pretty close that they often spend time together; shopping, having ladies’ day at Lisa’s hair salon, or even just chilling at one’s place. So, yeah, she technically grew up with Grayson, and his older twin brother, Ethan, and their older sister, Cameron.

She went to the same school with the twins. Friends forever, that’s what they all used to say. But things never tend to stay the same, right? Slowly, she’s drifting apart. They grew up becoming those popular athletic guys. Girls be all over them, wishing they’re lucky enough to date one of them. Bianca? Being popular? Hell no. She grew up becoming… herself. Just the simple Bianca. Straight-A student. Teachers’ favorite. It’s not like she’s no longer friends with the twins, she just barely talk to them. 

She was only 12 the moment she noticed that she has a thing for Grayson. He’s just super chill. And funny. God, she’s so weak for a guy with sense of humor. And Grayson has it. Also, the fact that he grew up becoming one fine man? He’s not even 20 yet, but he be looking like a complete Greek god. Bianca was just a kid, thinking it’s only one dumb crush. Little did she know, she’s wrong. Her crush towards Grayson only grows bigger and bigger day by day, until now. Both Hannah and Tiffany know that she’s simping for him. Like, she’d literally do anything for him, though she knows he only consider her as his platonic childhood friend. Nothing else. No matter what happen.

It’s not like Grayson have said that, it’s because of her. The girl with blonde hair and blue eyes, who’s clinging onto his muscular arm. Isla Peters. Biggest drama queen she has ever met on earth. Worst part? Her cousin.

Isla’s father is Bianca’s mom’s cousin, which make them two cousins as well. These two don’t get along really well ever since they’re little. If Isla’s the sky, then Bianca’s the earth; complete opposite. In Bianca’s eyes, Isla is one annoying super- spoiled drama queen. She grew up with people paying attention to everything she does. Understandable, to be honest. She’s blessed with superior genes, looking like a living Barbie doll. No wonder why she grew up being the center of attention. And yes, completely spoiled. Oh, and yes. She’s like the Regina George of the school. Apparently she’s too cool that she acts like she’s not related with Bianca. Ouch. 

She hands him a can of diet root beer before she quickly plants a soft kiss onto Grayson’s cheek. Grayson’s favorite drink. In return, Grayson wraps his arm around her shoulders to bring her closer to him, only to plant a soft kiss onto her lips, like he’s trying to show the world how proud he is to have a living mean ass Barbie doll as his girlfriend. Bianca huffs, and shift her focus back to her unfinished meal. Suddenly she loses her appetite.

Thanks, lovey dovey couple. 

She gathers up her books from the table, with her free hand grabbing her bottle of water, taking another sip before she gets up. Tiffany arches her brow, “Are you okay?,” she asks, getting confused by her sudden action.

“I’m good,” Bianca replies briefly as she shoves her bottle into her backpack. She lazily put her backpack on as her shoulders rise and fall into a shrug as she adds,

“… Just… losing my appetite. This lovey dovey couple sitting behind us makes me sick,” she whispers, giving her best friends a wink which followed by a slight chuckle. Hannah can’t help but wheezes. Tiffany shakes her head as she tries her best to hold herself back from laughing. 

“I’ll go somewhere more private. I need to study. I’ll see you two later?,” she tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear as she waves her hand at her two best-friends. Tiffany gives her a quick nod. “See you after school, bub,” she replies.

She’s only about to leave the moment she hears it. Her favorite voice. 

Grayson’s voice.

“Hey, Bianca—“

[palmett-hoes]

since the first step in achieving your goals is to state them aloud, here's a list of aftg fics/ au s that i'd like to write some day

- pre-canon fic from aaron's perspective spanning the twins' first meeting till they're drafted by the foxes and graduate high school. i'm increasingly enamored with aaron as a character as well as with an outside perspective of andrew's actions and i think it would be very interesting to look at the foundation on which their fraught relationship is built and first developed

- even more pre-canon fic. andrew's early life in foster care. yes, we all know about the most... gruesome things that were done to him, but i believe that there is plenty more that has affected and shaped him, especially in relation to my interpretation of andrew as an autistic poc. this would not be a happy fic.

- anastasia au. neil as anya, andrew as dimitri. possibly a plot amalgamation from both the animated movie and the stage show, with changes as i see fit. (no, neil is not the prince of russia). what i find most compelling about this au is the story of neil and andrew as childhood friends and then the angst of having andrew, as an adult, teaching an amnesiac neil how to act like a noble while being convinced that neil is an imposter. good shit

- art school/dance club au. the foxes attend the palmetto school of art at prestigious edgar allen university. they're considered the school's charity cases, and they are NOT friends. andrew is a studio arts major with a concentration in sculpture who works in the campus coffee shop in the mornings and frequents night clubs that employ pretty boys in the evenings. neil is attending college completely on his father's dime, PROVIDED he study what his father wants, despite his desire to study dance and music. going crazy without an outlet, neil takes a secret job as a go-go dancer. look. this may slightly possibly be a result of me having planned to party hardy this summer, then having my plans ruined by the virus :c

- 1950s High School au. the 1950s aesthetics fucking rock even though the 1950s fucking sucked. kinda wanna tackle both. plus, andrew already has that james dean bad boy fast car appeal

- an exploration of mary and nathan's relationship and history. i get that neil's parents are both super taboo and both really really awful people, but i have questions and i want to answer them

- neil never returns from baltimore. in order to keep his deals, permanently, andrew kills riko and tetsugi, and gets over 20 years in prison. when he gets out, he just wants to be alone, but it seems there's a ghost haunting him. this was conceived for MAXIMUM angst, no getting around it. i got the idea from a badacts fic and it has haunted me ever since

- post-canon sexuality exploration fic. i have a real passion for quality sex education and healthy experimentation, and neil very clearly didn't get the chance for either. yet at the end of the books he finds himself in a very intense sexual relationship. i just really want to give him the opportunity to find out how desire works for him and what he likes, on his own terms. i read a lot of fics where neil's desires seem to be completely dependent on andrew's initiaton, and while i do believe that andrew is the only person neil is attracted to and will ever be attracted to, i also want to explore how his sexuality manifests on its own. the vibe i'm going for is, uh, HornySweet (tm), but also with a lot of genuine eductional material. i want this is to be something that offers real information to its readers that may have been inaccessible for a lot of people, on topics like like sexual hygiene, maturbation, and sex toys in a non-fetishy way. this will be very very E rated, but like,, in a very earnest and goofy way because sex and sexuality is neat and cool but it's also not all serious perfect fucking. it's just,, a topic that deserves to be DISCUSSED

- mobster au. andrew, having never met aaron, takes a job for the moriyamas to track down a runaway asset. Neil. upon completion, they make andrew the butcher's apprentice, and pull neil back into the fold as a commodity rather than a person. lots of violence, lots of shady underground dealings, lots of plotting, lots of secrets.

i'm gonna put some more under the cut, ones that i don't feel as strong a drive towards right now or that i haven't thought as much about. if you (yes, YOU) like any of these, or are interested in any of these, or wanna hear more about any of these, or are even inspired to write something yourself by any of these please, PLEASE, say something in the notes, or send me a message, or an ask or anything. ANYTHING. i am stuck inside, all the time, and i am so, so lonely. i answer from hoob-gooblin

- princess bride au. come ON. princess bride is one of the most romantic AND most snarky movies of all time, and andreil literally invented love and devotion sooooooo it's a perfect match. "yes or no" vs "as you wish" kings of consent and communication and unconventional love declarations. also,, he may not be how I imagine andrew, but a young cary elwes in dramatic black pirate getup is DEFINITELY a valid andrew

- hozier au. sometimes,, i listen to an album, and imagine a fic that encompases the whole thing. nothing speaks louder to me than hozier's discography. (also, yes, i am gay). maybe a little bit inside llewyn davis. neil wanders through a small town and takes up some small jobs, but sings his heart out through twisted metaphors once a week in a hole in the wall bar staffed by a very short, dead eyed veteran

- prince and the pauper au. on a stealth recon mission in enemy territory, andrew encounters a local lord who happens to have his face. in a moment of desperation to save himself from arrest, andrew knocks the lord out and assumes his identity. he returns to the castle just in time for prince moriyama to arrive with a shifty-eyed, red-headed handservant in tow. lord aaron of columbia, meanwhile, wakes up on a ship manned by crown traitor and fugitive kevin day, calling him by a name he's never heard before, and then he's in the hands of the guerilla rebel forces that have been attacking the kingdom. i watched barbie princess and the pauper as a child and that movie fucking slaps

- little mermaid/beauty and the beast/bride of the rose beast/ladyhawke au. in a last ditch attempt to escape his father, neil trades his voice and his tail for legs and washes ashore on a small kingdom with horrible secrets. because he cannot speak, read or write, prince aaron employs neil to serve the monster in the catacombs, the prince's twin brother. the twins are under a curse that turns them into terrifying monsters, andrew by day and aaron by night. aaron's affliction is a secret, as is andrew's humanity. this is such a hodgepodge idea lol. did neil also have to be a mermaid for this to work? no. is he? hell yeah

- new york private school/twin swap au. aaron wins a scholarship to a prestigious school that will guarantee him a future, but then he relapses. convinced he just needs a little more time to get clean, he makes a deal with his volatile new brother, andrew, to stand in for him at the school just until he can his shit together. neil and ichirou moriyama have been raised together their entire lives, always under the knowledge that ichirou will inherit the family empire with nathaniel as his right hand. they hate the idea, but they have no way to escape, and now neil is being harassed by ichirou's bitchass estranged brother at their stupid, fancy private school. LISTEN, we as a fandom do NOT take enough advantage of the twin swap possibilities presented to us. pathetic

- post-canon fic where ichirou, realizing that the life of a mob boss is a lonely one, decides that he needs... a friend. however, because of the nature of his work, he can't just make friends with anyone, so he decides to make friends with neil. without consulting neil first. cue a lot of very weird, very awkward coffee dates where neil is convinced he's about to be disposed of, and ichirou just wants to know about his cats. the thing i like about ichirou is he’s a complete blank slate. i can make him a good guy, a bad guy, an ally, the Big Bad

- Kill Bill au. mary survives a bullet to the head and wakes up from a coma over a year later. with nothing left to lose, she sets out to single-handedly dismantle the wesninski circle. good thing she used to be its top assassin

- single dad andrew au. except look, look, stay with me here, okay, aaron is his son, and he's adopted nicky and kevin. LISTEN. STAY WITH ME. JUST THINK ABOUT IT. tbh the idea comes from my interpretation of the andrew/neil/kevin dynamic as distincly parental, then extending that interpretation to andrew's protection over the rest of his family.

