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officialaemondtargaryen · 3 years

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Five Kisses pt. 2

Summary: Your relationship with Bucky is defined by five different kisses

Characters: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 1,877

Author’s Note: I hope that you are all enjoying this little series. This part will include one kissing trope: the “accidentally-witnessed-kiss”. In part one, we covered two tropes; “kiss-in-a-dream” and the “first kiss”. I think this is going to be four parts long, so I hope you all will stick with me through it. Please keep in mind this is the first thing that I have written in four years, so please be nice to me <3

You can find part one here!

The next few weeks seemed to fly by.

You had been working so much that you hadn’t really had much time to think about that night. Your boss had even commented on your work performance, and your recent knack for finding things to keep yourself busy with. You were afraid that if you allowed your mind to wander, you’d literally unravel. And you couldn’t let that happen, because you were doing a pretty amazing job at pretending like nothing had ever happened.

Bucky had come over to the apartment a few times since. The first time, you panicked and acted as if he was invisible. The second time, you lied about having food poisoning and spent the entire night in your room watching Schitt’s Creek while everyone played Mario Kart in the living room.

So, everything was back to normal.

And no one suspected a thing.

Or so you thought.

“Hey, do you mind if Steve and Buck come over tonight?” Natasha asked, standing in the threshold of your room.

“Why would I mind if they come over?” You asked, looking up from your laptop.

Natasha shrugged. “I feel like you’ve been a little more avoidy than usual, lately.” She said. “Wasn’t sure if something happened that night that Steve and I didn’t make it out to Josie’s.”

“No,” you said and shook your head. “Nothing happened. I’ve just been really busy. I’ve had a huge workload lately, and you know I’m not the best at dealing with my stress.”

It wasn’t a lie.

“Well we’re watching that new Tom Hanks movie later if you want to join.” She offered. “I think Steve said something about ordering pizza.”

“Tom Hanks and pizza?” You asked and Nat nodded. “How could I resist?”

You figured it best to at least try to not be ‘avoidy’ as Natasha called it earlier. After all, how long could you really get away with it? Bucky was constantly around and you couldn’t have food poisoning every few days. You knew that sooner or later you would have to face him, be around him, talk to him- but you were scared. What if he had realized that it was a mistake? What if it was just the alcohol?

What if he didn’t feel the same way?

Part of the reason why you had buried yourself into your work and hobbies was so that you didn’t have to think about things like this. Because the thought of him kissing you the way that he did, and then realizing that it might have been a mistake, nearly broke your heart.

A few hours later, you were sitting on the couch when you heard the sound of boots in the hallway. The front door opened to reveal Steve with a couple of pizza boxes and Bucky was behind him with a few bags of other snacks and a case of beer. His eyes found you almost instantaneously and you quickly averted your gaze back to the TV.

“Hey, Y/N!” Steve was smiling from ear to ear. “Long time, no see.”

You rolled your eyes and stood up, helping him with the pizza boxes. “I hope you made sure to get the garlic sauce.”

Steve sighed, “I forgot.” You gave him a scowl. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be joining us. I mean, you spend one night alone with Buck and suddenly you fall off the face of the planet! Was the night that bad?”

You were starting to get the impression that everyone already knew you and Bucky had kissed, and they were now just trying to get you to admit it. First Natasha’s comment about ‘something happening’ and now Steve. You bit on your lip and glanced over at Bucky. His eyes were downcast, pretending to be interested in setting up the table, but you knew he was avoiding your gaze.

Steve stood in between the two of you, looking back and forth at each of you until he bursted out in a loud laugh. “I’m kidding! Relax!”

He continued to chuckle to himself as he headed down the hallway towards Nat’s room, leaving you and Bucky in the kitchen, alone, the first time you had been alone with him since that kiss. But, as if it were now second nature to you, you pretended as if he wasn’t even there and turned on your heel towards the cupboards to grab some plates.

Bucky didn’t move however, he just stood idly at the end of the table; fingers fumbling with the napkins that came with the pizza. You turned back around, plates in hand and sat them down on the table. Your heart was pounding so loud, you were sure that he would be able to hear.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said quietly. You opened your mouth to object, but he shook his head. “Don’t try and deny it.” He said, his lips curling at the ends into a small smile. “Natasha told Steve that you didn’t really have food poisoning.”

Thanks Nat.

“You’re right,” you admitted. “I have been avoiding you.”

“Why?” He asked, completely oblivious- you were half hoping that he would figure it out on his own.

Now you were really caught between and rock and a hard place. You could confess to him all of your feelings and your fears, but the thought of doing so terrified you. All the while, his eyes were piercing a hole straight though to your soul, it seemed, as he waited for an answer.

“I don’t think that now is the best time to talk about it,” you told him with a gesture towards Nat’s room. “They’re already suspicious.”

Bucky nodded his head, “so you’re like worried they’ll find out, or somethin’?”

Immediately, you rolled your eyes. “No. Yes. I- I don’t know, okay? Look, can we talk about this later?” You asked him. “GUYS, THE PIZZA IS GETTING COLD AND I’M STARVING!” You yelled to Steve and Natasha who were probably eavesdropping on your conversation right now.

You could hear them start heading down the hallway towards the kitchen.

“So, who’s ready to eat?” Steve asked rubbing his hands together.

Natasha and Steve took up most of the couch during the movie, leaving you and Bucky to share the loveseat. Knowing that it was too small for the both of you to sit on it comfortably, Bucky ended up sitting on the floor with his back to you. Finding it incredibly hard to focus on the movie, you spent most of the two or so hours staring at his perfectly tousled, chestnut hair.

Your phone buzzed and you quickly glanced at the screen to see a text from Natasha. “You’re staring,” the text read and you looked up at her to see her looking right at you with eyebrows raised. You texted her back quickly, advising her that she should be paying attention to the movie and you saw her roll her eyes upon receipt.

When the movie ended, you noticed she and Steve whispering among themselves and not too long after that Steve stood up from the couch. “We’re going to run down to the store and grab some ice cream.” It was completely random and you definitely knew now that they were both up to something. “Does anyone want anything?”

You and Bucky shook your heads in sync.

They left shortly after and the apartment was suddenly filled with an uncomfortable silence. It was now or never for you and Bucky, and you knew that- and you weren’t sure how long Steve and Natasha were going to be gone for. He stood up from his place on the floor and moved to sit on the couch, directly across from you.

“Well this is incredibly awkward,” you said and he let out a laugh. A loud sigh escaped your lips as you tossed your head back on the cushion. “It’s not funny, Buck.”

“You’re right,” he replied trying to keep himself from smiling. “It’s cute.”

You sighed again. “Look, a few months ago, I didn’t like you at all. I’ll admit, I didn’t have a very good reason for it, but that’s besides the point. But then- I don’t know, something changed. And I wasn’t necessarily sure how to deal with it so I just kind of-”

“Avoided the situation.” Bucky confirmed and you nodded.

“But then we had a great night out and we kissed,” you continued. “And because my feelings had already begun to change before that, I guess I was just afraid that maybe you wouldn’t feel the same, and the reason you kissed me was because you were drunk.”

Finally. You hadn’t said any of this aloud to anyone and now that you had, it felt like a giant weight being lifted off of your chest.

