#i used to think i wasted my teens being weird and not going to parties

[alphacrone]

if you think you wasted your teens NOT being wild and dumb there’s good news—you can do wild and dumb shit at any age! go skinny dipping. howl at the moon. loiter in parking lots. (just make sure you have tums and acetaminophen on you)

#i used to think i wasted my teens being weird and not going to parties #so i made up for it later #but looking back i was still a feral teenager #swimming in my underwear going to laser tag in my homecoming dress playing capture the flag in the woods at night #these are things i would still do now #youth isn’t the only time for tomfoolery!! you have so much time ahead of uou!!!! #ok to rb

[featherandferns]

orange juice (fic)

jj maybank x fem!reader | inspired by noah kahn's incredible music

content warning: mentions of drinking and drug use; mentions of abuse; mentions of bodily harm (vague, non-graphic); sexual content | feel free to message me with questions of detail if any of this concerns you before reading!

word count: 7.5k

blurb: in the most unlikely of settings, you and JJ reunite after five years apart in radio silence.

“You know, on my way here, I saw a dead rat.”

A cloud of cigarette smoke dispels into the air.

“It was funny, you know? Cause I felt bad that it was dead, even though it was a rat. I mean, I knew nobody was going to miss it, and that it didn’t have any rat family or friends which would mourn it or anything. But still…It looked like it had been hit by a car, and it was only small so it didn’t look very old, and it seemed so harmless lying there. It probably had a million and one diseases, but just laying there, it seemed harmless. And it felt weird to be sad about this thing dying which would have only maybe caused more damage if it had stayed alive – nibbling through electrical wires and all that.”

JJ takes another drag of his cigarette as he digests the anecdote.

“Anyway. This just made me think of that,” you quietly finish before sinking back into the silence.

“Did you just compare my dad’s funeral to a dead rat?”

You clear your throat. JJ watches in his peripheral as you look down at your feet and fidget your fingers.

“Shit, I guess I did.”

His eyes cut ahead the moment yours seem to flick up.

“Can’t believe that’s the first thing I’ve said to you in years.”

JJ inhales and exhales the nicotine of his cigarette. “Well, I can.”

That makes you laugh. Small and sheltered.

“I weren’t sure that you were going to come,” JJ tells you.

“Could say the same thing to you,” you reply.

Sighing, he drops the cigarette and crushes it under the heel of his boot. He probably should have worn smarter shoes. But then, why would he? Waste of money and space in his truck. Not like his dad was going to see them anyway.

“I only decided yesterday. Practically drove all night.” As if reminding himself of the sleep deprivation, JJ lets out a yawn.

“How is it, being back in Kildare?” you wonder.

JJ shrugs. “Weird. But also not weird at all. I guess I just feel old. I was driving through town and everything looks different.”

“I mean, it has been five years.”

“Jesus,” JJ chuckles, shaking his head. Had it really been that long?

He shoves his hands in his pant pockets and finally finds the nerve to take you in. His eyes scan over you like one might survey potential damage to a car after a close call. He never lets them go below your waist though. As if losing nerve, he flicks them back up to your head and meets your eyes.

“You look well.”

“Thanks. Right back at ya,” you smile.

With that smile – sweet and simple – JJ finds himself being hurled back through time to his teen years. The reminiscing of his youth and the memories that your presence stirs up feels like reflecting on a past life. Something that he almost had, and something that he didn’t exactly lose, but something that changed.

Everything had changed, really. The streets that he used to drive down with his friends, running away from security and darting to and from keggers and house parties, they all had new homes, new paint, new families. Old mom-and-pop shops were now trendy smoothie spots and hippie bars. Empty plots of land that were a good spot to share a joint had now been bought and developed into stylish holiday rentals. None of JJ’s family was left here, not even his cousin. None of his friends were here anymore either. Well, except for you. Is that what you were to him? A friend?

“It was a nice service,” you say.

“Was it?”

For someone like Luke Maybank, ‘nice’ is probably a generous term for a funeral service that’s void of cheery anecdotes and tender memories. It’s a shame that all the memories JJ held in high regard of his father – of the moments that they were bonded and close – often came with the overarching theme of alcohol or drugs. He wasn’t sure there was ever a genuine moment shared between the two. Whatever praise and pride he gathered from his dad was short lived and sparse. When his dad left the island on the boat he stole, JJ never heard from him again. And now he never would.

“Did they ask if you wanted to say anything?”

“What’s there to say? He was a guy and he died in a bender. Short and simple, I guess.”

You nod and go silent once more.

JJ knows that his answer evaded the politeness markers of small talk, but it was true. Luke Maybank was a human who lived on this earth with no mark to be left apart from those which he laid on his own child. The only way that he’d be remembered was in the nightmares that still sometimes have JJ waking up in cold sweats and reaching for the box of cigarettes by his bed.

“I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have come,” you say.

“No, it’s not…” JJ shakes his head and offers you a smile, but he knows it looks unnatural. He isn’t sure what he’s feeling right now. Perhaps everything, if that’s even possible. “I’m glad you came. I’m just tired and…well, you know.”

The funeral of my father.

“Right. Of course.”

He watches you tuck your hair behind your ears and glance towards the graves. He remembers how you used to do that when you were both younger. It was funny to him: you’d go through the fuss of trying your hair back in one way or another, but you’d always leave out a couple of strands. “To frame my face” you’d tell him, and then you’d precede to spend the rest of the day tucking your hair behind your ears. He liked it though. When you’d be concentrating on something, like surfing or fixing something up or writing, you’d lean forward and they’d come lose and hang over your pretty features. He’d want to mess with them; tuck them behind your ears for you. Sometimes he did. He remembers when you’d be on top of him, kissing him senseless, and they’d come lose and tickle his face. Somehow it would make the whole thing more sensual, with his laughs and your giggles.

He feels his face flush as the memories of nights like those creep back into his head. He shouldn’t think of you like that, not after all this time. Not with how things turned out. And especially not at his father’s funeral.

JJ had come over to you once his father was safely tucked away in the ground, six feet under. You’d attended the service at the church, hiding near the back, and then the burial, and as everybody else departed to give JJ ‘a moment’ (whatever the hell that meant), he’d turned to find you stood near a bench, lost in thought.

“It was nice of you to come,” JJ thanks.

“I’m surprised none of the others are here.”

“They don’t know. I sort of kept it close to the chest,” JJ admits. “I’m actually impressed by the turnout.”

You go to laugh and JJ sees you stifle it. It helps him ease up, smile a real smile for a second, as wicked as that sounds.

“People have layers, I guess.”

“Not my dad.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

You meet his gaze again. Your eyes make it clear that you haven’t shed a tear and neither had JJ. He wasn’t sure if maybe that would come later, once the so-called shock had worn off. He doubted it though. And yet, there was a haze of sadness about him. Death is weird as a whole. The death of a parent like JJ’s, even weirder. Maybe it wasn’t just the funeral causing the sadness. Maybe it was you.

JJ makes a move to leave but before he can even shift his foot one whole step, you’re talking.

“Do you wanna come back to mine? We could catch up. I’m sure you’ve been doing all sorts since I last saw you. Maybe have a drink or two, for old times’ sake?”

“Oh, I don’t drink anymore.”

“Oh,” you say. A pause for thought, then, “well, I have orange juice.”

It’s a strange thing to offer in place of a bottle of beer or glass of wine. Most people would say a cup of coffee. But no - orange juice: that’s where your mind went. It makes JJ smile. It seems so on-par for you to offer him that.

“Okay. Sure. Orange juice sounds good.”

“Do you need a moment, before we leave?” you ask, glancing back over your shoulder to the gravesite of JJ’s deceased father.

The dirt atop of his plot is fresh and stark brown against the green grass. JJ stares a second. The groundkeeper is dusting some muck off the gravestone. The funeral director had offered him a fine granite with award winning chiselling, after recognising JJ from the articles of El Dorado and assuming some high-placed budget. JJ had opted for a simple thing though. Cheap and likely to be hard to read within half a decade. It’s what Luke deserved. Probably what he would have invested into JJ, if the roles were reversed.

“No, I don’t. We can go,” JJ says, voice vacant. He looks back to you. “I’ll drive.”

You don’t live in your childhood home anymore. The place that you’ve settled in is a small home in a sweet looking neighbourhood. In fact, it seems the only part of Kildare that feels familiar to JJ. The front garden is quaint but well kept, with trimmed grass and flower beds that clearly garner a lot of attention and care. The fence is in need of a lick of paint: the blue fading and peeling. A sticky note is attached to the door frame of the front door and it makes JJ smile. ‘Doorbell’s fucked – shout “ding dong” really loud’.

“This is a step up,” JJ says.

“Nice, right? My neighbour is a dick though. Always complaining that I leave my driveway light on in the middle of the night. As if I can even afford to that.”

JJ chuckles as he follows you inside. There’s an instant warm smell that hits him. JJ can’t seem to describe it in any other way than that it smells like you. The interior is safe and homely. The wallpaper and wooden floors pair nicely with the throw pillows and crystals and plants and flowers. Fairy lights are strung from end to end. A kitchen, open plan, feeds nicely into a sitting room. A dining table is tucked in the corner which seemingly functions more as a desk: books piled atop with sheets of paper strewn out. There’s a small corridor to the right and the walls are lined with framed pictures which JJ can’t make out from where he’s stood. He assumes it must lead to a bathroom and bedroom. It isn’t unlived in though. There’s a small pile of clothes which need ironing; they’re sat in a basket, next to the TV. Near the backdoor is an arts and crafts project of some kind strewn about on the floor in organised chaos, blocking the exit.

It's still early in the afternoon so you don’t bother flicking on a light, instead opting to soak in the last few hours of daylight before dusk. Kie used to compare you to a cat, basking in the sun and chasing the rays until there was none left to follow.

JJ closes the door behind him and leans against it.

“You can take your shoes off, if you want.”

“Alright,” he mumbles. He toes them off and kicks them to the side, amongst a pile of your own. He notices how there’s nobody else’s shoes there: just yours, and now his.

You pour out two glasses of orange juice and turn around, handing one to him. He takes it, lost in thought. It all feels surreal, stood here with you, after a five-year pause. When you go to the sofa to sit, he assumes he should follow. You sit on opposite ends. A part of him wonders why you haven’t stretched out your legs and dumped your feet in his lap. ‘These stink’, JJ jokes, poking your toes. You wiggle his fingers off. ‘Shut up, no they don’t.’ Force of habit: he always seems to get stuck on that past. Instead, you go to pull one of your legs up onto the sofa, and JJ flicks his eyes around the room another time. He sips his juice.

“So…” You start. “Any news?”

“Well, my dad died, so there’s that.”

You kick out your leg, aiming for his thigh. “Come on now. Be serious.”

“I am; you were at the funeral. Thought you might remember that,” JJ jokes.

Rolling your eyes mirthfully, you have a sip of your juice. The sun paints shapes on the coffee table, weaving through the thin curtains that line your window. It makes your skin glow, healthy and happy. He’s torn between staring at your face and remembering every detail of your features and avoiding you completely.

“When did you move in here? It’s nice.”

“About two years ago. Mom and dad are still at the old place. They’ve rented out my room though, for tourists and stuff.”

“That’s nice of them,” JJ snorts. “How’s your brother? Is he doing good?”

“He is. He’s at college actually. Graduates later this year.”

“The fuck? That’s so trippy,” JJ mumbles, almost to himself.

JJ can remember your brother as nothing more than a preteen, sulking around the house and begging for rides to soccer practice. Now he’s nearly got a whole ass degree. His eyes naturally fixate on the dining-table-come-desk in the corner.

“What do you do for work then?”

“I’m a teacher at Kildare high.”

Of course you are. JJ smiles, eyes still fixated on the table. It seems to prompt you to continue.

“It’s kinda weird sometimes cause some of the old farts still work there,” you say.

“Oh shit. Mr Rumble still there?” JJ asks, perking up a little, meeting your gaze.

You laugh. “Mr Rummel does still work there, yeah. Still likes to bring you up to me, actually.”

“Really? In what way?”

“Just likes to add the odd little ‘you remember when your boyfriend used to steal my stapler’ kinda things.”

JJ’s laugh is different this time. The word ‘boyfriend’ coming out of your mouth has his thoughts short circuiting. You glance down at your juice and swirl it around the cup.

“Anyway, it’s a pretty good gig. I like teaching, and I actually think I’m making a difference to some of these kids lives sometimes, which is sort of strange.”

“I bet you are. You were always good at helping people,” JJ tells you. Your smile turns soft.

“Thanks, JayJ.”

The nickname is like another sucker punch to the chest. JJ takes it like a champ. Washes it down with water; pretends there’s vodka in there somewhere.

“How are the others, then?” you ask. “How are they?”

“Good. Happy. John B and Sarah are expecting a kid soon.”

“Fuck off.”

“No joke,” JJ laughs. He leans back into the sofa, reclining in the soft throw pillows. It’s strange how easily relaxed he is in this new setting. “They’re debating between two names. Esmeralda or Eton.”

“No. Please God, tell me you’re joking.”

“I wish,” JJ snorts. “Not that I got much of a leg to stand on.”

“What do you mean?” you frown. You lean over and place your juice down on the coffee table.

“JJ? Kinda dumb name.” JJ has a sip of his own before mirroring your actions.

“Hardly. ‘John James’ is pretty proper sounding to me.”

“Meh.” JJ shrugs and props an arm up on the back of the sofa.

“What about Kie, and Pope?”

“Kie is on her environmentalist shit. Investing in rebuilding the coral and things. Pope is studying like crazy. Got a good job lined up too.”

“Only Pope would get a degree when he has literal gold in his savings,” you chuckle. “Didn’t you buy a shop too, or something?”

“A little surf shop with John B, yeah,” JJ nods, smiling proud. The surf shop is something that he would always take pride in. What felt like a pipedream was now his nine-to-five. “It’s doing real good, actually. We’re thinking about expanding.”

“Well, that���s good,” you say, nodding. The two of you lock eyes. Your smile holds steady. “I’m happy for you, JJ. Really.”

“Thanks,” he says. “I’m glad you’re doing good, too.”

And now the polite small talk is over and the catch-up is done. It’s so bizarre seeing someone again after so long. So many things in life have passed – relationships, jobs, fights, conversations, achievements, ailments – but when you finally come to sum it up, it only takes ten minutes. Going through a heartbreak lasts for months, but then a year later and the relationship is summed up in a sentence or two. Time doesn’t only heal, but it also shrinks. It seems to have shrunk whatever used to exist between yourself and JJ too, as you both sit, searching for things to talk about which avoid the dark and ugly. Things which avoid the obvious.

“Do you think you’ll stick around in Kildare for a bit?”

“I don’t know. I ain't really thought about it,” JJ admits. “I weren't even sure if I was gonna go to the funeral.”

“Where are you staying tonight?” you wonder.

He laughs to himself and shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “I have no idea. Probably just crash in my truck.”

“You’re loaded as fuck and you’re gonna crash in your truck?” you laugh. It isn’t mean when you say it. Just amused.  

“I don’t know. You don’t really get used to having money when you grew up without it. I still feel guilty buying a new pair of boots or something when my old ones ain't coming apart at the soles and shit.”

You nod. “That makes sense. Eminem had a similar thing.”

“Yeah, I’ve always thought me and Eminem were similar,” JJ deadpans.

It seems to strike well with you because you’re cracking up, laughing like he’s just told the best joke you’ve ever heard. He smiles. He always liked making you laugh. You have a horrendous laugh: truly awful. Cats in a bag being bashed against the wall-howling dog parade level of terrible. JJ loved it though. He used to tickle you just to hear it. Watching you now, head titled back, eyes shut and mouth agape, guffawing like a damn hyena…He feels like throwing up.

“Sorry, that…That was good,” you chuckle, wiping your eyes and catching your breath. “You were always good at making me laugh.”

“Fuck knows why,” JJ chuckles.

“Cause you’re funny,” you reply, as if its obvious. “You were always funny.”

It’s strange how the tone of the conversation rises and falls like a mountain range the longer the two of you sit on the sofa.

Your smile turns sombre, like when someone reminisces over a funny memory of their dead pet. Nice at first, amused, and then dampened with the reminder that those times have passed.

“It’s weird, to be honest. You’re so different now but you’re also still JJ.”

“Different how?”

“I don’t know,” you sigh. You glance around the room for a moment, as if you’d find the answer hidden in code on the spine of the books stacked on the windowsill. You look at him again. “Your face looks different.”

“It does?” JJ asks. He lifts a hand and strokes his jaw. He could do with a shave, he supposes. The vanity tries to bite through to ask how, but before he can, you’re talking again.

“You don’t drink,” you add, nodding to the orange juice still sat on the coffee table. “You’re quieter. Less…”

You seem to lose the words and so you gesture with your hands. Explosion.

“Calmer. Sadder, but not sad.”

“I can’t tell if these are good things or not,” JJ says, half-joking.

“You look at me different too.”

That makes him pause. He meets your eyes and holds your gaze, steady. The whole room shifts in a moment, from carefree catch-up to tense confrontation.

“Different?”

“Yeah. You look at me different.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” JJ mutters, going to reach for his drink.

“Yes, you do, JJ.”

Your smile is gone now. He can tell, catching it from his peripheral. Suddenly he doesn’t want to be here. Doesn’t want to be in Kildare, doesn’t want to be in this house, in this room.

“You could at least acknowledge it, you know?”

“I don’t understand—”

“It’s actually more rude to not acknowledge it,” you snip.

“I’m not being rude, I’m just making conversation. You’re the one who’s got me on blast like you’re some God damn therapist,” JJ hits back, meeting your steely stare.

“You feel like you’re on blast?”

“I feel like I’m being observed, that’s for fucking sure.”

“Maybe you are. Maybe you are being observed, JJ,” you return, voice harsh and cutting like how a blade slices through paper. “Because it’s fucking weird having you back.”

“You’re the one that invited me here.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it,” you say.

JJ takes a breath and closes his eyes. The anger never went away, despite what you’ve just told him, he just got older. Got better at hiding it. Got enough money to try therapy. He takes another moment to breathe through it. Push it down his throat and back into his stomach and let it burn out in the acid.

“I’m sorry,” you quietly say. The venom is gone. “I shouldn’t have…I’m sorry.”

He isn’t sure why – can’t pinpoint a perfect reason behind it – but behind his eyelids, JJ feels tears swell. Feels his lips twitch like a child when they hit their funny bone. His next breath in is shaky.

“JJ?”

“Just…”

His voice cracks and he clears it, shaking his head. He wants to open his eyes but he’s scared he’ll start crying, and he’s not doing that, not right now, not today. It’s not even you. You’d seen him cry before. Held him through it and patched him up; made him smile after the sadness. But he refuses to cry today because he can’t give his dad that satisfaction, even if it’s not about him. Opening his eyes, no tears escape. He reaches for the juice and downs it.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that,” he snaps. Then, softer, “please.”

