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spiltscribbles · 4 years

Text

Quiet Things

Alex doesn’t get jealous.

It’s just not a thing that he does, has never thought it worth while. For a majority of his life he was too busy with school and Lacrosse and plotting out his eventual path to the presidency, to ever even fathom caring too terribly if the girl he was seeing was flirting with some other guy, or was being flirted with. Besides, it’s not his place to get all angry about it. If she liked him more than Alex, well he had no right to interfere in that, there’s something called free fucking will.

“Nah, ’S because you’re too obsessed with yourself,” Nora had told him three weeks after their first break up in that somewhat snide tone of voice that she can pull out as effortlessly as her future professor monotone.

“Slanderous,” Alex had sniffed before taking a huge ass bite out his burrito— thank God that Chipotle’s a national commodity now, which means they could stuff themselves silly before the second national debate .

“Accurate my friend,” Nora had retorted with a clucking of her tongue, stealing his side order of chips and queso while Alex was to busy glaring a hole through the glossy photograph of Prince Henry of Wales that’s the front cover of Vogue Italiano’s newest spread. “You’ll always love yourself most.”

“Well yeah babe, I’m the only one who could appreciate me in all the right ways.”

“The only one who can stand you for longer than an hour you mean?”

Alex had pouted, teasingly, and Nora had laughed, adoringly, and neither of them really took it to heart. It was a bit of a quirk, his self absorption that is. Nora and June had noted it fondly for an eon, it wasn’t some new revelation.

Though What was n entirely new revelation was how only a few short years later, Alex fell head first for the fucking pretentious— not actually pretentious— prince of Wales, realizing he was definitely bisexual all along, and being forcefully outted by the old fuck trying to oust his mother from the oval office before her destined eight years are up. All in that order.

God have times changed.

Alex supposes that it’s only right that amidst all of that, he also changed along the way, that he found a guy— a literal Prince amongst men— that makes his heart thud out an uneven staccato with every glance. Someone who makes it so Alex’s ADHD wired brain goes still, goes hyper focussed on him. On Henry’s pretty pale eyes and lovely thin lips and the way one corner of his mouth tugs upwards before the other every time he smiles. He found a guy who he chooses every day to spend his forever with, the first person that makes his knees go weak and the first person that Alex admits is probably his only match. Found the guy he loves more than any other— His person, the one he’d give up the world to be with. The guy who makes his analytical mind shut off in favor for the idea that in all probability soulmates can exist…? And if so, Henry’s more than probably his.

All this to say, Alex now gets it when June— his delightfully neurotic sister— starts asking him a thousand times over if she looks okay in whichever dress she’s got on after she sees an Instagram post with Pez, forever adventuring a new part of the world, tagging a different girl, or when Nora doesn’t realize she’s being flirted with at her new internship at the Brookings Institute by another grad student. “Just cause I fuck dudes now doesn’t mean I suddenly get what’s trendy~” “You’re fucking one dude and only one dude.” “I think you just proved my point?”)

Suddenly Alex wishes June were here, even in all her craziness, at least then he could have an honest analysis on what’s playing out right in front of him, in the middle of fucking douchebag Phillip’s birthday party. Just there, out in public, right next to the table holding up the thirty four thousand dollar cake. And oh! Look! The fucking gross ass prick just snuck a finger to lick off some of the frosting!

Desecrating stupidly expensive desserts is there thing damn it!

The aforementioned prick is all high cheekbones and long lashes and such big brown eyes. He’s Hassan Nair, “Call me Haz.” No Alex will fucking not, thank you very much.

The prick, as Alex will be referring to him here forth, is the son of some Dubai business magnate, worth probable billions and is so sickeningly pretty that Alex would feel bad if he wasn’t dating the literal prettiest man alive, he’s kinda accustomed with not being exactly the hottest guy in a room. But fucking prick boy must concede the point if the way he’s been gazing down at henry since this shindig has begun is anything to go by, and Jesus Christ, is it actually fair that he’s like half a foot taller than Alex too! No it’s not! None of this is fair!

Alright, okay. This is not cool. Alex should not be just lurking in the shadows like some sort of Twilight love interest, gazing hopelessly at Henry and letting this totally new and totally unwelcome feeling— a bit envious, a lot inferior, and just slightly worried— be eating him hole. He’s fucking Alex Claremont Diaz. He’s the son of the American President! He’s going to an amazing law school! He’s hot and smart and fun damn it. And Henry chose him! Henry chose him when he first plunged down to kiss him, this edge of frantic, the night of that New Year’s party. Henry chose him when they stood hand in hand facing the crowds with their chins tipped high and their love holding strong. Henry chose him when he bought that Brownstone in New York and adopted a dog with Alex’s name as the co owner.

Truly? Who is Hassan Nair in the face of all of that?

Alex watches him wink at Henry for the third time in the past five minutes and he sees red.

God damn it the prick does look like a One Direction stand-in, doesn’t he?

Fully intending to just find Beatrice and bitch about Hassan fucking Nair to her, Alex swigs down his Bellini, but stutters still when Henry pivots around, his ever alert eyes softening once catching on him.

Damn it, Alex is a weak, weak man.

“Lost you in the crowds?” Henry asks in greeting once Alex saddles up to them, slinging an arm around Henry’s waste in a way that Alex prays comes off nonchalant.

“Didn’t wanna just intrude,” Alex corrects, brow kinked playfully. “I’m not so gauche.”

Henry rolls his eyes heavenwards, but Alex knows he’s reluctantly charmed when that ghost of a smile passes across his lips.

“You once dragged me out from a conversation I was having with President Macron because you wanted to compete over who could catch the most bugs.”

“Hey! They were fireflies not just bugs you ass!” Alex charges, fully indignant now. “And you’re only pissy because my jar was like a thousand times brighter than yours!”

“You started for like a quarter of an hour longer,” Henry says airily, pale head tilted, imperious.

“Excuses don’t become you sweet cheeks.” Alex informs him, positively gleeful over the dusting of red that comes over his elegant features.

“Ahem,” the prick interrupts with a cough, eyes skewering Alex. “I don’t think we’ve met?”

“We have,” Alex corrects with a thin lipped smile. “At Phillip’s wedding— Erm ah before the incident.”

“I don’t recall,” the prick just shrugs, turning his full attention back to Henry, and yikes Alex has to give him props, he’s definitely mastered the cold dismissal thing down pat. “Henry we should grab lunch soon, it’s been ages since we’ve caught up.”

Did this guy just ask out Henry right in front of Alex? What the actual fuck?

“Of course,” Henry says in that blithe, detached sounding way he does whenever he’s trying to be polite and doesn’t know how to react. Fuck is Alex so happy he knows how to decipher his different moods. “But I reckon Alex and i best get going, we promised a friend that we’d meet them for dinner.”

The prick’s bright eyes dim and he just nods. “I’ll call you?”

“Sure,” Henry grabs for Alex’s hand and it’s the best fucking feeling in the world.

“Didn’t know we promised any such thing your highness?” Alex goads as they slip into the rental car, Amy and Shaan in a separate one tracking them back to the castle.

“I needed an excuse Alexander, and I never claimed to be above fibbing if it means I get to escape social situations,” Henry intones, lying back with his eyes shut. Sometimes Alex has to catch his breath when looking at him, sometimes forgets just how stunning he is.

With a swallow, Alex forces his eyes back on the road and wills himself to sound normal.

“He seemed nice?”

Henry’s lip quirks and fuck, apparently he’s just as easy to read.

“You hated him.”

“Did not.”

“Did so.”

“I did not!”

“Lying doesn’t become you sweet cheeks,” Henry parrots in a nasally voice that Alex refuses to call an imitation of him.

“He looks like a privileged prick,” Alex finally admits, feels his heart swell at the casual way Henry clamps a hand against his thigh, squeezing lightly.

“I reckon you thought the same of me not too long ago,” Henry prods.

“Oh I definitely still do babe,” Alex snorts, winces slightly when Henry moves to pinch his side instead. “Ouch.”

“You’re rude.”

“I love you,” Alex soothes, picks up Henry’s hand and kisses the tops of his fingers dotingly. “’s Why I was so annoyed by his flirting with you so blatantly.”

Henry stiffens slightly before relaxing, flickers his gaze to Alex’s profile meaningfully. “He was not flirting.”

Alex scoffs.

“He was literally undressing you with his eyes the entire night!”

“We’re old friends,” Henry says weakly, pillar going pale. And Alex suddenly remembers what Henry had told him over a year ago now. That his first time was with one of Philip’s old school friends when he was only seventeen. That they were both firmly in the closet and understood how to keep things quiet. That Henry appreciates it for what it was but was still so confused and terrified and lonely in the aftermath.

And oh, it makes sudden sense now.

He wonders what different sorts of expressions must be playing across his face at this moment because Henry’s just goes sad, presses closer to him.

“I think you’re my first love,” he says, and Alex can read the words that go unspoken that hug around the non sequitur.

“Me too,” he assures him.

Henry nods, soft and slow, before he presses a kiss to the hinge of Alex’s jaw, the corner of his mouth, lands on the hollow of his cheek. “From the first moment Alex Claremont Diaz,” he says in the same voice he had right before their first kiss. “I knew you were it, no matter how hopeless it seemed or how much you evidently hated me. I new you were it.”

It’s Alex’s turn to flush, tries tempting down his smile.

“Shut the fuck up you dork.”

“You’re so witty and quick and too smart for your own good,” Henry just continues on, adjusts himself so that he’s got a better look at him.

“So help me.”

“You are so beautiful and bright, like a supernova, you know that?”

“Henry I swear to God I will kick your princely ass out and make you walk.”

Henry shakes his head with a tsk, tsk. “Such pretty lips and such a dirty mouth.”

“Now you’re sounding like a porno,” Alex laughs.

“Shall I move onto complimenting your ass or would that be too explicit for your mild sensibilities?” Henry asks, mock owlish.

“I literally despise you,” Alex groans before pulling over on the side of the road and kissing him senseless.

He’s not sure how much time passes but is forced to move off him when Amy and Shaan begin beeping their horns in a crass cacophony of sound.

“Promise to help you with the tent downstairs once we get to bed,” Henry guffaws, and in turn Alex just repeats the fact that he utterly hates him with as much feeling as he could muster, goofy grin splitting his face in half all the while.

Two weeks later they see the prick at one of Beatrice’s charity luncheons, and Henry doesn’t take his hand out of Alex’s back pocket the entire afternoon.

It’s fucking fantastic.

#FIRSTPRINCE #Alex Claremont Diaz #Henry Fox Mountchristen Windsor #red white and royal blue #SPILT INK

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flannelpunkcalum · 6 years

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WANT YOU BACK, TOO

“I-”

“The thing is-”

They both stop.

“You first.” Y/N says, thinking she's being polite, but Calum shakes his head.

“You know how I feel.”

I know you know I will never get over you

Y/N licks her lips. “Fair enough.”

(GOD sorry this took so long but it’s also literally 4 times longer than the original WHICH IS A LOT.

anyway they bone in this one.

8k words, smut, angst, and really cheesy descriptions of love.

read part one here)

Y/N usually tried to focus on the positive. If she was going into an exam, she focused on how prepared she was, how cunning she could be. If she was going to a job interview she imagined clicking with the employer immediately and getting hired on the spot. Maybe it helped the most positive outcome happen, she didn't know. That said, the second they were wheels up she started thinking about plane crashes. Fiery ones.

This was a mistake. She was en route to New York to see Calum for the first time in months and it was such a mistake.

Y/N didn't like to fuck up in the same way twice, which is why she stayed friends with her exes if they wanted, but never more. She never entertained the thought. And Calum - he had ruined her, a little. Before she had him she had always felt fine spending time on her own, but it had been weeks and she couldn't even watch Netflix without thinking about how much better it had been with him next to her.

Sometimes she thought that even the time she had spent furious at him was felt better anything she could do alone. They had broken up for a reason, but that was hard to remember at times like this, when she felt restless for him. He always said that she helped keep him sane in his crazy stupid rockstar world - she was starting to think that he had done the same for her.

The man in the seat next to her had settled down for a nap as soon as the flight attendants had finished their speech. Y/N had been ignoring him, but now she turned towards him and pretended he was Calum. If they were still together, where would they be going together, on the edge of winter?

Well, for one, she would be in business class.

It's easy to joke about it, but Y/N knows what comes next. When she starts to think about Calum and her, she can't turn her brain off until it's done. It's probably unhealthy.

Really, if they were still together, he would have flown her out the second she had a break from school to wherever he was in the world. He’d send a car for her, probably, have a driver waiting for her with a sign with her name on it. Maybe a snack in the car if he was feeling really considerate. He’d probably have something set up in his hotel room for when she got there, fancy candles at least, and champagne, the cheap kind, the kind she likes. Maybe he’d be busy and come in later, but if he was there would be lingerie laid out, she's sure, or that sweater that she likes but didn't steal. And she'd put that on and nothing else and she'd wait for him, because she’d be in love.

Y/N tries to get through the next part quick, like ripping off a bandaid.

He’d kiss the taste of champagne out of her mouth and they’d fuck like rabbits and order room service and and talk and fuck like rabbits again until they tired each other out and it would be good, like the last time, like every time.

That's what would happen if they were still together.

But they're not.

Y/N is trying not to get her expectations up. For anything. She knows there's gonna be a big serious conversation, and she's dreading that, but other than that… Jesus, she doesn’t do this. She doesn’t even know what she wants from this. She’s gonna be lost and confused and aching in New York.

Calum better fucking buy her tickets to MoMA or she’s rioting.

The seatbelt sign flicks back on all too soon. Y/N wishes she lived a little further away from New York right now, so she had more time to sort through her thoughts. She’d been putting it off for days now, trying not to ask herself if she wants something with Calum again. Now she wishes she had, so she wouldn’t be suffering on the plane next to some guy from the midwest.

Unfortunately, the plane doesn’t crash, and Y/N’s only brought a carry on so she doesn’t get to stall at the baggage carousel. She texts Calum as soon as she touches down, because - fuck him, honestly - he had been determined to come and pick her up this time. Maybe that's a little harsh. It's not that she doesn't want to see Calum, she does, she loves just hanging out with him, it's just- she doesn't know what he wants from this, from her. That sounds stupid since he wrote and recorded a song about how he wants to get back together, but she can't help it. He said she didn't have to make any promises, just to come and see what happens. That makes it sound like he wants something to happen, just doesn't give her a clue about what. Like, does he just want to hook up, or does he want to make it “official” and post about her on Instagram?

The thing is, she doesn’t know if anything’s changed since the last time. She’s still guarded. He is, too. He’s still living like a rockstar. She’s still living like a student. They’re both busy, and it frustrated them both so much when they didn’t get the time they wanted together, and then they’d rub each other raw and then they’d argue and then they’d fight, say things they didn’t mean.

And if that had been it, the breakup would have stuck and she wouldn’t be finding her way through Arrivals at JFK.

Here’s the thing, though; it had been wonderful. When they were good they were so, so good, like nothing she’d ever felt before. Holding Calum’s full attention was almost overwhelming. When he focused on you you felt it, like the sun on your skin, but it was all just coming from one golden boy. Y/N had never met someone who could make her feel like that. And yeah, they were both trying to protect themselves, but even guarded he was such a giver. He knew he was lucky, he had so much, and whenever she let him he’d share it with her. It had meant a lot to the both of them. They’d both said some pretty awful things to each other after a late night. Every time, though, Calum would give her these beautiful fucking apologies that made her feel human again. Y/N is a little scared that she won’t be able to feel whole in a relationship without that pretty chaos, just because of how good it felt to have him speak tenderly to her after a fight.

Still, Y/N needs to focus. “Can there be love without pain” is a question for some pretentious philosopher, not for her, and anyway if she’s not careful she’s gonna walk right on to a plane to El Salvador.

She had texted Calum as soon as they landed, to let him know she was making her way out, and now he texts her telling her where the car is waiting. It feels weird, to be talking to him again like nothing ever happened. For weeks she moved through the world itching to tell him about her day, and now that she has the chance she’s paralyzed, somehow. She’s making the effort, though; as she fights her way through the airport she sends him the lady across from me ob the plane took off her soes AND socks as soon as we took off im dying with one hand.

The car is a black Audi, and Y/N finds it after a few seconds standing in the grey New York afternoon. She tosses her carry on into the trunk (she doesn’t blame Calum for not wanting to come out) and takes a deep breath.

She opens the door to the backseat and sees him, and the rush of relief nearly kills her. When she goes to sit down on her side of the car, she’s already reaching out, and Calum catches hold of her and tugs her across the seats into his arms.

Fuck, she missed him.

“Hi,” she says.

She feels him press his face into her hair. “Hi,” he mumbles.