- fashion au. andrew is a fashion designer and photographer who frequently works with allison reynolds. one day she brings around a short, twitchy assistant who looks like she just plucked him out of an alley. somehow, he becomes andrew's muse. i watch a lot of fashion competition shows

- ghibli. either howl's moving castle (andrew as sophie, neil as howl) or spirited away (?). maybe both idk

- legally blonde au. legally blonde is so good guys

[artificialqueens]

How Far I'll Go Chapter Six (Ninex) - Mia Ugly, Meggie

A/N: We’re baaaaack! Hi hello how are you? LIFE is crazy. We’re so sorry it took so long to get this chapter to you guys, but honestly, Snatch Game was probably the hardest thing we’ve written. It’s hard to be funny. I’m going to be way nicer to queens who do badly on Snatch Game from here on out because it’s not easy, mama. Anyway. We hope you enjoy this SUPER MEGA SIZED CHAPTER (10.5k!) to make up for the super long hiatus. And hopefully we’ll be back with more very soon. Come visit us on our blogs: @mia-ugly and @artificialmeggie

Previously: The runway was purple, but Blair’s Scarlett O'Hara realness wasn’t enough to save a poor performance and she was sent packing. Brooke and Vanjie are (most definitely) probably still messing around, and Nina and Monet had a moment backstage when Nina narrowly avoided elimination. Or was it a moment? Oh, and Nina’s probably losing his mind.

To come: Katya, Snatch Game, a hotel bar date, and a musical number.

Nina wakes up and is still on Drag Race.

He might be having some kind of a nervous breakdown (and breaking into song periodically) but that’s showbiz, kid.

And now it’s time for the fucking Snatch Game.

Shower, shave, dress.

Prepare for another sloppy Branjie moment in the elevator (and thank God, Nina gets to avoid that for a change). Nina Bo’nina is riding down alone, and the two of them chat distractedly on their way to the conference room.

A few of the mentors are there, but no Monét and no Trixie.

Nina tries not to let that bother him as he nibbles his toast and drinks his coffee. He’s focused this morning, ready for whatever happens next. He’s been thinking about Snatch Game since the moment he got the All Stars call, is determined that this is going to be his challenge (of course, he might have had that thought about the last challenge too… No, nope, move the hell on, girl.)

Nina doesn’t see Brooke until they film the Werk Room entrance. The man looks exhausted. There are circles under his eyes that the makeup guy has done his best to cover, but it’s still obvious Brooke is not at his best. It makes Nina remember that - no matter how stupid the Canadian is being about Vanjie (and no matter what sort of history he has with Nina’s equally stupid heart), Nina still loves him. Will probably always love him in some kind of way.

“No coffee this morning?” he asks quietly as they’re waiting to get mic’d.

“Not enough.” Brooke pulls down his hideous knitted beanie (where the hell does he keep getting those? A P.A. should - frankly - take them away.)

“Have a late night?” Nina doesn’t really want to know, but if Brooke needs to talk about it -

“Oh no. No. Just - thinking.” He rolls his neck. “Like - we know what’s coming up, right? And last season - it wasn’t my best look.”

Nina barks out a an embarrassingly loud laugh. “No kidding.”

“You didn’t have to find it that funny.”

“It’s pretty funny.”

“You’re a dick, you know that? No matter how sweet Monét thinks you are.”

This makes Nina stop laughing. “Sorry - what?”

“He was just going on about you when he was watching Asia film our scene last episode. Like - ‘try this, Nina does this, blah blah.’”

Nina doesn’t know what to think about that. It makes him feel a bit warm and light-headed, but absolutely incapable of responding.

“Clearly you’ve got her fooled. I know what you’re really like.”

“Haha, yeah.” Nina’s voice is weak and he hopes to God Brooke doesn’t immediately clock his blush. Luckily, Vanjie chooses that moment to start flirting with the sound guy, and Brooke’s attention is suddenly elsewhere. Yes, yes, that’s good. Nina will have to keep Vanjie close by at all times, just in case he needs to distract Brooke.

They all romp into the Werk Room together, Shea and Asia working their few seconds in the doorway for all it’s worth (“pose for me, pose for me, POSE”). They talk a bit about Blair going home, but before they can say much about it there’s the sound of a video message, and the television flickers to life.

“Ladies,” Ru’s face comes onto the screen. “I picked you queens for All Stars because you represent the best of the best. But on second thought… I think I’d like to see some other queens in your place. Sorry, not sorry.”

The video ends.

“What the hell does that mean?” Shea asks.

“Nah, nah.” Vanjie is shaking his head in denial. “We don’t need no more hos up in here. We got too many of y’all already.”

“Hello, hello, hello!” The door opens and Ru comes into the Werk Room, followed by the mentors. Nina tries to smile and look as excited to see Ru as he’s always supposed to be, but - he can’t help being worried about whatever the hell twist is coming up. (Monét winks at him as he comes in, so that’s something. Nina will keep that one brief moment like a diamond in his pocket.)

“Ladies, for this week’s maxi challenge, it’s time for another All Star Edition of Snatch Game!”

Most of the queens around Nina are delighted - except Brooke. Nina can see him smiling, but it’s fragile and fake, and his arms are folded very tightly around himself, legs crossed at the thigh even though he’s standing; a clear indication he’s stressing.

“This time, however, to celebrate my recent single ‘Queens Everywhere’— available now on iTunes—we’re going to do things a little bit differently. I know you’re all amazing queens, but for this Snatch Game, I’d like to see if you have any other queens inside you.” Ru raises a suggestive eyebrow. “Not to give Miss Vanjie an unfair advantage.”

Vanjie’s jaw drops even as he laughs, mutters “shade” through his perfect teeth.

“For this Snatch Game, I’m asking you to channel one of your sisters. We’ve had a lot of iconic queens on this series, so you’ll have plenty of personalities to choose from. And luckily you’ve got some experts here for inspiration. Hashtag Snatch Game All Stars. Gentleman, start your engines. And may the best All Star… win!”

“The fuck?” Vanjie whispers to Nina as soon as Ru leaves. “Bitch, I had a damn plan. I brought the little gold trophies and everything. Watched all the fucking movies. Now I got to be one of y’all’s tired asses? That ain’t fair.”

“Trophies, like - you mean Oscars?”

“Sure, whatever.”

Nina has to admit that he’s kinda thrilled about this twist. He’d been telling anyone who will listen who he was going to be for the Snatch Game if he ever got another chance. He’d had a couple back-ups, of course (they’d all been told to bring a former queen, so honestly, they should have seen this coming from a mile away), but this really couldn’t have gone better for him.

He feels bad for some of the other queens though, especially Vanessa (the bitch was prepped to do Meryl Streep - Brooke’s idea, and a fucking hilarious one. He’d kill to see it).

“X-Queens assemble,” Monét calls over at him, and Nina pats Vanjie on the shoulder, goes off to sit with Monét and Asia.

Monét looks good. Real good. He’s in some loud patterned sweatshirt that has tiny slices of pizza all over it, and another pair of thick-rimmed glasses (white, or maybe baby pink?), and he’s smiling at Nina like - no, nope. Move along.

“It’s actually the Avengers that assemble,” Asia tells Monét, who rolls his eyes at her.

“Girl, you can’t be a bigger nerd than me. I won’t accept it.”

“Yeah, ‘cause knowing about the Avengers is real obscure, serious fan-only shit.”

“The shade, Miss Asia! Nina West, are you going to defend your mentor?”

Nina holds his hands up. “You’re the fearless leader, you got this.”

“The pair of you.” Monét shakes his head. “All right, what you got for Snatch Game?”

“I’ma be Brown Cow Stun-ning, yes, honey.” Asia pops her tongue after a pretty admirable impression of Monique Heart.

“And Miss Nina West?” Monét is looking at him with an eyebrow raised. Nina wonders if he’s heard the interviews, if he already knows.

“Miss Vaaaanjie,” Nina says, “Bitch, you know I don’t play games. Don’t play Monopology, Uno, Twistah, Tag, Marbles -”

“Jesus Christ, stop it.” Monét is covering his face with his hands, while Asia is cackling. “Does she know?”

“Not yet.”

“She will live. Okay, okay, I ain’t worried about either of you. Take me straight to the finale, win me that serious mentor coin.”

They run through a couple ideas for jokes, focusing more on Asia (who struggled last time and still has a bit of anxiety flaring behind her contacts). There’s a break for lunch, but it’s weirdly quiet, subdued. Snatch Game is an opportunity to stand out, to prove you deserve to be there. It’s also an opportunity to crash and burn in front of Ru, the judges, and later on - the world. So there’s that.

After lunch everyone starts putting on their paint, fixing their wigs. The cameras zoom in to get some Werk Room chatter about who is playing who, and of course they’re all dying for Vanessa’s reaction (as soon as he sees Nina pull out his pink-petalled Barbie-head dress from its garment bag, the pussycat’s out of the Prada bag).

“Noooo, bitch,” Vanjie shouts across the room, but he’s smiling. “Oh, I’mma have to whup your ass if that’s what I think it is.”

“Deuces!” Nina shouts back at him, throwing up the sign as well, while Brooke covers his face.