You nod. There’s a quiet. Then, you move to stand and he closes his eyes again because it’s a struggle for you to stand. It’s a struggle. He rubs a hand over his mouth as if trying to shove the welling emotions back inside. There’s the sound of running water in the background as JJ tries to gather himself. The crack-crack-crack of a gas stove turning on and then the clink of metal on metal. You’ve put the kettle on, boiling water. There’s the tinker of porcelain mugs being taken off a stand. He seems to zone in on the peaceful sounds of you making coffee.

When you pour water into the mugs, he remembers the sound of your voice years back. ‘Did you know humans have the ability to hear the difference between hot and cold water being poured?’ ‘Why the fuck do you know that?’ ‘I don’t know. Just thought it was interesting.’

As the teaspoon repeatedly brushes against the inside of the cup as you stir in the instant coffee and milk, JJ finally feels all the emotions even out. As your footsteps make their way back over to him, you flick on the lamp by the front door. JJ opens his eyes to see you place a steaming cup of Joe in front of him on the coffee table. The mug is cute. It’s peach pink and says “I’m drinking tea instead of committing crimes” on the front in an innocent type-writer print.

“Cute mug.”

“Thanks. Thought of you.”

He silently laughs. You sit closer to him this time and your mug sits next to his. There’s no funny quote written across the paint. Then your hand is on his back, barely rubbing him, and it hits JJ that this is the first time you’ve touched him in five years.

“I shouldn’t have gotten so angry,” you tell him. “It ain’t my place to say any of that. Especially not today.”

“It’s true, though. That’s the kicker, ain’t it? That it’s true,” JJ replies.

He sighs and leans back, sitting upright once more. Your hand falls away and you clasp it in the other in your lap. He glances down and takes in your side profile. That stupid piece of hair has come lose again, fallen in your face. He distracts his twitching fingers by twisting one of his rings.

“I’m okay, you know,” you tell him. You look up and meet his eyes. Yours are damp with emotion, just like his were moments earlier. “I’m really okay.”

“You almost weren’t though.”

“Is that the problem? That I almost wasn’t?”

“It’s not the problem. You were never a problem.”

“I ain't mean it like that,” you tell him. You shake your head and JJ isn’t entirely sure why. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Am I the reason that you left Kildare?”

A bird calls outside and JJ seems to latch onto it like a lifeline. That question makes him feel stranded and scared. He wasn’t ready for it despite being fully prepared.

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?”

“I…It ain't that simple.”

“Can you explain it to me, maybe?” you wonder. There’s no wrath to your tone anymore – no vendetta against him. There’s just curiosity and care, and this wonderful tenderness that JJ always associated with you from day one, when you offered him your cap to keep his hair off his face.

“I didn’t like the person I was in Kildare.”

“Okay,” you quietly say.

“I didn’t like how I acted. I didn’t like how reckless I was, and how I didn’t care who got hurt in the process.”

“Like me?”

JJ swallows. He doesn’t tear his eyes from yours though. “Yeah. Like you.”

“Okay,” you repeat, quieter still, nodding.

“After El Dorado, coming back here, everything felt tainted. I just…I needed to escape it. My dad and my past and…And you. I couldn’t face it. I felt like I’d caused some freak accident and had gotten away, and then I'd come back to face the aftermath and I just couldn’t stomach it. I just ran.”

You nod.

“I just ran,�� he hears himself repeat. “And I’m not proud of it. Of any of it.”

“Okay.”

“And I wanted to fix things, but I didn’t know how. Every time I thought of coming back to Kildare, or picking up the phone, or going on Instagram and finding you…I just got so fucking scared, like a stupid shithead kid. I was so scared of becoming the guy I was again.”

And, again, you nod. When he doesn’t continue, you fill the space. “How long have you been sober?”

“The minute I left Kildare.”

“Fuck.”

“Cold turkey. It sucked ass. It still does. You don’t miss it any less. I miss the rage too, sometimes. I miss my dad sometimes, too. Miss him beating on me. How fucked up is that? That I miss him beating on me?”

You don’t seem to know what to say to that. You just look down at the coffee mugs and watch how the steam is slowly but surely going away.

“I am sorry. I know that ain't worth anything, but I am sorry.”

“It is worth something.” You clear your throat, voice coming out stronger when you say, “It’s worth everything.”

Your smile comes back, timid and tiny. You meet eyes for the millionth time that night.

“It feels like I’ve been ready for you to come back, for so long, and now you’re actually here and…I don’t even know where to start.” He watches your tongue dart out and wet your lips. “I wasn’t expecting you to look so good.”

“Disappointed?”

“Massively. I would have got my ass in the gym more if I knew it was a Goddamn competition.”

JJ smiles. “You were always a sore loser.”

“Says you,” you snort.

There’s another peak in the conversation after the long slug of the last dip. It’s so bizarre. So wonderfully bizarre.

“I’m proud of you, for getting sober. Do you feel better for it?”

“Depends.”

“Well, you look better for it,” you say.

“You’re drooling, I think,” JJ teases, reaching a finger out to prod your cheek.

Rolling your eyes, you mirthfully bat his hand away. “You’re hallucinating.”

“Well, withdrawal does crazy things,” he quips back.

You chuckle and shake your head. “I missed you like crazy.”

“I miss you too.”

Your lips part a little with that. Miss. You seem to hesitate to hold his gaze then, like it’s too intense. JJ feels as though he can see every emotion flash across your face in a second, like watching a car crash in slow motion. Surprise, shock, joy, anger, then sadness. It’s that sadness that hammers hard when you speak, voice weak.

“You left without saying anything, JJ. For five years. You just left me.”

“Don’t make it sound like that. Like I abandoned you.”

“But you did,” you whisper. The tears are back. You’ve both fallen from the top of the mountain. “You abandoned me.”

“You don’t get it,” JJ replies, voice suddenly thick.

“I was in it with you.”

“You didn’t see it,” JJ forces out. His tears are falling: they didn’t wait this time. “You didn’t see how it looked – how you looked. You looked so fucking fragile and tiny and small and your leg was so bent and twisted and black – it was black – and I thought you were already dead.”

Your breathing is shaky and broken. The two of you sit on your sofa in the sunset, eyes locked, tears streaming, chests heaving like you’ve run a marathon. The word ‘dead’ hangs in the air and haunts the room.

“I thought you were dead, and I thought it was because of me.”

“Do you hate me for it?”

“Why the fuck would I—”

“Because I didn’t die? Do you hate me for it?”

JJ blinks back his bewilderment. He physically shifts back in his seat, as if you just spat in his face. Horrified, he tells you, “Of course I don’t. Why would you even ask me that?”

“Because I’m still here, JJ. But you acted like I wasn’t for five years. You didn’t even come see me in the hospital. Didn’t sit with me in the ambulance. Hell, you can’t even look at my leg now! You think I didn’t notice? At the graveyard, and now. You think I can’t see it on your face?”

JJ whispers your name in a tearful plea. Stop.

“I’m still here, JJ. And I invited you back here, and I went to the funeral, because I wanted to see you.”

“To show me what I did?” JJ asks, harsher than needed.

You hold his gaze. “To show you I’m okay.”

He shakes his head, insistent. “It was my fault. If I hadn’t been drinking and if I’d been thinking straight, I would have never let you jump off the bike like that. It was fucking reckless and stupid and I would never, ever do it again. It was all my fault.”

“I don’t care who’s fault it was, JJ,” you whisper. Your hand reaches out and traces his cheek and jaw, and he can’t help but lean into your warm touch. There you sit, cradling his face as if he was the victim in this whole thing. It calms him almost immediately. “Nobody forced me on that bike. Nobody forced me to jump, not even you.”

“I shouldn’t have let you.”

“JJ,” you sigh.

He closes his eyes as you shift in your spot, and somehow you end up with your forehead pressed against his. He reaches out one of his hands for the other of yours that rests in your lap and he clenches it, tight. You’re both still crying but they’re silent tears now.

“I forgive you, JJ.”

He shakes his head whilst you nod.

“Yes, I do, I forgive you. I always have. You know why?”

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move.

“Because you were dealt the shitest hand I’ve ever known and look who you are. You’re sober, and you're healthy, and you have loving friends and a steady income and a job which you love, and a boathouse, and so much of your life left. And you didn’t kill anyone. You didn’t kill me, JJ. You didn’t even lose me.”

“I don’t—”

“We’re more than our mistakes.”

When JJ opens his eyes, you pull back enough to let him meet your gaze. As if you know what he’s about to ask, you smile. That smile…JJ feels like he’s coming home.

“You’re more than your mistakes, JJ.”

The moment his lips slot against yours, tentative and hesitant, like a bird exploring new ground for the first time, he’s home. There’s hardly a moment of reluctance, of confusion and mismatch from the time passed, before you’re kissing him back. The softness of your lips against his and the brush of your tongue. The sigh in your voice and the tilt of your head. It’s so seamless and sweet and safe. JJ feels safe here, with you. He feels like all the shit doesn’t matter. He feels like sober might actually be synonymous with happiness, with you. When he lies you down on the sofa, JJ doesn’t want to leave this room, this house, or Kildare. He wants to stay here, worshipping you, breathing you in until you consume all of his senses, because after five years, nothing has made him feel as alive as this. As you.

Everything is a wonderful illusion of being rushed and well-paced all at once. He revels in the way your skin gives gently beneath the scrape of his teeth. When he sucks at your throat, the skin is so delicate, and this close to you JJ can smell nothing but your perfume. He wants to fucking drown in it.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he pants. You’re gasping too. Fingers sliding through his hair, down his sides, along his face.

“I missed you,” you whine.

And that phrase gets repeated over and over like a mantra or a prayer. He hears himself whispering it against your skin with every button he undoes on your blouse. Basks in the sound of your voice, older and mature but still you, as you say it whilst pushing his dress shirt off his shoulder.

There’s a stalling pause when his fingers finish tracing down your stomach to your pants. You seem to notice it. Your hand comes to his face and thumbs at his cheek. They’re still sticky from dried tears.

“JJ,” you whisper, coaxing his attention back to your face. You’re glowing. You’re happy, you’re healthy, and you’re here. “It’s okay.” Nodding, you repeat. “It’s okay.”

Then, he watches your own fingers land on the button of your pants, slowly undoing it. Then the other and the third until they’re lose. He watches you wriggle out of them, pulling them down, struggling somewhat from the tight position on the sofa. Watches the scars emerge, faint but clear, and how they grow and spread like ivy on the side of a house. They merge with the cellulite and stretch marks. With a random bruise you must’ve gotten from hitting your leg on the table the other day. They’re a part of you – plain and simple. At the knee, there’s the connection for your prosthetic right leg. Once your trousers are off, JJ finds himself reaching out to touch it. This thing that he was partly responsible for, this marvel of medicine, the reason you can walk. He loves it and hates it desperately all at once. Glancing back up to your face, you’re watching him just as carefully as he was watching you. But you’re smiling.

“You’re okay,” JJ finds himself saying quietly. Because you are. You’re here, laying almost bare before him, just like you had years before.

“It’s rude to make a girl wait, JJ,” you tease.

With that, JJ’s smile is blossoming back like the returning of spring flowers following a brutal winter. He leans forward and catches himself above you with his arms, kissing you like you’re all the oxygen in the world. Your left leg rubs at his calf, still covered by his trousers, and you giggle against his mouth.

“Fuck, I missed this,” you say. “I missed you.”

“How much?”

“So much,” you say.

“Oh yeah? What’d you miss?” JJ persists, kissing down your neck.

“Your mouth,” you say through a moan. His hands slip behind your back and unclasp your bra. You arch your back enough for him to tug it off.

“My mouth?” he wonders, breathing it against your skin. You’re practically writhing. JJ laughs. “What about my mouth?”

“Don’t be a jackass, JJ,” you mutter.

“You want my mouth?”

“Yes,” you quietly beg.

“You do?” he checks, kissing over your breast, sucking at your nipple. “Where do you want it?”

“You fucking know where,” you sigh, impatience shining through.

He grins at the sudden hitch of your moan as he softly nips at the sensitive skin around your nipple. Then he’s kissing down your stomach until finally his fingers hook into the sides of your panties. He slowly, tauntingly, pulls them down. You kick them off at the ankles, a clear act of frustration, and he bites back his laugh.

“What? Here?” JJ plants a kiss to your hipbone. “You want my mouth here? Or…”

Another kiss, to your pelvic bone.

“Here?”

“Fuck you, Maybank.”

“You wanna?”

“I swear to fucking God,” you huff, laughing through the annoyance.

With that, JJ settles himself between your legs and praises you like you deserve to be. The noises you make are downright evil, considering he can do nothing about it and has to hold it together. You taste so familiar on his tongue.

“Fucking missed you,” he groans against you.

When he sucks on your clit, your hands latch into his hair. Your back is arching and you’re gasping and panting and desperate, and JJ feels like a young God. Pulling back, he slips a finger into your hole and it welcomes him so easily. He cusses at how wet you are.

“Come on baby. Come on, I know you’re close.”

The tells of your body haven’t changed since the last time you two were in this position. The way your mouth hangs open in a silent moan when you fall over the edge is so surreal to see after five years apart. He feels you spasms around him and basks in the scratch of your nails against his scalp as you try to ground yourself. He hardly has time to suck his fingers clean before your pulling his mouth to yours and kissing him stupid.

“Fucking missed you,” you repeat against his mouth, making him laugh. “Nobody fucks me as good as you.”

“Jesus Christ, you can’t say shit like that,” JJ chuckles. “Won’t last.”

“Don’t care,” you say. “Only thing bigger than your ego is your dick.”

JJ can’t help but laugh at that. He loves your giggles in response. And then your hands are shoving at his trousers and the humour is gone, replaced with nothing but raw lust and desperation. There’s nothing performative about it, when the two of you hurry to strip his clothes away as soon as possible. He takes note to get his socks off. You’d always had a weird thing about it, sex in socks, and nothing was going to taint this night. Not after so long.

Being inside you…JJ missed it more than all the alcohol and weed in the world. Nothing compared to the feeling of you clenching around him. The vice of your leg hitched up and over his back as he grips into your thigh, mean and firm, perfecting the angle. The senseless, endless whines falling from your agape mouth, eyes closed tight, lost in the feeling of it. JJ wants nothing to be less than perfect for you, for this. Every stroke, every kiss, every clench of his fingers…it all has to be perfect. He knows when you’re close and he’s more than fucking relieved. It’s taking everything in him not to come. He needs you to fall over the edge first.

“Do the thing,” you whine. “Do the thing, John.”

With that, JJ remembers five years back, to late nights and later mornings spent rolling in bed with you. He bites into his lip, holding back his shit-eating grin as the memories flood back, and he leans forward to your ear. Gently taking the lobe within his teeth, he croons into the shell of your ear.

“That’s my good fucking girl.”

And finally, you fall apart, taking JJ with you like you always would.

When the high finally passes and the endorphins settle down, the two of you are laying on the sofa, only covered by a throw blanket JJ had dragged down from the back of the sofa. You’ve somehow shuffled so you’re laying mostly atop of him. His arms are locked around your damp stomach like a vice, nose nestled into your hair, just behind your ear, breathing you in with every inhale.

“Will you stay in Kildare, just for a short while? For me?”

JJ wants to laugh but he knows how wrong that would be in this moment. The humour doesn’t come from the question, but from the notion that he’d leave after finally having you back in his life, safe and happy, after five long years.

“Anything,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against your hair. Anything for you.

-

“You look like shit by the way,” JJ says.

His hands are warm in his cargo pant pockets. Head tilted down and gaze steady, he sighs.

“Guess you didn’t have chance to clean up though, right?”

Shockingly, the gravestone says nothing back. Well, says nothing asides form Luke Maybank in barely legible font.

It still feels surreal, that his dad is gone. That they’d never remedy anything, or even attempt to fix their relationship. That JJ wouldn’t be able to face him and show him what he’d become. How he’d risen past it all and grown from the pain and the agony. That he’d taken the shitty hand that he was dealt and turned it into nothing but flushes and full houses. That he hadn’t grown into a petty criminal or a tax-evading lowlife, but a strong, good-willed, well-intentioned man. The thought, bittersweet at heart, makes him smile.

“I’m happy dad. I know you probably hate that, being dead and all, but I am.”

As if on cue, there’s the high pitch giggles from afar that catch JJ’s attention. He glances over to spot you and your wonderful mini-you, sitting on your shoulders, waving at him. He waves back, small and short, smiling.

“I’m glad you never met her,” JJ tells his dad, never tearing his eyes away from the pair of you. You ease her off your shoulders and take her hand, pointing to a small bed of daffodils. “I was so scared I’d be bad at this. I was so scared that I’d be like you.”

She’s so fragile as she picks a flower free from the bunch, holding it by the stem, up to you. You nod and presumably smile in approval.

“But I’ll never be like you. She’ll never know what it feels like to live in fear,” JJ states, firmly. He looks back down to the grave. “I’m not your mistakes, and I’m not mine.”

He lowers to a squat and wipes some of the dirt off the stone, revealing the dates. “Happy birthday, dad. You suck, and I hope you’re finally at peace.”

“Daddy, daddy…”

There’s an insistent tug at his jacket sleeve. JJ smiles and looks down at the best mistake he ever made. Mistake is a strong word. ‘Oops, I think is better’, you’d said when you first showed him the pregnancy test.

“What’s up, bub?”

“I found this flower. Can I give it to papa?”

JJ takes the daffodil and glances to the grave. A brief moment of anger passes over him like the breeze of winter. He doesn’t deserve this. He isn’t your papa. I’m glad he’s dead. But he closes his eyes and breathes. Your hand squeezing gently at his shoulder tells him you’re there. It helps ground him.

“Yeah, bub. I think that’d be nice,” he smiles, handing it back.

She giggles as she puts it on the grass just before the stone. Her laughter is brighter and louder still when JJ scoops her up as he stands, looping her around him until she’s a backpack.

“You wanna get ice cream?”

“Hell yeah,” you whoop.

“Hell yeah!” mini-you copies. JJ laughs.

“Alrighty, lets go.”

As the three of you make the small walk back to the car, you intertwine your fingers with JJ’s, holding his hand tight and secure. JJ takes one last glance back at the gravestone. It all began here, in a way, the re-introduction to a life he thought he’d lost. Perhaps the nicest thing JJ’s dad ever did, the kindest act he ever performed, was dying. Perhaps that was his way of paying him back for all the crap he gave.

“Hey.”

JJ glances down at you.

“You okay?”

He smiles. Then, he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

Everything is going to be okay.

#JJ #JJ Maybank #JJ x reader #JJ Maybank x reader #jj x oc #jj maybank x oc #outer banks #outerbanks #outer banks jj #outerbanks jj #outer banks jj x reader #outerbanks jj x reader #outer banks fic #outerbanks fic

[saffronimagines]

Can I request an Eddie x reader? They are best friends and the reader goes to a Halloween party in a skimpy costume. Eddie is crushing on her and gets jealous when she is hanging with Steve. Lots of Angst and smutty if you’d like. thank you!