The car starts moving, and she pulls away to put her seatbelt on. She has to slide over so she’s not sitting in the middle. That would be weird, right? Adults don’t usually sit in the middle seat, no matter who their ex is.

Y/N has to stop overthinking this stuff.

“So. You ’n the boys seem like you’re doing well.” She says, smiling. She’s a little proud of them, even though she’s got no claim on ‘em anymore.

Calum ducks his head. “Yeah, the new single, it’s- we’re all really happy about it.”

“Well, you’re welcome.” She teases.

“Oh, right, yes, thank you for breaking my heart, very kind of you. How can ever I repay you, sweetheart?”

Y/N wants to pretend she doesn’t feel warm inside when he calls her that, but her toes curl in her shoes. “Well, a muffin basket would be a start.”

They’re both smiling at each other, and Y/N knows if things weren’t so fucking weird he would have kissed her.

He doesn’t, though.

Calum doesn’t talk much on the way to the hotel, asking her about herself and her classes as much as possible. It’s probably all the interviews he’s in, eventually all the questions feel the same, she’s sure. It can be hard to get him to talk.

It feels nice, though. Some parts of her want him back in her life, you know?

There’s only so much you can say about college, though, and as they get closer to the hotel they get back on even footing. “I haven’t been in New York since I was like, twelve. What are the cool spots? Is it still hip to go to the M&M's factory?” She asks as they start to stall in traffic. She’s not sure if she believes in that whole ‘crazy New York energy’ thing, but she does find anticipation rising in her as they get deeper into the city.

“I was gonna ask you what you wanted to do, actually. Like, we can do those touristy things if you want, I don��t mind. There’s a place that does this Macbeth show, it’s a hotel, and I know you like that shit, but if you want we can-”

Calum looks a little worried all of a sudden, so Y/N cuts him off. “Hey, I’m here for like a week, we’ll figure something out. Don’t stress. I’ve had like seventeen midterms in the last three days, so that plane ride was like a vacation in itself, my man.”

Calum smiles at that, but it’s not bright, not usual. “‘My man’? ‘S that where we’re at?”

Oh good. Relationship talks. Y/N had been really worried they wouldn’t get to that. Not that she wanted to ignore it, but- fuck. “I dunno. I haven’t seen you for a really long time, I don’t want to get ahead of myself.” She says finally, glancing at the Uber driver. Is Calum famous enough for it to be worth their while to tell a magazine about what they’re saying? Is that a thing?

“Yeah, no, I understand. It doesn’t - like, you’d tell me if me callin’ you sweetheart and all was bothering you, right?”

Calum’s literally a rockstar, he’s a confident fucking guy, but they’re both edgy all of a sudden. It’s like the first time they dated, only about a hundred times worse; instead of waiting to be kissed she thinks they’re both waiting for both their hearts to be broken. Y/N has to try to fix this (she fucked things up the first time around, it’s only fair), so she makes a joke. It’s what she does. “Oh, Calum, if it was bothering me I would be in another Uber right now. I actually would have called an Uber to this Uber and like - on the bridge, I would have jumped to the other car - it would have looked really badass.”

Calum laughs politely, and she can breathe easier, but things still feel out of alignment.

It doesn’t take too long for them to get to the hotel after that. Calum directs the driver to the back door, by the dumpsters. He beats her to the trunk, grabbing her bag before she gets the chance. “I can get it.” She insists, but he’s already got it slung over his shoulder. “You haven’t seen me for ages, I’m really buff now.”

“I know you can, ‘m just not gonna let you.” Calum says, distinctly smug.

Y/N does her best pout, but here’s the deal; she goes fucking weak at the knees when Calum takes care of her. “You’re a tyrant.” She says, following him up a set of stairs, where he unlocks a door.

“That’s right.” Calum waits for her to get inside and for the door to close behind her before he hip-checks her. It’s very considerate of him.

Maybe she should have thought about this before, but oh, shit. Where is she supposed to sleep?

Calum leads her into an elevator and presses a button for a very high floor, so her ears almost pop as they ascend. But they didn’t stop by the front desk, which means she’s staying in Calum’s room, and she’s willing to bet good money that it’s not a double.

And if she’s honest, she knows some guilty part of her is desperate for his touch again. She hadn’t expected to be back in her ex-boyfriend’s bed so soon, is all.

It’s like Calum can read her mind as he unlocks the door. “There’s only the one bed, but I cleared out one of the drawers if you want to unpack. I was hoping-” He drops his keys on the table, her bag on the floor, and turns to her. “I was hoping we could share. I know we’re - we’re broken up, but I think I sleep better with you next to me.”

Y/N wants to sleep with Calum again. That’s not the issue. If it was just about being in his arms, curling up on his chest and letting him keep her warm, then fuck, yeah, she would already be in her pjs. She just doesn’t want to walk into something that destroys her, and she thinks if she gets back into the same mess she had with him she’ll get cut to ribbons by their sharp edges. “I-” She starts, and then she stops herself. She wants to do this right. “We should have our weird relationship talk first. Right? I like you, Calum, you know I do, but I can’t- we can’t hurt each other again, you know?”

“Yeah,” Calum says, too quickly. “Yeah, of course. You want me to order room service first, or-”

Y/N didn’t get much of a lunch on the plane, but all of a sudden she’s got no appetite. “Not for me, thanks.”

“Alright.” Calum says, shifting his weight. He leads Y/N into the living room, gestures for her to sit on the couch. She goes for the armrest, and he stays standing, running a hand through his hair. Even their positioning is awkward.

“I-”

“The thing is-”

They both stop.

“You first.” Y/N says, thinking she's being polite, but Calum shakes his head.

“You know how I feel.”

I know you know I will never get over you

Y/N licks her lips. “Fair enough.” She agrees. Fuck. She thought of a million ways to say this since their phone call, but now that he's here- she doesn't want to hurt him, and that's all she really knows. “Obviously, I'm here in New York, I want to see you. I miss you. And I think I still have-” She can't say she still has feelings for him. It's too ugly, too cliché. “-um, I miss you.” She repeats instead. Calum doesn't move. “But when we broke up it was the right thing to do, you know? We hurt each other a lot. And I don't know if I’ve changed.”

“I mean, you said you got super buff, so...” Calum grins, though it looks stiff.

Y/N laughs a little, just for him. “I'm super buff now, I could bench press a car, but I don't know if I can do long distance right. You know? It’s not- Cal, it's not a hard no,” she says quickly, because he looks agonized. Well, and she means it. “I just don't know what's different. I can’t go through that again.”

Calum is quiet for a long moment, which makes Y/N feel even worse. Is this whole week gonna be like this? “I get it.” He says, after a long moment.

Something inside Y/N breaks. She had hoped that Calum had met her here with a plan (or at least some really expensive lingerie) to get her back, to make them work. Songs can make empty promises, after all, and that's what she had been scared of - that he’d say that he’d do anything for her and then do anything but change. She misses him, enough to say it out loud, misses his touch and his laugh and that goofy fucking smile you have to earn from him. If he decides there’s no hope for them, is he gonna kick her out? Of his life, or- oh, shit, of his suite. He wouldn’t, she knows, but she doesn’t really have the money right now to stay-

“I read Macbeth.”

Y/N’s head jerks up from where she was staring at the carpet. “What?”

“I, uh, read Macbeth. The whole thing. And Einstein’s Dreams, you know- ‘bout a month or two ago I went through all our conversations and I read all the articles and books you said I should read but I didn't. I should have told you-”

“I knew you weren't reading those. It's okay, really.” Y/N says. She's not mad. She had been mad about it when they broke up, but now it's just shitty and she's over it. Their relationship didn't fall apart because he wasn't reading enough Shakespeare, that was for sure.

Calum smiles stiffly. “No, it's not. Those were good books, but when I was trying to read them they reminded me how smart and… and dimensional you are. I think, while we were together, I let myself forget. I should have been better to you. Y/N, I was falling in love with you, and I hate myself because I didn’t show you. I let you walk away.”

Her heart spasms, but he looks so sad when he says it. She can’t let that happen. “We both made mistakes-” Y/N starts.

“No.” Calum says, stepping forwards to stop her. “No. I mean, you said some mean shit, but only after I ignored you and brushed you off for weeks. I deserved it. Most of what you said was true, anyway, I was bein’ a- what was it you said? A bratty little shithead.” Y/N isn't proud of that. “Anyway, it was true. We had some bad fucking days, and the make-up sex was fun and all, but I’m willing to give that up to have you stay in my life.”

“You’re a martyr.” Y/N can’t help but tease. What he said in the car comes back to her; did she really break his heart? Calum looks miserable, even though he smiles at her joke.

“Yeah, well,” he says. “I think I was scared, before. I am- I was falling in love with you, and I didn’t want - well,” he gestures at their positions. She’s still sitting on the armrest like a bird on a wire, he’s just within arm’s reach. It’s a terrible distance.

She hadn’t wanted this, either.

Calum runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath before he continues. “I think maybe that’s why I was so shitty. I know that’s not an excuse,” He says, before she can say anything. “I’m trying to be better. I am. I want to read the books you’re passionate about and listen to the music you love and kiss you on the cheek in every picture we’re in. I just- tell me what I have to do for you to give me another chance.”

So that’s it. The ball is all the way in her court.

Y/N looks up at him for a long moment.

She knows what she wants. If love is like the ocean, she would choose to drown for him. She wants him back again. It seems simple, when she puts it that way, frames it as what she wants. But she was always the sensible one. She won’t let herself hurt him like that again. She doesn’t want to break his heart - not more than she already has.

“Let’s just- let’s just have this week.” She says, carefully. Like the ceiling might cave in. “Seven days can be a long time. Let’s just do what we want for one fucking week and see where it leaves us at the end. I- Calum, I’m bad at this, but you know… you know what you mean to me. Love is a verb, you know? Let’s just do what feels right. And I’m not trying to say I -” She rushes to add (she didn’t miss the way his body jolted) “-like, you know, the “L” word, I know that it’s not the time. I just-”

“Does that mean I can kiss you?”

Y/N blinks. Stands. “Yes.”

She had braced herself for him to kiss her like a starving man, but he reaches out and cups her face in both hands, fingers cool and dry. He keeps his eyes open as he leans in, searching hers until they’re too close to see anything.

Then their lips meet like sun meets rain.

Calum kisses her like slowly as she winds her fingers into his hair, like she’s made of glass, like she’s made of sugar. He doesn’t move his hands until she pulls her own body closer to his, and then he feels his way to her waist to keep her there. The gentle drag of their open mouths floods her body with warmth for what feels like the first time in fucking weeks.

It must not be long before they pull apart, but Y/N feels breathless.

“I missed you so fucking much.” Calum says, and this time when he pulls her in there’s real heat behind it. His tongue presses into her mouth with intent, and for once she lets him direct the kiss to show her just how goddamn much he missed her. She wants this so much her body aches when he pulls away again. “I’m gonna be so good to you, promise, I-”

Y/N cuts him off with her mouth on his. Promises make her nervous, but more importantly, Calum kisses like he did before they split and she missed that. It feels like she’s blushing over her whole body - almost like a kid, only there’s nothing innocent about what she wants to do with him.

Maybe she shouldn’t, but… all they have is a week. Maybe not even that. And fuck it, she wants to do love.

She stands on her tiptoes, pressing a little harder against him. She wants to direct this, but Calum pulls away again. He’s panting. They both are.

“We can start over, baby.” He says. “I’m just- I’m so happy to have you back.”

He’s still cupping her face, but he doesn’t pull her back in, and she takes that chance to speak. “We can’t do that.” She says, but she has to hurry to continue because she sees the fear that flashes across Calum’s face. “I mean- if we start over this is technically our first date, and I don’t fuck on the first date.”

She grins, but Calum doesn’t. All of a sudden he’s unreadable. Did she say something wrong? Already? She can feel his grip change on her hips, like he’s thinking about letting go. Her fingers relax in his hair, in case he pulls away, so she doesn’t hurt him-

He tosses her over his shoulder before she knows what’s happening, and then she is gleefully upside-down with his hand on her ass keeping her steady. She can see her bag on the bedroom floor as they pass by it, anticipation rising in her stomach.

God, she was trying to be cool, but he is so, so, so sexy she could spontaneously combust.

She only has a moment to take it in before he stops, and then she’s head-over-heels again until her back hits the bed. Before she can get her bearings back, Calum’s climbed his way back on top of her and is brushing the hair out of the way for another kiss. He’s not shy; there’s no air between them, his chest pressed hard against hers. One elbow is planted by her head, holding him up, and the other is running down her ribs, pawing at the hem of her shirt. She can feel him smiling against her lips before he pulls away. “You couldn’t wait five fucking minutes, could you?” He says, but she can hear that he’s teasing and anyway the way he’s trying to ease her shirt off says more than enough.

His lips go to her neck, so she can feel his stubble as he lays kisses down, looking for a weak spot. “I’m sorry, did you carry me to your bed like a caveman for something else? You didn’t wait five seconds.” She jokes. Her breath hitches as he moves a little lower, closer to her collarbone. He always finds those spots. It would be a curse if it didn’t feel so good.

Calum knows it, too. “What did you say?” When she starts to respond he bites down, just enough to make her squirm and snap her mouth shut before she can fucking squeal. He’s still playful, she can feel his lips moving against her skin when he says, “Sorry, didn’t catch that.”

“Shut up,” she manages, and swats him on the shoulder.

He catches her wrist as she draws back, and pins it to the bed right next to her head. She doesn’t miss the way the muscles in his arm flex to hold her down.They're both breathing shallowly; Calum’s close enough that she can feel his chest rise and fall just like hers. Y/N feels a little lightheaded, all of a sudden. When he leans in and kisses her again, it's less playful, there's real heat behind it. He kisses her deeper, and she parts her lips to let him, this time. He draws back, and rest his forehead against hers. They're close enough that their breath mingles between them.

They've both still got their clothes on, but this feels like the most intimate she's ever been with Calum. Neither of them speak for a long moment. His brown eyes lock with hers, and he is beautiful but she feels that gaze low in her belly. One of his hand is still on her ribs, but he's not pawing at her shirt anymore, just smoothing his thumb over her side like he can't stop touching her. She wants to kiss him again, but she can't bring herself to ruin this moment.

Eventually Calum huffs out a breath - was that a sigh? - and lets go of her wrist to haul her shirt over her head with both hands. Immediately, Y/N’s hands go to her back to undo her bra clasp. Calum helps slip her bra off her arms and doesn't waste a second throwing it into some corner of the hotel room before he’s back on her, kissing along the side of her neck and down her chest. It feels /good/ as his steady hands find her breasts, grasping at them firm enough for her to really feel it. He’s still kissing a path downwards, pausing to unbuckle her belt. Y/N plants her feet and lets Cal drag her jeans and panties off, but it feels wrong, her being all undressed while he’s still wearing his t-shirt.

As soon as she sits up to tear that damn thing off him, Calum grabs her hands and laces them with his, pressing them down to the mattress. “Baby,” he murmurs, “I wanna focus on you, tonight, please. Let me show you how much I missed you.”

Calum's great in bed, she's not gonna deny it, but it's not what makes her quiet. He means that. He's an intense guy, but she's never seen his dark eyes like this, like he can see right through her. She has to take a deep breath.

“Please.” She says.

Calum grins at that, and lets go of her hands to press her thighs apart.

Y/N sits back on her elbows, because Calum eating her out is a hell of a view, but that's not what he does. Once he has her legs spread he starts to kiss the inside of her thigh, so fucking close to where she needs him. She thinks he's just trying to tease, but then he starts kissing with intent, nipping and sucking like he's… he's trying to mark her up. He'd never done that before, although whether it was from trying to avoid paps or just class she wasn't sure. But this- it feels good, to see him kissing on her like it was his last day on earth. It's just very new.

“Cal, what’re you-” She starts to ask, but before she can finish he pulls off of her leg and licks a big stripe up her pussy, right up the middle, and her brain goes a little fuzzy. She moans softly, to let him know it feels good and to please keep going, but he goes back to working on her leg, lifting her knee to get a better angle. His tongue sweeps over her skin in a way that would feel so damn good just a few inches away, but when she tries to shift to direct him over, he just holds her leg a little firmer. “Jesus, don’t tease.”

Calum pulls away again and Y/N’s stomach swoops because his lips are glossy from playing with her. He almost looks smug. “From the way you’re dripping you don’t seem to mind, angel.” He says, and Y/N tries to look unaffected but she knows it’s not working. “I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good, just let me take my time with you. Want every inch of you tonight. Trust me.” He adds.

Well, she’s not gonna argue with that.