“You thought the only reason I kissed you was because I was drunk?” He laughed again. “I guess we’re both pretty bad at conveying our emotions, then, because I have been wanting to do that ever since I first met you. And, since we are getting everything out in the open, I have a small confession to make.”

“What’s that?” You asked.

Bucky stood up from the couch and crossed over to sit next to you on the loveseat. He turned his entire body towards you and took your hands in his. “Don’t be mad okay?” He said, suppressing a small smile. “But I kind of asked Steve and Nat not to come to Josie’s that night.”

You pulled your hands from his and stood up from the loveseat. Bucky stood up, as well. “I knew it!” You exclaimed, jutting a finger into his chest. “Well, I suspected something. It was their idea to go out!”

Bucky grabbed your hand and intertwined your fingers, pulling your arm behind him to wrap around his waist. “We were having such a good time,” he said. “You weren’t actively hating me.”

You smiled and shook your head and wrapped your other arm around his middle; leaning your head against his chest. “You made the right call.”

Bucky looked down at you kissed the top of your head. You moved to look up at him and he placed a finger underneath your chin, holding you in place as he closed the gap between you. It was even better than the first time, if that could be possible. He pulled you tight to him, as if you weren’t already close enough, and allowed his hands to explore your backside. You giggled as he cupped your ass, which prompted him to only deepen the kiss.

As soon as you remembered that Steve and Natasha could walk through that door at any moment, the front door flew open. You jumped back to see your friends standing in the doorway with wide eyes, mouths open with surprise. Bucky sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck with his hand and you could see a blush creeping up to his cheeks.

“You owe me twenty bucks,” Steve said to his girlfriend.

You rolled your eyes and then noticed something off as neither one of your friends were carrying any bags from the store that they had said they were going to. “Wait a second, did you guys even leave to get ice cream?”

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hellomynameisbisexual · 4 years

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Let’s talk about the B in LGBTQ. A recent CDC poll found that 5.5 percent of women and 2 percent of men aged 18-44 identify as bisexual, which is significantly higher than the percentage of women and men who identify as lesbian/gay (1.3 percent and 1.9 percent, respectively). Even many people who don’t identify as bi have swung both ways at least once: 17.4 percent of women and 6.3 percent of men age 18-44 surveyed have had some same-sex contact.

Yet we don’t hear all that much about bi rights. But bisexual people still face discrimination, often from unexpected sources. Here are just a few of them.

Mental Health Professionals

YouTube vlogger Connor Manning recounted an awful encounter with a therapist who told him that he isn’t really bisexual. Instead of offering him proper treatment, the therapist spent a half hour trying to convince him not to call himself bi.

About the incident, Connor says,

What if I was someone who was freshly questioning their sexuality? …For a lot of people, especially those seeking help for their mental health, these things are an issue and they’re confusing and scary. To have someone who’s supposed to be a resource I can trust, someone I can open up to, try and invalidate my identity was really deeply sad to me. I also talked to a few people about it after the fact and they told me that this is something that happens all the time, unfortunately.

Research confirms this. A 2007 study published by Columbia University Press found that more than a quarter of therapists assumed their bisexual clients needed therapy for their sexuality. About a sixth saw bisexuality as a symptom of mental illness. Seven percent of therapists in the study tried to convert their bisexual clients to heterosexuality; 4 percent tried to turn their bisexual clients gay or lesbian.

Unfortunately, the misconception that bisexuality isn’t a real, unique sexual identity is very common. It’s so common that bi rights activists have an expression for it: bi erasure. Bi erasure is pretty much what it sounds like: Insisting that bisexuality isn’t real and that bisexuals are “really” just confused straight or gay people.

Faith Cheltenham of BiNet USA says that bisexuality is often subsumed under ‘gay’, but in reality “being gay is as different from being straight as being bi is. It’s not being half straight, half gay… you’re going to have a completely different life cycle experience from your gay peers.”

A young bisexual person going through that unique life cycle might feel lonely and confused and seek a therapist for help. If that therapist just turns around and tries to suppress their sexuality, it’s devastating.

What’s especially alarming about this is the fact that bisexuals (especially bisexual women) suffer from mental health problems at a higher rate than the rest of the population. They need help more often, but they’re less likely to get it if they have to fight uphill just to have their sexuality acknowledged as real.

Immigration Officials

Since 1994, United States immigration policies have recognized persecution for LGBTQ status as grounds for asylum. However, it’s not always easy for bisexual people to gain asylum. In correspondence with Unicorn Booty, Apphia Kumar, a bi rights activist, wrote that Immigration officers aren’t properly trained to handle bisexual asylum seekers, and often don’t understand it. “They have the incorrect perception that bisexuality is a choice or can be hidden in the face of persecution or that our identities depend on the gender of our partners.”

Recently, the U.S. Court of Appeals for the 7th Circuit denied a bisexual Jamaican man asylum on the grounds that the man wasn’t “really” bisexual. Why not? Because he was married to a woman, even though he had dated men before and had been repeatedly assaulted for having sex with men.

Claiming that someone isn’t “really” bisexual because they’re currently an opposite-sex relationship is like claiming that someone isn’t really bilingual because they only speak one language at a time. It’s a ridiculous attitude based on broken logic. But immigration officials, even well-meaning ones, reinforce this misconception. Via email, Kumar noted that immigration lawyers often don’t understand bisexuality or they don’t consider it strong enough for an asylum claim, so “to increase the chances of someone getting asylum, they advise the asylum seeker to apply as gay or lesbian. This in fact increases the trauma of invisibility and doesn’t allow us to be our true selves in the long run.”

Their Partners

Bisexual people face a higher rate of intimate partner violence than straight or gay people. According to a 2010 survey by the CDC, a staggering 61 percent of bisexual women are raped, physically abused and/or stalked by an intimate partner during their lifetimes, compared to 44 percent of lesbians and 35 percent of heterosexual women.

Bisexual men face unusually high rates of domestic violence as well: The number is 37 percent of bisexual men, compared to 26 percent of gay men and 29 percent of heterosexual men. Interestingly, the majority of this violence is coming from an opposite-sex partner. Ninety percent of bisexual women report being abused only by a male partner, and 79 percent of bisexual men report being abused by female partners.

Why is the rate so high? LGBTQ-rights activists say it comes from cultural stereotypes that paint bisexual people as immoral and undependable. Queer activist Lola Davidson writes, “A big factor of violence towards bisexuals comes from the oversexualization of bisexuality in the media and pornography. Bisexuals are often portrayed as very promiscuous and morally-ambiguous, often cheating on their partners or threatening their identity in some way.”

Stephanie Farnsworth also believes that anti-bisexual domestic violence comes from insecurity and fear of infidelity. She writes, “Checking through messages, demanding that no alone time is spent with a person of any gender and isolating one from friends suddenly becomes the norm because bisexuality is still read as wanting to have sex with anyone and everyone even though this disregards the logic that no one would ever expect a heterosexual person to fancy everyone of a different gender to them.”

We can find an example in this in the allegedly abusive relationship between Johnny Depp and Amber Heard and the media’s trashy response to it. Gossip rags suggested that Depp’s violence stemmed from Heard’s bisexuality, that he was afraid she would cheat on him with a woman.