“That ain’t right, it ain’t right. Thought we was friends, sis.” Vanjie is laughing about it, though; Nina knows they’re cool.

“Who are you playing, Miss Shea Coulée?” Asia calls over to her sister, who is fussing with a nasty looking green wig.

“Paaaarty…” Shea drags out the word, working that vocal fry for all she’s worth. “I’m going to be Adore Delano, darling.”

Nina Bo’nina Brown thinks this is the funniest thing she’s ever heard, can’t speak for laughing so hard. Shea seems entertained by it at first, but her smile starts to tighten a little after the laughter continues a bit too long.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, nothing. Just - good luck, girl.”

“Who are you doing then?”

“Yeah,” Cracker interjects. “You were Jasmine Masters for your season’s Snatch Game right? The judges loved it.”

“Right. So why mess with perfection? I’m going to do Miss Jasmine Masters.”

A couple of the girls stop what they’re doing when she says this.

“You’re going to play the same queen?” Cracker repeats, a bit shocked.

“Yeah. I was sickening last time, I’ll be sickening this time.”

“Aren’t you worried that they’ll read you for not showing them what else you can do?”

“Nah. They’re gonna be laughing too hard.”

“Mmmm…” Vanjie makes a low, skeptical noise.

“Trust and believe, Vanjie,” Nina B. calls over to her. “Trust and believe.”

The cameras have to reset then to film Ru’s entrance into the Werk Room, and catch all the queens’ “surprised” reactions.

“Hello hello hello, kitty girls!”

Nina beams, claps his hands, that whole production. He’s feeling pretty good though - the energy is real. He’s actually excited for this challenge, ready to show Ru what he can do. (That’s how he felt last year too, then Silky went and yanked the win right out from under him. But no time to dwell on that now.)

“How are my All Stars? I thought I’d take a little look-see at what you were planning for us. And I brought along one of our extra special guest judges to help me out.”

From behind Ru, Katya Zamolodchikova comes in waving and smiling, teeth glowing white against her red lipstick.

“Oh my god! Get your own thing!” Trixie yells from across the room, and Katya does that ridiculous/adorable silent laugh that Nina has seen on “UNHhhh” too many times to count.

“Thanks for coming, Katya!” Ru says cheerfully.

“No problem, Ru. Thanks for unlocking the attic door!”

“Well, it was a special occasion. And I was feeling generous.”

They go from station to station, cameras following them around silently, and Nina fusses a bit with his dress while eavesdropping on their conversations with the other queens. There is a bit of concern for Brooke, who’s playing Detox (no big surprise there). How is Brooke going to make Detox funny seems to be the main issue. Nina has the same question. Brooke seems more confident than last season, though, so Ru and Katya wish him luck.

There’s some controversy over Nina Bo’nina playing Jasmine again, but the girl won’t be convinced to try something else. Nina listens to some of the critiques, ignores some of the others. He’s interested, but he also knows he needs to focus on his own performance, and not get in his head. He’s not as bad as Brooke at over-thinking things, but no one goes into goddamn musical theatre who isn’t at least a little bit destroyed (psychologically speaking. Okay, maybe also a bit romantically. It’s fine).

“Nina West!” Ru says close to Nina’s ear, and he almost jumps a foot in the air. (Girl, Katya is standing four feet away from you, be cool, be cool.)

“Hello, hello, hello Christine,” he says, immediately launching into his Vanjie impression. Both Ru and Katya laugh - and Katya’s smile up close is completely unfair, like a smile cut out of paper, perfect and sharp-edged.

(“I don’t know her!” Vanjie shouts from across the room.)

“So who are you going to be?” Katya asks, completely straight-faced, as soon as she and Ru have stopped laughing.

“I don’t know, still making up my mind,” Nina says, back in his normal voice.

“And the uh -” Ru gestures to the hideous floral Barbie dress, “gown?”

“Do you like it? One of my best gowns. What’s funny?”

Katya is wheeze-laughing. Katya is wheeze-laughing because of something Nina said! He stores that one next to the Monét gem from earlier; hopes to have enough for his own tiara in the unthinkable event that he doesn’t win.

“Now on Season 11’s Snatch Game, you were hilarious, you played -”

“Harvey Fierstein and Jo Anne Worley-”

“Yes! And really, it might have been one of the strongest performances in Snatch Game herstory.”

Nina smiles gratefully (only slightly furious that Ru’s saying this despite the fact that Nina didn’t win. He deserved to win).

“So how can you possibly outdo yourself this time?”

“I’m not trying to outdo myself, I’m trying to do something different. Like Katya, when you played Björk -”

“Yes, yes, back to me,” Katya says, nodding.

“Completely different from Suze Orman, but still so funny. That’s what I’m going to do. Just - mix it up.”

“All right, Nina, good luck. Can’t wait to see it,” Ru says, moving on.

It’s fine. It’ll be fine.

As soon as Ru and Katya leave the Werk Room it’s a mad dash to get dressed and made up and before Nina knows it, before he can light a bunch of candles on an altar and find whatever religion will bring him the most luck, they’re all being rounded up and led into the studio for the Snatch Game.

Okay.

Okay.

Brooke’s Detox look is iconic, the yellow and black striped bandage dress from the Season 5 premiere (probably borrowed from Detox herself) hugs his perfectly padded body, but he’s absolutely trembling as he walks beside Nina. Nina has to squeeze his shoulder, tell him it’ll be fine.

“It’s fun, Brooke. Just have fun with it,” he murmurs as he hits the bright studio lights, has to blink until his vision adjusts (the first thing he sees is Monét and Nina’s blinded by him).

Okay.

The mentors are sitting along the sidelines, ready to watch the show play out. Nina wasn’t expecting that, but it’s - fine. Monét smiles at him, and Nina’s going to use that smile as a good luck charm - a rabbit’s foot, a four leaf clover, whatever. It’s impossible not to feel lucky when someone who looks like Monét goddamn X Change smiles at you like that.

“Welcome to the first All Stars ‘Queens Everywhere’ Snatch Game!” Ru says after they’re all mic’d and seated, upbeat music playing behind him. “Let’s meet our contestants.”

Katya beams from where she’s sitting behind her glittery podium and microphone.

“It’s everyone’s favorite queen that we found digging in the dumpster outside - Katya!”

“And yet I’m still hungry!”

Katya smiles at Ru and then snaps her teeth at the other queens.

“And - just when you thought we’d finally seen the last of her - halleloo! It’s Shangela!”

Shangela raises one hand in the air, nodding seriously. “That’s right, I’m back again, bitches. And I ain’t even in a box this time, baby.”

“Ladies, are you ready to meet the queens?”

“Yaaaaaaaaaas,” they answer in tandem.

They reset so that Ru can film the introductions, and Nina’s heart starts rattling like bones in a bag. He’s buzzing with adrenaline and nerves, but he’s going to channel that into a goddamn win. That’s right, he tells his inner saboteur - you can fuck off. This challenge is mine.

“The heart of Season 10 - Monique Heart is here!” Ru starts with Asia, whose Monique look is extremely correct.

“Hello world! Hello America! Are you brown cow stunning?” She tosses Ru a ridiculous cow-patterned baseball cap. Ru briefly feigns excitement before throwing it over his shoulder in distaste.

“Burn that,” he murmurs to one of the camera crew. “Next up, we have the original party-queen - Adore Delano!”

Shea Coulee stretches her arms in the air before making a peace sign, growling “Party,” in a gravelly voice.

“How are you doing Adore?”

“I mean, I’m good, you know? Like. Excited to be back. Where am I again?”

Nina has to turn his mouth into his shoulder to stifle the laugh that bubbles to his throat immediately. He wasn’t sold on it when they were discussing it in the Werk Room, but Shea is killing it as Adore. Her voice, her delivery is hilarious. The makeup is flawless. Her perpetual open mouth is complete perfection. As always, Shea Coulee is slaying the competition. Nina’s stomach gives a nervous jolt, so he sucks in a deep breath and reminds himself to pay attention.

He realizes he’s missed Ivy’s introduction, but Katya is gagged at the illusion of, well - Her - that Ivy is turning today. A mid-length honey blonde wig barely brushes Ivy’s shoulders and her red bustier is covered in rhinestones (and, of course, the scythe and hammer.) The look is great. The accent, on the other hand… Nina sighs a little, but tries not to get comfortable, regardless of how terrible Ivy’s Russian accent is.

Vanjie is seated at the end of the top row, decked out in red lace, a large pair of dark sunglasses balanced precariously on her nose. There’s no denying the air about her: Miss Vanjie is living Miss Valentina’s French vanilla fantasy, and no one could doubt it.

Ru beams at him. “Valentina! How wonderful to see you again!”

Vanjie draws in a deep breath. “That’s right, Ru, it’s me - Valentina. I’m back, and this time, I just want you to know, I fully learned all the words to ‘Greedy.’”

“Excellent! You want to sing us a verse right now?”

“No,” Vanjie answers, extremely primly, and even in his gravelly voice, the delivery is enough to make Ru laugh.

“Maybe next time.”

“Probably not.”

Then Ru’s looking at Nina and - oh, god, why did he think coming back for All Stars was a good idea again?

“Miss Vaaaaaanjie is here!” Ru trills.

Nina sucks in a deep breath and - “What’s the grease, mama?”

Down the row, Brooke buries his face in his hands, but his shoulders bounce with laughter. Ru is giggling loudly. Even Katya and Shangela are agape at the spot-on impression like it’s the first time he’s done it, the first time they’ve heard it.

He lets himself relax a little.

“Three seasons in a row.” Ru consults his cue cards. “Girl, aren’t you tired of competing yet?”

“Mmhmm.” Nina shakes his head vehemently, the wig he pilfered from Vanjie weeks ago flying around his shoulders. (He really does owe Brooke one for that.) “Nah, girl, you know I’m still trying to get my own show. Like Vanjie of Love or some shit like that. You know, something where these triflin’ hos gotta pay me some damn attention.”