Y/N goes back to resting on her elbows, toes curling in the sheets as Calum goes back to dragging his teeth over her thigh. The spot’s starting to get a warm little ache, but the way he looks at it when he pulls away goes all the way through her. It’s just for a second, but she feels his grip relax, like he doesn’t have to hold her so tight now that he’s got a mark on her. Maybe that’s exactly what he’s thinking, too. He presses a quick peck to the red spot, and reaches up to play with her nipple as a reward. /Nice/. She shifts a little in his grip, she can’t help it.

“You like that?” Calum grins.

“Fuck,” she moans, despite herself. His other hand is still holding her leg open for him and he’s so fucking close to where she needs him but he’s not biting. She knows from experience he wants her to beg, but she’s not ready to play, not quite yet. She might be lying back for him, but she can still do a little teasing of her own. “You got anything else planned?”

Calum smirks a little more at that, somehow, and lets go of her completely to sit back on his ankles. Y/N’s body shifts to follow him, unconsciously. “You know I do.” He says, pulling off his shirt. /Fuck/, was he always this built or was this new? His skin is intoxicating. “Like I said, I’m gonna take my time. You gonna be good for me?”

“Aren’t I always?”

Calum looks up briefly from where he’s undoing his belt. “No. That’s why I fell in love with you.”

Before she can even start to process that, he’s fumbled his belt off and presses in to kiss her, catching one of her hands in his and steadying her at the waist. “You know,” he gasps in between kisses, “‘thought so many times about what I was gonna do to you once I got you back, don’t even know where to start. So much I wanna do to you.” He laughs. “And with you, I guess. But right now-” He starts to kiss down her neck again, gently.

She doesn’t mean to say it, but- “I want you to fuck me.”

“Gimmie time, angel,” He smiles as he pulls away.

“No, now, please, Cal, I’m so ready for you.” Y/N urges, and when he pauses she runs his hand, in hers, down her body to where she’s warm and aching for him.

Calum’s eyebrows crease. Not a lot, but even in her haze she can tell. “Baby, wanna make you feel good first, get you-” As he lets go to feel her up, he presses two fingers inside her, easy. She’s soaking. She can feel it, and she sees in his face he can too. “...shit.”

“Please.” She says again, and Calum’s face goes a little soft. She knows he loves it when she goes all quiet and nice, just for him, and she’s glad because she doesn’t want to wait. She wants- twenty minutes ago she didn’t know what she wanted but now she knows she wants him in her, looking into her eyes, she wants to watch him cum and flop down next to her and smile and pull her back into his arms. She wants to do love. She wants it with him.

Calum kisses her once, quickly. “Whatever you want.” It sounds like a promise but it doesn’t scare her, not this time.

Pants. Socks. They’re gone in a second and Calum is ready, cock hardening in his hand as he fumbles for a condom the bedside table. Y/N sits up too as he find one, to help him roll it on.

Well, he couldn’t sit there looking so beautiful and serious about making love to her and expect her to keep her hands off him. He tries though, using one hand at her waist to lay her back down. “Missed you.” She says to his dick as her back hits the pillows, and Calum chuckles above her.

She tries not to feel like it’s life changing, as he lines himself up with her, but it is. He’s still smiling as he pushes into her, and she can see it change into something /else/ as he starts to bottom out. Y/N is suddenly overwhelmed with how lucky she is that this man, smart and great and terrible, he saves this for her. At the same time she can feel him filling her like he used to, and her fingernails dig into his shoulders. When he groans, he sounds like music.

Fuck.

They stay that way for a moment, like they’re locked together. Y/N cups his face with one hand. She likes the way her fingers look on his cheekbone, her thumb on his jaw, like maybe she could keep him this time if she held tight.

She really had missed him.

He starts to move and it’s like she’s come back to life. It’s winter outside but her body feels like spring, and she reaches for him. Even hikes one leg up around her waist, and moans as it sends heat crackling through her body. Calum’s forehead rests on hers again. His nose is crinkled up, eyes closed, and he’s doing this sweet little groan every time he bottoms out. It’s just as intoxicating as the songs he wrote her, getting to see him like this. Only him- only her- fuck.

She’s close. She doesn’t know how, but she can feel her orgasm building in the pit of her stomach. No one-night stand compares, no other ex. Calum’s arms seem to be everywhere, and the motion of him- “Fuck, Calum,” and she’s not proud on the way her voice breaks but he leans in to kiss her again so it’s worth it.

He shifts his body just a little and suddenly his motion brushes her clit and she feels that shit in her toes. “Shit, baby, there, there, there-” The only thing that stops her begging is that he starts to fuck into her harder. She has to focus on breathing; it’s like he’s fucking the air right out of her lungs. His pace is still slow, still steady, but he’s making sure she feels every inch of him.

Y/N’s not stupid, she knows saying “I love you” during sex doesn’t count. But this doesn’t feel like just sex.

It’s scary. But as Calum grabs her waist, bumping his lips with hers, it feels right. Better. “So good, angel,” he says. Does he feel it, too?

The way he’s loving her is relentless. She’s starting to get close, record time, but as Calum suddenly stills and ducks his head down to kiss her, she can tell he’s almost there. She’s still cradling his face, and she gently tugs his lips away from hers. “Calum, I’m really close, I-”

“Don’t wanna wait, do you, baby?” He teases- or tries to. But he’s panting too hard for him to play cool.

She shakes her head. “Waited three months.” The weight and width of him isn’t enough; she’s about thirty seconds from trying to wrestle him over onto his back and taking over.

Calum huffs out a breath above her and smiles, ducking back down to kiss her. Yes. “You’re lucky you’re so pretty.” He says, but there’s no heat behind it. His eyes are crinkly as he kisses her quickly, and then while her eyes are still closed he tucks his face into the crook of her neck and starts to move again.

She always liked the way he’d hold to keep them close. Like two halves of a locket. This time, though, she’s practically got herself wrapped around him, with her leg around his waist, one hand in his hair, one hand on his bicep to keep anchored (and, wow, he has not been skipping arm day). He feels like fire around her, all warm skin and hot breath on her shoulder, and it’s kindling something inside her, too.

It’s like the unbearable tension of three months apart is threatening to overtake her, along with the beautiful ache of Calum inside her and the way he keeps brushing her clit with every stroke- it’s a lot, and Cal groans as she catches hold of his curls. She needs something to keep her steady. “Come on, baby,” he says, in between gasps of his own.

She’s close, she’s so, so close, and she hauls Calum’s head up by the hair and kisses him and closes her eyes and it hits her like a fucking tsunami. He keeps kissing her as her mouth falls open and she ruts her hips up into his, fast, and he speeds up in response- all she can do is feel the way his cock sends waves through her and hang on for dear life. With a groan, he pushes deep into her and stays there and she can feel him cumming, doing tiny little bucks of his hips that make her whimper as her own high starts to fade.

Eventually Calum settles in her arms, and she releases her hold on his hair. When she opens her eyes, he’s resting his forehead on hers, catching his breath.

He looks really fucking good like this.

He’s resting most of his weight on his elbows, but before she can untangle her leg from him he pulls her into his chest and rolls over so he’s on his back. His cock is still buried deep in her, and as she squirms a little he tosses a second arm around her. “Stay.” He murmurs, and although Y/N hadn’t been planning on going far she settles.

Calum looks fucked out, sweat beading like diamonds on his brow. His eyes are half open, like he’s gotta keep watch on her, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. All the hard, worried lines she had caused in his face have softened, and it feels like she might have done good by him for once.

...it had been really good sex, but maybe that was reading too much into it.

She tries to press herself up, to see him better, but as soon as Calum feels her movement he shakes his head. “You should save your energy, love.” His words rumble through his chest.

Y/N smiles. “You got big plans, Hood?”

“You didn’t let me take my time, remember?” He smiles back. She can hear it in his voice. “I’ve got a lot more to do to you before I let you out of this bed.”

She smiles at that. Fuck like rabbits, check. There’s still something bothering her, though. An aching in her inner thigh that won’t let her rest. “Cal?” She asks, after one more second of stillness. “Can I ask you why you had to make a love bite on my thigh?”

She can feel him tense up under her, and nerves pool in her stomach. Was that bad? They can’t have fucked this up already, can they? “I just… yeah. Um,” Calum starts, after a long second. “I realized after you left that I, uh, never got to leave any on you before and I needed to do it before I lost you again. I put it somewhere out of the way. Somewhere I’d be the only one to see it. Or… I don’t want to be jealous with you but if there’s someone else I want them to see it and know that there’s someone who…” Calum rushes. Y/N peeks up and sees that his eyes are shut tight, face aimed up at the ceiling. “...who cares so much for you.”

Y/N doesn’t know what to say. She presses a gentle kiss to Calum’s chest while she tries to think, but she can’t follow any of that up with sweet words. “‘M gonna leave a hickey on your dick.” She says, after a long moment, and Calum laughs underneath her.

It feels right.

“Is that even possible?”

“Only one way to find out.” Y/N grins. “Hey, if I suck your dick will you take me to the aquarium tomorrow?”

“Only one way to find out.” He says. “Just… in a minute, okay? Lemme hold you.”

Calum’s going soft inside her as she snuggles a little closer into his arms. The future’s unclear, but one thing’s for sure; it feels really fucking good to be back.

#i did it!!!!#here she is #like eight months late but she's done!!#want you back #calum hood smut #calum hood x reader #calum hood angst #i forget how to tag things #ch smut #ch #ch writings #my writing #ch series #calum hood series

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n0-eyedtaissa · 6 years

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Birthday Girl

Description: Ever horrible at picking out gifts for his sister on her special day, Sweet Pea tries his hand at throwing Ruthie a surprise party...although no one is really sure that he’ll be able to pull it off.

A/N: It was Emmy Rossum’s birthday on the 12th (Ruthie’s face-claim), which got me thinking about what Sweet Pea would be like on his sister’s birthday. Special thanks to @hugharekillianmesweetpea and @sweetpeas-sweetpea for giving me the idea of him trying his hand at a surprise party!

Word Count: 7,080

It was like this every year: Ruthie’s birthday would come around, creeping up on Sweet Pea when he least expected it, and he would have to scramble around to get her a present. It was so much easier when Sweet Pea was little. He would hand-make her a birthday card and draw party hats and balloons on the front with crayon and scribble his name and a birthday message in a heart and call it a day. Ruthie would hug him nice and tight, tears welling up in her eyes as she muttered a bashful “Thank you, Pea”. She was a sentimentalist in that way.

Now it wasn’t so easy. When he was ten he got her a four packs of Big Red; poorly wrapped the gum in newspaper and stuck a bow on it. Ruthie was confused when she opened it, so Sweet Pea explained that he knew cinnamon gum was her favorite. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that she only bought that flavor of gum because she knew it was the only kind he wouldn’t steal from her.

One year he bought her a vintage jean jacket from the thrift store that was three sizes too big for her. “If it doesn’t fit you, I can totally take it off your hands,” Sweet Pea says too quickly when Ruthie takes it out of the bag. She just rolls her eyes and wordlessly throws the jacket at her brother.

When she turned 22 Ruthie got a new watercolor paint set, some new brushes, and multiple sizes of canvases. She would sigh and hand over the supplies to Sweet Pea, “You didn’t every try this time, did you?” He just shrugged in response. “Well, are you at least gonna paint me something with all of this?” “Oh, uh…I didn’t even think about that.”

Two years in a row he had gotten Ruthie earrings. Her ears weren’t pierced, nor had they ever been. Needless to say this year he had to step up his game. Ruthie’s birthday was in three days and he had no ideas.

Sweet Pea racked his brain for things that he thought his sister needed…and then he got it! Ruthie had been having some issues with her car for the last month of so, some part making a sound that didn't sound write right to either of them. He’d made enough money doing Serpent jobs lately, why doesn’t he just take her car in and pay to get it fixed himself? All throughout the school day he was excited, muttering about needing to get price estimates and thinking about how he would take Ruthie’s car to the shop without her noticing.

When he got home from school that day, Sweet Pea paced around the trailer for a while, knowing that his sister would be home sooner rather than later. Within the hour Ruthie’s car comes screeching into the driveway, and Sweet Pea launches himself into the armchair, trying his best to act ‘natural’. Ruthie unlocked the door and shuffled, plopping down on the couch with a loud groan.

“Hey did you ever figure out what was wrong with your car?” Sweet Pea asked, trying to be casual.

“Yeah! It’s gonna be a pretty easy fix, something about corrosion on my fan belt making it slip off a pulley?” Ruthie shrugged, reaching up yank the hairband out our her dark curls

“Sounds like car troubles,” Sweet Pea chuckles. “How much is that gonna run you?” He winced in waiting.

Ruthie waved her hand dismissively, “I got a discount at the auto shop because Betty Cooper said she would do the installation for free, guess she works there sometimes. She’s good with cars.” She started massaging at her scalp, tender-headed from the tight ponytail she wore when working with the food at Pop’s.

Fuck. Sweet Pea was out of ideas now.

“Wait…how’d you get Cooper’s number?” Sweet Pea queried. His sister had only met Betty a few times, she tended to stay with her tight clique of Northside friends, and Sweet Pea had never really talked to her without reason to. He tolerated her because she was Jughead’s so-called “Serpent Queen”, despite never having actually been directly involved with the Serpents…it had left a bad taste in Sweet Pea’s mouth for a long time now.

“Asked Jughead for it.” Ruthie answered shortly, leaning up from the ratty green couch to get to work at unlacing her restaurant shoes. She kicked off the clunky black orthopedics and wriggled her toes as she relaxed back into the couch.

Sweet Pea looked at Ruthie strangely, his eyebrows raked together in confusion. “Since when have you had Jughead Jones’s phone number?” Ruthie had always tolerated Jughead, sometimes begrudgingly, but he wasn’t someone like Fangs, Toni, or Queenie that was around their house more often than not. She thought that he was a pretentious smart-ass; someone with a ‘Holden Caulfield complex’ as she called it.

“Not long, asked FP for it a little while back” Ruthie grimaced, bracing herself for Sweet Pea’s reaction. She looked over at him to see an intrigued expression plastered across his face,

“You and FP have each other’s phone numbers?” He sends a knowing glance at his older sister.

“We text sometimes,” Ruthie tried to brush it off, but she couldn’t help but blush.

“Oh my god, Fangs was right…” Sweet Pea announces dramatically.

Ruthie raises and eyebrow at him, prompting him to finish his thought.

“Me and Jughead are gonna be step-brothers!” He exclaimed, face wrinkling up in distaste as he got up and made his way towards the kitchen.

“He said WHAT?!”

“Nothing….nothing!” Sweet Pea tried to be cavalier as he rifled through the refrigerator.

“Nothing my ass!” Ruthie grumbled, chucking her shoe in her little brother’s general direction. The shoe missed him completely, but Sweet Pea got the message.

He laughed as he pulled out tupperware containers from the fridge, trying to find himself something to eat. If Ruthie was already planning on getting her car fixed, then what was he to get her for her birthday? He racked his brain, starting aimlessly into the microwave as he heated up some Mexican rice that Abuela sent over with Fangs a few days ago. Still coming up short, he just decided to bite the bullet:

“Hey Ruthie?” She hummed in response, letting him know she was listening. “What do you want for your birthday?” He asked quietly, almost ashamed.

“I don’t need anything, Pea. Save your money” She says dismissively, eyes closed as she sat still on the couch.

“Okay you don’t need anything, but is there anything that you want?” He questioned again.

Ruthie laughed tiredly from the couch.

“A day off.”