Sadly, when bisexuals are abused, they might not have anywhere to go for help. At a Bisexual Community Issues Roundtable at the White House, one bi survivor of intimate partner violence told a heartbreaking story about being rejected by a battered women’s shelter:

The shelter staff told me I didn’t belong there, that they only served women abused by male partners. They referred me to a new gay community anti-battering project. That group also turned me away, saying that I was bisexual, not gay, so they couldn’t help me. What I felt too angry and defeated to say back then was, “Why can’t services be designed with bisexuals in mind? If we design services sensitive to bisexuals, they end up being responsive to both heterosexual and gay people, too, don’t they?”

The Media

Unfortunately, the media does a lot to reinforce negative stereotypes about bisexuality.

On television and in film, bisexual characters are usually portrayed as schemers, manipulators, and hedonists. Depraved bisexuals are so common in fiction that they even have their own TV Tropes entry. Here are just a few well-known examples from the list of evil, unhinged, monstrous bisexual characters:

Obviously, it’s not inherently wrong to portray a bisexual character as a bad person. But it’s a problem when an overwhelming number of dramas associate bisexuality with evil.

That Depraved Bisexual trope mostly applies to male characters. Female bisexuality is often presented as a performance meant to titillate men, or a way for a woman to sow her wild oats before settling down and having a “real” relationship with a man. The Daily Beast writes:

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to unpack the appeal of this falsified narrative of bisexuality. The concept of a bisexual or lesbian woman who needs to be “saved” from her own sexuality is essentially a revamping of the classic damsel in distress narrative, with the male character’s conquering masculinity cast in the role of hero. The character of the bisexual woman offers the potential for a killer combination of girl-on-girl action paired with the possibility of heterosexual redemption.

But it’s not all bad. We’ll always have Darryl, the goofy, paté-loving boss on Crazy Ex-Girlfriend.

Non-fiction isn’t much better than entertainment media. Bi erasure abounds here, as news publications and biographers have a hard time acknowledging that bisexuality even exists. Many real-life bisexuals, past and present, end up referred to as either straight or gay. When actress Amber Heard announced that she had a girlfriend at a GLAAD event in 2010, the press called her a lesbian.

When actress Anna Paquin discussed her marriage to actor Stephen Moyer, Larry King asked her some really clueless questions:

King: “Are you a non-practicing bisexual?”

Paquin: “Well, I am married to my husband and we are happily monogamously married.”

King: “But you were bisexual?”

Paquin: “Well, I don’t think it’s a past-tense thing.”

Larry King: “No?”

Larry King, syndicated talk show host, holds a weirdly common misconception that bisexuality means constantly having sex with men and women simultaneously.

The LGBTQ Community

The queer community treats bisexuals like a redheaded stepchild. Gays and lesbians often have the same negative attitude toward bisexuality that straight people do. A survey published in the The Journal of Bisexuality found that bisexual people receive only a little less discrimination from gays than they do from straights.

Bisexuals make up about half of the queer community and have always played a significant role in the LGBTQ rights movement, but they receive disproportionately little support in return. In Forty Years of LGBTQ Philanthropy: 1970-2010, Funders for LGBTQ Issues reports that bisexuals receive the least amount of funding out of all targeted LGBTQ sub-groups, less than 0.1 percent. Gay men received the most funding.

Back in 1999, Dan Savage told gay men not to get into relationships with bisexual men. Savage has softened toward bisexuals since then and insists he’s not biphobic, but in a more recent thinkpiece, he totally dismissed the concept of biphobia and suggested that bisexuals were to blame for discrimination against them because they weren’t out enough. Savage also wrote that it is “difficult for me to accept a bisexual teenage boy’s professed sexual identity at face value.” That’s not very different from clueless straight people who think that gay teens are just going through a phase. Coming out as bi is hard enough without getting shade from the people who are supposed to be your allies.

Bi people have to fight to make their voices heard in the queer rights movement. When they express their sexuality, they are often met with hostility. Bi activist RJ Aguiar says that when he wore his #StillBisexual shirt to the 2016 LA Pride Parade, he was “met with a lot of silent, sideways looks, and even the occasional remark like, ‘What are you doing here? This isn’t for you. Go home.’ “

Telling a bisexual person that they’re not welcome at an LGBTQ Pride Event is appalling. The queer community has to do better, and stop trying to chase the B out of LGBTQ.

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cecilspeaks · 4 years

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163 - “Bravo”

Our moral compass has been demagnetized. Welcome to Night Vale.

Night Vale, Carlos and I went to see a new play the other night. It’s been ages since we went to the theater. I think the last show we saw was “Hamilton”, which is a Tony and Pulitzer winning hip hop musical about figure skater Scott Hamilton, who died in a duel to fellow Olympian Katarina Witt. “Hamilton” was wonderful, but live theater is so expensive. It’s a rare treat for us to get out of the house, what with the cost of tickets plus dinner, parking, a babysitter, tuxedo rentals and all that time spent watching YouTube makeup tutorials for jamming facial recognition cameras.

But my friend Charles Raynor invited us as his special guests to watch the premiere of a new play at the Night Vale Asylum, where Charles is the warden. The play was called “The Disappearance and Cover-up of Flight 18713 as Performed by the Inmates of the Asylum of Night Vale under the Direction of Undercover Agents from the National Safety and Transportation Bureau.” Or, “18713/NTSB” for short. I’m used to seeing plays at the New Old Opera House or in the high school auditorium. There’s also the Black Box Theatre, which presents some of Night Vale’s most experimental drama from young performance artists. No one has seen any of these shows, or if they have, they’ve never emerged from that doorless black box, its walls perfectly smooth and faintly warm.

But this particular play was at the asylum itself. The Night Vale Asylum perches atop a craggy peak in the Sand Wastes. It’s brutalist concrete walls intermittently slashed with slivers of windows. I do not personally know anyone inside this intimidating institute, other than warden Raynor himself. And I’ll admit to being a bit nervous venturing out at night to a heavily guarded home for the criminally insane. But Carlos put me at ease by rolling his eyes. He said it was neurotypical ableism that makes us think this way. That movies and TV shows often play up harmful tropes about psychopaths and lunatics, planning daring escapes so they can return to a life of criminal misdeeds. Carlos explained that asylums are merely places where we hide away the people who most remind us of the inexplicable fragility of the human brain.

Driving out past the Scrublands under an indigo sky, the full moon low over the horizon backlighting the Night Vale Asylum atop its jagged rocky ridge, my nerves returned. I thought I heard coyotes howling in the distance, but it was the car stereo. Carlos had put on his favorite new Frank Ocean album called “Various Animals Screaming”. When we arrived, warden Raynor greeted us at the gates. Two guards wearing army style green dress uniforms flanked him. Their right breasts were laden with medals, chevrons and stripes. They each were armed with billy clubs, tasers and slingshots, and one of them was wearing an eye patch, but it was positioned in the middle of his forehead.

The warden escorted Carlos and me to our seats, which were simple wood chairs. There were only ten seats total, all in a single row along the rear wall. There was no standard stage to speak of, no curtain. The actors were all in costume in the center of the room, already in character. The other seats were already filled. Warden Raynor, Sheriff Sam, three of Sam’s secret police officers, two of Sam’s overt police officers, and an angel I had never met before, but who introduced themself to me as Erika. With a K, they added. “Nice to meet you, Erika,” I said. “You got ten bucks?” Erika asked. “Uh, sure,” I said. “What for?” “Not everyone gets to know everything,” they said. “You either got it or you don’t, man.” So I handed them ten bucks and minutes later my lower back pain, which has plagued me for the last six months, was gone. I looked back at Erika and I saw the wink at me, or I think they winked? They have ten eyes, so it could have just been an asynchronous blink. It’s hard to even tell what they’re ever looking at.