HALLOWEEN

pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

I DON'T GIVE YOU PERMISSION TO USE/STEAL MY WORK

Summary: Eddie munson has been crushing on his best friend for years. he finally decides to do something about it once he sees you with Steve the hair Harrington.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT MINORS DNI, oral (m) Jealous!Eddie. hair pulling. spit? love confession. Angst. mentions of wet dreams.

request: Yes/no

Word count: 700+

NOT PROOFREAD (I'm so tired)

Halloween was a very popular event in Hawkins. everyone gets to do something they enjoy, egg houses. eat candy and of course, go to Steve Harrington's party. a bunch of wasted horny teens would gather inside and fool around. Eddie has wished every single year since he was sixteen to be doing those things with you.

Little did he know, you wanted to do them with him as well, and you'd finally decided to do something about it. you put on a skimpy nurse outfit that barely covered your ass.

and when you walked in he knew he was done for. his pants tightening around his dick. he watched you chat it up with Steve and Nancy, instantly cringing when Steve flung an arm over your shoulder. he didn't deserve you, he wasn't that dumb.

the whole night he stared at you until the party was over actually, hours it was. when you finally saw him "why didn't you come to see me?" was the first thing you asked. "I was busy" he replied, you laughed and shook your head. "you were busy? standing here alone" Shit. you saw him standing alone staring at you?

"anyways...wanna get out of here?" Your voice sounded soft, he was sure you were drunk. "back to my trailer?" he felt your hand grab his, walking to the van.

the drive home, Eddie was only thinking about the fact you might be in a relationship with Steve. it made him want to cry. he pushed those feelings aside when you placed his hand on your thigh, the gesture was purely innocent but it made his mind wander.

now, Eddie's on his bed. Eddie smoked a joint while you sat on the floor trying to look for a lost earring from a few days ago. "yeah then Steve..." he drowned out your conversation about Steve.

you then realized he wasn't listening "what is your problem!" Eddie was mad, an unusual sight. you climbed on his bed "Eddie?" he still wouldn't look at you.

"Eddie!" you moved his face with your palms making him look at you. "you're being weird" glassy eyes looked into yours. "are you with Steve?" he decided to rip off the band-aid. "what of course not, his still head over heels for Nancy" you explained, smiling and shaking your head. relief swallowed him.

"Why?" you asked. "because I think I'm in love with you" your eyes widened, mouth agape. he gulped loudly, "oh" you breathed out. "I'm sorry I have no clue why I said that--" your lips eased onto yours, and after a minute you pulled away out of breath.

eyes staring into each other, he glances at your lips then leaned back in. kissing you again and easing you into his lap, this kiss heated and lustful. ranking your hands through his hair, a bruising grip on your hips.

moving onto the floor. you looked up at him, his eyes blown. lips were swollen, palm moving over the tent in his jeans. "fuck...I've had a boner since you walked into the house" his hands gripped your scalp. undoing his belt, then pulling down his pants. you kitten locked the base, all the way to the tip.

"Such a slut, on her knees for me" taking him into your mouth, fully taking him down your throat gratefully, his moans only encouraging you to take him further and faster. "shit im...gonna cum sweetheart"

"cum in my mouth" you muttered through breaths. "mhm, okay as you wish" and within a minute, his salty substance slid down your throat. you looked back at him, watching him look at you in love.

"I'm so glad you are not with Harrington" he laughed.

written by Saffy

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie my beloved

[cryptic-bonez]

Jules posting again because I have massive brainrot of this creature. (Bonus Mica posting!!)

This time it's Headcanons and dynamics I think fit the characters. My girl Mica is underappreciated me thinks, so I'm gonna fix that.

Reminder that these are HEADCANONS! They aren't actually canon to the characters themselves, and this is just information about the character's personality and background that I think fits them. If anyone wants to add theirs, feel free, because I love reading peoples headcanons and comparing notes! :3

Fair warning, the last two of Jules' headcanons are a bit heavier, so trigger warning for SH and dysphoria mentions! There are also Hemophobia and Emetophobia mentions as well

Jules headcanons;

✧ T4T, or just an overall preference for a Trans/Genderqueer partner, pansexual possibly

✧ Has a pronounced accent when he's angry, excited, singing or acting. Like he definitely has one, but it comes out more when he's being expressive if that makes sense

✧ Definitely looks back at his old clothes from his emo phase and almost cringes because of how bad the style he used to dress in. He just fixes everything up with other absolutely ruined clothes and makes them better.

✧ Cleaned and donated his binders for sure! I feel like he'd deep clean them and everything, gives em away to other trans teens/young adults in need

✧ Studed gauges, spiky earrings, just.. out there and absurd jewlery that somehow goes so well with his outfits

✧ Was definitely a cowboy almost every year for Halloween growing up.

✧ Active protester against waste dumping! Very vocal about it too! Even makes awareness posts online and such! Made a GoFundMe to help protect land, especially indigenous land or ranches!!

✧ When he dances, it's not just generic or free style dancing. He's like.. expressing his emotions and soul with it, letting his body move without thinking about it. Like Goth dancing would be, but more expressive and fluid and just overall freeing if that makes sense

✧ Still finds glitter everywhere because he's probably spilled some as a child when doing arts and crafts. They're a very artistic person, me thinks.

✧ Definitely had his nipples tattooed on instead. You can't tell me they wouldn't find a really weird, goth or just overall funky design for a tattoo to replace their nipples after post op healing. Something like a skull, or a cowboy hat.

✧ Loves any kind of animal. Doesn't have a preference. Probably somehow tamed a bearded dragon when they were younger?? And they just. They just had it as a pet for a while. His parents never found out for a while either?? Until he just brought it out like "hey look! This is my new pet!". They also screamed the first time the bearded dragon shot blood at him from it's eyes. (Yes they can do that. Yes it's weird. And yes it's also cool)

✧ Plans on getting tattoos on his surgery scars. Animal skulls or something like that, a mix of alternative/goth and western.

✧ Probably had an unhealthy way of coping with dysphoria. Binded a lot more than he should, stuff like that.

✧ more than likely has a few scars from sh when struggling with self image and dysphoria. He's been clean for years now, and he most likely got tattoos over the scars because they accept that part of them, and they aren't ashamed of it

some Mica headcanons because my girl is swag and deserves some recognition!!

✦ Genderfluid, any pronouns. Doesn't even care if you call her an "it" (probably takes it as a compliment)

✦ Used to be irrationally scared of horses until she met Jules

✦ Hates house parties, only goes for the drinks, food and if Jules is going.

✦ Neurodivergent! Probably has a sleeping disorder too

✦ Has a scorpion belly button piercing. And a scorpion tattoo as well. They're her favorite arachnid

✦ Prefers reptiles or arachnids as a pet, but would totally foster black cats. Most likely pagan/wiccan

✦ didn't talk to Jules for a week because he showed her the bearded dragon defense mechanism. She fainted.

✦ Hemophobia + emetophobia (the fear of blood & vomit)

✦ either has the nicest nicknames or the most rancid god awful nicknames for her friends.

✦ Drives a hearse! Decorates it for festive stuff. Also named it (She'd name it something like Salaman or Pamantha just because it'd be funny)

✦ Mild scoliosis and chronic back pain probably. Has to wear a back brace for it

✦ Enjoys costume design! Makes her own clothes from scratch

✦ Supports small businesses/creators/artists. She has a lot of skincare products from indigenous businesses to support them.

✦ Very vocal about protesting against waste dumping and using land for things that'll harm nature in general! Goes to protests with Jules. Even has social media platforms to help spread information and stop waste disposal on indigenous lands

✦ Supportive of Jules getting into his culture! Very interested in learning about customs and traditions. Also goes to festivities to be his emotional support friend

✦ Was a theater kid in middle and high school, started her alternative phase in 6th grade(she boasts about this to Julien sometimes just because)

character dynamics; Julien + Mica

Hates the theater kid stereotype but unknowingly plays into it + Also hates the theater kid stereotype but doesn't play into it.

absolutely terrified of spiders + loves spiders

neurodivergent + neurodivergent = chaos

Hates porcelain dolls + has a porcelain doll collection

Bone collector + specimen collector

yallternative + alternative/goth

Accident prone + "What did you do this time?!"

Stupid + also stupid

Grew up on a ranch + grew up on a farm

loves horseback riding + prefers to watch instead

bites to be affectionate + bullies to be affectionate

#jules jourdain #dc pride #circuit breaker #mica #jules jourdain the man that you are #headcanon #character dynamics #two best friends #they are neat me thinks #the brainrot is real #a.l. kaplan #the man that you are

[trashydemigodmess]

los angeles, 2015

“I can't feel my hеartbeat way up in the Hills. Burning down my mansion, didn't write a will. Front row at my funеreal, crocodile tears. Came here for the weekend, but I haven't left in years. (Is that weird?)” - tired of california, nessa barrett

tw: brief, non-detailed mentions of drugs & throwing up

The small mansion on the cliffs of Beverly Hills was buzzing with activity. Cars lined up the street, and a rotating lineup of Ubers were dropping people at the front door. Loud music poured out of every corner above the noise. Grace stepped around a couple of awestruck girls, doing her best to not roll her eyes as they hovered in the doorway. What a privilege, somehow knowing the right friend of a friend to get invited to one of Dex Finley’s house parties.

It was like clockwork: his dad would go out of town for a few days for work. Dex would throw a party. Fill the place with an A-list of Hollywood teen socialites. Spend a lot of money to expertly cover up all the evidence. Repeat.

Grace wove through clusters of people. Colored lights pulsed to the bass of the music, already rattling her skull. The dining table had turned into a beer pong tournament. Someone was standing on the coffee table, doing karaoke for a small crowd. Others were doing lines off the kitchen island. The distinct crash of someone cannonballing into the infinity pool. Some people waved her down, most didn’t give her a second glance. ‘The personality of a wet towel’, if she remembered correctly, were the words Dex’s so-called friends once described her as. 

“Grace!” An excited chirp came from the other side of the room. Ella was perched on a windowsill, the solo cup in her hand perfectly matching the color of her Hervé Léger bandage dress. In a sea of cutoff shorts and bandeau tops she stood out like a neon light. Like it was on purpose.

“How are you, darling?” Ella reached out to pull Grace into a casual half-hug. When Dex called someone darling it came off as warm and endearing. When Ella used it, in her clipped, British accent, it felt like a formality. “Want me to get you a drink?”

Ella was tiny. Sleek, dark chocolate hair and matching sultry eyes, but the brightest grin that made anyone feel seen and welcome. And a voice that deserved to be on Broadway, not wasted on Disney Channel movies or walking Paris Fashion Week. 

Grace waved her hand, “Nah, I’m good for now.” It was funny how the world so desperately wanted them to hate each other. She leaned on the windowsill beside her, “‘Where’s your boyfriend?” “I think he was feeling sick, so he ran upstairs.” She pouted, “Poor thing. He was so excited to do karaoke.”

Grace wasn’t a fan of the dismissive tone. She knew better. ‘Running upstairs’ for Dex could mean so many things, and the range of fine to terrible was too broad for her to feel comfortable about it. “Have you checked on him at all?”

Ella glanced at the rager happening around them, as if that was explanation enough. “Someone has to hold down the fort here.”

It didn’t look like much was being held down from where she lounged against the window. Normally, Grace would’ve responded with a similarly easy and kind response. But tonight her patience was thin. “Right.” She sucked in a quick breath and continued, “I’ll go poke around and check on him if I can.”

Grace hopped up the staircase two at a time. The mansion was all bright, white walls and open spaces, but the hallways still felt winding and secluded. By the time she got to Dex’s bedroom the party goers had thinned out to no one. The door was locked. She knocked once. Twice. Again.

“For fucks sake,” Grace sighed, “Dex—“ She pounded on the door this time, loud and assertive, “Open the door. It’s me.”

Finally, the door yanked open, just a crack.

Dex’s face was slightly paled, eyes bleary and dilated, and from the hazy look on his face, very, very drunk. “Why are you yelling?” He hissed like there wasn’t a house party happening beneath them.

“No one knew where you were,” She hissed back, forcing herself inside and locking the door behind her. The room was sterile and fairly boring. Floor to ceiling windows across from the bed looked out on the sprawling Hills. All of the lights were off, the natural light of the glittering city below the valley reflecting off the walls. If it weren’t for the random personal items scattered about—a guitar resting against the wall, some laundry on the floor, a lone shelf of plaques and awards—no one would even know this was his bedroom. Effortless, but cold and empty. The same energy that radiated off her friend in front of her. “I came to see if you needed help while you spewed your guts out.” 

A dark grin grew across his face as he snorted a laugh, “Sometimes I worry you planted a chip in my brain or somethin’,” He’d stopped bleaching his hair once their show had wrapped. At the time it made him look striking. Older, more mature. Now, after a tour that almost destroyed him, all the light brown did was accentuate the bags under his eyes, make his usually golden skin look dull and pale. Swaying a bit as he moved back towards the en-suite bathroom, still grinning, Dex tossed a finger gun at her, “You know me too well.”

Grace sat on the cold, marble floor as international popstar and teen heartthrob Dex Finley violently puked into the toilet beside her.

A few minutes later they were laying on his bed, waiting for Dex’s head to stop spinning. The echoes of the bass crept through the floor. She could tell he was holding something back. It poked at the corners of his mouth, glinted in his eyes. Eventually, he rolled over to face her,

“Oh, Gracie Lee, I did something veeeeeery bad.” Dex whispered loudly, smiling like it was an exciting little secret.

She quirked an eyebrow. This too, could mean so many things. “You got very drunk and popped a Molly?”

He laughed. “Oh, darlin’, that’s just a Saturday night.” It was with eager, drunken carelessness that he smiled, “I came up here becauuuuse…I was doing some things I shouldn’t with a very cute boy.”

Grace blinked, doing her best to keep her expression neutral. Those certainly weren’t words she’d ever heard him utter before. “…What?”

“I think he thought I made up being sick as an excuse. Like I was scared or something.” He huffed, annoyed as he rolled onto his back, folding his arms, “So he left.” There was an odd, genuine hurt on his face. “Dumbass. It’s not my fault that Hailey dared me to shotgun a Four Loko.”

Grace was trying to take in the story one piece at a time, but it was hard to digest when alarms were blaring in her head and she wanted to hug him at the same time. “Have you…ever done that before?”

“Shotgunned a Four Loko? Or messed around with a boy?” Dex raised an eyebrow, smiling. But when Grace didn’t laugh, he caved, face falling once again. “No.” He confessed, going back to staring at the ceiling. His voice softened, “I’ve only kissed like, two. Ever.” Even that felt like a heavy statement, something that’d been weighing him down for far too long. “I know I should’ve told you. But I don’t even know—” He waved his hands around in a confused manner, “—What this is.” Grace doubted he’d speak this candidly sober. It almost felt like she was intruding. “But…” He whispered, after a contemplative moment, “I really liked it.”

Grace felt the air exhale from her lungs, the room now eerily quiet. She reached over and pulled him into a hug. He groaned a bit, stomach probably still lurching. “You don’t have to know what it is. I’m just happy that you trust me enough to share.” Grace let go of the hug and propped her head up on her hand, “And if you want to talk about it more tomorrow we can.” 

That was the easy part. Now, the alarm bells. “I just—you’re saying that you…cheated?” The word made her cringe a bit, “On your girlfriend who is…in this house right now?”

She knew it was the wrong question the moment Dex rolled his eyes. Just as quickly as he’d gotten shy and sentimental, he was back to careless arrogance, “Does it really count as cheating if it’s with a guy?”

“Um, yeah—“

His entire face changed in an instant. The pent up years of anger and stress always churned just beneath the surface of his skin. But it was moments like this where it began to boil a bit too hot. She’d seen it before. Messy, drunken ease becoming a ravaging hurricane. The threat of a show-stopping tantrum. He sat up, glaring, “I thought you’re on my side.” Dex snapped. 

“I am, but—“

“I share this deep, dark secret with you and all you care about is what Ella will think?” He stood, saying her name like it was a curse.

“No, that’s not what—”

“Uh-huh.” He refused to let her finish, his large stature looming over her like a threat. “God, was she the one who fucking sent you up here? To spy on me?”

This time Grace didn’t even get to attempt sliding a word in. “She’s been cheating on me and thinks I don’t know about it.” Dex began pacing. His energy took up the entire room. It pressed against the walls, suffocating the sound. Bitter, furious. A God at seventeen who got everything he wanted, unsatisfied and grasping for whatever he had left. “That stupid bitch. She won’t even let me get even. I hate her guts.”

Grace’s heart had started to race a bit. But she refused to let it get the best of her. Instead, she stood to meet him. Dex was flexing and closing his hands, his broad shoulders tense with anger, like he wanted to throw something, or scream at the top of his lungs. 

Her words were steady. “Why don’t you break up with her?”

He turned, finally stopping his pacing. It was with alarming clarity that he spoke, like it was obvious. “Because I love her.”

The words were so genuine, it scared her more than the erratic anger bleeding out of him. Grace felt her breath catch in her throat. “That’s not how love is supposed to be, Dex.”

Thankfully, it was just a football. But with the force that Dex threw it, it was with a startling crash that it collided with the wall, knocking a picture to the ground. She jumped.

“Oh my god, Grace, shut up. Shut up, shut up!” He yelled, finally succumbing to the hurricane. “If I have to hear one more lame fucking pep talk I’m going to throw myself out a window. Jesus Christ. Grow up!” He marched up to her, every step intentional. He knew how big he was, how he towered over her. He was sneering, “How the fuck would you know? You’re a fucking virgin, whose only ever been kissed by me, on a fucking tv show. You don’t get to tell me how to live my life.”

Dex always kept a water bottle on his bedside table. One of those stupid, bro-y gatorade ones. She didn’t even have to look. Grace grabbed it and sprayed it directly into his face. The startled noise that came out of him was satisfying enough. 

“Fuck you, Dex,” Grace finally snapped. She may have been smaller, but she stood up to him with the same amount of confidence. “Fuck you. You’re high as shit right now and I’m the only person who even cared to come up here and check on you. Ella didn’t give a shit where you were. Which is fucked up and you deserve better.” She was so angry her hands were shaking. “I’m always looking out for you, even when it puts my own fucking reputation on the line. So you don’t get to be a bitch to me for trying to help you.”

Water dripped down Dex’s eyelashes and chin, soaking his shirt, gaping. “Well no one asked you to do that!”

“You’re my best friend! Do you just expect me to sit around and watch you set your entire life on fire?”

He opened his mouth to say something, then retracted it, most of the fury evaporating instantly. And in that moment, Grace realized he was about to say yes. Everyone else in his life had.

“Just…go take a shower or something.” She sighed, “You smell like vomit.”

His nostrils flared, but he didn’t say no. Without a word, Dex walked to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

When he returned ten minutes later, Grace was still sitting on his bed. He blinked in surprise. Wordlessly, Dex walked over to his closet and found a black tee, sliding it on and exchanging his basketball shorts for jeans. His hair was wet, but he simply put a hat over it, turning it backwards.

He looked better. Still drunk, but better. Dex sat down beside her on the bed.

“I’m sorry.” He finally relented.

“I know.” 

“I’m so drunk.”

“I know.”

“I’m really sorry.”

Grace sighed once more, this time pulling him into a hug. Dex held on tight, pressing his face into the crook of her neck. Like he needed it.

“You brought your stuff, right?” He sniffled as he sat back up again.