“I’ll make it happen.” Sweet Pea promised. He didn't exactly know how he was gonna pull that off, or where to even begin, but he sure as hell was gonna try.

~~~

“The only thing she said she wanted for her birthday was ‘a day off’! How am I supposed to wrap that up and but a bow on it?”

Sweet Pea paced back in forth in front of Toni and Fangs, who were also trying to help their friend figure out what do to. There was only two days left before Ruthie’s birthday so Sweet Pea was seriously running out of time. The three of them had some time to kill before the Serpents all gathered for the weekly Wednesday meeting at the Whyte Wyrm, so he decided to try and bounce some ideas off of his friends while they loitered.

“I mean you only turn 25 once!” Fangs said enthusiastically, leaning against his parked motorcycle. “It’s basically all downhill from there, so you really gotta go out with a bang!”

“True, there’s not a lot of milestones left after 25…” Toni started. “When you’re 16 you get your learners permit, when you’re 17 you get your license, 18 you can vote, 21 you can legally drink, what can you do at 25?” Toni asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Uh…rent a car?” Sweet Pea offered, getting defensive over his sister.

“Do you see any car rentals in Riverdale?” Toni asked smugly.

“What am I supposed to do?” Sweet Pea grumbled, kicking angrily at the ground and sending parking lot gravel flying.

“She wanted a day off, go talk to Pop Tate?” Fangs offered, “She works her ass off for him, he’s an understanding guy…just ask him?”

Before Sweet Pea could respond, he was interrupted by the tell-tale sound of FP Jones’s bike rolling through the gravel, the rev of his engine signaling that all straggling Serpents needed to get inside so they could talk shop.

The meeting was over before too long but the entire time Sweet Pea was still thinking about what he could do for Ruthie’s birthday. Fangs’ idea of talking to Pop about getting Ruthie the night off seemed probable, but he wanted to give her more than that for her birthday. She was always doing everything she could to make sure Sweet Pea lived a healthy, comfortable life…and that wasn’t always easy.

Usually when Serpent meetings adjourned, Sweet Pea and his friends would disburse throughout the bar and drink, play pool, or socialize, but not today. Ignoring the strange looks he got from the bar’s many patrons as he passed by the pool table without stopping, Sweet Pea made his way out of the double doors and though the parking lot, hopping on his bike and heading up third street and heading to the Chock-Lit Shoppe.

It was busy as usual (the peak hour for the dinner rush) so Sweet Pea was ducking between fellow students studying over milkshakes, as well as families out to dinner. In his hunt to find Pop Tate, Sweet Pea was surprised to stumble upon Betty Cooper having a bite with Archies Andrews and Veronica Lodge. Not being a fan of Archie or Veronica, he was hesitant to approach the group but he knew that Betty deserved a thank-you for going out of her way to help Ruthie with her car.

“Hey, Cooper” Sweet Pea coughed awkwardly as she walked up to the table. He watched as Archie’s jaw tightened as he got closer to the table.

“Do we have a problem here?” Archie interjected, arm tightening instinctively around Veronica’s shoulder.

Betty gave him a warning look, her blue eyes narrowing in warning and making Sweet Pea chuckle. She turned back to Sweet Pea, rolling her shoulders back and dropping any hint of malice she was showing Archie.

“Hey Sweet Pea, how’re you?” She smiled kindly at the Serpent. He really wasn’t fond of the Northsiders, but it was hard not to like Betty.

“Good, thanks. Uh—I just wanted to say thank you for offering to help my sister out with her car. You didn’t have to do that…”

She shook her head, ponytail budging ever slightly. “It’s not a problem, it’s gonna be an easy fix, really.” She looked Sweet Pea in the eye and he knew she was being sincere. “Just have her give me a call and we can figure out a good time,” Betty smiles again, pink-lipped and coy.

“I’ll be sure to pass that along. Thanks again, though” Sweet Pea mumbles, turning on his heel and walking away.

“Okay, B….dish. What on earth was that?” Veronica piped up, not realizing that Sweet Pea wasn’t yet out of ear shot. He laughed to himself and walked on to find Pop Tate, not bothering to listen for Betty’s response.

Pop was behind the register, taking tickets and doling out change. Sweet Pea walked up beside him, earning a dissatisfied glance from the few guests that loomed in waiting. “Hey Pop!” He greeted the jolly old man enthusiastically.

“Sweet Pea!” Pop bellowed a greeting, handing another customer their change. “If you’re looking for Ruthie she left a few hours ago,” The man offered this tidbit of information knowing that the teen would often check in on his sister when she was working particularly long shifts.

“That’s actually what I came to talk to you about, Pop” Sweet Pea said, leaning against the wood podium that Pop stood behind. “It’s her birthday on Friday…”

“Oh is it? She’s a good girl, Ruthie. Well-liked by customers, too!” Pop said mindlessly, ringing up someone else.

“Yeah she is” Sweet Pea muttered fondly, “But actually, I came to ask you a bit of a favor…”

“What’s that, son?” Pop asked, a flurry of hands and receipts and ten-dollar bills.

“So Ruthie’s been working really hard lately, here and over at the hospital, you know she’s the only one that takes care of me and I’m probably a real handful…” Sweet Pea was rambling now, “And she’s been really tired lately and Friday is her birthday, so I was just wondering if there was any way that you could give her the day off?” He held his breath as he waited for a response.

“You’ve got something nice and special planned for your sister now, don’t you?” Pop Tate chuckled in response, looking at Sweet Pea intrigued. “What’re you thinking, boy? A surprise party?” He guessed.

“Wait w-what?” Sweet Pea was taken aback at first but then realized, this is exactly what I needed! “Yeah! Yeah yeah yeah, a surprise party! Man you really catch on quickly, Pop…” Sweet Pea recovered with an awkward laugh.

“Ruthie deserves it! I’ll call her in the morning and let her know that I won’t be needing her to come in that day” Pop promised, smiling warmly. “A surprise party!” he chuckled as if he couldn't believe it.

Neither could Sweet Pea.

He bounded out of the diner and onto his bike, revving up the engine and heading back to Sunnyside at a speed that would warrant himself a lecture from Ruthie. He couldn’t help it though, he got Ruthie a day off from work (which she hadn’t had in a long time) and he now knew what his plan for her birthday was…

Now how the fuck does one plan a surprise party?

Riding into the depths of the trailer park, Sweet Pea parked his bike in front of Fangs’ trailer and knocked on the door, waiting for Abuela to greet him.

“Hijo! Como estas?” The elderly woman greeted him warmly, pulling him in for a bone-crushing embrace. She looked Sweet Pea up and down, “Have you gotten taller since the last time I saw you?” She questioned, holding Sweet Pea at his elbows so she could get a good look at him.

“Abuela you saw me yesterday,” Sweet Pea laughed bashfully, wriggling out of the woman’s tight embrace and making his way into the living room.

“Something about you seems different — have you eaten? Hijo I can see your ribs, mira!” She exclaimed again, prodding at Sweet Pea. “Atzi gave me and some of the other church ladies some homemade tamales, let me go heat some up for you!” She clapped excitedly, turning away from Sweet Pea and heading for the kitchen.

He walked down the hallway to Fangs’ bedroom, not even bothering to knock on the door before barging in. Fangs jumped at the sudden sound, too distracted by the Netflix reruns that were playing loudly from his laptop.

“Hey! What if I was naked?” Fangs asked, whipping around annoyed.

“So?”

Fangs paused for a moment, not being able to come up with an adequate comeback, “What’s up dude? You’ve got major crazy eyes, do we need to hide a body?”

“What? No, I was coming to tell you that I — well Pop Tate — came up with a perfect idea for what to do for Ruthie’s birthday!”

“And?”

“We’re throwing her a surprise party,” Sweet Pea says confidently, flopping down onto Fangs’ bed hard enough to make his laptop bounce. Fangs glowered at his friend as he quickly grabbed the computer before it fell onto the floor.

“How do you think you’re gonna go about planning a surprise party in a day and a half?”

“Well, that’s what I have you guys for, right?” Sweet Pea craned his neck to look at Fangs. He sat up quickly, ignoring the light headed feeling he got. “I have a plan!”

“I’m nervous already…”

Before Sweet Pea could divulge the details of his so-called plan, Abuela was calling the two boys from the kitchen:

“There’s food out here, you two! Come eat up!” The pair got up quickly, not wanting to test Abuela’s patience.

“Gracias, Abuela!” Fangs said appreciatively, walking up behind the older woman and giving her a quick peck on the cheek before sitting down at the dinner table, ceramic plate piled high with tamales for the two boys to share.

“Yeah, thanks Abuela!” Sweet Pea said. He wasn’t hungry until he smelled the tamales but now he was salivating. Ignoring the surprise party plan for a moment, the two growing boys attacked the plate of food in front of them, eating the tamales with an impressive, animal-like nature.

Belching loudly, Fangs reclined in the wooden kitchen chair and turned to Sweet Pea, “So what’s your plan?”

“Huh?”

“The surprise party, dipshit!”

“OH!” Sweet Pea exclaimed “Well we already have the place…” He looked at Fangs expectantly, surprised to see his best friend staring blankly back at him. He sighed, “The Wyrm?”

“Do you really think FP would let you host a party there? Let alone, a surprise party?”

“It’s for Ruthie, so I’m hoping yes…” Sweet Pea mumbled. Everyone knew how much of a crush Ruthie had on FP, it was obvious. “Dude, did you know they text now?”

“What the fuck?”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“So do you think they’ve like…done anything?” Fangs asked, looking at Sweet Pea suggestively. He groans, grabbing one of the Abuela’s over mitts from where they were strewn on the table, whacking Fangs with it.

“Dude! I don’t know and I don’t want to know! That’s my freakin’ sister…and he’s like my boss.” Sweet Pea shuddered at the thought.

“I bet if you say it’s for Ruthie he’d let you. Shit, I bet he’d even help out.” Fangs offers, snatching the pair of mitts away from Sweet Pea before he could get hit with them again.

“You really think so?” Sweet Pea was skeptical.

“I mean, there’s only one way to find out…” Fangs slid Sweet Pea’s phone from where it laid on the table, and the taller boy took it into his hands, unlocking it before scrolling to find FP’s contact and hitting the ‘call’ button.

“Oh fuck, it’s ringing!” Sweet Pea muttered nervously, not knowing exactly what to say in order to get FP to let him (of all people) host a surprise party at the Whyte Wyrm.

“Put it on speaker!” Fangs demands sharply with a whisper-yell.

“Sweet Pea!” FP answers in the third ring, “Everything all right?” He sounded skeptical already, Sweet Pea never called unless it was to discuss Serpent business or to be the bearer or bad news.

“Just fine, Jones. I’m actually calling about my sister…”

“Ruthie? What’s wrong, something happen down at the hospital?” A twinge of panic arose in FP’s voice, making Fangs wrinkle his face is distaste and skepticism.

“N-no, nothing like that, it’s just that it’s her birthday on Friday…” Sweet Pea started hesitantly.

“Oh yeah?” FP chuckled, low and grumbly, “She never mentioned anything about a birthday….”

Fangs looked at Sweet Pea again, “Oh they’ve definitely done stuff” he whispers and Sweet Pea leans over and gives the smaller boy a hearty push.

“Yeah, she's not one to make a big deal about it. But she’s been doing so much lately so I was trying to plan her a party — a surprise party — so I was calling to ask if you’d let me throw it for her down at the bar?”

FP didn’t answer for a moment and Sweet Pea’s face blanched, not having a backup plan if this were to fall through.

“She don’t have work or nothin’?” FP questioned finally.

“Squared it all away with Pop Tate so she has the whole day off,” Sweet Pea answers, feeling smug in that he was able to at least pull that off for his sister.

“You’re a smart kid, Sweet Pea. A lot smarter than we all give you credit for,” FP laughed again.

“Uh, thank-you?” It’s more of a question than a sincerity.

“You can use the bar; Just this once. I’ll have Hog Eye pick up some more beer.” FP says before hanging up abruptly.

Fangs and Sweet Pea looked at each other wide-eyed. Did that really just happen? The tall Serpent sighed in relief, no longer having to worry about a back-up plan for Ruthie’s birthday. But the question now became: How do we get this done in such a short amount of time?

The next day and a half was a flurry of phone calls; ordering food, drinks, inviting people — reminding them NOT to mention anything to Ruthie. So far he’d recruited FP and Hoe Eye to let him take over the bar for the night, as well as supply extra beer. Abuela had been cooking nonstop, making another large batch of her famous Mexican rice and a big dish of pupusas because she knew that they were Ruthie’s favorite. Fangs and Toni had pulled through with decorations, hanging up metallic streamers and blowing up so many balloons that it made the old dive bar look almost presentable. The three teenage Serpents had stayed up until the wee hours of Friday morning getting last minute party plans squared away.

It was around 5:30 on the morning of Ruthie’s birthday when Sweet Pea deemed the Whyte Wyrm party-ready. He had just finished hand-spraying a ‘Happy birthday, Ruthie’ banner, laying it along a stretch of tables to dry, with Toni setting up a makeshift photo booth with some of her excess camera equipment.

Fangs threw the big push-broom aside, yawning as he flopped into one of the tattered booths, “Sweet Pea, the place is spotless! The decorations are already up and you have the food all planned out, my grandma has been cooking all day non-stop for your ass, can we finally go home now?” He yawned, proving just how tired he really was.

“Yeah I think we’re about done here,” Sweet Pea mumbled, fist coming up to rub at his bleary eyes. “Just one more stop before we go home, though”

Toni groaned loudly, “What on earth could you possibly need to stop for, Sweet Pea? It’s almost six in the morning!”

“I wanna stop at the bakery, get a dozen chocolate chip bagels” Sweet Pea shrugged as he looked around to see where he dropped off his jacket and keys. Toni scoffed, zipping her jacket up higher and crossing her arms judgmentally.

“Dude how are you that hungry, I just watched you absolutely CRUSH a coffee and two baskets of fries…” Fangs looked disturbed yet impressed.

“Not for me, asshole, for Ruthie!” Sweet Pea laughed, “They’re her favorite…”

“That’s random” Fangs observed.

“They’re both a breakfast, and a desert.” He muttered fondly, thinking of his sister.

“Huh?” Both Toni and Fangs looked at him skeptically.

“Forget it,” Sweet Pea dismissed, slipping on his jacket and making his way towards the entrance, shutting off the lights and preparing to lock up the bar for the night, er, the morning. The Whyte Wyrm seemed eerie without all of the hustle and bustle of drunken Serpents, so Sweet Pea was excited to be getting out of the empty bar. The three tired Serpents piled into Fangs’ beat-up car and wordlessly headed over to the bakery; their final stop on the Ruthie’s birthday tour. Fangs wordlessly pulled the car up to the curb in front of the worn brick building, idling, and unlocked the car door so Sweet Pea could get out.

“Do you guys want anything?” Sweets asked sheepishly, feeling guilty that his friends were still awake because of him.

“Yeah…to go home, Sweet Pea!” Toni says sharply, the bite in her voice making Sweet Pea close the door suddenly and head inside the bakery, already able to smell the warm treats as they were baking.

He retrieves the bagels quickly, not wanting to piss off his friends even further, and heads back to Fangs’ car with his pink box of baked goods in tow. The ride back to the trailer park is silent. Not even the radio was on. When Fangs rolls up to Sweet Pea and Ruthie’s trailer, neither one of the mare surprised to see that the lights are all on; Ruthie was an early riser, used to waking up at the ass-crack of dawn to get ready for work.

“Tell her I said happy birthday?” Fangs said quietly (as to not wake Toni who had fallen asleep in the backseat) when Sweet Pea opened the car door and slides out. He nods in confirmation, grabbing the pink cardboard box from Fangs’ outstretched hand and shutting the door behind him.

Sweet Pea waits until Fangs rolls away to head up the front steps of the trailer, trying his best at unlocking the door quietly although he already knew that Ruthie was awake and would be waiting for him. He shuffled through the entryway and could hear Ruthie rooting around in the kitchen.

“You just gettin’ in?” Ruthie questions, calling out to her brother.

Without saying anything Sweet Pea turns the corner into the kitchen, wielding the pink box of his sister’s favorite baked goods in hopes that she wouldn't question further about his whereabouts.

“Happy birthday, Ruthie” Sweet Pea opened the bakery box, revealing a dozen chocolate chip bagels, “I got your favorite” He mumbled sleepily, thrusting the box her way.

Ruthie gave him a cautious side-eye and snatched the box from her brother’s hands, eyes lighting up as she realized what the box contained. She snatched a bagel from the box and took a gratuitous bite, not even bothering to toast it.

“You know, this may have been the best gift you’ve ever given me” She mumbles around her mouthful of food.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, sis…” Sweet Pea laughed, snatching some breakfast for himself before flipping onto the couch. “Wait, why are you even home? I though you had work today?” He questioned, although he already knew the answer.

“Dude! It was the weirdest thing!” Ruthie whipped around to look at Sweet Pea, eyes wide with amusement and confusion. “I get up for work like usual this morning, but then Pop Tate gives me a call and tells me that he doesn't need me anymore today!” She scrunched up her nose, “But I looked at the shift schedule last night before I left and he’s definitely understaffed…”

“Pop’s getting up there in age, Ruthie…Maybe he just didn’t update the schedule?” Sweet Pea tried his best to play it cool, knowing that he could never get lies past his sister.

Ruthie sighed.

“Well, I mean maybe, but I just don’t get why he would tell me he needed me, then call me and tell me that I randomly have the day off!” She exclaimed, throwing her hands up in defeat.

“At least you got what you wanted, right?” Sweet Pea asks as he pulls the throw blanket over himself, prepared to take a nap on the tattered couch.

“Huh?” Ruthie looked at him curiously.

“A day off…” Sweet Pea yawned “It’s what you said you wanted for your birthday.”

Ruthie relaxed against the counter, realizing that this was what she wanted. She laughed softly, looking over at Sweet Pea who was already on his way to falling asleep.

“I have a day off and I don’t even know what to do with it…” She mumbled in awe.

Sweet Pea groaned, shifting on the couch and throwing one of his long legs over the back of the couch, “Go back to sleep, dude it’s like 8am…” He mumbled, adjusting his blanket yet again.

He was out cold in a matter of minutes, so Ruthie sipped her tea in silence, feeling peaceful and stress-free — which was actually kind of a strange sensation, but a pleasant one nonetheless. Because she was so used to already being up and about by this time, Ruthie didn’t know what to do with herself. Sweet Pea was right, though (which she hated to admit). She wanted a day off and she had it now, so she was determined to make the best out of it.

Not being able to go back to sleep, Ruthie headed off to the bathroom, thinking that she could kill some time that morning by relaxing in a nice hot bath. She flitted into her bedroom quickly, grabbing herself a book and a change of clothes before heading back into the bathroom to be greeted by copious amounts of steam and foamy lavender-scented bubbles.