The play began with an introduction by warden Raynor, who welcomed us all to this unusual night. The first ever performance of an original play by inmates in his asylum. He introduced the writers/directors of the piece. There were three of them, each dressed in an electrical blue jumpsuit. One of them had a blister on his upper lip, another a swollen red lump along the cuticle of his right index finger. One of them had an unceasing nose bleed. I recognized them as the agents from the National Safety and Transportation Bureau in Washington, who had come to Night Vale two months ago to investigate the disappearance of Delta flight 18713. Sheriff Sam had placed these agents undercover in the asylum to try to meet with an inmate named Doug Biondi, who claimed to have pertinent information about the missing aircraft. Upon remembering this, I flipped quickly through my playbill to find the ensemble members’ names. And there on the title page was the name Doug Biondi, who was cast as airplane pilot. As the warden returned to his seat and before the house lights dimmed, I leaned over to Sheriff Sam and asked, “How is the undercover operation going, Sheriff?” Sam glared at me and said, “I’ve no idea what you mean.” “You know, with the NTSP officers here in the asylum trying to interview Doug Biondi?” I asked perhaps a little loudly for a theater. “The NTSP officers are criminally insane, Sessil,” the Sheriff said unironically and with more than a touch of scold in their tone. “That is why they are here. They are a danger to themselves and others.” I had many more questions, but before I could say anything, the lights faded to black, and I heard the first voice of the play.

“Find us,” called the voice in the dark. “Find us,” it echoed again. A faint glow coated like frost the wild-eyed faces of the inmates on stage. The frantic visages made all the more panic by deep eyeliner, rouge and lipstick. Most were dressed in common street clothes: slacks, jeans, buttoned-down shirts, mid-length pattern skirts. Two were dressed as flight attendants and one as the pilot. I could only presume a small budget, as the uniforms worn by the latter groups were largely suggested by navy blue hats and little plastic wings on their lapels. The pilot wore anachronistic aviation goggles and so it was difficult for me to see and remember the face of this actor, this inmate, Doug Biondi. But I could see his mouth, which was unusually white. The corners of his lips extending well past the width of his eyes. He had an unusual number of teeth in his harsh smile, a smile which never abated, even in his most somber of scenes.

“Weeee surviive,” said Biondi’s pilot character. “Weeeee livve. Weee cannot dieee. Noot here, noot in No..Where.” He said it not like the vague concept of “in no place”, but “No Where”, two words capitalized, like the name of a specific place. Each actor was seated in short tight rows of four, a narrow aisle in between, mimicking the floor plan of a common fuselage. At the front of the troup sat Doug Biondi, as airline pilot. “How did we get here, in No Where?” said one of the passengers. “And how shall we return?” said another. “Only,” they said in unison, “when you find ussss.” This last line they said with a quick twist of their necks towards the audience. Then the scene shifted, the chairs cleared and all of the actors stood in the profile of a Greek chorus. They explained the flight from Detroit, the view of lake Erie, they told stories of different passengers. One who had a job interview, one who was looking for an apartment, another who went to Palm Springs on vacation. They told the story of a bright light and a loud pop, and suddenly the engines were silent. The plane felt still, unmoving, and then the chorus all pantomimed the leaning, concerned gaze out airplane windows. Instead of tops of clouds or distant shapes of great lakes, though, they looked out and saw – children in a gymnasium. They heard the squeak of sneakers and the joyful cries of playful exercise. It felt like minutes, maybe a whole hour. They could not understand what they were seeing. They could not comprehend an elementary school gym six miles above southern Canada. But they were not six miles above southern Canada. They were only a few feet above the American Southwest, inside an airplane, inside an elementary school gymnasium, in a town called Night Vale. And as quickly as they had appeared there, they disappeared. Off the radar, gone from the skies, out of known existence. Throughout this chorus, the speakers filled our ears with the joyful shouts of children, the hollow metallic thumps of red rubber balls, and the collective panicked inhale of a 143 passengers and crew of a displaced plane, and then it was silent. And then it was dark.

A single green light appeared on the far wall, a dot, a blip. A radar blinking on, then off. And the voice of Doug Biondi said: “Weeeeeee are not passengers on a plane. Weeeee are actors. Weeee are inmates of the Asylum of Night Vale, but weeeee do not belong here. Weeee are people who know truths. People who know more than is allowed, and for that, weeeeeeeee are kept in cages. Weeeeeeee are fed poisoned pills and circular logic.” And at this point in the play, I felt movement in our small audience. The warden had stood up and was shouting: “This is not in the script, Doug!” But Doug spoke louder, faster. “Iiiii am not insane, I say! Only the insane would say such a thing they say. Then I am insane, I say. Yes you are, they say. I am trapped, I am framed, I spit out your poisoned pills! I reject your propagandist blather. I know what I know I say. Hold him down they say.” Warden Raynor had gone to the tech board and turned on all the lights. He shouted “code blue” into a radio receiver, and we saw half a dozen security officers in their green medal laden uniforms lurch from the corners of the room, penning the ensemble of inmates into a tight circle in the center. “Return them to their rooms,” the warden called.

But as the guards encroached, the three men from the NTSP stepped to the perimeter of the mass of inmates. They were holding little plastic wings just like those on the costumes of the actors playing flight attendants. One of the NTSP agents, the one with an unceasing nose bleed, opened the back of the wings, revealing a long sharp pin, and thrust it into the neck of a guard. Simultaneously, the other NTSP agents and several other actors did the same, and the guards fell to the ground. One of the NTSP agents, the one with a blister on his upper lip, grabbed the keys and weapons from an unconscious officer. “Dearest audience,” he said in verse. “We mean them no harm. ‘tis but a sleep, a little pharmaceutical rest for a uniformed guard who kept us confined, made life hard for us low level agents doing our jobs, trapped ‘neath the lies of a warden who robs our freedom and murders our spirit. At last we can go, approach the wall and clear it, but heed my warning: as we this coup fly, every man for himself, better run – or die.” And upon this last line, the alarm bells of the asylum rattled my ears and my nerves, shaking Carlos and me from our seats. The inmates scattered in every direction as Sheriff Sam and their officers gave chase. Carlos was nearly stepped on by one of the escapees, and as I bent to help him up, I was knocked over by two officers in full sprint.

When the commotion died down, I looked up and saw Erika still sitting calmly in their chair, and I asked: “Erika, what is happening?” Erika looked down at their playbill, and then back at me, and said: “I think it’s intermission.”

And now the weather.

[“One One Thousand” by Raina Rose rainarose.com]

After 15 minutes, Carlos and I returned to our seats hoping, but not truly believing it really was an intermission. We’ve seen immersive theater before, like “Sleep No More”, an interactive show in New York City where audience members are placed inside a huge warehouse of actors dancing out the plot to “Macbeth”, and at the end everyone is granted the ability to live out the rest of their lives without sleep. It’s expensive and not for everyone, but totally worth it if immersive theater is your thing. But this show was not that. No. “18713/NTSP” had gone wrong. Or, perhaps it had gone right. Under the strict critique of plot structure, character development, and production value, the play failed terribly. But as a piece of political or (agit prop) theater, it was a rousing success. The Sheriff’s Secret Police have placed roadblocks around the entire city, hoping to keep these supposedly dangerous inmates from leaving the area. It is bad optics, to say the least, for the entire population of the town’s asylum to escape custody.