“Of course I did.” The duffle bag in her car she’d toss into one of the guest rooms later tonight, sleeping over and making eggs in the morning, helping Dex clear up the evidence that this party even happened. “I’m not going to sabotage our routine just because you threw a fit.”

He smiled a bit. Appreciative.

“Do you want to go back out there?” She asked, “Or we can just stay in here and pray everybody gets bored and leaves.”

“Oh, Gracie Lee,” Dex rolled his head over to look at her, already coming back to his usual mood, “You know I have to go back.”

“No, you don’t.” 

He hopped off the bed and offered his hands out to help her up as well, “You gotta rally and join me.” 

Why Dex had a bottle of Tequila hidden in his room was a problem for another day. Grace had taken a shot as he requested, and they now stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at the party below.

Dex relaxed his shoulders and stood a bit taller. In one breath, he seemed to exhale all of what had just happened out of him. He blinked, and he was charming, fun-loving, golden boy Dex again. He gave Grace one last glance before hopping down the stairs.

The party greeted him like an old friend. Parting like the Red Sea to bring him back to his red hot girlfriend, perched on the edge of a sofa. Dex threw himself around her, Ella squealing in delight as they fell backwards onto the couch. The desperate way they grabbed at each other while they kissed felt like an omen. All of this, Grace worried, still standing at the top of the stairs, felt like an omen. Hanging by a thread, destined to break into a million little pieces.

#sp: dex #we're at 2/4 we're halfway there god bless!! #drug mention tw #vomit tw #highly recommend listening to the song either before or while reading as well its chefs kiss

[cloudslou]

how i would change “do revenge” to make it a better movie:

(spoilers for “do revenge”. obviously.)

-fashion is too try-hard and also too homogeneous across the whole movie. i feel like if the movie wanted to better hit the clueless/mean girls mark they were clearly going for, the fashion needs to stand out on who matters. if every character, every student at the school, has “good” clothes and looks like they were styled to be an instagram model, it doesnt really tell us much about the main characters when they also dress like that. re: clueless and mean girls, cher and dionne’s fashion is very unique to them in the movie, and the plastic’s fashion firmly establishes them as the Mean Girls they are.

-the film wastes too much time on gabbi and russ as eleanor and drea’s love interests, when that time would have been better spent developing the friendship between eleanor and drea themselves. sure, we see them Plan Revenge and Do Revenge, but it could have been worthwhile to see them in other settings. do they hang out when they’re not plotting revenge? what do they talk about when they’re not talking about revenge? and so this would have added weight to the scene when drea forgets eleanor’s birthday or when eleanor “realizes she’s changed”.

-there are so many gaps in the passage of time that its so boring. like the title cards of “summer” and “fall” and “spring” dont actually. move you thru the story, mostly they feel lazy. throughout the movie we move through an entire year but all of it feels stagnant.

-movie immediately goes soooo downhill as soon as its ~revealed~ (w little to no foreshadowing as far as i saw) that eleanor is like. actually on her own team and is doing this whole revenge plot against drea. like so downhill its such a weird and obnoxious “twist” and she also garners so sympathy from it. like she.... convinced drea to get not One but Two people in legal trouble for drug possession and ruin their lives? and then she actually does leak max’s personal texts, lies to literally everyone (including love interest gabbi), threatens to frame drea’s MOM for drug possession, and literally hits drea w he car. so its just. like there is no rooting for eleanor. and tbh its just such a shallow turn of events and diverges from a well-structured bad teen movie in order to basically starve itself of any salvageable good parts.

-and then somehow, with no real apology or redemption arc, DREA is apologizing to ELEANOR? telling her she’s maybe the best friend she’s ever had, and moments w her were the happiest of her last year?

-also how does MAX find out the whole story via eleanor’s phone at the admissions party? drea and eleanor were committing literally crimes just texting abt it on iphone? AND eleanor doesnt have a password-protected phone? and somehow, after eleanor and drea’s friendship falls apart, their text messages also tell the story of eleanor’s Ultimate Revenge Plan, the one that was told out loud and in person? that whole part just felt like “how can we make this more convoluted and add no substance to this story at all”.

-tbh if the movie wanted to do like “psycho lesbian goes on a revenge spree” thing they could have like. actually gone for it and made it a very action-packed, eleanor-thinks-she-has-no-consequences-coming-for-her, high-emotion movie but they....dont? eleanor says she feels things but doesnt seems to feel much at all? it doesnt help the maya hawke is like supremely bad at selling me on the character. and if they wanted to do “fucked up soulmates”, again, they could get better actors, and also they could have written a story in which drea and elenaor are actually on equal terms when it comes to being “fucked up”, cus rn we have “actually a horrific person” eleanor and “was just a childhood bully and high school mean girl” drea.

-everyone in this movie could stand to, like, become better actors

-here is my better plot idea: keep the “two very different high school girls were fucked over by people they cared about, and they team up to get revenge on those who wronged them”. they develop a real and genuine friendship despite coming from ~different worlds~, but as the school year progresses drea becomes too entrenched in getting revenge; eleanor’s revenge has been completed, but drea’s is harder and she cant move on from what happened to her. in the same vein, eleanor becomes a bit unrecognizable as she blends in more and more with drea’s former friends, the popular kids (in a very cady heron/mean girls way). the scene at eleanor’s bday part remains pretty much the same: drea forgets her bestie’s bday bc she’s too caught up in her revenge fantasy, but eleanor also gets a call out for becoming too buddy-buddy with the people who destroyed HER bestie’s life. after this fight, they spend time apart which makes them realize that the friendship they developed together was more valuable than revenge the whole time. so they reunite, make amends, etc and get back on track on completely drea’s revenge. once drea’s revenge is completed, they swear to give up on any further revenge aspirations (to show “growth”) and then the end scene where they skip their graduation and drive away singing also remains unchanged; it is symbolic of them letting go of their pasts and letting go of high school.

#sorry i just have so many thoughts #the move just turned sooooo bad its crazy

[spongki]

why do i give valuable time to people who i'd much rather kick in the eye?

I know. That's not the correct lyric. Combining them together somewhat makes more sense in this context, though. For instance, have you ever found yourself acquainted with the most unbearable people you know? If not, then go you. There were some mean fucking people to me in high school. They weren't exactly my bullies, and I've done enough ruminating to conclude that no, it is not just me in denial of being victimized that you're hearing. I mean, it wasn't heavy enough to traumatize me for the rest of my life but maybe just enough to make me open up a conversation about the minute choices I make in my life, particularly the kind of people I let inside of it. I once went out to the mall in eighth grade with these really pretty girls from another school whom I met from a boy from another class. This is confusing and wordy and there isn't really any other way to go about it when you're telling stories that occurred in high school, you just end up sounding exactly the way you did when you were an obnoxious teen spilling banal school drama to your peers. I was a social butterfly, that's what I really meant to say. I wasn't popular, but I knew a lot of people. Including this one girl in my class who told me I should stop taking pictures with other people and pretending they're my friends when I posted a photo of me hanging out with those pretty girls on Facebook. God. That was the funniest, most insulting thing anyone has ever said to me. Perhaps the only thing that ever made me go, "Damn." I've never been so humored and galled at the same time. I kind of respect her for that.

hey i know those girls from yfc (Youth for Christ)

there's no way ur friends with them lolol

She commented that on my post for everyone to see. Damn. Does it help to explain that Dubai's also an extremely small world where everyone knows someone that even if you put aside my character I'd still be bound to cross paths with pretty, popular people anyway? Yet she chose to be an ass about it. And the year after. And the year after that. I had mutual friends with her so I still hung out with this girl. I attended parties, got wasted, even went as far to sharing my cigarettes—even when I'm known to be stingy about them—with this girl. Yet I couldn't stand this girl. Insufferable, this girl. Worse part is, she wasn't the only one. There were some mean fucking people to me in high school.

The thing about movies and tv is that they show a clear polarity between popular vs unpopular, bully vs bullied, etcetera. Sometimes I wish it was that defined, then maybe I wouldn't have that weird gray area of people who get on my fucking nerves but try to be civil towards because they've somehow infiltrated my life and I don't quite know how to get rid of them. Some movies and tv do get it right, though. I'm currently watching Santa Clarita Diet (2017) and it made me think about what it means to be "nice" and how far niceness goes. When in doubt, eat them. I believe Hannibal (2013) taught that as well. I guess it also shows us how well you can get away with a crime and not raise suspicions when you're a white, upper middle class couple who works as "real-a-tors".

I always think about this cop's painting of her neighbor (Timothy Olyphant)'s "nervous smile". That grimace is too familiar. This would make more sense if given a broader context of the show, but let's just say this: maybe the days of politeness and courtesy are over. Maybe it's about time we start biting people's faces off when they piss us off.

There's so much that needs to be said about civility and other pains of adulthood that come from being subject to normativity and I'm not here to make a thesis on that because there are loads of people who have done that before me. I'm just here to express my frustration. I, however, want to address younger people and say that there will be adults who'll tell you that you'll eventually grow tired of others' heckling and that you'll learn to let it pass, forgive, and suck it up like a real adult because that's the way you'll gain inner peace. But I say it's perfectly permissible, if you feel like it, to flip them the bird and it will give you peace. It's not mutually exclusive.

#rants #santa clarita diet #joel hammond #sheila hammond #timothy olyphant #the smiths #happy leo season #well that explains my need to rant #about being too nice #and not being hard-hitting enough #rianecdotes

[issaxcharlie]

We say we're friends, we play pretend (1/2)

Pairing: Charlie Gillespie x Fem reader

Summary: Charlie and Y/N were best friends and a couple as teens, after their breakup they meet again 4 years later on the bootcamp of JATP and have to work together. Will something else happen or they are just friends?

Charlie must have imagined something like this could happen. Since Kenny discovered her 5 years ago, she has been a really close friend to the director, participating in some way or another in almost all his projects.

In front of him after years, Y/N Y/L, his childhood best friend and ex-girlfriend. The young actor is not going to admit that he saw every single one of her projects or how moved he was by her in each one of them, many times even thinking of maybe sending her a little message saying the incredible job she did.

But he never found the courage.

It’s weird to remember how he spent most of his life next to the woman, now one of the top youth artists with multiple musicals and movies on her hits list. They always had a strong bond, every single day together. Sleepovers, music classes, dancing classes, homework, parties, movie nights, hockey, illness days, pretty much everything. At the age of 15 they began a very sweet and innocent relationship that ended at 18 when Y/N moved to New York to work in her first leading role.

The break up was on good terms but painful, so painful that both preferred to lose contact completely than to have the other from time to time opening the wound again and again.

And there she was. As beautifil as ever, speaking happily with Kenny while Madison and Owen jump up and down, Jeremy smiles and Charlie looks like he wants to throw up.

“Y/N Y/L, my golden star. She is the official composer of the soundtrack, and she will be supporting you throughout the album process as well as helping Paul and me in other creative aspects, I know she is the same age as some of you but she has a lot of experience in this and all the necessary preparation so don't hesitate to get all the knowledge you can out of her."

Everyone introduces themselves until the guitarist is the only one left, luckily for him, he’s in voice rest these two weeks so he literally cannot speak.

They both look nervous but the moment their eyes meet their complicity comes out and both smile slightly.

“He’s Charlie, he is in voice rest but we are fans of yours. We cried yesterday watching your last musical, it was just brilliant." Owen lets out hardly breathing, Y/N turns with a smile to see the Canadian boy who wants to kill his friend and then commit suicide.

“Thank you! This is going to be such an interesting experience.” The singer murmurs as she winks at Charlie.

2 hours later they had both been avoiding each other, Y/N writing in a corner while the band and Kenny discuss costumes with Soyon, in which at least half an hour has been wasted trying to understand what Charlie is trying to say with the few words he writes with an apple pencil on his ipad in his horrible handwritting.

Y/N gets frustrated and goes to where they are, approaching behind Charlie's shoulder to see the iPad. She quickly identifies the two words, one so crossed out that it looks like a doodle, but years copying each other's homework pays off.

"He's trying to say that if Luke isn't going to wear bandanas, at least consider wearing beanies." The young woman says as she leans on the shoulder of who was her first love.

Charlie freezes at their proximity, blushing a little at the feeling of being close after so long. Luckily his castmates don't realize it because all their attention is on her.

“You are just good for everything huh? Even deciphering hieroglyphs." Owen comments, smiling at her and winking exaggeratedly to make her laugh.

Charlie can't help but feel insecure with the situation. It could be a friendly thing but If Owen really tries to flirt with her, he doesn't know how he would react. Is sad enough not having her in his life anymore, having her as his best friend's girlfriend would just be too painful.

Now, he knows he’s exaggerating, and a lot. But he has to do something about it. Better safe than sorry.

He stretches his neck to meet the eyes of his ex-girlfriend, who is now only inches away. She quickly gets flustered, but hides it pretty well. The problem is that he knows every gesture perfectly and sees through her mask.

“Wh- What, Gillespie?” She manages to say, Charlie can’t help a smile seeing the way she still reacts towards him.

When you know a person completely, every facet, every gesture, every peculiarity, speaking without words is as natural as breathing. And they had both forgotten how amazing it feels to have someone in your life who is this compatible and magnetic.

They start a conversation, she answers to who secretly still believes as her person while he continues making gestures and mimics that no one else understands, writing a word from time to time to make the talk flow better.

"I know. Hey, it's not my fault! So you excuse yourself with the ‘can't talk’ thing huh? how convenient. Yeah, Ok, I will. I said I will!" Her words are the only thing that they manage to get out of the conversation that the secret ex-couple is having, since no matter how much attention they pay to him, they have no idea how Y/N manages to decipher it.

"I have no idea what's going on but I'll take it as a miracle, I was just going to suggest ignoring Charlie these 2 weeks." Jeremy jokes, everyone nods their heads.

“I mean, it’s still a good option.” Madison replies.

The 14 days go by quickly, and with the former couple spending time together daily, rehearsing Charlie's guitar solos together, with Y/N translating his horrible scribbles, or sometimes simply being close to each other enjoying the company, absentmindedly placing their hand on the other's leg or their forehead on their shoulder for a few seconds during the breaks.

Basically the whole team has noticed the flirtatious smiles and the looks, but Charlie was the weakest rival of both and the one who could release some information about it, and without being able to speak they basically ran out of an informant, since the young singer didn’t let go a word about her unexpected chemistry with the guitarist except the typical ‘we are just good friends’.

But without a doubt the energies began to multiply on Monday when Charlie arrived with the green light to be able to speak and start singing in rehearsals. Madison couldn't attend the first few hours because she was at school, so Y/N was going to cover her so the boys could practice.

“The first on the list is Finally Free, the place where we are going to record it only gave us two weeks from now so it will have to be one of the priorities. For the first rehearsal just vibe with the song and we’ll discover where to go from there. Oh, and good luck keeping up with my golden star, you’ll need it."

Y/N starts the first verse on the keyboard, and gets up to sing the chorus in the center, trying to ignore Charlie and looking up at Jeremy. She hadn’t heard him sing for a couple of years, but the same butterflies appear in her stomach and she knows that she will melt if she looks into his eyes.

Unfortunately for her, Kenny doesn't have the same plan, and just before the second verse ends he tells her to walk over to Charlie, who immediately smiles and sings the pre-chorus with much more enthusiasm. The energy they radiate floods the place, both getting closer and closer. By the time the bridge arrives, their foreheads are practically against each other, their lips only an inch apart, and with a confidence and comfort while singing to each other that makes all those who suspected that there was something between them now practically sure.

Luckily there are only Jeremy, Kenny, Owen and Paul in the room, who decide to play a game of divide and conquer now that the snitch part of the equation can speak.

“Y/N, can you come with me for a moment? I have a new idea for ‘Wow’ and a fresh pair of eyes is just what I need.” Paul says, sacrificing himself for the greater good.

“Yeah, of course, I’ll be right back.” The singer takes the opportunity to leave this staring game with Charlie and quickly walks away from the guitarist, who winks at her in a flirting way in response.

The moment they walk out the door, everyone turns to see Charlie, who has no idea what they're up to.

“What?”

"After what just happened you just can't keep pretending nothing's happening. Man, that was more intense than the whole Troyella moments during all three movies." Kenny pretends to be offended for a second and then nods.

"I have never seen anything like this in all my years of career."

“Yeah dude it was electric.” Owen replies, smirking.

“She’s my person.” Charlie mumbles.

If he’s being honest with himself, deep down he always knew she was the only one for him. But that realization was freaking scary. What's next if the only person for you has already turned the page? gave up without a fight? what's left?

"What?" The three ask in unison, and Charles begins to sing like a bird.

“We grew up together and then we lost the way. Like in those romantic movies where just everyone knows they belong together except the childhood best friends and then they end up ruining their lives by being in denial.”

“From what I saw getting back on track shouldn't be too difficult, Charlie. I assure you that whatever you feel she feels it too. Her eyes don’t lie." Jeremy tries to reason with him.

“Leave your teen problems behind. You are old enough to decide what you want and find a way to make it work. But you have to stop pretending that nothing is happening first." Owen scolds his friend.

“Do you love her?” Jer asks.

“That answer is always going to be yes, I just could never stop loving her even If I tried. And I did.” He really did. The surprise he got when the second he had her close to him his heart began to beat like crazy and all he wanted was to hug her and fix everything. It was as if when seeing her eyes time hadn’t passed, as if only the day before they’d been goofing around together. That bond is so big that he doesn’t believe it’s possible to break.

“Then do something about it, bro! Go get your girl back!” Jeremy advises while Kenny smiles.

“Yeah man, it’s ‘Now or never’ like her song, and I guess ours too now? Since she wrote it for Sunset Curve? Well, anyway, it’s like our song says.” Owen exclaims excitedly.

“Ohhh, musical inspiration, let me try. ‘Get up, get out, relight that spark’.” Jeremy sings to Charlie.

“Jer, you are a genius. If you think about it wake up is actually a pretty good soundtrack song for this situation. ‘It's not what you lost, It's what you'll gain raising your voice in the rain’.”

They both keep singing the song until they reach the bridge, Charlie tries to look frustrated but a slight smile escapes his face.

They are right, he still hasn't lost this fight.

👻PART 2 RIGHT HERE

#jatp fanfic #jatp imagine #jatp fanfiction #charlie gillespie imagine #charlie gillespie x reader #charlie gillespie one shot #jatp luke #luke patterson fic #luke patterson x reader

[collisiondiscourse]

Man, why does it feel like the threshold for success has a time limit? I always feel like if I'm not an insanely popular artist or powerful influencer by the time I turn eighteen, then I am an utter failure and a waste of my teenage years. I think one of the biggest pitfalls of how the generation of kids today has been raised is that we've basically been socialized to think that our best achievements have to come in our youth or else they become virtually worthless.

Like... Oh? you're a talented pianist and played in front of an auditorium of hundreds at an opera house? how old were you when that happened?

A forty-seven-year-old would be met with a few impressed nods, maybe, and people congratulating them for all their hard work and experience.

A fourteen-year-old would get news articles. they'd go viral on the internet and thousands of people would be clambering over each other to sing praises of how they were blessed with such innate talent.

I get it. It's impressive, right? Because they're young and haven't had plenty of years of experience. These kids, by all means, deserve all the praise and attention for working hard to get where they were!