She stripped down quickly, dipping a toe into the water to check the temperature, stepping into the tub and sitting down to be encompassed by the soothing hot water. Ruthie sat in the tub for a while, closing her eyes and breathing in the steam. It was quiet…Too quiet.

She opened one eye wearily and looked around the bathroom. Still empty. Sweet Pea was snoring loudly from the couch, which made her chuckle. “Relax,” she whispered to herself, sinking further into the bubbles “You deserve this.”

About an hour later she emerged from the bathroom, bundled in one of Sweet Pea’s old flannels that he’d grown out of. Her dark waves were dripping lavender-scented water onto her back and shoulders, giving her chills. Walking down the short hallway, Ruthie wasn’t surprised to see Sweet Pea still passed out cold on the couch, one arm hanging over the side, his neck kinked at an angle that made Ruthie uncomfortable just looking at him. She tiptoed over to the couch, cradling his neck as she lifted up, and slipped a throw pillow under her brother’s head for more support. Sweet Pea barely stirred, which made Ruthie laugh. That boy could sleep through the apocalypse if he was comfortable enough. A loud snore escaped his lips, making Ruthie laugh louder than she meant to. She slapped a hand over her mouth and began quietly backing away from the couch, knowing that he’d be a real pain in the ass if he got woken up.

Not knowing how to spend her day of relaxation, Ruthie sat down at the kitchen table and continued to read the book she had started earlier. It had been a few hours now and she was over halfway through the novel when her phone buzzed at her side, snapping her out of her focus. Her eyes widened when she saw who the text message was from and what it said:

FP: Wanna grab a drink tonight?

Ruthie’s breath hitched in her throat as she read it and re-read it, feeling the excitement bubble in her chest. She got up from the her seat at the kitchen table, taking a moment to do a celebratory happy dance before collecting herself again. She waited a few minutes before she responded, not wanting to seem too eager. Making herself seem like she was busy on her special day, she texted him back a whopping fifteen minutes later;

Ruthie: Sounds good, what time?

He responded almost immediately. So much for not seeming eager…

FP: I’ll be by at 7.

Ruthie jumped out of the chair, kneeing the wooden lip of the kitchen table in process. Swearing, she quickly hobbled down the hallway to her bedroom and opened her lackluster closet, trying to find something to fit the occasion. She checked the clock at her bedside table: 3:28 pm. She had an ample amount of time to get ready, but underestimating her fashion choices and her makeup skills, Ruthie thought she better get a head start while she could. Tossing aside ratty t-shirts and grease-stained overalls, she made her way through her closet piece by piece.

Not having any luck in picking out an outfit, Ruthie was weighing her options. Her bedroom floor was a war zone and she was tripping over loose boots and high heels as she rooted through dressers full of sundresses and shorts. She contemplated going to the mall to find something new…but she didn’t have the money to drop on an outfit she would probably only wear once. So she resulted to her next-best option: calling up Toni.

“Hello?” Toni answered sleepily.

“If you were me, what would you wear to get birthday drinks with a hot older guy?” Ruthie rambled into the phone, not bothering to say hello.

“Huh?” The younger girl was too dazed to understand half of what Ruthie said.

“I’m getting drinks for a VERY attractive man later and I need to know what to wear and I don’t enough have time or money to go to the mall, so I’m using my resources” Ruthie explained, cradling her phone between her shoulder and her ear as she picked up a slinky black dress by the hanger and pressed it against her body to see what it would look like.

Too presumptuous…

She tossed the dress aside as sighed as she waited for a response from Toni.

“Wear something that you feel confident in, something that shows off your shape. It doesn't matter what you wear, because if you’re feeling good in it you’ll feel more confident and he’l definitely take notice.” Toni rattled into the phone, sounding exasperated yet still sincere. Ruthie shook her head.

“But Toni, you really didn’t—“

“Sorry Ruthie but I gotta go” Toni says quickly into the phone before hanging up abruptly.

“—help.” Ruthie finished her sentence and chucked her phone off to the side. She sighed, looking at her clock again. 4:45pm.

“Shit!”

After routine around in her closet for a little longer, Ruthie finally decided on the perfect outfit to wear to go out for drinks. It was simple, a black and white pattered dress with green, yellow, and pink flowers and a cinched belt around the waist. She put on her denim vest and called it a day, moving on to try her hand at putting on some makeup.

Tonight Ruthie did her makeup a little heavier than usual: sharp bronze contour over foundation-masked skin, swiping glittery champagne-colored highlight over her prominent cheekbones. She took the time to wing out her eyeliner, only managing to mess up twice.

“Fuck!” Ruthie grunted as her hand slipped, haphazardly drawing over most of her eyelid with her black liquid eyeliner pen. “Shitshitshit” she murmured under her breath, frazzled as she wiped fervently at the drying black mark on her eyelid.

Sweet Pea knocked timidly on the closed bathroom door, startled by her outburst. “You all right in there?” He asked, pushing his ear flat to the door. Not getting a response he asked again, “Ruth. Ruthie. Ruthann…” He tried to get her attention. And it worked, because then Ruthie wrenched open the rickety door, making her younger brother stumble backwards a bit. She marched into her bathroom and began to rummage through her dressed.

“You’ve got a little, erm…” Sweet Pea coughed awkwardly, motioning to his eye.

“Yeah, I noticed.” Ruthie retorted sourly, shuffling through her makeup bag and retrieving he blue pouch of makeup remover wipes and cleaning the grey-black smears from her right eye.

It was about 6:30 when Ruthie emerged from the bathroom, fully ready. She noticed Sweet Pea looking awfully dapper, done up in one of his nicer flannels, Serpent jacket fitting snugly around his tall frame. She eyed him curiously,

“Where do you think you’re off to?”

“Out?” He responded coyly.

“What, it’s your sister’s birthday and you don’t wanna hang out with her?” She interrogated, crossing her arms over her chest and cocking out one of her hips.

“I was hanging out with you all day!” Sweet Pea reasoned, searching for his keys. Ruthie found them on the kitchen counter and snatched them up, holding them out to him.

“You were passed-out on the couch!” She retorted, getting annoyed now. Sweet Pea retrieves his keys with ease, making his way to the door,

“Goodbye, sister!” He says playfully over his shoulder before locking the front door behind him and heading off to who-knows-where.

Pretty soon Ruthie could hear gravel crunching under truck tires, alerting her that FP Jones was pulling up outside in his pickup truck. Panicking, she looked into the mirror by the door, flattening her hair and checking her lipstick and smoothing down her dress. She could hear FP’s boots echoing against the trailers metal steps, alerting her that he was making his was up to the door. He knocked simply, three short raps, and Ruthie gasped nervously.

She waited a second, counting to five before she opened the door, “Hey, Jones,” Ruthie smiled shyly as she opened the door to let him inside.

FP let out a long exhalation of breath as he looked at her, “You look great, Ruthie” He muttered, raking a hand through his salt and pepper hair as he looked the girl up and down.

“What, this old thing?” She pinched at the fabric of her dress between her forefinger and thumb, trying to downplay the amount of time it took her to even come up with this.

“You look good.” FP said again, firmer this time. Like he wanted to make sure that Ruthie really did believe him. A blush rose up to Ruthie’s cheeks and she tried to hide it, turning her head away from him and shielding her face with her curly brown hair.

Grabbing her small purse, Ruthie finally turned back to FP with a coquettish smile, “Ready to go?” FP nods in response, cracking a grin as he skillfully spins his keyring around his pointer finger, trailing behind Ruthie as she goes to lock up the trailer for the night.

Before Ruthie can open the door to the passenger’s side, FP quickly stepped around her, opening the door for her with a comedic bow. She dramatically puts her hand over her chest,

“And they say chivalry is dead!” She reacted sarcastically, making FP chuckle. He scoots his way back around the truck and gets into the drivers side, hopping up and into the seat with a grunt. He starts up the old pickup truck and the radio kicks on, an old Green Day song beaten softly through the blown out speakers:

Do you know what's worth fighting for?

When it's not worth dying for?

Does it take your breath away

And you feel yourself suffocating?

Ruthie sings along quietly to the old song, not noticing that FP was looking at her out of the corner of his eye. She bobs her head steadily to the rhythm, waiting for the drum beat to kick back in so she could start head-banging like she used to when she was sixteen and Sweet Pea was nine. They would put the CD into their mom’s old five-disc changer and crank up the volume, laying in the middle of the living room floor and staring at the ceiling.

The memory is interrupted by a chuckle from FP, causing Ruthie to shift her gaze over to the older man.

“What do you think you’re laughing at?” She asks defensively.

“Nothing, nothing…” FP deflects, “You’re good, can keep a tune,” he compliments. Ruthie feels her cheeks heat up again and mumbles something incoherent that may have resembled a “thanks”

The truck turns into the parking lot of the Whyte Wyrm and the parking lot was about as crowded as always on a Friday night, nothing special happening. FP unbuckled his seatbelt and walked quickly around the trunk to open Ruthie’s door for her.

“You know you don’t have to do that shit, right?” She questioned skeptically

“Don’t get too used to it, kid, it’s reserved for special occasions only” FP warned, extending a hand out to Ruthie to help her get out of the truck. She grabs his large hand and laughs, slamming the door to the passenger’s side.

FP leads Ruthie through the parking lot silently, gravel crunching under their shoes. Ruthie looked around strangely, noticing that none of the lights in the entryway were on. Not even the neon sign outside was lit up…

Shaking off her suspicions, Ruthie kept trudging after FP into the Whyte Wyrm, thinking that if he wasn’t thrown off by the darkness despite the clear presence of multiple cars and motorcycles, then she shouldn’t be either. She rolled her shoulders back trying to relax herself, but something about the situation seemed to be triggering her fight or flight response. FP opens one of the heavy front doors for Ruthie and she slips inside. Picking up his pace to walk in front of her, FP kept looking back in her general direction, making sure she was still following closely behind him, and Ruthie thought she heard the faint whispering of “She’s coming!”

“Why are all of the lights off when there’s so many bikes in the parking lot?” She finally asks. As the question leaves her lips, FP is flipping on the light switch and filling the bar with light.

A hand-painted ‘Happy birthday, Ruthie’ banner was hung up above the bar’s rickety stage, obviously painted by Sweet Pea himself. Another banner hung beside that one, a spray-painted portrait of the birthday girl with ‘Happy 25th birthday’ painted haphazardly, though the number 25 had a big line going through it.

When he was outside painting it, Toni smacked him upside the head, telling him that “Women don’t like their age being revealed”

The bar was full of Serpents, sitting half-crouched behind booths and pool tables. They all popped up awkwardly, clinging onto chairs for support as they lifted themselves back up to their feet. A murmur spreads though the crowd of people, not knowing if now was the right time to be yelling “SURPRISE!” like they had all rehearsed.

“MOTHERFUCKERS! I told you all to park in the back!” Sweet Pea bellowed, jumping up from behind the bar.

#happy birthday ruthie!#sweet pea x ruthie #sweet pea x oc #fp jones #fp jones imagine #fangs fogarty fic #toni topaz imagine #betty cooper #veronica lodge #archie andrews imagine #south side serpents #s-s-southsideserpentine

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secret-diary-of-an-fa · 5 years

Text

Brie Larson and Captain Marvel Are Very Different People (Thank Fuck)

WARNING: I’m about to insult one of your favourite celebrities EVEN WHILE COMPLIMENTING A MOVIE THEY’RE IN. Because I’m on fire, today, that’s fucking why.

As you might have noticed, we all have to live through a pretentiously-titled and idiotic ‘Culture War’ because dumb people from every corner of the political spectrum have decided that liminal, cultural space is limited like actual physical territory and therefore every single scrap of IP needs to be fought for. For the record, this fighting is usually at the cost of the gentle nerd villagers who live there and would rather not see their cultural settlements bombed to dust by dueling factions of slobbering fuckwits. On the one hand, you’ve got your rightwing neocon bastard-holes who think that there’s a conspiracy of ‘Cultural Marxists’ out to ruin culture by SJW-ing it up a notch- which is stupid, because I’m a Marxist and I can promise you none of us asked for Ghostbusters 2016 either. Nobody fucking did. Anyhoo, on the other hand there’s a bunch of quasi-liberal representation hipsters who lack the imagination to create original IP and so keep colonising other peoples’ with cheap and lazy gender-swaps and other ill-advised ‘reimaginings’. As some of you might have figured out, I like to think of myself as broadly impartial war correspondent in this idiotic struggle for western culture’s fractured zeitgeist. Impartial, of course, in the sense that I wish everyone involved would fall down a gigantic fucking well never to be seen again.

Anyway, the latest battle in the culture war (a term I have only used twice and already fucking loathe) really does plumb fresh new depths of the Great Grey Idiotsea. As some of the more astute of you may have noticed, Captain Marvel has caused a bit of a skirmish, despite being fundamentally inoffensive. I mean, it’s made by Disney (who are evil on a corporate level), but what isn’t nowadays? As a piece of media in its own right, it’s basically fine. It’s not a lazy hipster reboot of something that was already done better; it’s not displacing any of the existing pieces of media in its genre; it’s just a superhero film that happens to star An Woman. The fact that it’s in any way controversial is mad, mad, mad, mad. I’m as pissed off as anyone about the way something that should be good (i.e. improved representation) has been used to co-opt geek spaces into the mainstream, but this isn’t even that. So yeah- shocking people who haven’t paid sufficient attention to the nuances of my opinions on this, I’m actually on Captain Marvel’s side on this one, at least nominally. It’s insane that this mid-tier, fairly-true-to-recent-source-material comic book movie has pissed off so many people.

Of course, there were always going to be a few people who hated the film just for existing, but they might not have gained so much traction if it wasn’t for the fact that Brie Larson (the actress playing the titular Captain Marvel) literally cannot keep her fucking gob shut for five minutes at a stretch. During a press conference, she was basically supposed to talk about how the film was going to be screened for (and reviewed by) different types of critic from different genders and ethnic background so that reviews weren’t weighted as much in favour of older white male film critics as usual. That’s fair enough. Unfortunately, because Brie is Brie (and what can you expect of someone who’s named after cheese), what she actually said was “I don’t care what some 40-year old white guy thinks” and other such deliberately antagonistic phrasing, designed seemingly to alienate every member of the critical press NOT in a Larson-approved demographic. Naturally enough, a bunch of nerds on the internet felt this was an attack on them and kicked off against the film...

... Which gives me the opportunity to address an important point. Specifically: Brie Larson is NOT Captain Marvel. She is not the character, nor is she representative of the vast, complicated, interconnected multiplicity of production teams behind it. She’s just one actress. Her on-screen role is major; her actually-being-allowed-to-make-important-decisions-role is probably pretty negligible. That doesn’t mean she’s not a chippy jerkoff who needs to learn to either Engage Brain Before Opening Mouth or (failing that) Not Open Mouth At All. It just means that you shouldn’t judge the film on her (admittedly antagonistic and irritating) antics when she isn’t reading from a script.

I’m going to let you in on a little secret: while intelligent, thoughtful actors and actresses do exist (I just started dating one) most Big Names are either dumb, or simply terrible people. Chris Pratt is a big game hunter, apparently- he spends his free time killing innocent animals with a gun ‘cause he’s a prick. Michael Fassbender beat his wife. Allison Mack cheerfully joined a sex slavery cult. Let’s be frank, here. As much as I’m grateful that the acting profession exists (without it, movies wouldn’t happen), the most well-known people in it aren’t, as a rule, normal, functional human beings. To be an actor or actress on that level, you kind of have to be a needy egomaniac who doesn’t mind being gawped at by strangers for your entire professional life.

So, Brie Larson is a tool and her professional I’m-Not-a-Tool Mask slipped off for a minute when she erroneously thought the Real Her might be acceptable for public consumption. You know what? It doesn’t fucking matter. She doesn’t have to be the type of person you’d want to spend more than two minutes alone in an elevator with- she just needs to be good at acting, which she mostly is. Captain Marvel looks like a good movie, so if it’s your sort of thing, go see it and just try to forget that Captain Marvel is, of necessity, played by a real human who happens to be a dipstick. There are lots of truly terrible media products swimming around, waiting to have your ire and mine sprayed at them. Save your rage for those.

And if you are going to buoycott Captain Marvel, maybe consider doing so because Disney (who own Marvel Studios) exploits the workers who make its merch to the extent that they’ve actually been known to use sweatshop slave labour. ‘Cause that’s still a thing everyone ignores, regardless of which side of the fucking “culture war” they claim to be on.

#Secret Diary of a Fat Admirer

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hale-of-stiles-heart · 7 years

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destiel + meet cute?

Not gonna lie, I couldn’t come up with any good meet cute scenarios on my own so I found this one x And honestly, it’s perfect for Destiel. (also on ao3)

Dean and Charlie always made time to hang out at least once a week, even if it just meant walking home from work together.

Between Dean's job at Bobby's garage, his part-time gig bartending at a local bar, and his college courses, he was stretched pretty thin. Charlie was in a similar situation, juggling two jobs, one as the head of the IT department at some big name enterprise and another at a bookstore, and a new relationship with her girlfriend Dorothy.

When Dean had decided to finally get his degree, having gotten his GED a few years prior, he had met Charlie at the bookstore where he had been looking for a copy of the textbook Sam had accidentally ruined. She had been working behind the desk, tapping away on her laptop while blasting some kind of pop music, when Dean had gone to the front to buy the overpriced textbook.