In his periphery, Nina catches Brooke cut his eyes to him. He hopes this is okay. They haven’t really discussed the Branjie territory in regards to his jokes, but he kind of assumed it was fair game. Besides, he isn’t planning on directly hurting anyone’s feelings. He’ll keep it light, keep it fun. Besides, they’re the ones who marketed their portmanteau and gave the profits to charity. It’s practically public domain at this point.

“Next up we’ve got - oh my goodness, it’s Jasmine Masters!”

Nina Bo’nina gives Ru an extremely “over it” look. “Yeah, and I got something to say.”

“Now Jasmine - no tea, no shade, but haven’t you been on Snatch Game before?”

There’s a bit of an awkward pause before Nina Bo’nina waves him away.

“Bitch, I’ve got something more to say.”

Ru chuckles a bit, “I bet you do,” and moves on to Brooke.

“Another former All Star contestant, welcome Detox!”

Brooke looks sullen and concerned. He gives a little nod at Ru and the contestants.

“Detox, what’s the matter? You don’t look happy to be here.”

“Oh, am I not smiling?” Brooke asks through his extremely full, painted-on lips. “I can’t feel anything above my neck.” He shapes his mouth into a grotesque smile using his hands, and Ru almost doubles over. Okay, okay. Nina feels a little less worried about Brooke.

“And last but not least, we have - um, Aquaria! Hey girl!”

“Hi Ru!”

“Aquaria, is that the new way you’re spelling your name?” Cracker has written Acwareea on her name-card. A couple letters are backwards.

“Huh?” Cracker looks down at the name card. “Oh, I can’t spell my name. Actually, I can’t spell anything.”

“Okay then.”

“You know, some girls chose to read books, I chose to turn looks.”

“Yeah, you did! Now let’s get ready to play the Snatch Game!”

They break for a few adjustments on the cameras and microphones, and Nina tries not to hyperventilate, and then fuck - they’re rolling again.

“Here we go. The first question is for Katya. Katya, All Stars Season 1 paved the way, and brought back some of the most celebrated queens of all time to compete. This time, instead of competing in pairs, the queens are competing in BLANK.”

Be funny, be funny, be fucking funny. Nina tries to think like Vanjie and writes down an answer as soon as he’s got one, hoping it will be good enough.

“Okay, pens down. Katya?”

“I said competing in traction.”

“In - traction?”

“Yeah, you know, when all the bones in your body are broken and you’re in the hospital bed with your leg in the air.”

“That would certainly be a different kind of competition.”

“I’d watch it,” Katya says seriously, and Ru laughs.

“Let’s go to the Queens and see if we have any matches. Miss Valentina. What did you write down?”

Vanjie has put a lace mask on over the bottom of her face. She mumbles something indecipherable.

“What was that?” Ru asks. Vanjie mumbles something again.

“Valentina,” Ru says, clearly picking up on the joke. “Take that thing off your face.”

“I’d like to keep it on please.”

Ru shakes his head slowly, and at last Vanjie removes her mask.

“Now, Valentina. What did you write?”

Vanjie flips her card over, and Ru starts to wheeze with laughter. “That’s what I wrote down. I’d like to keep it on please.“

Vanjie’s Valentina voice is slipping, but she’s hella charming anyway, as always.

“I’m sorry, my dear, but that is not a match. Moving on to Aquaria - oh! You’ve got a new outfit.”

Miz Cracker was scrambling to put on a new wig and geometric headpiece made of iPhones while Ru was speaking to the contestants. She looks great, and she’s killing Aquaria’s affected head wobble.

“This season the queens are competing in BLANK.”

Cracker flips her card to reveal Aquaria’s instagram URL. “I wasn’t born when All Stars Season 1 aired, so I just wrote this.”

“Oh, okay - not a match.”

“I’m young,” Cracker insists, and Ru nods, patiently.

“We all were once. What did Miss Vaaaaanjie have to say?”

“I said we’d have to compete in swimsuits,” Nina says, flipping over his card.

“Swimsuits?”

“Yeah. Cause maybe then Michelle won’t read my ass for filth every damn week.”

Ru gapes at him, like he can’t believe he just came for Michelle in Snatch Game.

“Swimsuits be glamor when everybody else is doing them too, bitch!” Nina pops his tongue.

Ru laughs, high and clear, and then turns to the other Nina. “What about you, Jasmine? What do you have to say?”

Nina Bo’nina slaps her hands on the table and purses her lips. “We gonna be competing in making viral videos to get Justin Bieber’s attention, Ru.”

The room — pauses while Ru tries to save face with a polite chuckle. Nina West can practically hear the shade rattle sound effect that will inevitably be edited in at this exact moment.

Jasmine Masters probably wasn’t Nina Bo’nina’s best option (anyone could have told her that and, good god girl, they really tried). It’s not working. Nina doesn’t think any of it’s working.

Ru clears his throat, shakes his head. “I’m certain you could teach them a thing or two about that, but unfortunately, it’s not a match.”

Nina Bo’nina shrugs.

Ru shuffles his cue cards and moves on. “This next question is for Shangela. In All Stars Season 2, we changed things up by letting the queens choose who would be eliminated. This season, as well as eliminating each other, the queens will have to BLANK each other.”

There’s the scribbling of markers from the queens around Nina (who like to think he’s got this answer down blind.)

“Okay, pens down. Shangela? This season, the queens will also have to…”

“I knew what y’all were looking for, because y’all are nasty…” Shangela turns her card around. “But I’m a lady, so I said they’d have to ‘tuck’ each other.”

“Tuck each other!”

“Sometimes a girl needs a helping hand, mama.”

“Ain’t that the truth. Let’s see if we have any matches! Katya, what did you say?”

Ivy looks a bit startled to be called on first, but she beams with her red lips, flips her card over. “I said eat each other. To consume each other’s power and fill the gaping void that lives -” She pats her chest. “Right here.”

Katya (the real Katya) shrieks, but Ru shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, that’s not a match.”

“Da,” Ivy says solemnly, in her terrible Russian accent. “Da. It never is match. Like me and Trixie. Match but… No match.”

And, okay, Nina might imagine it, but it seems like the studio goes eerily quiet as everyone waits for Trixie’s reaction. She’s smiling, but it looks forced. Katya clears her throat but laughs, which seems to dispel the weird tension that formed.

Ru, oblivious to the entire thing, moves on. “Miss Vaaaanjie, what did you say?”

Nina sighs and flips his card, feeling pretty pleased with himself. “I said date each other. You know, I still be lookin’ for that Notebook shit.”

“Oh yeah, we know. No more Post-Its, right?”

“No more Post-Its, never again. I ain’t got the time, Mary!” He glances over at Brooke, raises his eyebrows seductively. “Hey, how you doin’?” Behind him, the real Vanjie mumbles something under his breath.

“I’m sorry, my dear, that’s not a match.”

“Bitch, it might be!” Nina says, still looking at Brooke, and Ru bends over laughing, stomping his foot into the ground. It’s adrenaline, it’s power, it’s like Nina knows this challenge is his.

“You ain’t even know!” he continues, channeling angry Vanessa as much as possible. “Just ‘cause one tall blonde bitch did me wrong don’t mean they all will. Shit.” Nina crosses his arms over his chest, leans back in his chair, sees Brooke duck his head and blink rapidly a few times.

That might have been too much. He just got caught in the moment and… Fuck. Dial it back a little, but stay focused.

“Moving on to Aquaria,” Ru says. Aquaria, this season the queens will have to BLANK each other.”

“I said ‘copy each other,” Cracker says tightly, in Aquaria’s low voice. “And it’s too bad Miz Cracker isn’t here. Maybe then she would have won something.”

“Oho!” Ru laughs, a bit scandalized. “Not a match, my dear.”

Cracker shrugs and throws the card over her shoulder. “Someone save that so I can call and ask Cracker if she wants more of my sloppy seconds.”

“Adore Delanoooo!” Ru trills the last syllable as he turns to Shea, who tosses the long green waves over her shoulder.

She flashes Ru one of Adore’s signature winking, mouth-open, tongue-out smiles with a peace sign.

“What did you write down, darling?”

“I said ‘party with each other,’” Shea drawls in Adore’s affected tone, adding more fry than is entirely necessary, but it gets the point across. She’s goofy and perfect.

“Party with each other,” Ru repeats.

“Yeah! I mean, you guys all look super cool. I’d hang out with you, smoke a blunt, eat some pizza. You know, party!”

Ru tsks. “Sounds like a great Tuesday night, but unfortunately not a match.” He turns to face the contestants, where Katya is sitting with her hands folded primly on her stack of cards. “Back to Katya! In All Stars Season 3, BenDeLaCreme shocked the judges by sending herself home. This season, Michelle Visage will shock everyone by BLANKING herself.”

Katya takes a minute to ponder, pressing her index finger to her lips then writes something on her card. Nina and the other queens follow suit, and when their time is up, Katya is smiling ferociously.

“Let’s see what our contestant put down. Katya?” Ru faces her. “Michelle Visage will shock everyone by doing what?”

Katya clears her throat. “I could have gone the obvious route, you know.”

“Obviously,” Ru says.

“Instead, I said, ‘sacrificing herself.’”

“Sacrificing herself?”

“With fire. To the Gods, honey.”

“Okay… Any particular God?”

“…Satan.”

“Of course. Let’s go to our queens. Detox, this season Michelle Visage will shock everyone by…”

Brooke flips his card over. “I said motorboating herself. I mean, if anyone could do it -”

“I don’t know how shocking that would be… but either way, I’m sorry, not a match. Vanessa Vanjie Mateo! What did you say, my dear?”

Nina flips over his card. “I said cloning herself.”

“Cloning herself?”

“Mmm-hmm. Need two of her to manage your ass.”