But as Carlos and I left the theater space, we walked down the long corridors, cells and rooms open, no security detail in sight. In one of the cells, below a cot, was a journal. It was the journal of Doug Biondi. Page after page was filled with monologues, narratives and conversations from various people. People who were on a plane, people in transit between checkpoints of life, between relationships, between homes, between jobs, between vacation and work. These stories were written as verbatim dialogue, as if Doug Biandi had transcribed them himself. As if he could hear the voices of those very people. Like former air traffic controller Amelia Anna Alfaro. I wonder if Doug heard the same voices. The same passengers of the missing plane. I had my intern Seamus go down to the library and look up public records on Doug Biondi, hoping to find some connection between Doug and Amelia, but Seamus still has yet to return with that information . I even double checked my playbill looking for Amelia’s name in the cast or crew, but she was not listened here. She was likely never in the asylum.

One thing I did find, though, was a note in the back of Doug’s journal. This note seemed to be in Doug’s own voice. “They tell us we are kept here for our safety, but they keep us here for their safety. They fear what will happen when the people on that plane are found. But I think they have already been found. They should be afraid of what happens when the people on the plane find us.”

Night Vale is on lockdown, so stay home and stay safe, listeners. I do not believe any of us to be in danger from those who escaped the asylum, but I do believe us to be in danger of most everything else. Stay tuned next for a serious of audio clicks, which is definitely not federal agents tapping your radio. Don’t worry about it.

Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

#welcome to night vale #welcome to night vale transcripts #episode 163 #bravo

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abigailnussbaum · 3 years

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Legends of Tomorrow, Season 5

I was going to write weekly reviews of this season, and then with one thing and another ended up dropping it in the spring (hey, remember when there was so much weekly TV that you couldn’t keep up with all your shows? Wonder how long it’ll be before that happens again). I caught up with the entire season this weekend, and honestly, that feels like a better standpoint from which to write about it - I think if I’d stuck with weekly reviews, I would have ended up saying the same thing week after week.

A couple of years ago, Emily VanDerWerff suggested that there is a standard lifecycle for high-concept, large ensemble, off-the-wall genre shows:

Season 1: still figuring this whole thing out

Season 2: now we’re cooking with oil

Season 3: we can do anything!

Season 4: whoops, no, we’ve gotten a bit over our skis here

Season 5: ???

Legends, I think, encapsulates this progression to a T. The show’s second and third seasons were some of the best and most exciting genre storytelling on television, but last year was a bit of a mess. That’s not entirely the writers’ fault - Nick Zano’s limited availability due to family obligations forced them to beef up the Time Bureau’s role in the season, and their desire to keep Maisie Richardson-Sellers on board even after Amaya’s story had wrapped up led them to create a character, Charlie, who had no real reason for being on the Waverider. But a lot of it was self-inflicted. The cast was too unwieldy, the Time Bureau story seemed designed to expose the thin spots in the show’s self-presentation as irreverent but fundamentally compassionate (it certainly didn’t help that the decision to rewrite Nate Sr. into a good guy was made almost at the last minute, requiring the entirely unconvincing argument that forcing magical creatures to perform in a circus act is somehow morally superior to forcing them to be secret agents), and some of the character choices felt entirely parachuted in (Zari/Nate, anyone?).

Season five, therefore, had a lot of clean up work to do, while also demonstrating that the Legends formula had more life in it than just those two transcendent early seasons. And while this is undeniably a more successful, more enjoyable season than the one preceding it (which also does a great deal to address some of the show’s structural issues, chiefly the overlarge cast), I also can’t help but notice that instead of finding new places for the show to go, what the fifth season delivers instead is a hodgepodge of story elements from seasons two and three. So we’ve got a mystical object that can rewrite reality (The Loom of Fate vs. season two′s The Spear of Destiny); a token hunt across time and space in which the Legends face off against the estranged relatives of one of their members (the totems in season three vs. the search for the pieces of the loom, Amaya’s evil granddaughter vs. Charlie’s evil sisters); a late season loss that forces our characters into a nightmarish alternate reality in which they don’t even remember who they are (the Legion of Evil rewriting the Legends’ lives to make them ordinary and unsatisfying vs. being stuck in TV shows in a world run by the Fates); which comes about because of a betrayal by a member of the team (Charlie in season five, Mick in season two) whose eventual return to the fold enables to Legends to win in the end. There’s even an abandoned, abused girl who has turned evil, and has to be won back to the side of good through the offer of true companionship and understanding (Nora Darhk vs. Astra Logue).

This isn’t exactly a bad thing - a lot of these storytelling beats cut to the very core of what Legends is and what makes it work, so it’s not necessarily wrong for the show to repeat them. And even if the basic structure is the same, Legends just keeps getting more adventurous in how it delivers that structure. I’ve already written about how well done the season’s mockumentary episode was, and the same can be said for the 80s slasher movie riff, the Mr. Rogers parody, and of course, “The One Where We’re Trapped on TV”. Like the multiple universe episode in season four, these are things the show couldn’t have done when it was just a few seasons old, and they’re proof that whatever other issues it has, Legends is constantly pushing the envelope in terms of the kind of tropes and genres it can graft onto a superhero template. That said, there’s a very real possibility that this is all the show will ever be - a standard story template, enlivened by increasingly gonzo riffs on existing tropes.

Some more thoughts on where the season worked and where it didn’t below.

THE GOOD:

I really hated the decision to make Nora a fairy godmother in season four, not least because it felt like yet another way of infantilizing her (it certainly didn’t help that it was a choice she was forced into, and that she spent the remainder of the season catering to the every whim of Gary, a character I still have very mixed feelings towards). But season five really reclaims that choice. Having Nora embrace the fairy godmother life as a way of both helping children and working through her own issues makes a lot of sense, and the character feels happier and more confident than we’ve ever seen her (certainly a step up from how gloomy she was last season). I even like the wardrobe change - once the fairy godmother dress was ditched except for specific occasions, having Nora dress all in teal is a nice touch, and certainly an improvement over her rather boring season four wardrobe. I still think Legends missed a lot in how it handled Nora last season (I will never stop being annoyed that she and Sara didn’t develop a deeper friendship, given how similar their life trajectories have been), but this was a good way of righting the ship, even in a very limited timeframe.

I already mentioned this in the episode review, but watching the rest of the season really cemented my admiration for how quickly the show embeds Behrad into the crew, and makes it feel as if he’s always been there. That’s all the more impressive given that Behrad doesn’t really get an arc in season five. Most of that storytelling energy goes to establish Zari 2.0, and Behrad is, of course, absent for much of the latter half of the season. And yet he feels almost instantly like a fully-rounded character who is integral to the show, so much so that you’re heartbroken by his death (and convinced that it will be rolled back, even though Zari could easily take over his superpower). That’s really excellent work by both the writers and Shayan Sobhian.