They had both winced at the exorbitant price, Dean cracking a half-assed joke that had fallen flat as he pulled out his wallet. She had given a courtesy laugh before brightening with a genuine smile and punching a cash register keys that immediately brought the price down by at least twenty percent.

Beaming, she had informed him, in a conspiratorial whisper, that she had used her employee discount, much to both Dean's delight and astonishment. They had been friends ever since, bonding over their shared love of all things nerdy and the struggles of being the only LGBTQ+ members of their families.

Now, two years later, they were as close as siblings, Charlie the sister that Dean had never wanted and Dean the sometimes overprotective brother Charlie had never had. Between their busy schedules, it was increasingly difficult to hang out, even just for an afternoon.

Not wanting to give up on their hang out day altogether, they simply improvised. Which is why there Dean was, walking Charlie from her office building to the bookstore a dozen blocks away.

"Oh my god, did you see the new trailer?" Charlie asked after taking a sip of her coffee, some kind of caramel latte frappuccino thing with a huge dollop of whipped cream on top.

"Yeah. Looks pretty good," Dean answered, weaving around a woman pushing a three seated stroller. She murmured a grateful thank you as she passed.

"Pretty good? Pretty good?!" Charlie gasped, thoroughly scandalized. It showed on her face as she gaped at him, her jaw slack as she pushed her glasses further up her nose.

She gestured aimlessly with her free hand, nearly smacking a passerby in the face in her unchecked enthusiasm. Yanking her arm back, she continued on, "It's Wonder Woman 2, Dean! It's gonna kick ass!"

"I know, kiddo," Dean chuckled, holding up his hand in a placating gesture. Taking a sip of his own coffee, black with just a little bit of sugar, he rolled his eyes at Charlie's outburst.

Both of them were devout comic book fans, Dean preferring DC while Charlie was a Marvel girl through and through. They had never missed a superhero movie and they didn't plan to, always reserving tickets for the premiere. Charlie's hacking skills, while beyond illegal, were extremely helpful.

"So..." she sing-songed, batting her eyes at him innocently. But from the tone of her voice, Dean knew that she was anything but. "Have you thought about what I said about my boss?"

"Ugh, Charlie. Not this again," Dean groaned, hanging his head as they crossed the street. Shaking his head, he firmly announced, "For the last time, I don't wanna go out with your boss."

"But why not?" Charlie whined in return, jutting her bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. It was the same pout that was just as effective as Sam's ridiculous puppy dog eyes, maybe even more so. "You've never even met him!"

"Yeah, that's why I don't wanna go out with him, Charlie," Dean sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. For the past few months, Charlie had been trying to convince Dean to go on a date with her boss, claiming that he was perfect for Dean.

Apparently, the guy's name was Castiel which was the most pretentious thing he had ever heard and he had once gone out with a dude named Brady. And according to Charlie, he was downright dreamy.

Dean had to admit that she was probably right about that. If even she thought a dude was dreamy, he must be a modern day Marlon Brando.

Charlie had talked his ear off about how handsome and considerate her boss was, detailing all of his contributions to various charities from the local animal shelter to Meals on Wheels. Not to mention how entrepreneurial he was, opening the bookstore with his brother a few years back when he had moved to Lawrence from Illinois.

She had even sung praises about how smart he was. One day she had spent fifteen minutes detailing her boss' time at Columbia, listing his degrees, and mentioning a few books he had written.

But as amazing as this Castiel guy sounded, Charlie making it sound like the dude shot rainbows out his ass that she assured him was objectively perfect, Dean had learned his lesson about letting friends set him up with people.

The last time he had gone on a blind date it was with some guy his friend Benny had set him up with. It was a disaster.

The guy's name was Fergus but he went by Crowley, probably because his parents had cursed him with a ridiculous name like Fergus. He had spent the entire date, dinner at some overpriced French restaurant where Dean had stuck out like a sore thumb in his flannel shirt and faded jeans, talking about himself and making lewd innuendos about the size of his dick.

That had been the end of Dean going on blind dates. Besides, he may or may not have had his eye on someone.

There was a regular at the bar that had captivated Dean since the first time he had seen him and he had been working up the nerve to ask him out for weeks. And he wasn't going to give up on the cute nerd he'd admittedly been pining for just because Charlie had a hot boss.

The first time Blue Eyes, as Dean referred to the man in his head, had come into the bar where Dean worked, he had looked like complete and utter shit. His black hair was messy, his clothes were disheveled, and he was sopping wet.

It had looked as though he hadn't gotten the memo about the storm that had drenched the city and filled the sky with strikes of pale lightning. Looking exhausted, dark circles under his beautiful blue eyes, thus the nickname Dean had given him, he had taken a seat at the bar. With a resigned sigh, he had ordered some whiskey, a bacon cheeseburger, and a plate of loaded nachos.

Blue Eyes had offered to share his nachos with Dean when the sound of his empty stomach rumbling had filled the air. Dean had been eternally grateful, giving Blue Eyes a beer on the house.

They had spent almost two hours talking, bantering lightheartedly as Dean made drinks for the others at the bar. And yes, Dean might have been a teeny tiny bit more dramatic as he used the cocktail shaker to make cosmopolitans and daiquiris, flexing more than necessary to show off his biceps in his tight black t-shirt.

He had been pretty disappointed when Blue Eyes had finally left the bar, though he had left behind a tip worth more than his meal. His disappointment didn't last long. Blue Eyes showed up again the next night.

He had ordered one of the fancy cocktails that Jo had come up with to set the Roadhouse apart from other bars in the area and it had somehow morphed into a little game between them. Every time Blue Eyes came in, Dean would surprise him with different cocktails, never telling him what the drink was called until he had tried it.

Dean would never forget the look on Blue Eyes' face when he told him that he was drinking an angel's tit. The poor guy's entire face had turned bright red as he choked on the mix of cherry liqueur, half-and-half, and white creme de cacao.

But for all of Dean's flirting through sexually named cocktails, he had yet to work up enough nerve to actually ask him out.

"Anyway..." Charlie drawled, whipping some whipped cream off the tip of her nose. "You doin' anything tonight? It's been way too long since we've actually hung out."

"I work at the bar tonight but I'm off all this weekend for once. No classes, no work," Dean replied, a wide smile stretching across his face at the thought. He couldn't remember the last time he had been able to sleep in past nine o'clock. He couldn't wait. "We'll have a slumber party. You can braid Sam's hair."

"Ugh, I haven't seen Sam in months. He's off being a hotshot lawyer," Charlie lamented, throwing her head back. Looking over at Dean, she narrowed her eyes and asked, "He still growing his hair out? It's gotta be past his ass by now."

"Oh, yeah," Dean agreed, nodding a couple times. "Pretty soon he'll be tripping over it."

Charlie laughed and started rambling on about how if Sam was Rapunzel then Dean must be a Disney princess, too. He nodded along as she debated whether or not he would be Moana, a free spirit who loved travel, or Belle, beauty and brains all rolled into one, until he was distracted by a store window.

It was an independently owned clothing store, an upscale boutique called Sew It Seams that catered to women especially. And by that, he meant that a large portion of their stock was lingerie.

They sold everything under the sun, from frilly lace panties to dominatrix-esque leather bustier, in every color imaginable. From what he had heard from customers at the bar, they actually had plus sized articles of clothing made for women who didn't just have hourglass figures or bigger thighs.

In their store window, there were a few torso mannequins, headless, armless, and legless as they advertised different types of lingerie. It was an unexpected sight on the street full of more family friendly shops which is probably why it caught Dean's eye.

Well, that and the fact that he had always been a bit fascinated by lingerie. Ever since he was nineteen and he'd tried on Rhonda Hurley's satiny pink panties.

Call it a kink, call it a fetish, call it a run-of-the-mill preference. Whatever the hell it was, he had it.

The only person he had ever dared tell was Charlie. Which is why he was glad she was with him.

As he admired a pair of bright red panties and a matching sheer babydoll, he reached over to nudge her hand. He groped under blindly under he finally made contact, muttering, "Hey, Charlie. Wouldn't I look sexy in that?"

He turned around with a cocky grin to see her reaction, expecting an eye roll or a punch on the shoulder. It was fair to say he was expecting to see Charlie standing beside him, not Blue Eyes himself.

The man blinked at him, his angelic blue eyes wide as Dean's face filled with heat. He quickly glanced around in search of Charlie, finding her about a yard away with a hand clamped over her mouth as she shook with poorly concealed laughter.

"Uh, I—" Dean squeaked, his voice high pitched, but he didn't get to finish his pathetic excuse because Blue Eyes cleared his throat and squinted at the store window.

"I suppose," he murmured thoughtfully, nodding to himself. But, turning to Dean, he pointed a finger at the store window and claimed, "But I believe that color would be better. It complements your skin tone."

His jaw nearly dropping, Dean inclined his head to look at the other mannequin that was adorned in the same style of lingerie. The babydoll and panties were pale pink, dainty and feminine and oh so intriguing.

"Uh, yeah... I guess you're right," he managed to stammer out scratching the back of his neck as he was overwhelmed with how much he suddenly wanted the lingerie set. Face still warm, he dropped his eyes to the sidewalk, staring at a spot of old chewing gum.

"So, uh..." Charlie's voice sounded, making Dean tense. He knew that tone. That was her 'I'm-about-to-meddle' tone. She confirmed it a second later when she announced, "I guess this is as good a time as any for introductions."

Dean whipped his head up so fast he was surprised he didn't break his own neck, narrowing his eyes at his best friend. She just smirked back at him before she spoke. "Dean, this is my boss Castiel Novak. Castiel, this is my best friend, Dean Winchester."

Dean's jaw immediately dropped as he turned to Blue Eyes, or rather Castiel. Charlie's fucking boss. The guy he'd been pining over and the guy she'd been trying to set him up with apparently one and the same.

Blu—Castiel offered a rather shy looking smile, drawing Dean's attention to the chapped pink of the other man's lips. He managed to tear his eyes away before things got even more awkward, returning Castiel's smile with one of his own.

Their moment was interrupted by Charlie who chimed in, "Y'know, as good as Dean would look in those panties, I bet they'd look even better on your bedroom floor, boss."

"Charlie!" Dean squawked indignantly, shooting a glare at his friend over Castiel's shoulder. "Stop hitting on him for me!"

"Well, someone has to, Dean," Charlie said simply as though it made complete sense. She rifled around in her purse for a moment, handing Dean her hoity-toity coffee as she did.

A moment later, she pulled out a slip of paper and a pen. After writing something on the paper, she handed it to Castiel, explaining, "That's Dean's number. He has the whole weekend off so you can take him on a date tomorrow."

She turned to Dean with a bright smile. "Well, I'm gonna get to work. You crazy kids stay here and talk about where you're going for your date—" she looked back at Castiel "—Dean loves pie. The diner on Fifth Street serves his favorite pecan pie. You should take him there."

Without another word, she spun on her heel and continued her walk to the bookstore, her ponytail swaying as she jogged across the street. Dean and Castiel were left to stare at Charlie's back before awkwardly glancing at each other.

"So..." Dean began, pursing his lips and shoving his hands in his pockets. He rocked back on his heels as he chanced a look up at Castiel. "Tomorrow night?"

"How about tonight?" Castiel countered with another smile, sounding adorably hopeful. After biting his lip, he elaborated, "I'll be at the Roadhouse tonight. Maybe we could split some nachos again? You could make me one of your dirty cocktails."

"Yeah, that sounds good," Dean responded, maybe a bit too eagerly. "How does a cock sucking cowboy sound?"

"Depends," Castiel said, nodding decisively. Smirking, looking much more confident, he inquired, "Is that the drink or you?"

Letting out a startled laugh, Dean answered, "Depends. How good are you gonna tip me?"

As Castiel laughed, the sound lighting him up from the inside, Dean acknowledged that he might have to change his stance on letting friends set him up. Then again, he hoped that he wouldn't ever need to be set up with anyone because Castiel seemed pretty damn perfect.

Send me Destiel prompts!

#destiel #destiel fic #meet cute #alternate universe #my fic #halerogers

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janschreiner · 4 years

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Dr. Jess O-Reilly Plays 20 Questions with SHA!

“You’re the ultimate expert in your own sexuality and pleasure.”

The Sexual Health Alliance (SHA) is centered around providing Provocative Dialogue and Radical Collaboration. What would radical collaboration look like for you?

To me, radical collaboration involves sharing my business and working with industry peers who don’t have the same opportunities and privilege as I do. This might involve referring out services to folks who are better qualified to speak on specific issues (e.g. Black sexuality, sex for people with disabilities). It also involves sharing resources, insights and experiences for low/no cost to those in financial need. And at times, it involves sharing the financial profits on specific projects (e.g. collaborating on products like books, video courses and speaking engagements).

As a prominent sexuality professional, you have made a wonderful career as a sex educator. What would you recommend to young educators or therapists wanting to follow in your footsteps?

Ask for help. Don’t be afraid to reach out and ask for the support of your peers and potential mentors. Many of us want to help and if you’re very specific with your request (e.g. Can I pick your brain? is too broad, but Could you look over this introductory paragraph of my book proposal? is more manageable), you’ll probably receive a positive reply.

What book(s) are you reading right now?

I’m rereading Life and Death in Shanghai.

What’s the most important thing you talk about with your clients?

Custom-designing their relationships. There is no one-size-fits-all approach and you can make almost any arrangement work if you’re not burdened by social pressure.

What are the top 3 items on your bucket list?

1. I’d like to build an affordable housing building in my hometown of Toronto and see if we can grow the project to be sustainable; eventually, I’d like to continue to build additional units.

2. I’d like to adopt a child.

3. I want to live to be 100+.

One of our goals is to provide all therapists and healthcare providers with high quality sexuality training because they often receive little to no education in sexual health. What is the most important piece about sex that you want all providers to know? What would you want them to incorporate into their practice?

I’d like every professional to understand that our personal sex and relationship lenses can be completely irrelevant to our clients/patients’ lived experience. This doesn’t mean that our work isn’t shaped by personal experience, but simply that we need to be aware of our own biases and limits. And we need to be more aware of our layers of privilege related to race, gender, income, education, ability, nation of birth, relationship status, social status and professional roles.

What are your top 2 books that have influenced you and why?

Give and Take by Adam Grant. This was an affirming read, as he shares stories and data suggesting that good people do finish first in life and in business.

Our Bodies, Ourselves. I read this many, many years ago when I was in school and it offered such an important perspective on so many different topics. I know they’ve updated it since then and I’ve been meaning to go back to it and read the new version, so thanks for the reminder!

What is bad advice you have heard other people in our field give?

I still hear professionals talk about other cultures and countries as though they’re monoliths that they understand because they worked with clients from a specific culture or they lived in a place for a few months or years. If you’re not a part of a group or culture, elevate the voice of someone from that group instead of speaking for or about them. Nothing about us without us.

Who is your sexual role model?

That’s a great question! I’m not sure I know enough about anyone else’s sex life to call them a role model. Marla Renee Stewart is a general role model — personally and professionally — and I believe she has very happy relationships — sexual and otherwise.

SHA utilizes social media to reach our members as well as to find new sexuality content and research, how do you think social media has influenced our culture’s sexuality?

I’m so thankful for the reach and impact of social media. Putting the power of broadcast into individual hands (instead of allowing it to rest in the hands of a few corporations) has shifted and broadened the content we consume. Accounts like @SexPositiveFamilies, for example, disseminate essential information that mainstream (old) media would never have touched. Research shows that digital consumption and connections can foster digital empathy, galvanize support, create feelings of belonging and build community. Of course, social media is still owned by a few corporations and we don’t have access to how they disseminate our posts, so we have to be mindful that new media also has its limitations.

Our team finds podcasts, youtube and other social media platforms sometimes more educational and useful than traditional models. Do you think social media should have a place in formal training, and if so, how much?

There are accounts that offer high-quality, evidence-based information and there are also powerful accounts that provide misinformation. I think it’s important to analyze media (including social media) in all training and examine messages and biases. Part of all learning processes involves developing and tuning our critical thinking skills and I believe that we can certainly use social media as both a lens and subject.

What made you create your Happily ever after approach to working with couples?

I work primarily with folks who run or own businesses. They’re passionate about their work and they claim that their family is the most important aspect of their lives, but they don’t always act like it. Our Marriage As a Business approach involves applying business practices and acumen to intimate relationships. This might entail hosting board meetings (relationship check-ins), building a support team (e.g. therapists and babysitters), respecting timelines (e.g. showing up to dinner on time), planning ahead (e.g. carving out time weeks, months or even a year in advance).