Ru laughs, and Nina thanks every God he knows the name of. The burn landed!

“And now she got that done, she’s gonna clone me some Canadian bacon.”

“Is that right?”

“Hell yeah it is.” Nina does not look at Brooke or Vanjie. “But only the good parts, baby. Trim all the fat; I’m a growing girl, need more protein in my diet.”

“Bitch, you couldn’t handle that much protein,” Vanjie-as-Valentina cuts in, and Ru fans himself.

“A controversial question! Let’s go to Monique Heart, see what she said. Michelle Visage will shock everyone by…”

“I said believing in herself.” Asia-as-Monique-turns her face to the camera. “Like I believe in myself, America. And that’s why I’d like to take this moment to announce my run for office.”

“Which office is that?”

“Whichever.” Asia’s got Monique’s flighty passion down perfectly. “One of the big ones, you know. And thank you, America, for your trust. I won’t let you down.”

Ru reads the last question of the night. “In All Stars Season 4, history was made when we celebrated the first Drag Race double crowning. This season, we’ll be making history with a double BLANK.”

Shangela is already shaking her head knowingly. There’s a scrabble of writing from the queens.

“Ladies, pens down. Shangela?”

“I’m giving the people what they want, Ru. I ain’t proud. I had to say a double fisting.”

“Did you really have to say it though?”

“Actually, mama, I did. The PAs have my children.”

“Ha! All right ladies, let’s see if we have any matches. Adore Delano. This season we’ll be making history with the first double BLANK.”

Shea holds up her card proudly. “I said the first double… elimination.”

Ru is quiet for a moment. “That’s actually been done before.”

“It has?”

“A couple of times, actually.”

“Oh.” Shea is unfazed. “Well. I don’t watch the show.”

Ru wheeze laughs, and so does Nina.

“I mean, I don’t know who any of you people are.”

“Sorry, Adore. Not a match.”

Shea shrugs, flashes a peace sign.

“What about you Katya?” Ru moves over to Ivy.

“Well, I thought about what Trixie and I like to do behind the scenes of ‘UNHhhh’ and I just had to put - fisting!” She flips her card.

“It’s a match!” Ru exclaims.

Everyone is laughing, but Nina can’t help check out the subjects of Ivy’s joke. The real Katya Zamo is smiling but - her teeth look clenched. And over with the mentors, Trixie Mattel is not smiling at all. She’s staring at her hands in her lap, systematically picking at the baby pink polish that adorns her fingernails. Hopefully none of the cameras pick up on that.

“I’ll see you later tonight!” Ivy continues, pointing at Trixie. There’s a halfway amused smile on Trixie’s face right away, but Nina feels like he was punched in the stomach. Something’s going on between the two of them, clearly. It hurts to watch - not like watching Vanjie and Brooke hurts (that’s more like watching two attractive bricks smash together). But Trixie and Katya - there’s so much history there. So much darkness. And God knows enough people have been convinced they’re in love -

“Monique Heart, what did you put down? This season we’ll be making history with the first double BLANK.”

“I said the first double crowning, dahling.”

“I’m sorry Monique, we already did that as well.”

“I know y’all did it, but I feel like it didn’t really count because my ass wasn’t wearing one of those crowns. It should have been me, and that’s a fact, America. And facts are - what? Facts.”

Ru laughs for a moment before turning to Nina. “What about Miss Vaaaanjie?”

“I said the first double wedding. And before y’all even ask: I do.” Nina glances over at Brooke, hoping he isn’t hitting this note a bit too hard.

“You do? Who’s the other happy couple?”

Ivy interrupts before Nina can answer. “Trixie! I’ve been meaning to ask you!”

“Oh honey,” Trixie calls out, looking flushed and uncomfortable. “I know I said I’d give more to charity this year, honey, but my generosity has limits.”

Behind her podium, Katya’s face is absolutely expressionless.

“Well, queens, we’re out of time,” Ru announces. “Which means the winner is… Xanax! Talk to your pharmacist. See you next time on the Snatch Game!”

Nina throws ‘deuces’ at the cameras as they get some closing B-roll, keeping up his Vanjie-persona until the very end. As soon as the director yells “cut!” Nina lets out the breath he’s been holding for the past two hours. God, it went by fast, but now he’s feeling every second of it. His muscles ache like he ran a marathon this morning and then tried kick-boxing for the first time.

“Nice work, ladies,” P.A.’s are congratulating them as they leave the set, but Nina barely hears a word. He de-drags, does some of the talking head interviews he loves so much (has to look shady about Nina B.’s performance, and worried about Brooke. Nina doesn’t put on an act or anything - he is kinda worried about Brooke. Brooke did ‘okay’ - better than Celine for sure - but didn’t stand out the way some of the other queens did. And if Brooke goes home tomorrow night - fuck. Nina doesn’t quite know how he feels about that).

Brooke was also kind of weird as they took off their paint in the Werk Room. Nina thought at first that he was in his head about the Snatch Game, but now he’s starting to wonder if his answers as Vanjie might have fucked Brooke up a bit. He hasn’t had a chance to address it, but he’s going to have to tomorrow, just to make sure they’re cool. He thinks it will be okay. He’s pretty sure. Basically. Almost positive.

Nina might be working through some latent confidence issues as he pushes himself for four miles on the elliptical later that night in the hotel (work through the pain, he reminds himself), but it’s fine really. Nothing to see here. Move along.

His legs ache and his face drips sweat, but he feels—good, actually. Solid about his performance. (He did last year, too, but he’s trying not to think about that.)

Dolly is singing about ways to make a living in his ears. He’s not assuming - but he is preparing. Just in case. If he has to lipsync for his legacy, he wants to be ready. Wants to win this one more than any other challenge, and call him crazy, but he feels like there’s a real chance. He can’t pinpoint why exactly, but there’s some kind of feeling settling down into his bones, making him think that maybe maybe maybe—

Underneath that, something uncomfortable has wormed its way into his psyche. It has almost nothing to do with the actual competition. It’s stupid and predictable and oh-so-not what he should be concerned with while on the set of All Stars for Christ’s sake. But he is and he’s here and he’s feeling things, and Nina taught himself a long time ago that feeling things fully for a while and then letting them go is far more beneficial to his mental health than taking the Brooke route and bottling everything up and burying it under vodka cranberries and couch cushions.

So sure. Okay. He’s feeling some kind of way about this thing that he saw that he wasn’t even supposed to see and isn’t even any of his business, but that’s just Nina’s luck for you. So that’s what he focuses on (or tries not to) as he turns up the resistance and pushes through the last of his workout.

He’d risked a glance back at Monét right before the PAs had shoved them off the soundstage. He’s in the business of gem collecting now, savoring those moments, polishing them up for later use, and maybe he wanted a ruby tinted the exact shade of Monét’s lipstick as they’d smiled across the room at each other.

Instead, he’d seen Monét reaching out to Shangela, crimson lips puckered, arms outstretched, ready for the kiss Nina couldn’t make himself watch.

Maybe they had kissed, Nina didn’t know; he’d made himself turn away before he could inflict any more psychological damage on himself. (He’s choosing healthier options now, remember.)

Of course they hadn’t had a moment after the last runway. Why would he think that? When Monét could have anyone he wants, and Nina is practically an amorphous blob. Like. He knows drag queens are all touchy-cuddly most of the time, and he knows that there’s probably nothing going on between Monét and pretty, perfect, halleloo-ing Shangela. But there could be, right? And goddamn, that would actually make sense. As opposed to whatever madness was going on in Nina’s head last night.

He adds even more resistance to the elliptical - just for “fun.” Or maybe spite. And yeah, okay, one night of really solid work in the hotel gym isn’t going to turn him into Naomi Smalls with legs up to his asshole or anything, but it’s a start. And the sooner Nina can convince himself that he isn’t doing this for Monét (or anyone other than himself because he likes exercise, damn it), the better.

He’s a grown-ass adult. He recognizes delusion when he sees it in the mirror every morning. It’s time to face facts—he and Monét had one (wondrously) sensual, albeit (incredibly) drunken night months ago. Monét had left the ball in Nina’s court. Nina was too chickenshit to do anything about it. Now they’re tentative friends (Monét is his mentor after all), Nina might be going crazy (this whole bursting-into-song-but-not-really thing has gone too far), and it’s all just so messy.

Nina wipes his face, stretches, and heads out of the hotel gym. He probably looks like a sweaty disaster (okay, there’s no ‘probably’ about it) and he’s waiting for the elevator down to the floor with his room, when the doors “ding” open and he’s face to face with Monét.

Could be worse. Could be Branjie again.

“Get in loser, we’re going drinking!” Monét says, with a wide smile on his face.

He’s so fucking charming that Nina momentarily forgets that he himself is a hot damn mess. Literally, like hot. Dripping with sweat.

“Um.” He gets into the elevator anyway because - he’s gotta go somewhere. “Are we?”

“If you want.” Monét gets strangely shy as soon as the elevator doors close. Or maybe that’s just in Nina’s mind. “Was the Mean Girls reference too much? I feel like maybe it’s played out.”

Nina laughs out loud, awkwardness momentarily forgotten. Monét never seems anything but confident and composed, and that one moment of doubt is - surprisingly endearing.

Not that confident, composed Monét isn’t completely endearing as well. Like. It’s all good. It all works a little too well for Nina. Everything about Monét is working a little too well for Nina lately.

Shit, the elevator is moving, decision-making time is limited.

“I kinda look like - this?” Nina waves a hand at his damp self.

“Fine as hell, girl,” Monét says with a grin, “and no pressure, obviously. Though if I’m drinking alone at the hotel bar, it’s going to look a little sad. And, look, I can make sad work for me, that’s not a problem. But after the day I’ve had -”

“Oh, the day you’ve had. Yeah, I forgot how stressful it must have been. Competing on a reality show and all that.”

“Fuck off. Uh oh, we’re passing your floor -”

“How do you know which floor is mine?”