But that's not the case, is it? And the culture of people putting more credit for young people's achievements doesn't even fuckin end there.

Because not only does this exact same pattern happen with literally every single thing ever, even totally non-competitive hobbies like painting, it happens with such frequency that it's considered normal. Articles use age markers about successes to serve as clickbait for their articles. Cable companies start shows purely about young prodigies and how they've beaten their adult competitors. Because who wouldn't wanna hear about a ten-year-old chess champion, right?

And what's even worse is that it then becomes a competition even among young people themselves! You scroll down on a video of a pre-teen playing Winter Wind and I promise you there will be at least one asshole saying shit like "This kid is not impressive. I saw a nine year old do the same thing the other day!"

It eats away at you! It really fucking does! because we go down this stupid rabbit-hole wherein younger and younger kids get paraded around and raised to be prodigies and meanwhile here you are, sixteen, and having a panic attack because you can't go back in time and force your eight-year-old self to keep playing the violin. It's stressful. It aches. Instead of bringing up younger people around us, we're stuck in this miserable zone where we constantly get compared and pitted against each other because we couldn't "maximize our childhood".

Isn't it enough to just... exist?

There have already been many conversations on the nature of college. How it's utter BS that people have to choose what career they want for the rest of their lives as early as junior year in HS. But what a lot of people don't talk about is just how early people are forced to decide what hobbies they want to do for the rest of their lives. People who start learning how to play an instrument at 28 can't do so without constantly being questioned why they started so late. A drawing with decent coloring garners more credit and attention for the average tween than the struggling middle-aged woman, despite both having an equal amount of experience with visual arts.

Parents constantly tell their children to study harder, to practice more--to just keep on work, work, working until their children become the perfect model dolls they use flex to one another over brunch. It's constantly having your name be followed up by your latest achievement and not anything about who you are as a person.

"This is Codi. She is a straight-A student and got invited to compete at Harvard."

"This is Codi. She is on her school's math team and knows how to play the piano."

"This is Codi. She is--"

I am a human being, thank you.

It's never "This is Codi, and he loves fashion and losing at video games." or "This is Codi, and he likes listening to annoying pop songs from the early 2010s and laying down in the rain."

Why? because none of that matters! None of that is worth listening to because anything less than what I can do to represent my family, my school, my team, my country will never be anything more than a waste of time. It's toxic, how today's generation of teenagers have to be celebrities or important figures or champions or prodigies before they are people.

It gets worse, though.

People start counting your talents like tally marks for points. You can't "just be an artist" anymore. If you draw, then you also have to be good at writing. And poetry. And graphic design. And a sport. Oh, you only know one language? Oh, you've only learned the basics of the guitar? It's like a fucking marker, ticking off boxes to determine the worth of these teenagers on the marketability of their achievements.

And, okay, it's a misrepresentation to only blame parents, right? Because it's a systematic thing. A new societal expectation for kids to be the next fucking Renaissance--with peer pressure for things like relationship experience and wild stories too. We kids now worry about not being special enough, not phenomenal enough, or beautiful enough, or talented enough, or smart enough, or experienced enough. And it's weird!

It's weird how teens now flex how tired and burnt out they are! It's weird how I've had conversations that turned into competitions of how many bullshit responsibilities we have on our plate. It's weird how I've met kids on the honor roll that are so adamant to prove to people that they've gone to parties, had alcohol, and slept around.

It's a goddamn tragedy, watching so many of my peers turning into burnouts before they've even graduated high school.

We are expected to be the most. If that one singer could do it, if that one global warming activist could do it, if that one Olympic athlete could do it--then why can't you? Why can't you have over 20.7k followers on Twitter? Why can't you have started your own band and release a popular album? Why can't you have published your own book by now? Why can't you be good enough?

I sit here, typing away at this stupid post and being unhappy and feeling like I am not good enough. I am an artist. I am a writer. I speak more than one language and play more than one instrument. I used to be a straight-A student and nationally competed in maths and sciences competitions. I am an international finalist for my sport and have multiple gold medals from foreign countries.

Yet still, I feel like my timer is running short.

#codi.txt #idk im just. ranting i guess lol #vent #tw vent #long post #tw long post #listen to codi ramble about stuff literally no one but he cares about !! #sorry im just. in my feelings rn

[inactiveanimeblog]

shikamaru x reader fic

“change” chapter one

tw : smoking, alcohol

brooo i’m honestly so sorry this took forever but dont worry next chapters won’t take as long at all, i already have them planned out. and just a heads up there will be smut in this story, not this chapter but possibly chapter three.

eh i don’t really like the way this chapter came out but i can promise better in the future ones.

warnings: for now just alcohol, weed, and swearing

shikamaru and you had been best friends for as long as you both could remember. since you both had grown up together, through your parents being close friends, you and him were inseparable. you spent most of your childhood being around each other. but once you guys hit 16 years old things started to be different.

shikamaru started to drink, smoke, get tattoos, and flunk school. it was a miricale that he even graduated high school thanks to you tutoring him and completing his homework assignments. you on the other hand were a straight A student, a teachers pet, a quiet kid who didn’t party or do anything most teenagers around you were doing. you wanted to, but you were anxious and even a little scared that you werent ‘enough’ to be friends with others who were out having good times and enjoying their teen years. you were timid, you couldn’t be outgoing to save your life, so you watched from the sidelines.

once you graduated high school you traveled to another part of japan for eleven months to find yourself, learn to break out of your shell, and to switch up your style leaning more towards looking sexier and attractive. which meant leaving shikamaru behind to say goodbye for the time being. neither of you really talked when you left, in fact, you guys didn’t talk at all. you had missed him more than anything while he was well, being him. shikamaru messed around with girls, making them feel special, having sex with them, but he never put a label on their ‘relationship’. he would end things when he would get bored and find a new pretty girl to fuck, which left all the other girls broken hearted. you envied any girl he was involved with in a sexual way, you wanted him more than anything but you never told him. hell no. you could never tell him. he would never feel the same as you feel. there was no changing the way shikamaru was. he would never love and you knew that.

you came back to konaha a couple of weeks ago, settling into your new place, a nice little apartment, decorated in a modern manor, as well as starting to make friends in town through social media, slowly starting to go to parties and going out to clubs. you changed your look, dying your hair, getting a new piercing, switching up your style to something different, something new. you felt a lot better about yourself and you wondered if shikamaru would be interested in the way you looked. you weren’t confident, but the attention you’ve been getting from others lately hasn’t gone unnoticed.

hey shikamaru, i came back to konoha a few weeks ago finally! sorry i haven’t told you yet i’ve just been busy moving into my new place and stuff. we should hangout or something, it’s been so long since we seen eachother. you sent him a text, hoping that he would text you back wanting to make plans.

yeah we can link. i’m busy tonight but if you’re free tomorrow you can come by my place around 18:30 and we can catch up. you won’t be able to stay for long though.. maybe an hour at most. just lmk when you’re on the way. it took him a little while but he answered.

okay, that’s fine i have plans a little while afterwards so i won’t be able to stay long anyways. i’ll see you tomorrow and i’ll let you know when i’m on the way.

you were so excited to see him, butterflies already forming in the pit your stomach. you planned out a fit, the way you wanted your hair, and makeup. this was the time you and shikamaru would be able to catch up and maybe even become close friends again.

unfortunately shikamaru wasn’t too excited to see you. you guys haven’t talked in a long time and he saw no point or benefit to your friendship. he’s made a lot of new friends, other friends who are interested in the things he is and he’s been busy fucking new girls all the time. he thought it was such a drag that you wanted to hangout, and truth be told he wasn’t even gonna be busy tomorrow. he just didn’t want to waste his night hanging around you.

_______________________________________________

the next day you woke up around 11:30 am, starting off with eating a light breakfast, showering, shaving, and skin care. getting ready and facetiming your friend mikasa (hehe aot name but i love her name) to talk about how excited you were for first off going to see shikamaru for a little bit and second off going to a house party later that you guys were invited to.

“i’m so nervous ‘kasa, like what if he doesn’t like the way i look? or what if he thinks i’m weird now?” you sighed, brushing your fingers through your hair, checking yourself out in the mirror.

“it’ll be fine y/n! just try your best not to show your nervous. act like he isn’t intimidating at all. you look hot, nothing to be scared of.” she responded

“hm, you think so? are you sure i should wear this? i don’t wanna look like a try hard..”

“you don’t look like a try hard just mention to him that you’re hitting a party later he’ll get why you’re in a cute ass outfit. now go to his house, it’s already 18:07, don’t keep him waiting. he said he didn’t have much time anyways.”

“alright i’ll see you later tonight then.. wish me luck, i’ll let you know what happens. bye.”

“good luck and bye bitch! don’t have too much fun!” she answered while wiggling her eyebrows and hanging up the phone.

you texted shikamaru that you were on your way, he responded shortly saying to just knock when you got there.

third person point of view

“yo kiba, i have a girl coming over today.. she’s just an old friend. she’s shy so try not to scare her off. don’t smoke out in the living room while she’s here. i don’t need her getting uncomfortable. it’ll be such a drag listening to her get upset about the smoke.”

“say less, but is she hot? if she’s just an old friend let me make a move on her.” kiba answered hopping on the couch next to shikamaru.

“no. she’s not cute and you wouldn’t want her anywa-“ shikamaru was cut off by a light knock on the apartment door.

“can you go invite her in for me?”

“do you ever get off your lazy ass? whatever fine.” kiba said while getting up off the couch and walking towards the door.

kiba opened the door and didn’t say anything, he just stared down at y/n who looked back up at him confused clearly expecting shikamaru to answer. ‘not cute?’ kiba thought. ‘is shikamaru out of his MIND??’ surely this couldn’t be the girl shikamaru was talking about, shikamaru would have to be an idiot to not find her attractive. she was dressed in a sexy yet subtle outfit. she smelt nice and her hair looked so soft, her skin was like porcelain, delicate and smooth.

“uhh i’m sorry, who are you?” kiba asked

“oh- i umm, i’m y/n nice to meet you. i’m here to see shikamaru.. i’m at the right apartment, right?” shikamaru tried to look over at y/n but he couldn’t see much with kiba standing in front of the door. he looked back down at his phone and rolled his eyes.

“well? are you gonna let her in? i just told you i had company coming over two minutes ago. how burnt out are you?”

“oh right um come in, i’m kiba, shikamaru’s roommate by the way. make yourself at home.. shikamaru’s on the couch.” kiba stuttered out scratching the back of his neck and moving out of the way so y/n could entered.

“wow shikamaru your place looks nice. is it just you and your roommate living here?” y/n said.

shikamaru looked up from his phone to see her staring around the room and his first thought was ??? what the fuck ?

“y/n?” shikamaru said. he stared at her as she sat on the other couch, his eyes focused on her appearance.

“yeah?” y/n answered smiling back at him.

“nothing i just— you just look really different since i last seen you last. what have you been up to?” he asked still eyeing her up and down, blushing slightly. he felt a little weird, he wasn’t expecting his nerdy childhood best friend to look so good.

“i’ve been busy honestly, i finally moved into my new place and i’ve been going out with friends, it feels nice to finally be back home although i do miss traveling.” friends.. she has other friends now?

“what about you? what have you been up to?” she said still smiling, she looked beautiful, like she’s grown up.. grown into a women’s body, she’d grown into her face as well, no longer looking so babyish. her outfit was nice, showing some skin leaving little to the imagination. this was nothing like her.

“nothing really, just be doing the same old things.... you made some friends when you came back to konoha?”

“yeah i did, i made a few. you should meet them one day, we usually hit parties on the weekends or we’ll chill at one of our houses, drink and smoke or whatever. you would like them.” she exclaimed nodding her head slowly.

huh? wait she even drinks and smokes now? what happened to her? and what changed her when she left.. why was she so different now?

“you drink and smoke now? wow you really are different.”

“oh please” y/n giggled a bit. “i’m still the same old y/n, i’m no different only been living my life in other ways. i’ve been enjoying it ever since i left eleven months ago, you know? i’m having fun i guess.”

“well.. i honestly never expected the day where you would find drinking and smoking fun since you always used to scold me for it.” he said, rolling his eyes playfully, a grin forming on his lips.

“and by the way do you want something to drink, like a water or anything?”

“you know i was just inexpirienced back then shikamaru” she said placing her elbow on the couch arm rest, resting her cheek on her palm and she still had a cute small smile on her face.

“and i’m good, i’ll probably be leaving not too long from now anyways.”

“you in a rush?” shikamaru questioned, slightly raising one of his brows

“hm, kind of. i’m gonna go pregame at one of my friends houses tonight and get ready for a party.”

kiba walked in and sat next to her, he gave shikamaru a pointed look before butting in their conversation and replying “a party tonight huh? you gonna give us the invite?”

“well i mean if you guys wanna go it’s gonna be at 227 Clock Street, not far from here maybe a 15 minute drive. if they ask who you know just say you know me.” she said looking back at kiba “you shouldn’t have any problems. but also, i believe shikamaru said he was busy tonight. right shikamaru?”

“yeah.. well, i do have plans later. but i could just cancel them now, not really important anyways. i guess we could go out. do you think it’ll be a problem to bring others?”

“nope it shouldn’t be a problem at all. the more the merrier, and you and your friends will be able to meet mine tonight!” she said excitedly.

shikamaru excused himself to use the bathroom as kiba continued to talk to y/n and ask her about herself. it was so very obvious that kiba wanted to take her to his room and bend her over, but y/n being hella naive couldn’t tell.

shikamaru looked in the mirror while washing his hands. his eyebrows were scowled, and his eyes were dazed. never could he imagine something like this would happen where y/n would come out of her shell. where she would party. she was as sweet as ever still, she would always be a kind person. nothing could change that, but she wasn’t as quiet as she used to be. it was nice seeing her talk more, no longer stuttering out every other word.

‘if i bring my friends tonight and the rest meet her there’s no doubt she’ll be around more often. i already know they’re gonna be all over her, i’m just curious if she’s still innocent sex wise. last time i seen her she was definitely still a virgin. maybe i should ask her myself.’

#naruto headcanons #shikamaru nara #shikamaru x reader #shikamaru imagine #shikamaru nara x reader #naruto shippuden #naruto #naruto x reader #shikamaru imagines #shikamaru #shikamaru smut

[violetwolfraven]

Blink and Mush and Sarah and Katherine in Wonderland

Hi @addie-your-queen ! I’m filling a request for a blush/newsbians double date, with no swear words. I think I remembered not to use any but I apologize if I missed any. @newsiesgiftexchange

I sincerely hope you enjoy my portrayal of feral teen friendship with a side of relationship softness.

Tw: Blink has social anxiety but I don’t think there are any others.

…

Blink was, objectively, bad at making friends.

It was just a fact. If Jack ‘friendly extrovert’ Kelly hadn’t looked at Blink in 8th grade and for some reason decided “I’m going to befriend this kid,” he probably wouldn’t have any friends. He definitely wouldn’t have accidentally become part of Jack’s family of queer problem children, which he was a lot more grateful for now than he was in 8th grade.

The group had an odd dynamic where, yes, everyone mostly hung out with their usual few friends, but they also each maintained a constant familiarity with all the others. They knew each other’s backstories. Any given pair or group of them could have a comfortable conversation. Blink would help any of them get rid of a dead body, no questions asked. It was just how they rolled. They loved each other unconditionally. It was only weird if you were looking at it from the outside.

For a long time, Blink had been part of that weird family, but only actually had a real conversation with… like… Mush, Davey, and Race. He’d gotten closer with Albert lately, but that was pretty predictable because they were the two most defensive and they understood each other. Most of the friend group still saw Blink as the angry one, for good reason.

The kind of close friendship with Sarah Jacobs where she would ask if he wanted to go on a double date was… unexpected.

See, Sarah was plenty angry—she and Blink were alike in that way—but she carried it differently. She favored using her words first. Goading an enemy into throwing the first punch so if anyone asked, the fight wasn’t her fault. Blink was more direct. He didn’t get into fights at all. One or two precise hits was enough to ruin someone’s day if they had said or done something to deserve it, and that was enough.

The two of them had vastly different mentalities, so it was probably a miracle their friendship worked as well as it did.

Sarah did well in math and science, and Blink favored English and art. Blink liked coffee and Sarah preferred tea. Sarah liked girls and Blink liked boys. The only thing they had in common was that they were both angry gay introverts.

Their double date was at a new cafe Sarah’s girlfriend Katherine had found, which was themed ‘Alice in Wonderland.’ A clever twist on a mad tea party, Blink guessed. The aesthetic was carried by the mirrors suspended on wires to the ceiling and the Lewis Carroll quotes on the walls. The foam in Blink’s coffee was blue.

Blink was firmly of the belief that wherever you could find a Starbucks, you could find some small local place with better coffee. This place definitely lived up to that.

Sadly though, the three employees on duty couldn’t seem to agree on a playlist. The songs playing over a cheap sound system kept switching abruptly, which made sitting in silence with Sarah while they waited for their respective partners kind of awkward.

Blink tried to be subtle about shooting a text to Mush, hoping he was close. Mush was good at being comfortable with people no matter the circumstances. It was one of the things Blink loved most about him.

Sarah cleared her throat, startling him into looking up.

“Kitty says there’s a traffic accident on 4th,” she said, gesturing to her phone, “She and Mush are carpooling and they’re stuck behind it.”

“Right.”

Mush and Katherine lived pretty close together. It made sense they wouldn’t waste the gas to come separately.

Sarah rested her chin on her hand, smiling kind of dreamily, “Kitty’s such an amazing writer.”

Blink didn’t know where that came from, “Okay?”

“It’s on my mind because she’s writing a modern interpretation of Alice in Wonderland that’s also a commentary on the treatment of neurodivergent people in our society.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“Yeah, I’ve only read the few polished scenes she’s ready to share, but it’s pretty amazing. It’s gonna be a bestseller when she’s done with it.”

“What’s it called?”

Sarah grinned, “Life Through A Looking Glass. The storyline is that Alice and her friends all have different disorders, and then they somehow spend a week alone together in ‘Wonderland,’ tackling various issues and trauma. It’s trippy because the reader is never quite sure what’s real and what’s not.”

“Jack doin’ her cover art?”

“Naturally. And a few illustrations in the book too, cause those really need to be in more books.”

“That’s rad, dude,” Blink said, fully meaning it.

“You know what’s even radder?”

“What?”

“She based a few of the characters on our friends. I’m not gonna spoil who’s who, but our friend group’s got a fun mixed bag of neurotypes. Kathy’s been doing a bunch of interviews to accurately portray things.”

Blink nodded, “Well, Mush is more of a reader than me, but I’ll still read that book when it comes out.”

“Well, while we’re on the topic of partners,” Sarah took a sip of her coffee (with pale purple foam in it), “How are things with Mush?”

Well, wasn’t that something that Blink didn’t know how to put into words? He wasn’t sure he wanted to put it into words. Sure, he loved Sarah as his friend and trusted her, but it wasn’t like he really talked about his relationship with Mush with anyone.