As a Canadian born, Chinese-Jamaican and Irish by descent person, what has been the most challenging aspect of working in this field?

My gender, appearance and (perceived) ethnicity provide me with both privilege and challenges. As a woman talking about a sensitive topic in the public eye, I draw considerable criticism, harassment and personal attacks — on Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, my website contact form and even on LinkedIn. I ignore most of it, but sometimes it does feel like death by a thousand paper cuts. Luckily, I have a lot of support too. And I love life and I’m lucky in so many ways, so I try not to expend my energy on the harassment.

Where is your next dream vacation?

I’m not sure. I have a big birthday coming up in February and I’m deciding between Tuscany, Japan and Jamaica. Help me choose!

What are 2 of the most important things you do everyday?

If I’m home, my partner makes me a decaf macchiato or cortado in a small double-wall glass, which I try to take the time to enjoy without reading, working or scrolling. The glassware and all the details add to my enjoyment; he weighs the beans, grinds them with a beautiful manual grinder, pulls the shots at the right pace and warms the milk to the perfect temperature. It sounds pretentious, but I don’t care, because it’s delicious.

I don’t have many rituals, because I’m on the road most of the time and everything is always changing. But I do make time to enjoy myself wherever I go — even if I only have a few hours in a new city or country, I try to walk to a local third-wave coffee shop or market to get a pulse on local life. If I have time for lunch, I always treat myself to something delicious. Food is my love language and working in the food industry is a part of my family background.

What’s your favorite place you’ve traveling to for you job and why?

It’s hard to pick a favorite place, but Istanbul certainly stands out as a highlight. The people are always so warm and gracious. The rich culture, history and architecture overwhelm me. And the food is so delicious and varied. I hope to return again soon.

What’s the most challenging aspect of being in business with your partner, Brandon? (They are married)

Me. I’m the most challenging aspect. He’s much easier to work with.

We don’t work together full-time. He helps out to co-host the podcast, but he has his own unrelated business that keeps him very busy.

The most challenging aspect relates to my travel schedule. I love travel and I love flying and dealing with the unpredictability of new surroundings, but I do miss being physically together. This was a challenge for several years, but he travels with me far more often now, as he has more flexibility with his business.

What’s your favorite story to tell?

I’m a storyteller. As they say, a story doesn’t have to be true to be good. Ha!

But here’s a true one:

On a flight from Denver to Albuquerque a few years ago, a guy threw up all over me as the plane landed. Instead of just vomiting, he tried to keep it in his cheeks and so the trajectory changed and it sprayed everywhere — all over me and in the hair of the couple in front of us. People were dry heaving all around us and I was just hoping that no one else would vomit. I remember thinking that if one more person vomits, the whole plane is going to become a vomit comet. I don’t know why I picked that story, but it just popped into my head.

If you want something sexuality-related:

One time I was at a sex club and two people high fived on the bed next to us while exclaiming, “Oh yeah. This is so hot! And it’s a great workout, so we can skip the gym tomorrow!”. This was their dirty talk and it got them all riled up, but it killed the vibe for me and some of the others in close proximity.

Another time, as lady who was 7+ months pregnant stopped me and asked if I could help her figure out a good position for DP (double penetration) given her big belly. This was a time when I was reminded that they definitely don’t teach you everything you need to know in school.

Your bio says you like airplane turbulence! Can you tell us more about why you like it?

I just love airplanes — I love flying in them, talking about them, reading about them. And I like the physical thrill of a little turbulence — especially in a bigger plane. I will reroute to fly on a cool plane (e.g. the 787-9) and I hope to train as a pilot someday.

Being trained in sex & disabilities, can you give us some tips on why discussing disability is important?

All sexual health education needs to be inclusive and this includes talking about sex as it relates to race, ethnicity, gender identity, sexual orientation, relationship arrangement, income, and disability. I facilitated sessions on sex and disability early on in my career and now I’ve learned that I should pass the mic and advocate for paying opportunities for fellow sexologists who have disabilities. There are many qualified folks who simply don’t get the same paid opportunities as I do because of ableism.

When we leave folks with disabilities out of the conversation, we reinforce inaccurate stereotypes and put them at greater risk, as sexual health education produces positive health outcomes regardless of whether or not you have a disability.

What's an important take away from your new book The New Sex Bible?

Do what feels good for you. Don’t worry about what the experts or your friends have to say. You’re the ultimate expert in your own sexuality and pleasure.

About Dr. Jess

Jess O’Reilly began working as a sexuality counsellor in 2001 and she has never looked back! Her PhD studies involved the development of training programs in sex education for teachers and her education and undergraduate degrees focused on equity and sexual diversity.

Her training includes courses in counselling skills, healthy relationships, resolving sexual concerns, sex education, clinical sexology, sexual development, sex and disability, group therapy and Cognitive Behavioural Therapy.

Alongside her academic and television credits, Dr. Jess is also an accomplished author with three best-selling titles. Her latest, The New Sex Bible, has received rave reviews from professionals and clients alike and her first book Hot Sex Tips,Tricks and Licks is in its fourth print! Look for her monthly column in Post City or catch her on Tuesday mornings on Global TV’s The Morning Show, Wednesdays on 102.1 The Edge and Saturdays on PlayboyTV.

Dr. Jess’ work experience includes contracts with school boards, social services agencies, community health organizations and private corporations. A sought-after speaker, her sessions always attract a full-house at conferences and entertainment events alike.

Check out more about Dr. Jess!

Follow Dr. Jess on Twitter & Instagram

Dr. Jess O-Reilly Plays 20 Questions with SHA! published first on https://spanishflyhealth.tumblr.com/

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himbowelsh · 7 years

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I have this prompt idea for Webgott and I will take anything prompts/headcanons. Web and Lieb work in same highschool. They are both English teachers. The only difference is that Web is British, Joe is American. They fight over everything. From literature to teaching techniques to history and it always ends up on mocking the other's accent and almost shouting. They fight which football is real football. They fight which dinner served in cafeteria is the best. It even comes down to leaving (1)

(2) passive-aggressive or outright rude messages on boards in their classrooms. Students are all making bets when they will fight with fists. Dick, responsible principal, wants to put end to it but Nix, music teacher, stops him because it would upset the bet their teacher friends have going “Are they going to fuck or fight? Also, when?”. Something happens and someone gets few bucks. Bonus: their classrooms are facing. They put a show by holding eye contact and slamming doors every morning.

Joe knows he’s going to hate the new teacher the second he opens his mouth, and not just because of the ridiculously posh accent that pours out. Everything about the man grinds on his nerves, from the dark-rimmed professor glasses perched in his nose to the way he wears sweater vests yet rolls up the sleeves of the white shirt underneath (to reveal muscular, surprisingly hairy arms). The fact that he just came here from freaking England is just the icing on Joe’s hate-cake, and his dumb accent does nothing to help.

Joe walks away from his first meeting feeling exhausted, disgusted, and more than a little pissed off. What the hell is British-American anyway? Who says that? And who claims that students can take more from books written by guys who’ve been dead for a hundred years than any contemporary literature?

He makes his decision then and there: he hates David Kenyon Webster.

(He has three names too. How pretentious do you have to be to have three damn names?)

If he thought the first day was bad, he was not prepared for an entire year of dealing with Webster. It doesn’t help that their classes are positioned directly across from each other. Webster likes to keep an “open door” policy, during class and after hours. This gives Joe a front-row seat to everything Webster does, whether he likes it or not. Everything that he sees only grinds on hsi nerves more.

Webster brews his own tea in the classroom. He has a tea maker, like a goddamn coffee maker but for tea, and he won’t let anyone else use it. He has a bookshelf full of classical literature and poetry, and he spends his time in between periods reading. On hot days he’ll sometimes take his vest off, just to teach in shirtsleeves (with his stupid arms that Joe can’t stand). Webster’s enthusiasm for his subject is so infectious that even his students can’t help getting excited.

Joe isn’t allowed to come to school in his comic book t-shirts, because apparently starting a Marvel vs. DC war amongst the entire tenth grade “isn’t allowed in a positive school environment”. He has to wait in the English lounge for gritty coffee just like the rest of the department. He has to figure out ways to make his curriculum adaptable to students who couldn’t give half a shit about The Call of the Wild or The Great Gatsby.

Somehow, Webster comes up ahead of him at every turn, and Joe is sick of it.

He’s never sure who starts most of their arguments, but there’s a new one every day. They range from things like “shut your door when you’re teaching, I don’t want to hear your opinion on Dickens’s personal life” to “just because you kick the ball doesn’t make it football, I dare you to say that to the entire football team”. Mostly it’s just venomous words and insults. They’ve only come close to getting physical once, and that was because Joe made the mistake of mimicking Webster’s accent in the prissiest voice possible. It got a great laugh from his students, but then Webster stormed into his classroom like a man on fire and they almost threw down in front of twenty freshmen.

(Someone filmed it. They put it on Snapchat, Instagram, and YouTube. For the rest of that week, kids kept stopping Joe in the hallways asking him when he was going to actually fight Webster, and he’s pretty sure students are still placing bets on who would win.

Hell, he thinks teachers are placing bets too.)

“Have you considered,” Chuck Grant, who teaches Modern World History, says one day, “that you might be a little bit obsessed?”

“You try working across the hall from him, see how obsessed you are,” Joe shoots back. He’s glaring into his coffee, and can clearly make out the lumps at the bottom. It makes him feel a little nauseous. Would Webster actually hit him if he tried using his tea maker?

“Seems like you’ve got a problem,” Randleman, the gym teacher who’s so big that the entire student and faculty body just call him Bull, remarks. Joe rolls his eyes, nodding to the ‘NO SMOKING’ sign clearly displayed on the door of the teacher’s lounge. Randleman just takes another puff of his cigar.

Of course, just like freaking Beetlejuice, Webster walks in the second they say his name. He blinks at the other teachers, clearly surprised by the way his entrance has killed all conversation in the room. After a minute he walks to the back of the room, picks up a plain bagel, and leaves without a word.

“He eats bagels plain,” Joe observes, and grits his teeth. “I hate him.”

Things escalate. Joe walks into his classroom one morning to find unfamiliar script decorating his whiteboard. “I misjudged you,” the familiar quote reads. “You’re not a moron. You’re only a case of arrested development.”

Joe is just as quick to fire back. After his lunch break, Webster returns to find a stick figure caricature of himself wearing oversized pants and waving a British flag. The caption next to it reads: “If your brains were dynamite there wouldn’t be enough to blow your hat off.”Beneath it, in less neatly scrawled handwriting, Joe says, Hemingway? Really?

The next day, Webster shows exactly how pissed off he is: “Thou art a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy worsted-stocking knave; a lily-liver’d, action-taking, whoreson, glass-gazing, superserviceable, finical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a bawd in way of good service, and art nothing but the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pandar, and the son and heir of a mungril bitch.”

Joe’s just impressed he managed to fit all of that on the whiteboard.

His response that afternoon is simple: “My dear, I don’t give a damn.”

Joe is halfway through grading his freshman class’ book reports on Fahrenheit 451 when he looks across the hall. He doesn’t mean to; he’s just in the middle of a particularly dull thesis, he’s bored, and when he needs a distraction his eyes find Webster without even intending to. What he sees causes the paper to flutter out of his hand. He springs from his seat like he’s just been shot, and storms across the hallway.

“Oh my god,” he says, marching into the classroom like it’s his own. “You don’t need the glasses.”

Webster’s eyes are wide as soccer balls, blinking at him in owlish surprise. The glasses -- the stupid, pretentious, lame-as-a-one-legged-horse glasses he constantly wears are sitting untouched on the desk. Webster has his face buried in a book, his glasses going totally ignored.

“I –” he says; then stops, reconsiders, and swallows hard. “I just,” he tries again, then closes his mouth and gives up altogether. The grin spreading it’s way across Joe’s face is slow and lethal.

“You don’t need the glasses,” he says again. “They’re fucking hipster glasses.”

Webster is the type of guy to wear glasses just to look smart. This is all the blackmail Joe could ever want on him. This is perfect.

“Joe, it’s not what you think --”

“You’re a fake.” Joe laughs out the words, delighted beyond belief. “A fraud.”

“I’m definitely not that --”

“What’s next? Do you actually not like tea? Have you never eaten biscuits? Ooh, have you been pretending to have an accent this entire time?”

Webster is silent for too long.

“Oh my god,” says Joe. “Your accent.”

“I’m British-American, I told you,” Webster spits back, in a perfectly clear American accent. Joe’s heart is doing cartwheels in his chest. This is the best day of his life. “I was raised in New York until I was twelve, I can do both accents just fine, it isn’t fake --”

He’s cut off by Joe’s horselike guffaws breaking a new sound barrier. Webster slumps back in his seat, disgruntled, while Joe clutches his stomach and tries to remember how to breathe. He isn’t sure just what sort of dirt he’d hoped and prayed he would find on Webster, but this... this is better than anything he could have dreamed of.

“Web, jesus, I could --” he gasps when he’s finally managed to catch his breath. Webster, tired of sulking, is on his feet now, glowering at Joe with arms crossed.

“You could what?”

“Hell -- I could --” Joe can’t stand it. He breaks into another fit of laughter.

He’s aware of Webster’s blazing glare on him as the other teacher stalks up to where he’s standing. Even his angry walk looks prissy in those slacks that hug his legs so tightly, with those muscular arms crossed like the professor he is... he looks ridiculous. He is a ridiculous person. Joe knew it all along, only now he has proof.

“Do what?” demands Webster, well and truly in Joe’s face. “You’re gonna tell everyone? Get me laughed out of the school? That’s what you want, isn’t it Joe, so just say it --”

“Oh my god, Web, shut up,” Joe hisses, and then kisses him.

It wasn’t like he planned it. Whenever he read about spur-of-the-moment kisses, he always wrote them off as some author’s invention of what the perfect kiss should look like. They weren’t things that actually happened; fantasies, nothing more than that. Before this moment Joe would have sworn up and down that something that romantic and spontaneous could not exist.

He was wrong.

He tells himself he’s kissing Webster just to shut him up, but it’s much more than that. It is the feeling of those strong, plump lips moving against his own, angry and passionate. It is the hands that move to grip his arms, as if holding them both steady. It is the beat of Webster’s heart against his chest, the warm brush of his breath against his jaw when they slowly part.

Joe feels a release of tension he hadn’t even known he’d been harboring. All at once, every little resentment he built up about the teacher across from him has melted away. It has turned into something corporeal, solid, and real. Joe’s resentment is standing just centimeters away from him, staring up at him with wide blue eyes, and that’s the moment it hits Joe that it was never resentment at all.

“Your secret’s safe with me, Web,” he mutters against Webster’s lips. “Colleague confidentiality.”

That’s a thing, right? Joe doesn’t know. The only thing he’s sure of is that he wants to kiss Webster again, so he does; and when he realizes he wants to hold him close and not let go, he does that too.

It was a little (okay, a lot) annoying to find out that their colleagues had made bets on when they would get together. Hell, even Principal Winters was in on it, and that’s a betrayal Joe never saw coming. He’s less surprised to see money exchanging students’ hands when they catch sight of the messages scribbled on each teachers’ board every day -- now more romantic than antagonistic.

Joe doesn’t know what he expected. Then again, Webster has a way of taking him by surprise. His quirks are a lot easier to put up with when Joe’s no longer seeing them through a haze of blind resentment, and he’s a lot less pretentious than he lets on.

Webster, as it turns out, is a total nerd. Joe isn’t sure why he’s surprised. He wears sweater vests, for god’s sake.

He hums a tuneless melody to himself as he packs up the last of his books for the afternoon. Tonight will be busy -- he’s got three classes worth of tests to grade, then a date with Webster at six. They’re going to a burger and fry joint -- painfully American, and just what Joe insists Webster needs to “shake that Britishness out of you”. Webster is quietly disgusted by the food, but endures it for Joe’s sake.

Joe casts one last look up at his whiteboard, and huffs a dry laugh when he reads the message there. He doesn’t know when Webster found the time to do it, but he’s sure happy none of their student caught sight of it. (That would put them on social media for an entirely different reason.)

“You ride well, but you don’t kiss nicely at all."

Joe smiles, and locks his classroom door behind him.

#Anonymous #this was??? so fUN TO WRITE??#webgott #teacher au #david webster #joe liebgott

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suudonym · 7 years

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warning: there’s no point to what I’m about to say here, it’s going to be long and it’s going to be 100% incoherent tired whining so you’ll really be much better off if you just forget it and go back to what you were doing