Monét blinks at him, briefly speechless, mouth agape. (It makes something spark like a firework in Nina’s chest, shoot colours across the night sky.) The moment passes and then Monét doesn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed, just smiles like a gorgeous monster as he taps his temple. “That’s classified mentor information.”

“Yeah?”

“Hell yeah. You don’t want to know about my top-secret dossier.”

“No, I - don’t.”

“You sure you don’t?” Monét winks at him, and the elevator dings as it reaches the ground floor. “Ah, shit, missed your stop. Better come do shots with me.”

“I mean, I could just press the button again.” Nina doesn’t know why he’s resisting, he wants to get tipsy with Monét more than he wants to do most things (aside from win All Stars and run for office someday maybe).

“Nah, girl, this elevator only goes down. One-way elevator. Sorry, should have told you.”

“Guess I’m out of options.”

“Guess so.”

They look at each other. Nina remembers the man that asked him up to his room the night of the finale. Nina remembers the taste of his mouth, the way Monét kept kissing him, like he couldn’t get enough. Nina -

- is clearly exhausted. And still delusional. But fuck it.

They go to the hotel bar (isn’t this how all the bad stories start?) and Monét buys them both a tequila sunrise and tells Nina way more than he should about Trixie Mattel.

“So her man and her are split. She’s feeling some kind of way about it.”

“Of course she is. Haven’t they been together for, like, ever?”

“Something like that. Fuck.” Monét drains his drink, motions for another round. “We’ve been talking about it, but I’m not - you know. I love her, she’s incredible, but - I’m not - her best friend.”

“You’re not Katya,” Nina says quietly, and Monét scrubs his hands over his face.

“Yeah. That.”

“So why isn’t she talking to Katya, then? You guys have your phones; Katya’s here now, for Christ’s sake.”

Monét shrugs. “Beats me.”

“Are they -” Nina doesn’t have any right to this information, but - he figures that Monét wants to talk about it. “Potentially… do you think -”

“Who the fuck knows? Honestly, when I said I’d come back to do this show, I did not think it would be like being in high school again. Like who is crushing on who, who is hooking up, it -” He darts a look over at Nina and then snaps his mouth shut. “I mean.”

Nina looks away. Finishes his second drink a bit too quickly. “You want another?”

“Okay,” Monét answers before Nina can even finish the sentence.

The bartender is particularly attentive, gets another round in front of them right away. He’s got a lot of smiles for them both, says, “This round’s on me, I’m a huge fan,” as he walks off to help another customer, and Nina - can’t help it, he’s a masochist - raises an eyebrow at Monét.

“Think you’ve got an admirer.”

“Yeah?” Monét rolls his eyes. “More like you do.”

“Should we turn this into an awful romantic comedy where we make a bet about who he likes more?”

Monét laughs like he’s shocked at himself. “Girl! Okay, but what happens at the end? Who wins?”

“Well, if we’re following the formula, we probably both realize that real love was right in front of - you know, I don’t know. You, you win.” Fuck fuck fuck, what the hell is Nina even saying? He watched too many Hallmark movies last Christmas. “That voice, that ass, right?” He tries to make it into a joke, even with Monét’s eyes all honeyed and serious on his face.

Monét purses those perfect lips, presses them into a semi-smile. “Just… didn’t want to assume nothing.”

They talk for another couple drinks, and it’s - shit, it’s easy. It’s never this easy with someone Nina likes. He knows he can be funny, knows he can bring out the charm (with the right amount of alcohol in his system) but usually if there are feelings involved it all goes to hell. Nina gets weird and in his head and laughs too loudly and spills his drink everywhere.

But with Monét - it shouldn’t be like this. It shouldn’t be this easy, especially with all the longing covering up the background like terrible flowered wallpaper. It shouldn’t be this easy for Nina to stop over-thinking things and just exist in the presence of this gorgeous person.

But it is. It is easy. That’s the worst part of it all.

Monét is laughing and grabbing for his arm (just like finale night in the other hotel bar) and there’s heat in Nina’s cheeks that isn’t just from the alcohol, and Monét’s lips are glistening and wet as he pulls the straw between them and sips every last bit of the cocktail into his mouth.

Nina swallows thickly, leans into the sound of Monét’s deep rumbling laugh, reaches for his knee when he starts to slip off the hotel barstool.

How many drinks are they in now? Four? Five? More? The room is spinning.

Nina is laughing. Light, airy. Not giggling exactly but laughing and his cheeks are burning and Monét is looking at him through narrowed eyes.

“Be careful, Nina West,” Monét says, and his voice is low and dangerous. “Be careful lookin’ at people like that. They might get… ideas.”

Nina’s breath hitches in his throat and he swallows hard. “Ideas?”

“I might get ideas.” Monét smiles crookedly; his eyes are half-closed and sleepy as he rests his chin on his hand and leans against the bar. “You never texted me.”

Nina’s so glad he’s drunk. So glad he missed his floor, even if it has led to this. Because this conversation, this thing has hung between them for the entirety of filming and it hasn’t been uncomfortable exactly (because they’re adults, thank you very much), but it hasn’t been wonderful either. And Nina more than anything wants to rewind back to May, go to lunch, talk about anything and everything and nothing with Monét until they fall back into hotel sheets and kiss and kiss and kiss until—

“Why didn’t you ever text me?”

Nina clears his throat. “I was… I… I wanted to.”

“But?” Monét’s eyes are wide and pleading now. Still glassy with the alcohol, but inquisitive, bright, waiting to see how Nina is going to explain himself.

Nina is too, to be honest.

So he shakes his head. “I don’t know. Honestly. I don’t have a good reason. I wanted to. I should have.”

Monét ducks his head, takes the paper straw from his drink and twirls it between his middle and ring finger. It sends tiny droplets of tequila sunrise all over the wooden bartop.

“I thought about that night a lot, Nina West,” Monét says quietly, wiping at the droplets with a damp beverage napkin. “I don’t do that. That’s not like me.”

“Me either,” Nina says.

Nina knows that if they were sober this would be a very different conversation. There would definitely be more emotions, there might even be some yelling (although that doesn’t really seem like Monét’s thing and he’s never been one to raise his voice, so maybe not). Either way, they aren’t sober, and now they’re the sleepy kind of drunk and exhausted, so they just sit there at the bar staring at each other, not sure what to say next.

“Why’d you pick me?” Nina finally asks. “For the competition? Because of… that night?”

Monét shrugs and pulls his credit card out of the back pocket of his jeans. “Just wanted to win, girl. That’s it.”

“Shit, I don’t have—”

Monét waves him off. “I got it. Consider it after-hours mentoring.”

Nina thanks him repeatedly as they stand (clumsily) and make their way out of the hotel bar (stumblingly) and back to the elevator. When the doors shut behind them, Nina has a brief flash of all the things that two consenting adults can get up to in an elevator (some of which he has seen in recent days). But no. No. They had their chance, right? The ship has sailed.

Nina’s room is a few floors beneath the mentors’ (apparently), so he steps off before Monét.

“Can you find your way back to your room?” Monét asks, and Nina wishes he could says ‘no. No, I’m going to get completely lost, no, I’ll fall down every two steps if I don’t have you holding me up. No, I need you to linger in my doorway, I need to panic about whether I should try to kiss you goodnight, I need to think about inviting you in.

(I wouldn’t. Of course I wouldn’t. So - unprofessional. But - it’d be nice to think about.)’

“Yeah.” He smiles. “I’ll manage.”

Monét grins. Nina likes to think there’s a bit of disappointment around the edges of it, but he’s also a couple drinks in, and wears the rosiest of glasses at the best of times.

“Thanks for the company and conversation, Nina West.”

Nina nods. Doesn’t touch him, doesn’t look over his shoulder at Monét as he leaves the elevator.

But he doesn’t go back to his room either.

He wanders the hotel. Presses the down button and gets on a different elevator a few minutes later.

Nina’s going to regret this tomorrow when he’s exhausted, but he just can’t imagine shutting himself in his dark little room and lying down right now. He’s vibrating, on edge. It’s a bad idea, because there’s nothing more depressing than a silent hotel after midnight - something about the lateness of the hour makes all the shine come off. Nina’s feet lead him down one hallway and down another, and he doesn’t realize he’s heading to their usual breakfast-conference room until he hears… music?

Yes, there’s definitely music coming out of there, the casual strumming of a stringed instrument that doesn’t have anywhere to go. Someone might be humming too, it’s hard to tell from a distance.

Nina follows the sound.

The door is open, just a bit, and all the lights are on. Sitting alone in the room is Trixie Mattel, bent in concentration over her autoharp.

Out of drag, she looks smaller, more vulnerable. It’s clear just how young she is. She’s picking at a tune, murmuring something under her breath. Nina suddenly feels a warm breeze against his skin, and the melody that Trixie’s playing becomes clearer, a delicate bluegrass riff that would be at home on Nina’s old Emmylou Harris or Linda Ronstadt records.

Along with the warm breeze comes a gust of dandelion seeds, floating through the hallway like tiny wisps of cotton. Nina feels like he’s alone with Trixie in the middle of a waving wheat field, sun-baked and desolate. He can smell the cracked soil beneath his feet, hear the sound of crickets chirping in time with Trixie’s brittle melody.

Oh no. That thing is happening again.

Trixie starts to sing:

“You’re the brightest star in any room.

I’m never lonelier than when I’m with you.

I miss something that’s never happened.

I miss a place I’ve never been to.”

Her voice is quiet at first, but it grows louder.

“There are some bridges that you cannot cross

Say it again ‘til I convince myself

But all this certainty it feels like loss.

I wouldn’t risk this much for no one else.”

Trixie gets to her feet, starts walking through the wheatfield as she sings the chorus.

“And there’s a wide field between us

How you traveled all those miles without me I don’t understand

I’m always on the edge of falling

And you could pull me over just by reaching out your hand

If you’d only take that chance.”