Blink didn’t want to seem too cliche, even in his own head, but his life had been pretty dark. Mush was a soft, warm light in that dark. He was one good thing after years of bad. He complemented the best parts of Blink and made the worst parts not hurt so much.

Like hell was he saying something that emo out loud, though.

“Things’re good,” he ended up saying, “I don’t know what else to say about it. Y’know. How much can ya really say when you love somebody that much?”

Sarah smiled softly, “Yeah. Yeah, I get that. I could talk about Kitty for hours and still not put it into words the right way.”

Blink shrugged, “I already know I can’t, so why even try?”

He didn’t really mean for it to be funny, but he could understand why Sarah laughed anyway.

They both looked up as the door to the cafe opened and the two they’d been talking about walked in.

“Traffic can suck it!” Katherine Plumber announced in her bold way as she entered, “We made it only 15 minutes late!”

Mush was laughing, trying to shush her, “Katherine, there’s other people here!”

Sarah smirked and reached over the table to nudge Blink.

“You may not have the words for it, Kid, but the look on your face says everything.”

Blink didn’t get a chance to respond before she was out of her seat to go greet her girlfriend. He stayed where he was, because arguably making sure they didn’t lose their table was the more important gesture.

It only took a couple minutes for Mush and Katherine to order their coffee and come over to sit down.

“So,” Katherine said with a warm smile as she set down a majenta drink, “Trying to steal my girl, Blink?”

“I don’t want your girl, Katherine,” Blink deadpanned at the same time as Sarah mock gasped and exclaimed, “He couldn’t if he tried!”

Mush smiled with all the warmth in the world, “Tell Sarah how ya really feel, why don’t ya?”

He bumped his shoulder against Blink’s, and laughed when he was bumped back harder.

“I refuse to be perceived as straight.”

“I was about to be offended,” Sarah said with a grin, “But honestly, fair.”

The song playing over the crappy sound system switched to Straight No Chaser’s Christmas Can Can, and Blink looked over to see that Mush was already looking at him with a mischievous glint in his eyes. He put down his coffee, which had green foam in it.

Blink really loved being 100% in sync with his partner.

They started singing along quietly on the exact same line.

“Thoughts of joy and hope and cheer but mostly shopping, shopping, shopping—“

Sarah and Katherine laughed and joined in right on, “Heard this same song twenty times, and it’s only Halloween…”

Was it really their fault if they started singing louder as the song progressed? Wasn’t that just the spirit of the holidays? Especially since they’d sang this song in their high school choir last year and still remembered most of the harmonies and the dance they’d choreographed as a group, which fit pretty easily in the space around their table?

Blink’s favorite part was coming up.

“Hey, what’s troubling you, my friends?” Mush sang.

Sarah did an exaggeratedly sad frown, “It’s not fair if you’re Jewish, Jewish.”

Katherine joined in, “Not fair if you’re Jewish, Jewish!”

They were all outright belting, “Dreidel, dreidel, dreidel, I made it out of clay! You realize that Christmas ain’t the only holiday!”

The few other customers in the cafe were staring, but somehow Blink was too high on the feral energy of this friendship to care. People tended to stare at him anyway. Let ‘em. The singing along to the song wasn’t as good as it would be if they had the whole group with them, but two tenors, a soprano 2, and a soprano 1 still made for a few good harmonies.

By the time they finished out, what was left of Blink’s coffee was cold, but he didn’t mind. He and Mush and the girls were laughing, and they were having an amazing time, and he could taste peppermint when Mush kissed him out of pure joy.

Katherine giggled, her head leaned against Sarah’s shoulder, “Best double date ever!”

“Davey’s gonna be so jealous when I tell him about this,” her girlfriend agreed, barely seeming to notice as Kath took out her phone to take a selfie of them before turning her camera on the couple across the table.

“Smile, boys!”

They both did automatically. Smiling genuinely around Mush was always easy.

Katherine lowered her phone when she was done, “Permission to Instagram this cuteness?”

Mush nodded automatically and Blink just shrugged.

Sarah swatted her in the arm, “Get one where I’m actually looking at the camera and then sure.”

Blink reached across the table, “Let me take it. It’s only fair.”

He tried to maintain a completely deadpan tone while holding the phone camera.

“Okay, boss woman who don’t need no man faces…”

The girls actually did do boss faces for a second before bursting out laughing. Blink managed to get both expressions on camera.

“Don’t worry,” he said as he handed the phone back, “Those photos should be decent; I still have one good eye. My depth perception ain’t nearly as bad as it was in middle school.”

Mush put a hand on his shoulder, “That ain’t funny, love.”

“It’s my childhood trauma and I’ll joke about it as much as I want, thanks.”

“It was like 2 years ago.”

“Well, as ya told me back then when I was cryin’ on your couch and all that, I’m safe now and that what matters.”

Mush leaned leaned in to kiss him on the forehead with a soft smile, “I’m still happy Crutchie convinced you to go to therapy.”

“You two are revoltingly cute,” Katherine said, reminding them there were other people in the room.

Mush did finger guns at her, “Back at ya, Kathy.”

“Um, excuse me?”

One of the cafe employees was standing next to their table, already looking apologetic.

“Look,” he said, “You guys’ singalong to the Christmas Can Can was awesome, and I think most of the people here would agree.”

“Thank you,” Sarah said politely.

“Yeah, however, one of them did complain about it, so I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”

The guy looked like he was expecting them to fight him, but instead they all just exchanged glances and started gathering their stuff.

“I mean, would it really be a date if we didn’t get kicked out of somewhere?” Katherine asked, sweetly directing it at Sarah.

Blink snorted, “Remind me never to agree to a double date with you two again.”

They all laughed as they chugged the rest of their coffee, disposed of their dishes, and headed for the door.

Then the four of them just kind of stood there on the sidewalk outside for a second, not knowing what to do.

“So…” Mush shrugged, snaking an arm around Blink’s waist, “What now?”

“We could go to my place and watch bootlegs on YouTube,” Sarah suggested, “Davey and Les are out with the Larkin boys and my mom won’t care as long as you guys leave before dinner.”

Katherine shrugged, “That shouldn’t be a problem. I’m expected home at 6:00.”

“The Jacobs house it is,” Blink agreed.

A bootleg date sounded even more fun than being loud in a coffee shop anyway.

#newsies #blush #blush newsies #newsbians #kid blink newsies #mush newsies #sarah jacobs #katherine plumber pulitzer #fluff #violet’s writing

[piracytheorist]

Since the first thing that strikes me about re8, story-wise, is that it seems to be all over the place? Again, I’ve no idea how it ties to previous games but it feels like this parental/mother-child theme is just hanging there with no resolution at all? I mean yes, Ethan saved his daughter, presumably breaking some sort of abuse cycle, yay, congrats, but what about his wife/gf? Isn’t she supposed to be like the main protagonist of the story of a mother bereaved to the point of tyrannical madness

Or rather, this specific story is not the right choice for his character since there’s SO many ethical and philosophical issues and questions implied but never properly explored because of Ethan’s ‘fuck you, idc’ attitude (which is completely understandable in those circumstances but adds virtually nothing to the plot and arguably even ruins it a bit). Heisenberg could’ve been an excellent ally with fascinating grey morality (provided the writers wouldn’t push him to the point of absolute insanity and let freedom, not power-hunger be his main goal and motivation for rebellion).And again, aren’t the lords supposed to represent child development stages? In which case Ethan what? Kills the possibility of some evil version of Rose? Or his own chance to experience fatherhood throughout all of those stages? Either way, it seems a bit… weird to have a Parent destroy multiple people whose main relevance to the plot is that they’re children of an abusive antagonist in a storyline so extremely focused on parent/kid relationships.

I feel like the main theme of re8 is not just parenthood/motherhood, but the relationship itself of the parent to the child. There's a lot of mentions to "children being used". Miranda kidnapping people, experimenting on them and mutating them and then treating them like they're her kids; Miranda kidnapping and practically killing Rose; Dimitrescu making daughters out of reanimated corpses she experimented on; Heisenberg wanting to use Rose's powers, etc etc.

And it's important that Miranda is at the center of this. There's something very interesting she says to Ethan in her boss fight:

"Why do you interfere? Surely you have no need of Rose now, so close to death?"

And that's where her mistake was. Ethan wasn't doing all that because he needed Rose herself. He was doing it to save her, fully aware that he wasn't going to be a part of her life cause he knew he was dying. Miranda was way too dependent on her love for Eva - and like, I honestly get it that losing your child can devastate you (if anything my fear of that is one of the reasons I don't want to have kids) - so much that her life literally revolved around her child. Once Eva died, Miranda wanted to die. Once she found the Megamycete and discovered she maybe had a chance to bring Eva back, she dedicated her entire life and ruined multiple others to do just that. Her one and biggest need was to get Eva back. It wasn't a simple want or wish. It was a need. She'd get her child back, damn everyone else - including other people's children.

Miranda had no-one to blame directly; Eva had died from the influenza, it wasn't like she had any chance to change things. Ethan's case was different; he had people to blame, particularly, the one who kidnapped Rose and dismembered her, and her lackeys who kept said parts and fought him for trying to take them back.

So on one end, you have a parent who lost her child due to a tragedy, and ended up destroying other - innocent - lives in order to get her back. On the other, you have a parent who lost his child due to a crime, and ended up going after the criminals responsible in order to get the child back. Like, it wasn't even revenge, and it wasn't that he "needed" Rose in his life. He simply wanted to save her and ensure she'll be alright.

I fully agree it could have been Mia as the protagonist in re8, and that it was a wasted opportunity to simply fridge her and have her in the sidelines angsting over her husband. But whether it was Mia or Ethan as the protagonist, I feel like the theme that I explained above does offer a resolution, showing the opposites of Miranda and Ethan, and ending Miranda's tyrrany of her "need" to have her child back through Ethan's determination to ensure his child's safety and happiness - even if he doesn't get to be a part of any of that later on. Miranda showed obsession; Ethan showed dedication.

And this is how I see the abuse cycle breaking and the resolution is reached; an obsessed parent hurt a good parent's child to bring their own child back - the good parent's dedication stopped the former, allowing the former's tyrrany to end and their child to grow up safe.

Seeing as this is a horror game, I don't tend to focus on the morality issues (if I'm interpreting your second message correctly). Like, the developers are making a grant effort to put us in Ethan's shoes, first-person POV, plain character protagonist and all; our child got kidnapped and practically murdered, and we have the chance to bring her back. We'll absolutely raise hell to the people who are responsible for it and we will get our child back, fuck any moral dilemmas we might have. When someone is threatening your life, you have the ability to kill them to defend yourself. In the case of a caring parent, that ability may multiply by a lot when the threat is towards their child. And I feel that this is what the game explored in the end. Though the whole survival issue is taxing on Ethan, he doesn't give a damn about who he has to kill if it means saving his daughter - but again, it's only the responsible parties. We see how watching all the people at Luisa's house die affected him, and even before Elena died, he wanted to ensure her safety before he went searching for Rose; he is sympathetic and morally rational, but also capable of cold-blooded murder if someone is threatening his child. To a lesser extent, we saw that in re7 too. With his life on the line, he killed Jack (multiple times) and Marguerite, and at the end he recognized how they were actually victims of Eveline. But they were still actively trying to murder him so he wasn't given the chance to help them. With Zoe, he promised to send help, and he did, even wanting to talk to her once she'd been rescued by her uncle and Chris. The same applies to re8, but as I said, it's multiplied since it's his daughter who's in danger, and the end of re8 proves he cares for her safety more than his own.

Now, all that said, I think it's important to note how it's stil a Resident Evil game. I haven't actually played or watched any playthroughs of other games, but the basic concept in these games, from what I understand, is that the player shoots zombies; ex-human beings who have lost any human mentality and will just come for your throat if you don't kill them first. They're not humans anymore, they can't be reasoned or sympathized with. It's not really an issue of morality, ethics or philosophy. Your life, and the life of your child in the case of re8, are in danger. You don't give a shit. You just start shooting and hope for the best. Again, I don't know if the morality issue is explored in other RE games, but to be honest... Resident Evil doesn't sound like the kind of franchise that's thematically into going super deep into the morality of shooting zombies to save your life.

I have to admit I haven't thought of the Lords being representative of child development stages. I think they could be put as Moreau being a toddler, fully dependent on their parent - funnily enough, the Greek word for baby is "moro", pronounced almost exactly the way "Moreau" is pronounced in the game - Donna as a child, Heisenberg as a (rebellious?) teenager, and Dimitrescu as a late teen/young adult (if anything, Dimitrescu seems to behave like the eldest child of the bunch). But I'm not sure the connection that has to Ethan as a father, if anything because the bosses are fought in complete random order of age, if my analysis is correct. Like, I understand the symbolism behind the Lords' behaviours, maybe as you said they represent the obstacles Ethan had to overcome. In one single day and with his life on the line, instead of in the course of Rose's entire childhood and adolescence, but that's exactly why he hated being a protagonist of a horror game, lol.

Anyway, yeah. All in all, I don't think Resident Evil is a franchise where we should expect to sit down afterwards and ponder whether we were right to shoot the zombies that were trying to kill us. Again, I'm not the right person to ask this, since I don't know anything about other RE games, but that's the conclusion I'm making in a meta-thinking way.

#Resident Evil #Resident Evil Village #Resident Evil 8 #Ethan Winters #Mother Miranda #re meta #anonymous #ask and ye shall receive

[flowerflamestars]

Main Issues with Feysand's leadership: it mostly consists on rather inmature, underdeveloped strategy that would in no way get a world leader very far in the real world (see: 'i schooled my face into a look of boredom'), seem content in making enemies left to right as long as they never have to step down from the pedestal that they've built, and see Illyria as a necessary evil, like wtf. In conclusion, Rhysand is a governor for Velaris, but is not fit to be the ruler of the Night Court.

Rounding caveat, because I know I’m going to get shouty: the dividing line between ToG and ACOTAR is that tog is a fantasy series with romance, and acotar is a romance series in a fantasy world. They’re not the same. I’d be totally fine with how the world building in acotar is v handywavy, because it’s still accomplishing what the books set out to do (tell a love story, hello acomaf) but- BUT, it’s not consistent. And that inconsistency wildly undermines the characters.

And god, if Rhysand as a ruler isn’t the heart of ???? spirit.

We’re not going to talk about how the plot of acotar only makes sense backwards (Hey, Rhys, why did you want to kidnap every month a powerless mortal girl???), we’re just going to talk about reputation.

So Rhys is a villain who we learn isn’t actually evil. A classic. He was made to do terrible things by Amarantha! He sacrificed himself to save his friends! Of course the High Lords hate him, they think he sided with the enemy.

That could have been the whole thing- the layers pulled back, Rhysand also a victim, a reason for the world to hate him but for Feyre to see otherwise.

OKAY BUT- then we learn? that Rhysand has been playing Evil Scary Jackass in all political situations? for his entire reign? that’s just what he does?

Round two: Rhys had to be Amarantha’s because he had to “shield the knowledge” of his friends and his capitol? city. 

BUT- other people Under the Mountain, also accessible to Amarantha, know the IC??? have been acquainted with them for years? They’re not a secret. Mor was almost married out, Az and Cas are legendary, Amren is a story people tell. 

And all those people are probably incentivized by the fact that, you know, they think Rhysand is an evil traitor.

Furthermore: guess who willing cooperated with Amarantha? The Court of Nightmares. Recall who, surprise in acowar, knows all about Velaris: Keir.

Round three: Sexy Evil Cosplay, wherein we learn that not only instead of just keeping it together in politics Rhys has adopted an entire secondary persona, we learn he also...uses this persona...to scare all the other highborn faeries into submission....so he? never has to talk to them?

BUT ALSO: this whole thing is undermined by, once more, Keir. 

The whole game on the throne is to instill fear/ control of Keir. The whole Second Face. But Keir knows about Velaris? Keir knows exactly what Rhys stands for because Rhys and Cassian tried to rescue Morrigan from the Court of Nightmares when they were teens. Hell, Keir probably knew Rhys when Rhys was a kid.

It’s almost like eventually the person you pretend to be becomes who you are.

I think the Political Rhys vs Real Rhys started out as a plot point, but in character became this: not someone separate at all, but actually, Rhysand’s coping mechanism for making shitty choices.

See: if everyone in the Court of Nightmares bows, I’m ruling them. It doesn’t matter that women are being sold, that there’s servants and presumably totally normal people trapped in a mountain they can’t leave with people I think are monsters.

Let’s jump to Illyria. 

How much easier is it, for Rhysand, half-Illyrian himself, to align wholly with the High Fae and say: no, it’s Illyria’s fault. They’re savages, they’re barbarians. 

Easy as being a dick to other powerful men because it’s fun when they can’t fight back.

If the blame isn’t his, he keeps his army. He doesn’t have to fight a civil war that might swallow him whole, considering Illyria is the army he controls vs the High Fae soldiers left entirely under Keir’s rule. 

If it’s Illyria’s fault he can successfully reimagine the past as he clearly needs to (someday, I’ll make a whole ass post about Rhysand’s mommy issues and how they creepily bleed into Feyre’s characterization, but one thing at a time).

If it’s Illyria’s fault, he can’t be mad about his Mother, daughter of a warrior race, offering him up for brutal, dangerous training. It’s the fault of Illyria. He doesn’t have to imagine he was learning those things, fighting in the mud, because it was the only way his mother could pass the legacy, could say, look, this is where I come from and someday you will have the power to make it better for your sister, for everyone.

He LOVED his mother. He wears the sacred tattoos, manifests wings, has Illyrian “brothers”.

But- It’s Illyria’s fault, so Rhys didn’t fail, Rhys is doing his duty by keeping them in line. 

Which brings us to the war.

I’m unclear on why only the Night Court knew Hybern was coming, but let’s just accept that. 

But it’s all about the Public Face, moving in the shadows, the two Rhysands. So for the months Feyre is wasting away with Tamlin, planning her wedding Rhys...doesn’t warn anyone. Doesn’t whisper to the other High Lords to shore up defenses.

He makes a plan contingent on 1)that creepy deal with Feyre that he can now both justify and doesn’t want to enforce knowing she’s his mate, and 2) long lost magical objects no one knows the location of, and that don’t belong to him.

Rhys got SO used to the All-Knowing Dickbag face, it’s like he started believing he was all knowing. He’s one of seven Lords, but he doesn’t talk to any of them, on the off chance they don’t do exactly as he says. He steals from Tarquin, a young High Lord kind enough to take a chance on him. He tricks Mor. He lies to...everyone?

And then it’s a big deal, a failure on their part, when at the FINAL HOUR AND LAST MOMENT BEFORE ALL OUT WAR, AFTER THE SECOND INVASION HAS ALREADY COMMENCED, when the High Lords don’t jump to trust Rhys.

A step back, a Feyre tangent: Feyre, younger, also deeply traumatized, falls into this hard. Rhys tells her he’s the underdog, and she believes it. He’s SO SO SO powerful he can take the voice of another High Lord, Feyre herself thinks he’s so magical the gap between him and his contemporaries is like that between humans and high fae-

But hey wait, they don’t trust him because he’s been a dick for five hundred years. 