my writing background is heavily founded in roleplay, specifically one single roleplay group that I participated in right up until just before I started foraying into fanfiction. players came and went and sometimes we switched out characters but it was always the same world, the same timeline, for about six years. it was less like roleplaying and more like collaborative storywriting really, and generally speaking we all really valued coming up with new plots to play and creative ways to grow our characters. there wasn’t a big focus on uniqueness or anything but because it was always same world and same timeline you sort of had to keep thinking up new and different things or it would be kind of weird, like if your character gets stranded in the forest once you kind of can’t do that again with them because they’d learn from the experience, plus the world itself was responsive so like there were only so many times the bad guys could just walk into places pretending to be civilians and then carry out an attack before security tightened up and started putting in countermeasures. generally speaking once a plot was done you pretty much could not feasibly do it again the same way just by virtue of how the game ran

ANYWAY what I’m trying to get at is, while I can’t speak for everyone in the group, it became very important to me personally to come up with new and interesting stuff to do with my plots and characters. I wanted to do stuff that people hadn’t really done before and explore angles that people hadn’t really explored before and my usual partners were of similar thinking. and then there were people, especially one person in particular, who were much less invested in that challenge and who cherrypicked things that other people came up with and pretty much just ripped them off and with some things you had the right to step in and say “I’m sorry but because of X and Y in-character factors it doesn’t make sense for this to go this way” but most of the time you’d just have to grit your teeth and accept that this person was totally ripping off your hard-thought-up plot

I don’t know if that’s why I started feeling protective of my ideas or if it bothered me so much because I was already naturally protective of my ideas - bit of a chicken and egg dilemma there - but either way the way I am now is the way I am now: I’m EXTREMELY invested in coming up with ideas that offer fresh and original perspectives. tropes are tropes and drawing inspiration from other sources is kind of unavoidable but if I can’t put a uniquely suu twist on something then I won’t even entertain the thought of actually producing it

and here’s where it gets tricky. if I have an idea... and somebody else has the same or a very similar idea..... I’m very likely to start thinking about giving up on mine. I really hate feeling like I’ve been ripped off, so I don’t ever want to give someone the impression that I’ve ripped them off, so if someone happens to go public with something similar to a thing I still have in some stage of production, I’m very very likely to give up on the thing completely. that very nearly happened with chf, I was smack in the middle of it when someone posted a “karamatsu goes missing after being kidnapped by a stalker” story and I was like are you fucking kidding me but it turned out to be porn so I convinced myself to keep going, and right now I’m currently struggling to figure out whether or not the holy knight/parallel world fic is something I should actually continue to pursue now that dragonmatsus and fullbokko AUs are gaining popularity. I will absolutely 100% throw shit completely out the window if I feel like someone else is filling a similar niche even if I logically know that I would approach it differently purely by nature of having a different brain and different thoughts, it’s not even voluntarily it’s like a switch just gets flipped and something abruptly dumps all my motivation down the drain while screaming “SOMEONE’S ALREADY DOING THIS, SOMEONE ELSE GOT THERE FIRST, IF YOU DO IT NOW YOU’LL BE COPYING THEM SO GIVE UP! GIVE UP!!!”

that’s the main thing I wanted to whine about here because it’s kind of stupid and I know it but it keeps happening anyway, but as long as we’re here lemme just throw in a bonus: I said myself just a little while ago “drawing inspiration from other sources is kind of unavoidable,” I know that very well and I also know that it’s unavoidable that people will occasionally have the same ideas completely separately from one another but please don’t.... don’t copy anything from me? I know I post quite a few ideas on here and it’s not like they’re terribly original but please don’t like knowingly and purposefully do the same or extremely similar stuff? (like when it comes to details I mean, general tropes aren’t something I’d ever try to stake any kind of claim on) I won’t ever confront anyone or call out anyone or anything, I’ll just feel really bad and probably give up on my own stuff. that feels like kind of a pretentious thing to say and is in all likelihood the furthest concern but just. puttin it out there. just in case I guess

actually come to think of it why am I saying please anything at the end of a post that specifically started with “don’t bother reading this,” what was the point of this post? we just don’t know

well as long as we’re here how about a tata18 status update: I’m at.... not quite 1500 words. progress is laughable. shit sucks. still tryin my best though. should probably try turning on leechblock for once but that hasn’t been working well lately. probably gonna eat a piece of chocolate.

#too vague don't read #in which it's not really all that vague but it's not that specific either so yeah #just one of those things where I post it in hopes that doing so will banish it from the forefront of my head for a while #saydonym

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anthrat · 3 years

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The Akatsuki members as high-school students

Has this been done before? Probably! Do I care? No, because these are my terrible headcanons and nobody can take them from me.

A/N: This has been in my drafts for a long time, probably since early February. I’ve been lacking motivation to do anything at all for months and lo and behold, I find this basically finished piece bar one character. I really, really want to start writing again but I’m struggling to think of ideas, so if you have any requests for future headcanons/one shots/etc feel free to slide me a message or something :)

He's definitely the generic super intelligent kid who gets straight A's in pretty much every subject. All of his notes are really well organised, he keeps bullet journals and everything is colour coded - mans notes are literal art. His handwriting is definitely beautiful, we're talking professional calligrapher here.

All of his equipment is immaculate, he cries if one of his books gets a crease or something on it somehow. If you accidentally nudge him or ruin his notes he will silently hold a grudge against you forever - he probably won't act on his grudge though, he just wants to blend in and he dislikes conflict in general.

Despite being fully aware of his intelligence he hardly ever speaks up in classes. He only really speaks when spoken to and so is renown as the token quiet kid. I also envision him as being super pretentious, although he doesn't show it he definitely thinks he's better than everyone else.

His favourite subject would be English because he enjoys analysing anything and everything. If you're friends with him he will make comments on how random pieces of media etc. are a representation of -insert important world issue or theory.- He'd also like art despite it being the only subject he's not very good at. All his art is abstract, he will draw a pink square and claim it represents a patriarchal society.

Doesn't have many friends because he isn't very talkative, spends most of his time at school alone doing schoolwork. Sees school purely as an educational setting and so doesn't see the point in making an attempt to be social.

All of his school equipment looks like it's been mauled by 300 dogs because its all second/third/fourth+ hand. Man would never pay full price for a textbook. He definitely steals all the faculty equipment too. You could fill an entire room with the amount of stationary this man has but he will NEVER lend it to anyone else. If he does lend you something it's because its either A) broken B) barely functional (so like pens which can write 2 letters before running out) or C) you're giving him something better in return/paying for it (even then he'll probably take whatever he lent you back without you realising)

He also definitely runs mini-shops in school where he'll sell stolen equipment and things like sweets/chewing gum/trendy items (he made bank when fidget spinners were a thing) for like triple what they're actually worth.

His favourite subject is definitely history (He's a crusty dusty old man so of course) but he will never admit this. He takes business and economics but hates them, he's already done all of his own research into the subjects and is only doing them to get the qualification. Definitely complains about how he already knows it all already and it's a waste of time for him to learn it again. His only conversation topic is him talking about how he's going to set up his own business as soon as he leaves school.

Is very intelligent but only gets average grades in most subjects because he refuses to try if he dislikes the subject or sees it as a waste of time.

Watched DeathNote once and now thinks he's an actual real life version of Light Yagame. Carries around his own DeathNote and threatens to write people's name in it.

Convinced that he's been bestowed with supernatural powers, whenever he speaks he does lots of flashy hand gestures, - think generic cool-dude protagonist poses - these change depending on what piece of media he's currently obsessed with. His personality also changes alongside the poses.

Basically what I'm trying to say is he's the over-saturated 'weird anime kid' with a touch of superiority complex. Although, he's super confident and has absolutely 0 shame in this fact.

Bless his little heart, he loves writing but is the definition of 'uses complicated words without knowing what they mean'. He's still decently smart though. His grades would probably be pretty average because he struggles to apply himself properly. His favourite subject would definitely be something like sociology where he can freely express his profound ideas, even if some of them are completely god awful. He'd also enjoy any subject which gives him creative freedom such as art or English.

Cannot see this lad as anything but a jock. He loves sports, lives and breathes them. He's probably a member of practically every single sports team and is surviving on the basis he has a sports scholarship of some kind.

Despite him being a jock he'd be the most approachable out of all the Akatsuki members. He's the kind of guy who no matter who you are he'd always be happy to crack jokes and talk with you. He definitely brings in way too much food, he's that dude who brings a whole mini banquet to school every day for no discernible reason. He's always happy to share though, he's definitely the kind of guy who if he saw someone sat by themselves at lunch he'd sit with them and offer them food.

His grades would be a little on the lower side because most of his free time is taken up with all his sports, however, he'd still work hard at his academics regardless. If anything this man is probably the most dedicated, he would hate the fact that he's falling behind all his classmates but at the same time would rather die than give up any of his extracurricular activities.

He'd be fairly popular because of his naturally easygoing and humorous nature, but people would rarely ever invite him to events as they'd just assume he was busy.

Konan is an absolute babe, the kindest and most caring person in the whole school. Forgotten your lunch? She'll buy you some or give you her own. Didn't do your homework? Bitch will give you hers to copy, if it's an essay or something she'll sit with you and help you write it. Looking a little upset? Konan's right there to try and cheer you up even if you aren't friends.

Despite how wonderful and 100/10 a person she is she probably won't have many close friends. She'll get used a lot by others who take advantage of her good nature. She's smart enough to know what they're doing but she doesn't care, she's happy to be of help to anyone even if they don't appreciate it.

She's a bit of a teachers pet though, she's on super good terms with every teacher in the school even if she doesn't take the subjects they teach. Most of her breaks/lunches would be taken up by her helping with display boards or whatever.

Her favourite subject would be geography, she'd really enjoy learning about different cultures and societies. I can see her just really enjoying learning about how rivers are formed and stuff like that as well. Her least favourite would be something like math which is only fact based, she enjoys being able to look at things from different perspectives.

Also bitch would bake all the time, literally every lesson she'd whip out a box of cakes/cookies/anything else she'd baked the night before to share with the whole class.

Carries knives around with him because he thinks they make him look cool. He can and will whip one out at any given opportunity so he can flex a knife trick on you. His knife tricks suck though, he always drops them or cuts himself, if you try and walk away he'll beg you to stay claiming that fortieth time's the charm or something.

He never shows up to lessons, he doesn't even know what one is. If you ever ask him what subjects he takes he'll look at you blankly and ask what you mean. If he ever is in a lesson it's because he was dragged there by a member of staff. Honestly, the few lessons he's actually present for are so chaotic teachers find themselves praying he doesn't show up. Being as he never willingly shows up he'll never know what subject it is, and he'll ask insanely bizarre questions un-ironically because he gives no fucks and has no idea what is happening. For example, you'll be learning about arteries in biology and he'll ask something like "What ingredients do we need?" because he'll have confused arteries with artichoke and think he's in a home economics lesson.

Despite being the weird knife kid he's pretty popular, he's so completely brain dead and unaware of his surroundings that its impossible not to get along with him. He doesn't have the critical thought to bully anyone and so even if he tries to be horrible it always comes off as though he's just trying to be funny.

Oh dear oh lord what can I say about Zetsu? Zetsu is an absolute shit show of a student. Black Zetsu I can see as being very academic focussed, with their favourite subjects being religion, politics and some form of economics. I imagine they’d be very active within school politics/religious scenes, probably the head of some sort of group for both.

Black Zetsu would also be interested in applying for positions such as Head of Year, Class Representative and anything similar. They’re a big control freak and as a result have basically 0 friends. People would find them overbearing and awful to be around. They’re the incredibly opinionated kid who dismisses anything which they don’t personally agree with.

White Zetsu on the over hand, hoo boy. Class clown obviously. The living bane of Black Zetsu. If Black Zetsu wants class representative then you know people will vote for white Zetsu instead because he’s infinitely more popular. He’s incredibly weird but in such an innocent and goofy way they’d have a large group of friends. They wouldn’t be popular per say, but they’d be friends with practically everyone.

Their favourite subject would probably be biology because sex jokes, but I also think they’d enjoy English because uhh… Sex jokes. I just can’t see White Zetsu taking school even slightly seriously.

He basically lives in the art department. If you walk near him he will tag along and start talking to you about art, it doesn’t matter who you are you will be forced to listen to his speech.

Incredibly confident and has no issue starting a conversation with anyone. He's definitely the type of person who every time you see him he'd be with a completely different group of people, whether they want him there or not.

Despite his weird constant art rants he'd be the life and soul of the party. He's always fun to be around purely because of how much energy he has. He'd be the kid who makes everyone laugh completely on accident, although people would probably be laughing more at him than with him.

He'd probably get invited to lots of places by other kids just so he could be the butt of every joke. He wouldn't mind though, he'd brush it off and probably enjoy the attention he gets from it.

Most of his friends would end up being people who know nothing about art though, all the students who participated in any artistic subjects would stay far away in fear of him starting another argument about art.

If the art class ever does clay his has to be put in the kiln separately because it always blows up. He also has a habit of 'accidentally' damaging other people's art if he dislikes it. Eventually he would mellow out and start appreciating other forms.

Nobody knows who he is, people will have sat next to him for years and won't even know his name. The amount of times his name is called in the register and people will pipe up with "who's that?" or "didn't he move to another school?" is genuinely concerning. He doesn't care though, he'd rather go through school completely unnoticed.

Excels at all subjects (besides sports, he's never showed up to a PE lesson because of 'health reasons') despite putting very little effort into academics. His favourite subjects would be biology and math. He'd absolutely hate art as a subject, preferring to do art in his free time rather than make it into a chore at school. He'd have been put in Deidara's class at least once and it would have completely ruined all enjoyment of art as a subject for him. He'd also hate any subjects which prompt discussion such as English or sociology, he doesn't have any opinions on them and he doesn't care to listen to anyone else's.

Honestly, dude is the definition of a background character at school. He just simply does not exist, and I have mad respect for him. On the off chance anyone even tried to speak to him he'd probably completely ignore them, the only communication he has at school is through emails with teachers. He has 0 interest in making friends when they have nothing in common with him.

Another character sort of hard to pinpoint. He’d probably be somewhat similar to White Zetsu, but not quite as popular. He’d be a right teachers pet, with few friends his own age. He’d probably spend spend all his breaks and lunches with teachers in their classrooms, offering to help them with display boards etc.

Despite being a teachers pet he wouldn’t be academic whatsoever. He’d always try his best but bless him, he’s terrible at every subject and ends up constantly making a fool of himself. He’s definitely the sort to raise his hand to make a really great point, but his really great point is basically repeating the lesson objective. When studying of mice of men he definitely asked “what’s the name of Curly’s wife’s husband?”

His favourite subject, regardless of his ineptitude would be drama. He’d always be the most melodramatic and over the top in every character he played, not really caring what other people thought of him. In fact, that’s probably his best feature. Despite his lack of popularity he’d always unapologetically be himself, his goofy and over the top self.

SPOILERS AHEAD:

If we’re thinking more about Obito, I’d like to imagine for the sake of this headcanon Tobi is what he’s like during lower school years and then suddenly one summer he comes back and he’s completely matured into this foreign character unrecognisable to nobody.

He’d become incredibly serious, forgoing the role of energetic teachers pet to a much more muted one. He’d still be just as terrible at all his lessons, and still spend most of his time around teachers rather than others his age but he’d no longer have that fun spark. He’d probably start caring greatly about what people thought of him so his latter years would be trying to stay under the radar completely.

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