She keeps plucking at the harp, and Nina feels words welling up inside him, ready to spill from his mouth (when he starts singing, he’s thinking of Monét. Because of course he is.)

“This sort of thing, it don’t come easy

I never know just what to do or say

It feels impossible, believe me

That you would ever look at me that way.”

He thinks of Monét’s lips on Shangela’s after the Snatch Game. He thinks of Monét’s eyes on him at the bar. (“Be careful lookin’ at people like that, Nina West.”)

“There are some bridges that you cannot cross

I built up walls around this paper heart

But when I see you I forget it

All of the reasons we should be apart.”

Trixie harmonizes along with Nina as he sings the chorus.

“And there’s a wide field between us

How I traveled all these miles, baby, I don’t understand

I’m always on the edge of falling

And you could pull me over by just reaching out your hand

But could I ever take that chance?”

Nina sings the last line one more time, feeling the weight of his hopeless longing rising like a tide inside his chest. “If you’d only take that chance…”

“Nina?”

“Um.”

Trixie is sitting in the conference room, staring at him. She’s holding her autoharp but there’s no flowing wheatfields or whatever. Somehow Nina ended up in the doorway, just standing there. Fuck’s sake. Is he dissociating? Musically??? This is unbearable.

“How long have you been there?” Trixie asks, confused.

“Um, just got - here, so -” Nina’s face is probably turning bright red, and he’s hoping against that he hasn’t just been shouting song lyrics blankly at a terrified Trixie Mattel for the past few minutes. “Are you okay?”

Trixie winces. Then she nods.

“Yeah, of course. Just - yes. Couldn’t sleep. Figuring some - stuff out. You?”

“Just - you know. Having an emotional spiral.”

“Oh honey…” Trixie’s smiling but her voice is soft and sad. “My first perm was an emotional spiral, honey.”

Nina laughs in a brittle way, because 1) Trixie’s hilarious and 2) it’s obvious she’s trying to make him feel better.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not right now,” Trixie sighs, shakes her head. “But thanks.”

Nina leaves her to it. After - whatever that just was - he feels ready to crash at long last. He’s still a bit buzzed from the tequila, but his nervous energy has banked, and he heads back to his room. He’s ready to sleep, ready to deal with tomorrow when it gets here.

So of course, there’s someone waiting for him outside his room.

“Nina West.” Maya the P.A. gives him a slow, broad smile the moment he comes into view. “Found your way back, hey? Great. We need to talk.”

Interlude: Trixie

Conversation with:

swamp thing

i cunt believe i agreed to this

Fuck autocorrect CANT

It knows what you REALLY MEANT

It knew i was texting you and assumed

I’ll take it

You’ll take anything

I ain’t proud mama

I’m hunnnnnngry

For serious though, things okay there?

For serious serious

4 C-ri-us

GROSS

That’s gonna be my dj name

Please welcome to the stage

Why do I talk to you

Why do i even know you

Yes things are find its just weird

Being back on set

And like also runnign a business and

planning a tour and all of it. At least

they let us keep our phones

Must be hard being successful

I’m crying for you

I didn’t know you could still produce tears

I squeeze em out

Like milking a cow

Just need the right suction

Stop talking to me

What can you say that you won’t get sued for

I want drama

Who’s fisting who

Ha monet wishes she was fisting someone

Shes like middle school crushing on a queen here

Its kinda cute and sad

If love isn’t pathetic i don’t want it

And there’s last seasons whole thing

#branjie

sell those hats

That is not about hats

I saw them at a show in LA last summer

They’re fucked up in love, mama

IN LOVE???

Who even are you

I’m a person who has eyes

that can see things

Are they not together? They’re togther right?

NOPE

Are you fucking kidding

I don’t believe it

Since when are you this romantic

I’m not romantic

I have no romance in my bones

It’s just OBVIOUS

Well not to them

SO

Ahhhh the gays

When will we figure our shit out

Realize what’s right in front of us

You gone?

Yeah sorry

Going to pass out

Don’t die or anything

Whiel i’m gone

Aren’t you sweet

Conversation with:

sure thing

Doing anything fun tonight?

Or just missing me

Babe?

Ok sorry filming again

Call you on break

Do not let me do this again

I don’t care what they offer me

(id o care what they offer me)

Breaks over talk to you after?

How was your day?

Call me if you want

I’m done for the night

Just getting white girl wasted alone

In my hotel room

At the mini bar yes i’m that famous now

I’m gonna crash call me if you get this

Love u

Conversation with:

swamp thing

I dreamt that i was in a bsatroom

At mcdonalds that one you puked in

After the show in philadelphia

Do you remember? Probably not

And you were there and fucking

Gordon ramsay was there (!!!)

And he wad hitting on you

And i wasd so pissed off

And thrn this lady came in and was like

‘You can’t be in here, this is for ronald only” And i fully shot her with a GUN

WHAT DOES THAT MEAN TRACY

I just woke up and feel like a monster

She was just doing her job

Ronald mcdonald needs his private shitter

And i just killed her

I killed a living dream person

Thank you for sharing this with me

I feel so close to you right now

Yeah i don’t confess dream murder

to just ayone

But WHAT DOES IT MEAN???

Latent Ronald mcdonald fetish

Clearly

I’m not a doctor or anythng

But i’m sorry you’re dying

Yep yep makes sense

I always knew it would end like this

fuck/marry/kill

me/gordan ramsay/ronald mcD

(you wanna know what the D stands for)

No i want to sleep

For 3 more hours

But i’m on reality tv again

You should havw stopped me

Maybe this dream was a warning!

I’m supposed to save you

From endng up on Chopped

What did you dream about?

U have to tell me even if it’s sexy

That’s the law

Another teeth falling out one

Mama you know that’s my kink

Conversation with:

sure thing

Good morning sexy thing

I’m so tiiiiiired

Don’t make me get up yet

Hey are u alive?

Yes

Yay u r alive!

I called u yesterday night

And at lunch

U ok?

Did u get my messages?

yes

Ok

Can i call you?

I miss your voice

I cant talk right now

Sorry

Ok

I’ll call you tonight

After filming?

Sure

Love u gorgeous

Hey just called left a message

Give me a shout later

I miss you

Brian

Have you seen the pics

from the MTV Movie Awards?

Ummm ok

No i’ll look them up

Ok

Fuck my lashes are so uneven

U breaking up with me over lashes

Lol

U and kat are pretty cuddly

Haha

are u being serious

Ur joking

Are u ok? Can i call u?

I’m out right now

Call you when i get home

Ok

But we’ve talked about this before right

U know we’re friends

Me and Kat

We’re just friends

U know this

Yeah i have lots of friends

And we don’t hold hands and kiss eachother

All the fucking time

So we’re fdoing this over text?

Is that what we’re doing

No i’ll call u later

Call me ok? I love u

U cannot be jealous of katya

She’s my Business Partner

And it’s DRAG

We touch each otehr all the time

We all do

Gotta go call u later

Conversation with:

swamp thing

Can we talk?

Not if ur busy

Let me just stop blowing this senator

And kick the clowns out

And get thes handcuffs off

No i’m not worth it

Keep these good things goin

It was winding down anyway

Gettin awkward

I have yoga tomorrow

Whats up pussycat

This is gonna sound really weird

Have you seen the pics of us

from the movie awwrds

Probably blocked them out

why????

am i like a troll

No more than usual

David texted me about them

And he’s all pissed off??

Because of us holding hands

Like so so stupid right

WHAT???!

Thats crazy!

Im so sorry

This isn’t the handmaids tale

He can calm his tits

(sorry, not to attack him just) Has he seen our shows??

What did you tell him

To fucking call me!!!

And he hasn’t

And i’m on this stupid set and can’t just go

See him and convince him how crazy he is

I’m so sorry

Do you want me to call him

I’ll call him

Tell me what to say

No don’t

Don’t worry

Its fine

I’ll talk to him

Conversation with:

swamp thing

Hey are you awake

If youre awake call me

david and I are done

over the phone

FUN

sorry you’re clearly asleep

I’m just a little drunk

brian

he said some things

that ive been thinking about

maybe call me tomorrow if u can

guess ill see you soon anyway

dont die while im gone

miss u

[ts1989fanatic]

Taylor Swift And The End Of An Era

Love her or hate her, Taylor Swift embodied the contradictions of the decade in pop music

“I’m so sick of running as fast as I can,” Taylor Swift sings in the chorus of “The Man,” a song from her latest album, Lover. She chose the up-tempo tune to open her “Artist of the Decade” medley at the AMAs last month, and it’s a return to familiar Swiftian themes; she claps back at unspecified, sexist critics who fail to acknowledge her “good ideas and power moves.”

Whatever one might think of Swift’s underdog complex, it’s not surprising that the end of the 2010s finds her exhausted. Her transformation from tween country sensation to tabloid-friendly pop star to polarizing Twitter talking point and, finally, to celebrity supernova, required — at the very least — plenty of stamina.

There’s no question that straight white femininity still occupies a privileged place in the cultural landscape, which helped pave the way for Swift’s rise and decade-long pop dominance — even as she became a zeitgeisty symbol of that privilege and a target for those seeking to contest it. Yet as many of her similarly situated peers have faltered, she has endured as one of the last pop behemoths of her kind.

Time and again Swift strategically read and rode the decade’s cultural waves, deciding not just which trends and genres to jump on but, perhaps more importantly, what to pass on. As pop music became feud-centric reality television, there was Taylor; as stan culture transformed the way listeners interacted with performers (and each other), there was Taylor; as artists’ rights in the streaming era entered the conversation, there was Taylor; as politics infiltrated music, there was (sort of, eventually) Taylor.

There are definitely plenty of other contenders for Artist of the Decade (a title both the AMAs and Billboard recently bestowed on Swift) — artists who have hugely impacted pop music over the past 10 years and managed to ride out the seismic, industry-wide shifts they’ve contained, from Beyoncé to Lady Gaga to Kanye West. But you don’t have to think Swift was the “best” or even most significant artist of the decade to acknowledge that her cultural domination, and her ability to pivot and reinvent herself, captured many of the defining tensions of pop music over the last decade.