I was a bit nervous when Zari 2.0 was introduced, because replacing a heroic, cool-girl-coded, nobly self-sacrificing character with a version of herself who is extremely femme-coded and obsessed with things like fashion and social media is the sort of move that is ripe for easy misogynistic point-scoring in the guise of feminism - of course the Zari who is good with machines and eats donuts is superior to the one who has a perfume line and spends hours in the bathroom every morning! But the show very quickly established that Zari, though certainly not without her flaws, is awesome in any guise, and it did so without trying to change her into “our” Zari, eventually even establishing that they are two completely different people, each with a right to exist (though not simultaneously, unfortunately). I get why the show didn’t keep both Zaris around - it would be asking a lot of Tala Ashe to play two characters, much of the time against herself, not to mention a production nightmare - but I appreciate that it didn’t decide that Zari 2.0 was the lesser version. (Also a nice touch: Behrad, though obviously fond of Zari 1.0, doesn’t think of her as “his” sister, even though to us she’s the “real” version of the character.)

Similarly, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect when Ava moved to the Waverider full time - obviously, it would be an improvement on her playing a tinpot fascist at the Time Bureau while the show pretended that this wouldn’t really bother Sara, but at the same time Sara and Ava are both so similar in their functions and abilities that I worried they’d step on each other’s shoes. Instead, the show leaned into their differences and made the season about Ava finding her place as captain of the Waverider, a role she fills in very different ways than Sara while still doing a good job at it. It also allowed her to expand her point of view a little - bonding with Zari 2.0, or reaching out to Astra, both things that would have been outside of her comfort zone in the past. Obviously, this is setup for Ava taking over as captain in season six now that Sara has been abducted (though I hope not for very long - Legends isn’t Legends without Sara), but good on the show for taking the time to bring Ava to a point where she’s ready for this, and in a different way from Sara.

And speaking of looking ahead, the show takes the wise step of thinning out its cast. Personally, I would have kept Ray, Nora, and Mona and written off Constantine and Nate (and possibly also Gary), but either way, it’s good that the writers realized their cast was getting unwieldy. I was concerned, for example, that the show figuring out what to do with Charlie and giving her an elaborate backstory was a sign that she would stay on, but instead she leaves once that story is resolved. And I think that in an earlier season, Astra would have been positioned to stay on the Waverider after the end of the season, but instead she’s clearly a one-off character, who goes off to live her own life once the show has brought her story to a satisfying conclusion. (This also, however, means that Legends has written off two black women in a single season, not to mention Mona, and in fact has only one WOC main character remaining; I hope that’s something season six addresses.)

THE BAD:

I realize that I am very much in the minority on this, but I’m sorry: John Constantine does not belong on Legends of Tomorrow, and certainly not as a main character. Season five feels, in fact, like a perfect demonstration of this simple truth. The early parts of the season feel like two different shows, the Legends show and the Constantine show, that happen to have some points of intersection and shared characters. And even once those storylines converge, it’s notable how John’s quest for the Loom of Fate very quickly becomes Astra’s quest for it, and then Charlie’s, and how they both feel more grounded in that story and more affected by it than he was. What it comes down to, once again, is that John Constantine is a character who can’t change, and putting him on a show that is all about change and growth can’t help but feel unsatisfying for both the character and the show. Season five tries to suggest that change is possible for him - he finally comes clean with Astra and make a real apology to her; he admits that his pursuit of magic has cost him relationships and a chance at happiness; he reaches out to his friends when he thinks his life is about to end; he even quits smoking. But the character just doesn’t have that much give in it. To be John Constantine, he has to be the cynical, arrogant, self-destructive fuck-up we’ve always known. On a show like Legends of Tomorrow, that can work in small doses, but not as the main character that Constantine has been positioned as.

Though I’m glad that the show figured out something to do with Charlie before writing her off, the similarities between her story and Mick’s can’t help but shed a light on how poorly thought out this character has been, and how much her season five story is parachuted in. When Mick betrays the team at the end of season two, it’s barely a season after they’d put him off the ship for being perennially untrustworthy, leading to him becoming their nemesis. They only take him back out of pity for the decades of torture he suffered, and sympathy for the loss of his only friend, Captain Cold. His betrayal is a direct outcome of those cracks in the relationship - he does it because he wants to live in a world where he hasn’t been hurt or hurt others, and where his friend is still alive. When he changes his mind at the end of the season, it’s a culmination of two seasons of character growth, the realization that holding on to the pain in his life is worth it if it means he gets to keep the friendships he formed on the Waverider, and to continue to grow as a person - as expressed by his choice to put Snart back in his timeline, where he will become a better person (and eventually inspire Mick to do the same) but will also die. Charlie’s very similar storyline just doesn’t have this kind of depth. Neither her heel turn nor her face turn feel particularly earned, and a lot of that has to do with the fact that it took the writers so long to figure out who this character even was.

For a season of Legends, this was an awfully heteronormative stretch of episodes. Sure, Sara and Ava are still center stage, and that’s fantastic. But every other romantic relationship in the season, and there are quite a few of them, is a straight one. You might blame this on the fact that season five is a housecleaning season, wrapping up dangling storylines like Ray/Nora or Nate/Zari. But even the new characters like Behrad or Lita express only opposite-sex attraction (I guess Astra never demonstrates a preference). I mean, if you give John Constantine two different love interests in a single season and they’re both women, surely something has gone terribly wrong?

And speaking of John Constantine’s love interests, is putting him together with Zari meant to make the old her’s romance with Nate look organic and true to the characters in comparison? Because I can’t think of another reason for it. Do not want.

THE UGLY:

Words cannot express how much I hate the Damien Darhk episode. Not all of it, obviously - the Mr. Rogers riff, as I said, is pretty good (and pays off handsomely later in the season), and pretty much all the Ray/Nora stuff, especially the moment where she realizes she’s not going to lie to her father about the man she loves and the life she’s chosen, are golden. But it is simply mind-boggling that after two seasons in which Nora was firmly established as the survivor of a lifetime of abuse, Legends takes an entire hour to not only rehabilitate Damien, but pretend that he was always a loving father who just made some mistakes. For crying out loud, the man fed his daughter to a demon in order to gain power for himself. It was always an interesting wrinkle in his character that he clearly saw himself as a loving, protective parent, and was even capable of some level of self-sacrifice on Nora’s behalf, but I had assumed that the show realized this was at least partly a self-serving lie. To discover that we’re actually meant to think that one act of sacrifice cancels out a lifetime of abuse is nauseating. I wanted Nora to stand up to her father, but as a victim calling out her abuser, not a loving daughter trying to renegotiate a relationship with an overprotective parent. It certainly doesn’t help that the episode features inexplicably popular wedding story tropes, such as the groom asking the bride’s father for permission to marry her, or the father trying to keep the couple from physical intimacy before the wedding, which are gross in any context but especially so here. I suppose in the end it’s all worth it to be rid of Damien once and for all, but I was squirming with discomfort and rage throughout the entire episode.

#legends of tomorrow

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sirsapling · 4 years

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MORE TAGGED POSTS

I got tagged in a bunch more things I didn't respond to fast enough, so UNDER THE CUT THEY GO.

I have too many things to respond to, so I won't be tagging, but consider yourself tagged if you want to do any.

IT’S THE LITTLE THINGS

Tagged by the wonderful @bardingbeedle

Pass the happy!🌻🌿 When you receive this, list 5 things that make you happy and send this to 10 of the last people in your notifications!

Lying in warm blankets in an cold room. Bonus points for snow outside.