But hey wait, they came as their true selves, they don’t trust him while he’s WEARING ILLYRIAN WINGS- IT’S BECAUSE HE’S DIFFERENT-

No, it is not, but Feyre’s POV sort of wants us to think so.

And that’s where everything sort of falls apart.

The act of power has stopped being an act- it’s just their actions now. And they do not know how to stop.

Because they are in control, and they have to go on for the war. They have to keep making decisions, even if they’ve lost the thread, because they want to survive.

But they do survive.

And it turns out, even after that, they can’t put down the masks fused to their faces, because the act is the only thing keeping them together.

So the balls to the wall, We Must have the High Ground Even at Our Own Dinner Parties, The Center MUST Hold shit just keeps going: tearing down Lucien because he chose something that wasn’t their Court. Letting Illyria crumble because they don’t need the army right now. Banishing Nesta because she’ll never bow to authority.

All the weird, incestuous feeling inter IC drama.

But they’re the underdogs! the Heroes! It’s not their fault! 

So they spend their time in Velaris, charmingly hanging out like they’re normal people, thinking they’re better because power is wielded on an unimaginable personal scale.

Rhys loves his people! Rhys sacrificed!

Rhys...careened from one war/disaster to the next, and then settled down to play house?

The narrative cannot decide: is Rhys really an underdog, devoted to his people? How about he helps every other city that Amarantha destroyed?

Is Rhys a Normal Guy who just wants to walk on pretty cobblestone and have a cute, happy family? Maybe, there should be a government so he isn’t solely responsible for everything?

Is Rhys the Lord of Darkness Redeemed by LOVE?  Cool, let’s have him maybe he honest with Feyre exactly once, OR, at least talk about how him dying made her go off the rails and try to fix that with a bandage that isn’t baby shaped before Feyre’s 22nd birthday. 

Canonically, becoming High Lord is a mystical, magical endowment. That then, for the most part, functions as some kind of mashup Monarchy/ Feudal Lordship.

If that’s what it is, why can’t we lean into that? Rhys who does want a normal happy life with Feyre, trapped by the weight of immovable magic destiny.

King Rhys, duty bound to his bloodline and his people, torn between different ways to rule. 

Hell, Rhysand who really is a monster, because maybe Faeries are monstrous by human standards, who shows Feyre the beauty that lies beneath the brutality in a magic, surreal world where everyone is terrifying, but even monsters love.

[sweeethinny]

Wildflower - Chapter 1

one more chapter, i'm excited about this story, i hope you like it as much as i do <3

Thank you @startanewdream who read and opined on some things <3

AO3 | FF. NET | PLAYLIST

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| L. E |

The room was quiet, everyone paying attention to what the Professor was saying and presenting on the slides, with all those graphs and statistics that made Lily almost sleep with her eyes open. She loved her course, but calculus class wasn't her favorite, it wasn't even in her top three preferences.

Lily would rather have a full day of Environmental Chemistry with Professor Hagrid than one more with Burbage.

"Aren't you going to write down what she's saying?" Severus muttered beside her, making her nearly jump in her chair in fright, her heart racing at being pulled out of the quiet of her mind. "Hey, calm down."

"I already wrote down the important one." Lily shrugged, seeing her representation of the chart in the notebook and her lazy scribble of what the Professor had said.

"I won't lend you my notebook to study," he whispered, a smirk on his lips. Lily rolled her eyes, resting her head on her hand again, no longer listening to Burbage's voice.

Was it so early, why did she like to make students suffer like that?

"I don't need to, thanks." Severus didn't respond, but he kissed her on the cheek and then turned his attention back to class, much more interested than she was.

She still hadn't forgotten about their fight after the party Saturday, and all the embarrassment he put her through, and Lily was still hurting, even though she didn't understand why it hurt so much. He explained to her that he was trying to protect her, and the next day, he took her for brunch at her favorite restaurant, which was near a flower shop where Severus bought her flowers. Her favorites.

He was sorry, and Lily had to stop mulling things over even days after they had happened.

"Excuse me, Professor?" A female voice woke her, looking toward the door where one of the cheerleaders was standing.

The girl was beautiful, Lily had seen her before in the presentations in between games - the few she went to - and in the hallways of college; she had long brown hair and eyes almost the same color, and Lily knew the line of boys wanting her wasn't short.

“Say it, Miss Fortescue,” Burbage said, not looking overly excited at being interrupted. ‘I have no time to waste.’

“It'll be quick, I swear.” The girl walked into the room, wearing her red college sweatshirt and simple jeans, and even so, she looked stunning. Lily was a little jealous of her.

‘Me, and the Hogwarts Cheerleaders team, are passing by to remind you that applications to join the Team begin today. You need to have a minimal knowledge of ice skating, and be able to train three times a week, and twice a month on Saturdays. In addition to keeping in mind that if chosen, you will have to travel with us when necessary, and participate in our activities off the field.'’ She smiled, looking at everyone there waiting for questions or any interruptions, but when no one raised a hand, she continued;

‘’To apply you just need to talk to me, or any other cheerleader, and fill in the form. The tests will start next week, so you have plenty of time to think about whether you want to or not.” She waited a few more seconds, then smiled at the woman. "Thank you so much, Professor, excuse me." And she left.

Side conversations began, even though Burbage was trying to restrain the students, but Lily didn't care too much, wondering whether or not she should take the test. Of course she didn't have a body like the other girls, their waists looked almost unreal, but she could try, right? It looked so much fun the few times she watched it, and Lily had been balletting as a child until her mid-teens, when she started to put on weight and Petunia kept saying she was getting too fat to dance.

She could at least try. Maybe she couldn't get in, there were probably girls who had trained her entire life for it, Lily knew it was a competitive sport that many took very seriously, but… She could try.

Lily skated really well too, another reason she should try, and-

"You'd think she'd at least be embarrassed to appear in public, but no," Severus whispered, making Lily look at him not quite understanding what he was talking about, having once again become lost in her thoughts. "God, Lily, pay attention!"

‘‘Sorry, I was thinking. Who has to have courage?’’

‘‘Alice. That captain of the cheerleaders. She was seen having sex in the car with one of the players late last year… Such a bitch.” Severus rolled his eyes, looking almost offended by what she had done. ‘‘But what to expect, all are.’’

"I wanted to take the test," Lily whispered, feeling a weight drop in her stomach that made all her courage drain away.

'’Why? Do you want to wear those short skirts and show your ass for a bunch of men to see? And still call it dancing? Christ, Lily, have a little respect for yourself.” He turned forward, not seeming to want to hear her answer, but Lily ignored the movement and continued;

‘But… it looks so cool, and maybe I don't even come in and-’

‘Lils, I'm a man, listen to what I tell you, these girls don't dance because they like it, they dance because they want to have a dick to suck at the end of the day and get something in return; sometimes a higher note, or sometimes just the gratification of having sucked that dick. You're not like them, you don't need that.”

| J . P |

"Look who's here, our Geppetto!" Remus said, a wide grin on his face and the glass of orange juice raised to James, who was now bitterly regretting not having changed after his carpentry practice class.

"Dude, shut up." James chuckled, not even wanting to argue about how old this joke was getting and that they should try harder. "I can't believe we're not joking about the fact that Sirius needs to wear a wig in his class."

"We did, but you were late, mate." Remus seemed indifferent to James' attempt to shift his attention to Sirius, drinking all of his juice before looking at him more closely. "Marlene put makeup on you?"

"Yeah, is there a problem?" He put his hand to his jaw, no longer as purple and sore as it had been on Saturday, but still too disgusting an orange color to show everyone on the first day of his sophomore year. James had a bit of self-esteem even though it kept him from doing that. "It was horrible."

"Yeah, it's not pretty now." Peter pulled James' face to the side, wanting to see more detail, and that made the pain in the back of his neck return. "But it's better than before."

"Peter, my head." James pushed him away, touching where the back of his neck ached and trying to ease some of the pain that was still bothering him. The doctor had said it would hurt for a few more days, but James couldn't take the headaches anymore. "That asshole was lucky I was drunk."

"I still don't understand why he punched you," Sirius said, the pink wig still in his hands, trying to untangle the strands. "The girl said you didn't even touch her."

‘’I didn't touch it. Man, I don't even remember her face, I was trying to stay upright and not pass out right there, there were like ten redheads in front of me.’' He sighed, taking a sip of his own juice and denying it, still not believing he had stopped at the hospital because someone thought he was harassing the girl. "Was he her boyfriend?"

"I think so, but she didn't look too happy about what he'd done to you, so I don't know if they're still together," Remus said.

"Was she beautiful?" James didn't remember much of that night, least of all the details of her face, the only thing he could remember was that she was wearing an all-black outfit and had red hair. Everything else was just a blur in his mind.

"Yeah," Peter smiled. ‘’Was she wearing weird clothes? Yeah. I mean, who wears sweats to a party? But, she was beautiful. Don't you have a class with her?” He glanced at Remus, who looked like he was in another world as he watched a table next to theirs, full of girls chatting and laughing, one in particular standing with her back to them.

‘’Moony, if you keep drooling on Amelia like that, I'll punch you in the face. She kicked your ass, bro, part to another, forget about her.'’

"James, have you ever been in love yet?" James took a deep breath, thinking they would go back to that same subject Remus always brought up every time someone said something about his ex. '’Answer me.'’

"This wasn't love, Moony, it was a trap." James said the same thing every other time, but it was like he spoke to a wall when it came to Remus. It was frustrating. "She betrayed you."

“It was a slip.” He repeated as usual.

‘’Remus, slip was when I mistook James' aunt for his grandmother, and congratulated her on her 90th birthday. That was a slip. What did she do to you,” Sirius dropped his wig and looked at their friend, a tired smile on his face. It was the tenth time they had had that conversation. ‘It was low. She cheated on you the second you quarreled with her, without a second thought. Besides,” He held up a hand, preventing Remus from saying anything. "She never told you, you only knew because her friend felt sorry for you."

"She was going to tell me!"

"Let's not discuss this again." Peter interrupted the fight that was likely to ensue, but even if he hadn't, someone else did for them.

A girl stopped at their table, arms back and cheeks already on fire, she looked like she wanted to get inside a hole instead of being there.

"Hm. I’m sorry..er..." Her low voice was barely heard in the din in the cafeteria, but James was at the end of the table and could hear her speaking. It was the girl from the party, he recognized her sweet voice, her red hair was in a bun and she was wearing a sweatshirt today too, this time it wasn't black but dark blue, and James thought it didn't look comfortable because it wasn't that cold and that fabric seemed to be very thick and warm. ‘I came to apologize.’

"Sorry?" James looked at her, now everyone at the table was silently paying attention to her, and her cheeks got even hotter, which he thought was cute. Her green eyes fell on James, and he hated even more that he was wearing that ridiculous protective clothes.

"For what Sev did," She bit her bottom lip, filling her lungs with air and smiling gently afterwards. "I'm sorry he punched you."

'But…'

"You're not the one who should apologize," Sirius said, sitting at the other end, looking almost as shocked as James. The guy couldn't be such a coward, what did he think they were going to do, punch him up in the middle of the cafeteria?

The girl looked uncomfortable with this, but stayed there, stuffing her hands inside her sweatshirt pocket. ‘‘I know, but… He wasn't coming, but I'm going to feel really bad for not apologizing, because it was my fault, I- ''

"It wasn't your fault," James cut her off, pausing before placing a hand on her arm to soothe whatever was making her nervous. Who knows what her crazy boyfriend would do if he saw James touching her. "It's okay, really."

"You ended up in the hospital." She reminded him, not that James needed it, but he shrugged.

‘’Nothing too serious. And I was drunk, and…” He didn't know what to say, so opting to just smile at her. '’Everything is fine. If it makes you better, apologies accepted.”

"Sorry again, really," The girl said, her hand over her heart and a slightly sad smile on her face, seeming to notice the makeup on his jaw. James nodded, still not quite sure what to say or what to do, and she left.

'’Oh, I knew I knew her boyfriend.’' The four of them looked at the redhead walking back to her table, where three other guys dressed in black were, none of them looking at James' table but the boy next to her didn't look the least bit happy with her attitude, putting an arm around her shoulders in an almost possessive way. "She dates that idiot who tried to fight with Frank."

"Does he fight everyone then?" James continued to stare at her table, a bad feeling burning in his chest. He remembered that she looked so happy when he came to ask about his glasses, but then, now it seemed like there was none of that inside her anymore.

"He doesn't fight, he talks and talks, but when the time comes he runs away." Remus smiled humorlessly, pulling James back to look at him. "Don't want the three of them to come at you, just because one of them is a coward doesn't mean the others are too."

"She looked sad." Peter rambled. "Didn't she look like?"

“Dating a guy like that, who's happy?” James ran a hand through his hair, looking once more at the table the redhead had gone to before giving up and settling down on the bench, putting her image out of his mind and refocusing on Remus, who had turned to face Amelia again.

| L. E |

Lily was nervous, as if she was about to commit a horrible crime, her stomach churning and bile burning in her throat every time she focused her vision on that paper.

It was a mistake, a huge mistake, she shouldn't be there, she didn't even know how she got there. Get out of there Lily! She screamed to herself.

“Need help?” A voice startled her, her heart nearly leapt out of her body, and she ended up dropping the form to the floor, her shaking hands not even good enough to hold the paper. ‘Hey, I’m sorry. Everything is fine?'

"Yes, yes." Lily didn't look at the girl, but she knew who she was; Alice. Severus' voice reverberated in her mind, and she remembered Mulciber - Sev's best friend, who, like Avery, lived with them - saying; "You don't want everyone to think you're a bitch too, do you?" when Lily spoke of her willingness to take the test.

She thought they were wrong, she knew they were wrong, but her mind seemed unable to say anything against it at the time, her body paralyzed, just nodding and going back to eating, even though her hunger was gone.

'’Are you going to sign up?'’ Alice didn't seem to notice that Lily was uncomfortable however, because she went behind the now empty cafeteria table and sat on the bench there, looking at Lily in such a welcoming way that she felt guilty for not looking her in the eye. '’It's fun. We train a lot, but we are a family too, and as some girls are already graduating and leaving, we need new members.’’

"Family?" Lily looked at her, confused, blaming her mind that it was having to deal with the guilt of thinking she was a bitch, and the boys' voices telling her about her having sex in the car.

She's free to do whatever she wants, Lily thought, taking a deep breath.

‘’Yes, we take care of each other and make sure no one feels left out. If you need a house, we have room for you. It's just girls, no boys in there.” Alice took a folder from her purse, it was full of other completed forms, but at the bottom, there was a blank paper. She reached for Lily. "If you want it." She shrugged, and Lily saw it was another form, but this time, to rent a room.

"Oh I don't have to, I live with my boyfriend." Lily felt her cheeks flush, her eyes automatically returning to the team's blank form. Did she want this?

"But if you ever need to, we're always getting a spare room, just in case." Alice smiled. ‘’So having problems with the questions? I know there are many, but we need to know a lot before we call someone in. We've had bad experiences with this.’’

“I'm still wondering whether I'm going to try or not.” Why was she being so kind to her? Alice didn't know what everyone was calling her? Didn't she care?

‘’Do it. The most that can happen is that you won't be accepted.’’

"Yeah…I think it is." Lily nodded, swallowing the ball of nervousness that rose in her throat. "My boyfriend doesn't think I should apply." She didn't know why she'd said that, it just slipped off her tongue without going through her brain first, but as usual, Alice didn't seem to mind.

'’Why not? And you're the one training and dancing, so it's up to you to decide whether you want to or not.” She ran a hand through her brushed hair, and Lily noticed there was a silver ring on her finger. She dated the guy she had sex with in the car? Lily didn't know his name. '’Unless you have labyrinthitis… But, we already had a girl with labyrinthitis on the team, she didn't just participate in the spins, so there's nothing really stopping you from joining us.'’

"Yeah, maybe you're right." Lily took another deep breath, her nervousness lessening a little.

'Sit down.'

"What?" She looked up from her paper, Alice still with that welcoming look from before, but now more attentive.

"Sit down, you've been standing a long time." She did, placing her bag beside her and taking the pen firmly in her hand, signing her name at the top of the sheet, then moving on to the other questions.

Alice was quiet, doing something on her cell phone while Lily concentrated, trying not to show how anxious she was getting at such a silly and simple task. It was like her mind was hazy and the questions started to no longer make sense, Sev's voice telling her that Lily didn't need it because she wasn't like the other girls, making her even more nervous.

"Have you done any dancing yet?" Alice asked, but not taking her eyes off her cell phone.

‘’Ballet. As a child.” Lily glanced at her quickly before turning back to the paper, writing her age and course.

‘’I did artistic gymnastics, but I always wanted to do ballet. It's a very beautiful dance.’’

"Yes, it is." Lily took a deep breath, answering about her schedule and whether she was able to travel out of town during game season.

"I learned to skate when I got to college, Marlene taught me."

"She's also a cheerleader, right?" Alice looked at her, a sweet smile on her lips, then nodded.

"Many say you need to be afraid of her, but that's not true, Marlene is melted butter with the people she likes."

"I hope she likes me." Lily went back to ticking the form, and no, she wasn't using any narcotics or prescription drugs.

"She definitely will," Alive said, and she seemed to speak the truth, winking at Lily and then turning her attention back to her cell phone.

#jily #james x lily #jily au #muggle au #james potter #lily evans #marauders #my fic #wildflower

[dazenightmare]

A Proper Explanation

For my Gods AU. I never mentioned this in what I did post, but this is how I picture everything went after the festival, or more specifically, November 6th, ten days before war

Also, don’t try translating names. Trust me, not only is it not worth it and a waste of time, but you can probably already guess what they mean. 