It’s hard to remember (in internet years) that before 2010, Swift was just a teen pop star and not yet a cultural lightning rod. She was already taken seriously as a musician and had plenty of cultural capital coming into the decade; in 2009, having already won Artist of the Year at the AMAs, she was about to accept a Video Music Award for Female Video of the Year when Kanye infamously interrupted her speech. In early 2010, she won Album of the Year for Fearless at the Grammy Awards, beating out Beyoncé and Lady Gaga.

Her early stardom revolved mostly around the fact that she was a precocious young country artist who wrote her own songs, without the risqué edge or sexy-but-wholesome cognitive dissonance of someone like an early Britney Spears to worry white parents and inspire pearl-clutching tabloid magazine covers. And it wasn’t really until Speak Now — when Swift was already a mainstream star but still categorized as country — that she began teasing the media and her fans about the ways her autobiographical lyrics mapped onto her real life, especially regarding the men she was dating.

People are still wondering whether Alanis Morissette’s “You Oughta Know” is about Uncle Joey, so it was startling for a young woman songwriter and musical celebrity of her commercial reach to use her songs to consistently craft such intimate stories about such equally public men, including Joe Jonas, Taylor Lautner, and John Mayer. And there was something uniquely bold about the way Swift started using her confessional songwriting and melodic sensibility to “get the last word” on her relationships, as People magazine framed it in her first cover story.

People hardly batted an eye in 2018 when Ariana Grande’s first No. 1 hit, “Thank U, Next,” literally name-checked her list of ex-boyfriends, and that’s in no small part because of Swift. Because even as reality TV stars like the Kardashians and Real Housewives were figuring out how to create multiplatform storytelling through social media, Swift was already pioneering the strategy in the big pop machine. Yes, she opportunistically used this to shame exes, create fodder for talk shows, and garner magazine covers; and even then, it raised some hackles about the way she was using her power. But it was undeniably compelling theater, and even nonfans were watching.

That multiplatform mixture of music and drama wouldn’t have succeeded without the undeniably catchy earworms Swift’s diary entries were wrapped in, or without the devoted fanbase of Swifties that she cultivated online. This all helped her break chart records with her most explicitly pop albums, including 2012’s Red and 2014’s ’80s-inspired 1989. The latter garnered the biggest first-week sales for a pop album since Britney Spears in 2002, helping Swift keep the tradition of the monocultural pop star alive.

But as Swift’s music saturated airwaves, and her willingness to tease behind-the-scenes details of her life in her songs moved beyond ex-boyfriends like Harry Styles (“Style”) into swatting at other pop stars like Katy Perry (“Bad Blood”) the public began to sour on Swift’s strategic use of her personal life in her music. (To Swift’s credit as a performer, no other pop star could sing the lyrics “Band-Aids don’t fix bullet holes” about a dispute over a backup dancer with a straight face.)

Juxtaposed with Swift’s self-celebrating “girl squad” feminism, her opportunism — and seeming hypocrisy — started to rankle. By 2015, even racist sympathizer and critic Camille Paglia came out of the woodwork to anoint Swift a “Nazi barbie,” calling out her tendency to treat friends as props. And all these contradictions of Swift’s persona would come to a head when Swift’s seemingly buried feud with Kanye came roaring back the following year.

It makes sense that her clash with Kanye and Kim Kardashian West became the first time she experienced a real backlash. Unlike the drama around her dating life or with Perry, it was the first time Swift was up against equally savvy adversaries — celebrities who, like her, were professionals at merging their public and private lives.

The fight was a meta moment by design, inspired by West’s song “Famous,” where he raps: “I made that bitch famous.” In retrospect, it seems clear that West, as much a publicity-seeking pop diva as Swift, was trying to get the last word after going on an apology tour about the interruption heard round the world. Swift claimed to be annoyed over what she saw as the song’s credit-taking message, and she tried to make it part of her own narrative. “I want to say to all the young women out there,” she intoned in her speech accepting a Grammy for Album of the Year in February 2016, “there are going to be people along the way who will try to undercut your success or take credit for your accomplishments or your fame.”

In another era, Swift’s storyline might have won the day. Her publicist denied that she had approved the line in the song, despite Kanye’s claim that he had checked with her before releasing it. But celebrity narratives, to some degree, were no longer being decided just by white-dominated mainstream media. Black publications were the first to tease out the racial undertones of Swift’s lie in the ensuing “he said, she said,” specifically as a white woman playing on the ingrained sympathy and benefit of the doubt that white women are given in US culture.

Still, it wasn’t until Kim’s Snapchat leak that July — where Swift could be heard approving the song — that the Swift-as-victim narrative became a framework for understanding her entire career. Contemporary white pop stars like Grande and Miley Cyrus had faced musical appropriation backlashes, but this time it was Swift’s entire persona — not just her music — that were under scrutiny.

Swift’s memeable response to the leak — “I would very much like to be excluded from this narrative” — was followed by her own disappearance from the media landscape. By the time the 2016 election happened — amid the chatter about white women’s complicity in electing Trump — Swift’s refusal to take a political stand solidly cast her as a cultural villain, and her symbolism as an icon of toxic white womanhood was sealed.

If the clamor of social media (especially Twitter) was central to the Swift backlash, it was also central to her eventual resurgence. Over the past decade, social media (especially Instagram) has tipped the scales in celebrity coverage and helped celebrities tell their stories on their own terms, almost without intermediaries. Swift knew how to use that to her advantage and decided to play the long game.

By refusing interviews for 18 months, wiping her social media clean, and focusing on cultivating her Tumblr fanbase, Swift removed herself from the cultural conversation for a beat. This kind of brand management helped her keep an ear to the ground while in a self-imposed exile. But it’s as if the culture couldn’t stop conjuring her; rumors about her absence spread, including that she had traveled around inside a suitcase.

In August 2017, she wiped her social media clean and reappeared with a snake video — reclaiming the serpent emojis — in what was ultimately the announcement for her Reputation album, and which remains one of the most iconic social media rollouts ever. “Look What You Made Me Do,” the lead single, was endlessly memed — Swift couldn’t come to the phone, a perfect metaphor for her cultural disappearance and, perhaps, a kind of ghostly remake of the Kanye call. The album succeeded because it seemed as though Swift was finally open to owning her melodrama and messiness. She subsequently broke records with the tour and album sales.

Still, her political silence was affecting her image and music. By 2018, insipid corporate wokeness had become the order of the day, and Swift Inc. again pivoted musically and culturally. Swift came out for the Democratic candidates in the 2018 midterms, framing her support in terms of LGBTQ rights and racial justice. And this year, the second single from her latest album, Lover — “You Need to Calm Down” — was a perfect encapsulation of her politics of messiness, conflating anti-gay prejudice with Twitter drama. (And somehow turning the video into a celebration of pop queens supporting each other). This fall, she has made sure to include über-stan–turned–pop star (and video coproducer) Todrick Hall at her awards show moments, attempting to expand the range of racial and sexual identities included in what used to be her mostly straight white “girl squad” feminism.

For all of Swift’s success at updating her persona, she’s never quite regained her massive radio dominance — but no pop star can depend on the success of singles for over a decade. In fact, Swift is one of the most interesting figures of the decade because her stardom is caught between the old-school era of album buying and our current streaming moment.

And, inevitably, Swift has turned her own industry issues around streaming and artistic ownership into a wider commentary on artists’ rights — which happens to work as a canny form of further brand management. She framed herself as an ethical businesswoman when she called out Apple for not paying artists, and she battled with Spotify over streaming royalties but without really pushing for wider systemic industry change.

Earlier this year, Swift started a new artist-versus-industry fight about her music masters being bought out from under her by nemesis Scooter Braun. It’s a complicated story, one that Swift has framed as being about “toxic male privilege,” and the fact that Braun mocked her during the Kanye era — once again blurring, in her trademark mode, the personal with the public and the systemic with the individual.

Instead of being seen as opportunistic, Swift seems to have succeeded in framing her campaign as a fight for unsigned and less powerful artists’ rights, which has resonated at a moment where content creators are all pitted against the 1% of the tech and corporate worlds. This time, even Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez — a squad member any star would envy — backed her up.

Swift’s response to being anointed Artist of the Decade by the AMAs and Billboard provides interesting insight into how she sees herself now and where she thinks the next decade is going. She chose Carole King, one of the preeminent symbols of pop music authenticity, to present her AMA, squarely placing herself in a genealogy of great women singer-songwriters. She also enlisted shiny next-gen pop stars Camila Cabello and Halsey to join her during her performance of old hits.

In her Billboard speech, Swift name-checked newer stars like Lizzo, Becky G, and Billie Eilish as the future of the industry. Tellingly, they are women who, so far, have not played into the tabloidy pop dramas that dominated the 2010s. If this decade has shown us anything, it’s that blurring public and private through music can reap big rewards, but it also opens up stars — especially the women of pop — to more intense scrutiny and a higher degree of personal accountability.

In a Billboard interview looking back on the decade, Swift spoke about her relationship to fame and learning to hold things back. “I didn’t quite know what exactly to ... share and what to protect. I think a lot of people go through that, especially in the last decade,” she said. “There was this phase where social media felt fun and casual and quirky and safe. And then it got to the point where everyone has to evaluate their relationship with social media. So I decided that the best thing I have to offer people is my music.”

Like Lana Del Rey denying she ever had a persona, or Lady Gaga stripping down with Joanne, there seems to come a point when white pop divas need to declare themselves authentic and all about the music — as if their ongoing narratives aren’t part of the show. But the way Swift used her image and the never-ending soap opera that swirled around her to make space for her music in an increasingly saturated attention economy was itself a kind of art. ●