A fresh Buzz cut

Talking to @bardingbeedle

Having long, passionate rambles about the Marvel Ultimates

Hashbrowns, bacon, maple syrup, maybe a pancake, and a sausage too.

Tagged by the chaotic @s-hylor

top 3 cities you want to visit: Toronto, again. Colorado (I know its a state not a city I just want to visit ashes AND GET SNOW). And I would like to go back to Italy again. (I also want to visit, just, all of my fandom friends but I don't want to drop all their locations lol)

favorite marvel character: Ults!Steve Rogers and then Ults!Tony Stark. Not counting stony, Anthony the brain tumor, and not counting clones, Gregory Stark.

white chocolate - yay or nay?: Love it, love it, love it.

favourite board game: God Save The Queens- A board game about Bees I invented with 3 other people at University last year for a project.

how many countries have you been to: 10, I have been very luckily graced with the ability to travel to Europe with school a lot.

(Wales, France, Belgium, Germany, Switzerland, America [Florida, Boston, New York], Spain, Portugal, Italy, and finally Canada.)

favorite thing to do on a rainy day: Anything indoors I might usually feel guilty about doing when its sunny. Tv or games particularly

favorite holiday: Christmas. I am a Christmas slut, call me festive sapling I LOVE Christmas.

pen or pencil: Pen. I once bought 7 in lisbon at the same time bc they were perfect and I didn't want to run out.

favourite kind of soup: Cupasoup Chicken noodle, I don't really like soups tbh, I like broths, and gravy type things I make too much of and eat like a soup (like golden Currys or korma sauces)

your typical order at a cafe or coffee shop: Caramel Frappucino or an iced Mocha. If I'm gonna pay a fuck tonne for coffee I'm gonna get a drinkable dessert.

favorite ride at an amusement park: Any slow rides that show you shit, like spaceship earth at EPCOT. I’m not really a speed dude.

the color of your sneakers: RED, red shoes are the shit folks, a good pair of red converse goes with everything.

favorite pbs show (or little kids show if you didn’t have pbs): Uh I used to watch pokemon then winnie the pooh every single night. But little little kids show I used to watch a show called 64 zoo lane with my grandma so I have fond memories

Rules: name your favorite female characters from 10 different fandoms, then tag 10 people.

Tagged by the wonderful @ashes0909

Natasha Romanov - Marvel Cinematic Universe

Carol Danvers - Marvel 616

Janet Van Dyne - Marvel Ultimates

Izumi Curtis - Full Metal Alchemist

Martha Jones - Doctor Who

Garnet - Steven Universe (if she doesn't count bc, space rock, Connie)

Rosa Diaz - Brooklyn 99

Ann Perkins - Parks and Rec

Princess Caroline - Bojack Horseman

Pam Poovey - Archer

LOOK I know there was a lot of cheating here, but I don't have non marvel fandoms really, and I have a hard time remembering a lot of the TV I enjoyed.

Rules: Share your top 10 AO3 additional tags. Tagged by the mysterious @nigmuff

look I don't know if I have enough tags to make this a justified representation, but the ones shown are v much on brand.

Fanfic trope meme

I was tagged by the delightful @capnstars and @crownofstardustandbone

slowburn or love at first sight // fake dating or !!!secret dating!!! // enemies to lovers or best friends to lovers // oh no there’s only one bed or long-distance correspondence // hurt/comfort or amnesia // fantasy au or modern au // mutual pining or domestic bliss // smut AND fluff // canon-compliant or fix-it // reincarnation or character death // one-shot or multi-chapter // kid fic or road trip fic // arranged marriage or accidental marriage // high school romance or !!!!middle-aged romance!!! // time travel or isolated together // neighbours or roommates // sci-fi or magic au // body swap or genderbend // angst or crack // apocalyptic or mundane

Look guys, I’m boring. I like domestic 30-40 year olds in secret relationships. We knew this.

And now buckle the fuck down folks because I'm about to answer 50 questions about me no one is gonna stick around and read.

tagged by @bardingbeedle the only person who would put up with reading this much about me.

What is the colour of your hairbrush?

I have a buzz cut, I don't have a hair brush anymore.

Are you typically too warm or too cold?

Too warm. I have been warmer than most people my whole life, and I often need to sleep with a fan on.

What were you doing 45 minutes ago?

Working on a sketch for an MTH fill (update from the end of this: I have spent an hour doing this fuckin thing)

What is your favourite candy bar?

Bounty. My favourite candy is Reese’s Pieces but I like a bounty. Or like, and chocolate without fruit in it tbh.

Have you ever been to a professional sports event?

Yes, one of my parents referees Championship Football here in the UK. I have been to a few of his games. I also went to the London 2012 Paralympic closing ceremony, if that counts.

What is the last thing you said out loud?

‘Oh, this will last me a few days’ I was talking to my mother about 1/2 a can of pringles, I was lying.

What is your favourite ice cream?

Vanilla. I am boring. But the best ice cream i’ve had was a cream/milk flavoured gelato in Florence, that shit slapped. I also like cheap strawberry ice cream when no one is trying to put strawberry bits in it.

What was the last thing you had to drink?

Dinner. A spinach, banana, summer fruits and coconut yoghurt smoothie (with extra raspberries). Its my nightly dinner to cheat more veg into my body.

Do you like your wallet?

Very much. It’s about 7-8 years old, it is faded to hell but it has spiderman and a pony ride stony pin

What was the last thing you ate?

See above smoothie comment, but if that doesn't count, a sugar free mint polo.

Did you buy any new clothes last weekend?

Nope. I don't buy as many clothes as I want to, bc mens clothes in larger sizes are hard to find or expensive here.

The last sporting event you watched?

F1, I don't keep up but I watch a little with my dad every now and then.

What is your favourite flavour of popcorn?

BUTTER. They don't really have it here, and I don't go to movies much when in the states. But @festiveferret introduced me to it when we saw Ant-man and the Wasp, and much like poutine and Tim Hortons, I still crave it.

Who is the last person you sent a text message to?

My dad.

Ever go camping?

Yes, I was a Scout. I have done enough camping to not want to do more, it was fun when I wasn't organising it.

Do you take vitamins?

Yes, but not as often as I should, and as much as my mother bothers me too.

Do you go to church every Sunday?

Nope, not even when I considered myself christian. I go only go to church for other peoples events, and I’m an agnostic now.

Do you have a tan?

I cannot tan. I just can't, I burn lobster red in 5 minutes outside without literal sun cream for BABIES

Do you prefer Chinese food or pizza?

Chinese food, It was easily what taught me to like more foods also, I don't eat tomato so I can't have most pizza. I love a good garlic base/bechamel, but you can't really get that here easily (yes yes I could make my own but that ruins half the point of pizza)

Do you drink your soda with a straw?

I don't drink carbonated drinks, because its like drinking pain. The fuck is wrong with all of you.

What colour socks do you usually wear?

Various colours, but I consider red on the left, blue on the right, my lucky socks. No I don't know why, but I take all exams and interviews wearing them. It’s just a thing.

Do you ever drive above the speed limit?

I don't drive, but if I did, No. Theres a lot of questionable laws out there but Traffic laws aren't one of them.

What terrifies you?

Pfft, most things from spiders to rollercoasters. But more seriously, Being shouted at. Shout at me and I start hyperventilating, its a thing. Also not knowing if someone is mad at me. I’m not good at reading people,

Look to your left, what do you see?