T.W.: Yelling, screaming, mentions of death, no actual death, secrecy, Fundy being fucking weird, Fundy completely forgetting about being a demigod because hyper-fixation, knives, mentions of knives, mostly unedited, short, sleepy/healing Tubbo, cussing, cursing, mentions of stabbing, let me know if I need to add more!

~~~~~~~~~

“Is everybody okay?” Philza asked, panting slightly as he looked over the small group. Everybody nodded, thankfully, and Philza breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Are we having a party?” A new voice asked, and they all looked up at one of the rafters in Pogtopia to see a blonde haired teen staring down at them, playing with a knife. While Tommy did look curious, he also was glaring at the new trio with clear distrust.

“They need to stay here. It’s not safe for them in Manberg anymore,” Philza explained, glancing over the group of two mortals and one demigod. Niki, Quackity, Fundy. He looked back at Tommy though with a newfound worry. “Is that alright?”

Tommy glanced between Philza and the group before shrugging, staring ahead of him again with disinterest.

“As long as they stay the fuck away from Tubbo, I’m fine with it.”

“Isn’t that the dead kid?” Quackity asked, not at all concerned with the shaking heads of the former leaders of L’manberg, staring at him with wide eyes.

Tommy stop tossing the knife and stared at Quackity through the corner of his eyes, glaring more. Before Philza and Techno could worry about stopping Tommy from attacking Quackity with Wilbur just watching, a head peaked around the corner from the bedroom hall, blinking tiredly.

“Are people talking about me?” Tubbo asked with a yawn, just watching the new group shriek and stumble.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Quackity yelled as Fundy jumped into Niki’s arms, blocking the two. Tubbo only blinked before yawning again, starting to go up some stairs with a shrug.

“DIDN’T HE DIE?!” Fundy asked in a high pitched voice, all of them just watching Tubbo exit their view before looking at Wilbur, still thinking he was somewhat sane. “THERE’S NO WAY IN THE NAME OF LIZI THAT KID SHOULD BE ALIVE AND- AND WALKING!”

“Well I am,” Tubbo said, and when they looked up they saw him sitting on the rafter with his chest against Tommy’s back staring at them as he looked close to drifting off. “Chaos never dies.”

“What does that even mean?” Niki questioned quietly, still holding Fundy without a care.

“Tubbo’s... a bit special,” Techno explained lamely, the only one with his eyes still on the un-identical twins, watching Tommy put away the knife to make sure Tubbo didn’t fall off the rafter while sleeping.

“Wow, that’s got to be the lamest excuse yet,” Quackity crossed his arms. “Why do you three always lie to us? What could you possibly be hiding?”

“We don’t always lie,” Philza chuckled awkwardly, tugging at his sleeves.

“You really do. Seriously, can you guys tell us the truth for once?”

Tommy snorted from the rafter, shooting an amused look at Wilbur.

“You didn’t tell your own son?”

Wilbur glared back, though everyone could tell he didn’t mean it.

“I was going to once I figured out how! It’s not like it’s a common confession for people to make!”

“Confess what?!” Fundy sounded slightly desperate, finally getting out of Niki’s arms. He walked over to Wilbur, eyes pleading as he flailed his arms. “Just tell me and the others! It can’t be that bad, right?”

Wilbur looked around before sighing, raising his eyebrow at Philza and Techno. When they nodded hesitantly, he sighed again, pinching his nose as he angled his head upwards.

“Well, to start off with... Fundy, you’re a demigod.”

“What?... WHAT?! Was- was mom a goddess or some shit?!”

“No...” Wilbur trailed off, moving his hand from his face but still staring at the ceiling. “Your... your dad is a god...”

Wilbur heaved another sigh before smiling down at Fundy and the others, ignoring their shocked expressions as he continued.

“Time for a proper introduction I guess. My name is Goyilber, god of harmony,” Wilbur said, putting his hands in his pockets. “And I’m not the only god living in the area. Who wants to go next?”

There was silence for a bit before Techno sighed and stepped forward, sticking his hand out as they once again ignored the shock.

“Techniki Lepida, god of the harvest and shit,” he said as Niki took the offered hand and shook it with a shaky smile. Techno smiled back before nodding at Philza, and Philza looked way more happy as he introduced himself as the shock slowly became more bearable for the mortals and demigod.

“I’m, believe it or not, Filza. Crazy, I know,” he said, smiling at the laughter from them. Somebody cleared their throat, and they all looked up at Tommy who shrugged.

“If we’re introducing ourselves, I’m Tomi, I guess,” he shrugged again before lightly poking the sleeping boy in his arms. Said boy blinked awake before waving at the people below as Tommy continued. “And this is Tobi. Do we need to explain titles, or are we just old enough that you remember?”

“Tomi of Destruction and Tobi of Chaos, Twins of the Apocalypse,” Fundy whispered loudly, and it was obvious he was fangirling to some extent. Tubbo chuckled, close to sleeping but obviously forcing himself to stay awake despite the clear disapproval from his brother. Fundy just continued whispering to himself as he processed it all.

“That... actually explains so much,” Quackity said over Fundy’s whispers, looking amazed as he gestured to the gods on the ground. “Especially that part, holy shit. No wonder L’manburg did so well as a country! Gods of harmony, harvest, and survival, wow. So this is why things immediately went to shit.”

“Is there any other gods we should know about?” Niki joked, and her eyes widened at how the three gods stiffened. She glanced at the two on the rafter. Tommy stopped messing with Tubbo’s hair to send her a somewhat apologetic look before murmuring to Tubbo again. Niki’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding. Wha- how many?! Who?!”

“We can’t say who, gods honor,” Philza said, before squinting at his fingers as he started counting. “There’s at least one more god and one- maybe two demigods that you don’t know about. We never really left the walls to see who’s nearby.”

“And there’s more,” Fundy whispered to himself, fangirling a bit more, gasping slightly. “This day couldn’t get any weirder.”

“God I hope not,” Tommy muttered, glancing at Fundy. He looked down at Tubbo, still staying relatively quiet. “Wanna go back to bed?”

“No,” Tubbo rubbed his eye, still watching the others. Tommy huffed but didn’t say anything more.

“Actually,” Quackity spoke up, looking at the two. “Why are you two here?”

“Pardon?” Tommy asked, looking down at him with confused irrration. “What, you think we can’t help out from time to time? As much as I like stabbing shit, it is in our best interests to not only keep Wilbur sane, but have fun doing so.”

“‘Have fun’?” Techno asked, raising an eyebrow. Tommy rolled his eyes slightly as he gestured between them.

“I got to stab shit, Tubbo got to make chaos, ergo, fun.”

“Eh, fair enough.”

“Should we call you by your real names?” Fundy asked, finally snapping out of it. Wilbur scrunched his nose, the other gods having similar reactions.

“No thank you. I much rather prefer anything over fucking Goyilbur.”

“Techniki, Lepida. Need I say more?”

“Mate, my name is literally the same except spelled different.”

“I really do not care either way.”

“I only want to be called Tobi if he gets called Tomi.”

“Okay then,” Fundy said, looking confused. “No god names except-maybe for rafter boys. Got it.”

#mcyt #tubbo #tubbo_ #tommyinnit #dream smp #wilbur soot #fundy #fundylive #long post #technoblade #techno #philza minecraft #philza #Niki #nihachu #quackity #gods au #au #sbi #sleepy Bois inc

[carry-on-calum]

Alone | Hanbin

Hi there. I’m currently writing one-shots when I have the time and posting them on Wattpad. I thought I would post them here too just for a better chance at feedback. So if you enjoy this, I would love to hear your thoughts. ♡

word count: 3.1k 

prompt: “Unique just means alone.” 

You can't remember the last time you felt so utterly bored in a while. Loud music and drunk teens attempting to scream over it fill the air around you, reminding you that you're nowhere near alone, and yet you can't help but feel the exact opposite.

Senior year was supposed to be fun. It was supposed to be everything you thought it would be when you first entered high school, fifteen and bright-eyed, ready to begin what was supposed to be some of the best years of your life. But now, at eighteen and graduation awaiting you, you can't help but want something more than getting shit-faced every weekend and attending every single lame party happening just so you can say you were there when school comes around again the following Monday.

"Y/N!" You look up at the sound of your name, gaze finding Audrey, your best friend, with a small white ping pong ball clutched in her fist. "Come play beer pong with us!"

You can tell she's had too much to drink already and while you shake your head at her with a reassuring smile, one hand pointing to your drink to indicate you're going to get a refill, you can't help but hope that she won't be adding onto your headache later no matter how much you love her.

When you stand up from the couch you had been reserving for the last thirty minutes, you have every intention of heading into the kitchen and finding something strong to make you lighten up, but when your gaze finds glass double doors leading to the patio in the backyard, you can't help but allow your feet to carry you in that direction instead. It's January and freezing outside, keeping most of the teenagers in with the heat blasting and taking care of what the warm beer coursing through their bodies is lacking. You're grateful for the quiet, the only sound being heard coming from the vibrations of the loud music inside and the occasional sound of the city not too far away. You're sure you're alone, but the sound of a cough quickly shuts that idea down.

With your gaze shooting to the right of you, an embarrassed-looking boy sits on a wooden swing, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his puffy coat. His dark eyes are already looking at you, but you're too busy taking in the pink tip of his nose, the same color tinting the color of his cheeks, as well as the wind-swept strands of brown hair brushing across his forehead. He's cute and you recognize him.

"Hanbin," you say, seemingly surprising the Korean boy as he stares back at you, puffy pink lips parting and then closing again, seemingly out of habit, before he's finally changing his mind and making the decision to speak.

"Sorry," is what he responds with in a quick breath. If it wasn't so cold outside, you would attribute his flushed cheeks to the embarrassment he so clearly feels. "I didn't mean to disturb you. It's just pretty cold out here," he admits, sniffling afterwards as if to prove his point.

He's right. It's freezing outside and you wish you had brought a jacket, your white sweater definitely cute, but not doing you any favors in protecting you against the cold January air.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you tilt your head to the side slightly. "Why are you out here?" You ask, disregarding his apology from before. You're not sure why he's offered you one to begin with.

The question seems to catch him off guard, and for a moment, he doesn't seem to know how to respond. Again, you can tell he's embarrassed, which seems to happen easily for him, and you almost feel bad, wondering if it comes across as though you're badgering him.

Just as you're about to change the subject, he responds. "Honestly, it's better than being in there," he tells you, his response slow, as if thinking over his words carefully so as not to offend you.

"Then why did you come?" You ask in confusion, your breath creating a small white cloud to flow from your mouth.

Hanbin shrugs his shoulders then. "My friend dragged me here, really. Jiwon loves parties," he admits, making you raise an eyebrow.

"Bobby?" You ask, making the Korean boy nod. You knew his real name was Jiwon, but most people from school called him Bobby. You were sure that the two boys were just so close that Bobby was a nickname for others to use, if anything, and you can't help but smile a little bit at the use of his real name by the boy in front of you.

"I usually don't come to these things, but he convinced me for once. Not my finest moment," Hanbin admits with a little bit of a chuckle, making a smile cross your lips as you glance back through the glass double doors where your classmates are still partying.

You can see Bobby nearby, the purple-haired boy in a game of beer pong with your best friend and apparently winning if the two of them high-fiving dramatically is any indication. You've known Bobby to be the loud, party-animal trope that people love to be around. And while you've seen Hanbin hanging around him before, at least at school, you've never taken a true notice of him before.

"Honestly," you finally say, taking a careful seat next to him, "I don't blame you. I wasn't having much fun in there either," you admit, fingers wrapping around the edge of the wooden swing beneath you. You only keep them there for a moment before sliding them beneath your thighs in search of warmth.

Returning your gaze to Hanbin, you find him already looking at you. "Is it okay if I sit out here with you?"

It takes a moment for the brown-eyed boy to respond, his gaze shifting to the party still going on inside, and then finally back to you. He seems somewhat confused, as if wondering why on earth you would want to spend your time out here with him than partying inside, but he doesn't question it.

He simply nods, a small smile tugging the corners of his lips upwards at the thought of someone wanting to spend their time with him.

                                                        ♡♡♡

If there's one thing you learn from spending time with Hanbin, it's that he's so skeptical. After spending the rest of the night together at the party, you found that you liked just talking to him. He's unlike the people you usually spend your time with, every moment with him feeling like a fresh of breath air after feeling as though you've been stuck with your head underwater. But the more time with him that you spend, you can tell that the more the Korean boy is confused by your actions.

You can't help but think about it as the two of you hang out in his room. You're laying across his bed as he sits on the other side, eyes focused on his long fingers gripping the pencil he uses to work on his homework. You could probably be doing the same thing, especially with the opportunity to have his help, but you can't bring yourself to waste your time on that when you'd much rather watch the pretty boy as he does his own. Another thing you've learned from hanging out with him; it's way too easy to get lost in anything he does.

"Do I make you nervous?"

The question comes out of nowhere after the two of you have been sitting in silence for so long, him working on his homework and you admiring him, so Hanbin is a little surprised when he glances up at you, brown eyes wider than usual, dark pink lips parted slightly as he lets out a noise of confusion.

"I just mean," you begin, shifting closer to him on his bed, now laying on you're stomach as you look up at him, forearms supporting yourself on the mattress, "You seem so hesitant around me. Like you're not sure what to do with me around," you admit, holding his gaze in an effort to see any sort of answer that his mouth might not give away.

He doesn't answer right away. His gaze does shift from yours though, instead staring blankly at the words of his textbook. You know he's not really reading anything in there, so you don't say anything, instead waiting for an answer that feels like it might not ever come until it does.

"I don't have friends," is his response, and then as if regretting it immediately, Hanbin curses under his breath and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before continuing. "I mean, I know I have Jiwon and some people I talk to from school, but new friends... Everyone thinks I'm weird."

Furrowing your eyebrows in confusion, you shake your head. "I don't think you're weird," you answer immediately, tone slightly indignant because you can't wrap your head around why he would believe something like that.

"I know," he answers with a small smile, the softness in his tone matching his eyes, "But that doesn't mean everyone else doesn't."

The way Hanbin responds bothers you. It's almost resigned, like he knows this is just a fact and he can do nothing about it; like breathing. It makes something inside of you shift uncomfortably, wondering how he could accept something so easily when it's not true. You've been around a lot of people, many of them considered popular or likeable, and for the life of you, you can't think of anyone who compares to the way Hanbin makes you feel.

"You're not, like, weird, or something," you say again, a frown tugging at the corners of your lips at the thought of him believing otherwise. Then, with more confidence, "Hanbin, you are one of the most unique people I have ever met."

You think he's going to smile, that his spirits might be lifted and he'll stop being so hard on himself. He'll realize that he's so much more than what some ignorant high school kids think about him, especially when they've never taken the time to get to know him. But when he does smile, it's small, barely tugging the corners of his lips upwards, and you can feel your heart sink a little bit when he finally responds.

"Unique just means alone."

                                                          ♡♡♡

Unique just means alone.

Hanbin's words replay in your head more than you would like them to. You don't bring it up again, knowing he would only brush it off and give you that same resigned behavior he had before, but the words never leave your head, eating away at you the more they sink into your soul. You can only imagine how he must feel by accepting it.

You're still thinking about it as you stuff books into your locker at the end of the day, ready to go home, to spend the weekend away from anything to do with school and everything to do with the brown-eyed boy who makes your heart warm. You figure you two will hang out like you've been doing for the last month or so now, it sort of being a routine at this point. The thought makes you smile because even though it's routine at this point, nothing about spending time with Hanbin ever feels redundant.

Slipping the lock around the metal door once you've closed it, your hand is reaching for the strap of your bag to lift and slide over your shoulder when you hear the sound of your name being called, gaze rising to see one of your best friends getting closer.

"Audrey, hey," you breathe out with a grin spreading across your face. "What are you doing?" You ask, shifting your bag over your shoulder into a more comfortable position.

"Nothing, I was just gonna ask if you wanted to go to Eli's tonight. He's having a party at his parents' cabin," she explains with a grin, green eyes as excited as the tone of her voice.

At the mention of a party, you can almost feel your smile fall from your face. You hadn't realized it until now, but the last party you attended was the night you met Hanbin. You were getting tired of them at that point anyway, but it doesn't make you feel any less guilty for the way you slowly shift on your feet, arms crossing over your sweater as you shrug your small shoulders.

"I sort of already have plans," you finally admit, almost immediately noticing the way Audrey's face falls slightly. "I'm really sorry, I just- I'm not into it much anymore."

"Ever since you started hanging out with him, you mean."

Furrowing your eyebrows, you feel your body tense up. She doesn't have to say Hanbin's name to know that's who she's talking about and she's aware of that as well by the expression on your face.

"Hanbin has nothing to do with it," comes your slow reply, gauging the tension suddenly building between the two of you. You've had small arguments before, but friends always fight. But you've also never seen your friend look at you the way she is now.

"Really?" Audrey retorts, eyebrows raising as if to say yeah right, "You spend all your time with him. You never come out anymore, I can barely keep a conversation with you over text, and you don't even sit with me at lunch. You're, like, wasting all your time with some boy you would never even look twice at, obviously, and I don't understand it," she finally breathes out, her rant leaving her sounding slightly breathless and you wish she had run out of it before finishing.

There's no question that Hanbin is someone you wouldn't usually spend your time with. That was also when you cared more about fitting in and being liked and not so much about the quality of the people you were hanging around all the time. If you had always cared more about that, instead of your previous priorities, Hanbin would have been the exact person you would have wanted to be around.

"Even if he wasn't in the picture," you begin, an edge to your tone that you can't keep at bay, "I would still be bored out of my fucking mind hanging out with people like you every day. You don't know him, wouldn't waste your time getting to know him, and that's okay. But that doesn't make him any less of the amazing person that he is because you think otherwise. So don't talk about him again," you all but spit out at her, watching the way she parts her lips in surprise, a small scoff of disbelief leaving her mouth as you turn to leave.

"Oh, and I hope you find someone new to sit at lunch with," you call over your shoulder, not bothering to turn back once more.

                                                         ♡♡♡

It's hours later that you're sitting outside on Hanbin's back porch, the two of you wrapped up in the same blanket and cradling mugs of hot cocoa as you still seethe over what Audrey had said. You know none of it is true, and really you don't care about her opinion, but it still bothers you to hear anyone speak so poorly of the Korean boy when he's been nothing but a breath of fresh air for you; a way to ease your soul.

"Are you gonna tell me about it?" comes Hanbin's question after about ten minutes of silence. You hadn't realized you were being so quiet, but of course he did. He always took notice.

You don't want to upset him by explaining what Audrey had said, nor do you want to get yourself angry again, so you take the simple route by shaking your head, forcing a small smile on your lips in an attempt to appease him even the slightest bit.

"Nothing is wrong, Bin," you breathe out, the nickname falling off your tongue so effortlessly that one might think the two of you have known each other for years. "I just had a bad day at school. I don't have any classes with you," you joke, making the dark-haired boy smile a little bit.

It's silent again then for a moment and you busy yourself with raising your mug to your lips, the cocoa still hot and nearly burning your tongue just before it makes its way down your throat. It's when you lower the hot ceramic from your mouth that you take a moment to look at the boy next to you. Everything seems to slow down then when you realize he's already looking your way and it's in the blink of an eye that he's looking at you, glancing down at your lips, and then leaning over, his head ducking down to connect your mouth to his.

The kiss is nice and slow, warm in ways that the hot cocoa in your mug could never be, and you feel like your stomach is doing flips inside of you. It's February now and still freezing around you, but you've never felt warmer with Hanbin's mouth pressed to yours, his free hand reaching up to cup your face, thumb sliding gently over the apple of your cheek.

When he finally does take a break, mouths reluctantly separating, you feel breathless, his face still close and his warm pink mouth still breathing into your own. Your eyes must hold a question in them because Hanbin is the first to speak, sounding a little breathless himself.

"I heard what you said about me earlier," he explains, a small cloud hanging between the two of you when he speaks. It takes you a moment to catch on, but when you do, he continues. "Audrey was talking about it in the parking lot after school and I overheard her."

Almost immediately you feel guilty, a frown tugging at the corners of your lips. "Hanbin," you begin in a whisper, "What she said isn't true and-"

"I know," he interrupts with a shake of his head, dismissing it completely. "I mean, even if it is, I don't care. I'm just glad she said it," he says with a soft chuckle, causing you to furrow your eyebrows in confusion.

"Why?" You ask, meeting his brown-eyed gaze as he smiles, face getting closer to yours again until his lips are brushing against your mouth, warm breath breathing life into you again.

"Because now I know I'm not alone."

#ikon #ikon bi #kim hanbin #ikon imagines #kpop imagines #kpop #ikon scenarios #carryoncalumwrites