The wallet shown earlier, and the sugar free polos mentioned after that.

What chore do you hate?

Vacuuming. It makes everything in my body hurt. I would rather clean toilets.

What do you think of when you hear an Australian accent?

@s-hylor

What’s your favourite soda?

See above. I do not like your pain liquid. Apple juice for life.

Do you go in a fast food place or just hit the drive-thrus?

Either delivery or kiosk, I don't like talking to people where possible, I often need tweaks I don't want to have to remember to repeat.

Who’s the last person you talked to?

@downeyhills

Favourite cut of beef?

I don't generally eat beef, lamb, or most red meats. I love crispy chilly beef, but as anyone can point out its bc your generally don't feel the texture of the beef.

Last song you listened to?

Everybody Wants to Rule the World | Tears for Fears | Pomplamoose

I’m on a Pomplamoose kick, and I also just love this song anyway.

Last book you read?

Understanding Comics (The invisible Art) - Scott McCloud

Favourite day of the week?

Friday nights. The weekend is ahead and @loraneldin and I take to wrangling our beloved usual suspects through another week of Ults Book Club.

Can you say the alphabet backwards?

I can barely say it forwards.

How do you like your coffee?

With milk and sugar, or ultimately, in a Caramel Frappuccino bc I'm a bitch like that.

Favourite pair of shoes?

I have walking boots that don't make my flat ass feet feel like they’re dying. OR my black and green crocs (Fight me, they’re useful).

The time you normally go to sleep?

9-10 is what I'm working on, but I fluctuate depending on if I'm working on something or not.

The time you normally get up?

5-6 If I have a choice in the matter, but often 7-8 if I didn't get to bed at the right time. I’m more about getting the right hours in for my diet than time specifically.

What do you prefer, sunrise or sunsets?

Sunset is the prettiest, but I like to be awake to see the sun rise.

How many blankets on your bed?

One big thick comforter, because that's the uk standard, and I get too hot otherwise.

Describe your kitchen plates

Two types, big wide white ones with a navy blue rim. They are so large I never use them, and little Navy saucer plates I use a lot.

Do you have a favourite alcoholic beverage?

I don't drink, so no. I drink apple juice or Shirley temples when I'm in pubs/bars

Do you play cards?

Sometimes, I like to teach people to play Old Maid. It’s the monopoly of card games.

What colour is your car?

Again, I do not drive.

Can you change a tire?

I am aware I just said I don't have a car, but I do know how to change a tire. Everyone should go learn its pretty simple.

Favourite job you’ve ever had?

I have only had one job really and two job experience jobs. I did experience in a school library for a week and that was v fun and chill. I did all the jobs they had prepared for me in 2 days so I alphabetically reorganised their fiction section for the rest of the week. I LIKE ORDERING.

How did you get your biggest scar?

I no longer have a gallbladder, so I have 3 scars across my torso from that, the biggest right in the middle of my ribs. Non surgical wise I have matching scars on my knees from ripping holes in them when tripping. I have weak ankles and also I got both of those at different times.

What did you do today that made someone else happy?

I gave my spare animal crossing Iguanodon skull to a wicked artist I follow on twitter so he could complete his dino park.

#text post #tagged in #wow long post #wow x2 #tag memes

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hazzabeeforlou · 4 years

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On the eve of HS2, I felt I needed to reflect and write a diary entry of sorts, an ode to where I was and where I am now, a musing on how HS1 ushered in a whole new world for me. This is long and more personal than anything I’ve previously shared, but in honor of vulnerability and maybe helping someone else who’s struggling... here it is.

The most exposure 2015 me had to pop music was occasionally listening to ‘hits’ radio. My old art teacher in high school had blasted the classics of the 60s and 70s daily, so I knew those, albeit not the names, but the music, the style, the melodic tropes and such. 2015 me didn’t have much time for pop music. I was getting a fancy degree in classical music from one of the best conservatories in the world, and I’d made it there after four years with a highly abusive teacher in undergrad who gave me horrible anxiety; by the end, whenever she would walk into a room, I would get chills and start shaking. She delighted in lying to me, in calling me out in front of my peers. Worse, I was arguably her highest-achieving student. The day I got into Juilliard she took me for “tea” to celebrate, where she proceeded to spend the whole time telling me how she had made this happen, how her connections got me to NY, how I should be grateful.

Entering the world of NYC and Juilliard I was an awestruck, anxious mess. Everything moved too fast, the school was overwhelming, my studio mates were famous already, some of them having won world-famous competitions and been on the cover of magazines. I was in the elite place, a place my working class roots had never prepared me for. My dad was a millwright. He went to work every day in steel-toed boots and overalls and often returned so filthy mom wouldn’t let him wash his clothes in the household washing machine. But I was nothing if not adaptable, and grateful, and charming, and I did my best. I worked hard. But my health kept deteriorating.

All through undergrad I’d been feeling progressively worse. I had horrible acne that I presumed was caused by stress, as I’d never suffered with it in high school. I was already an introvert, but body insecurity led me to hardly ever socialize. I would spent hours getting ready for things, never willing to show my bare face. But that wasn’t the worst; I’d developed what I now understand was an eating disorder, because no matter how much I exercised or dieted, I kept gaining weight, or rather, I lost all my baby fat but remained the same scale number. I kept telling my mother I was fat. I didn’t tell her that I hated the wind, that I hated running, because it made my stomach protrude and the whole world could see the extra pounds I carried. I never made an appointment with an OBGYN because I didn’t date much less have sex, and my mother had told me, well you don’t ever need to be seen until you do. I came to NYC well versed in wearing baggy sweaters and scarfs that hid my form. And for two years, as my breathing got worse and worse, as my energy levels dropped, as my skin hurt and itched, I pushed forwards. I remember practicing one day and my eyes going black. I couldn’t see, I couldn’t breathe.

It was getting into an international competition that saved me. I got the news in early May of 2016; I jumped around my room and I started coughing, and the next day a hernia appeared above my belly button. I was only slightly worried, but I went to see the Juilliard doctor. She asked if I’d gained weight, she said even a couple pounds could do it. I was, as always, ashamed, red faced, embarrassed as she prodded around on my torso.

She said I’d need surgery. So I scheduled it in NYC for two days after my graduation. I played my recital, but with a binder around my abdomen. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t remember my memorized music. I nearly passed out. I stumbled on the sidewalk afterwards.

When I woke from the surgery I was in blinding pain, teeth chattering uncontrollably, in shock. I couldn't open my eyes, and every breath felt like knives slicing into my chest. I heard the nurses say, “We’ve given you three IVs of Percocet, do you want us to give you a forth?” I said no, thinking, ‘what if I die from an overdose?’ After two hours my mother came in search of me. It was supposed to be a day surgery. She demanded morphine. They sent me home on it, but two days later I’d thrown up twice and was back in the ER. A CT showed I had an ovarian cyst. The doctor said to me, “It’s 28 inches. It’s the size of a dinner plate.” I didn’t understand. They rushed me back for another surgery, and asked me to sign a paper saying I wouldn’t hold them responsible if I ended up paralyzed. I signed it. I joked with the nurses before they put me under. I was shaking with pain. I thought, if this is the end, I’ve had a good life. I’ll be with my doggy, my baby puppy. I’ve graduated from my dream school. I’ve gotten into an elite international competition. I’ll go out at the top of my game. It’s okay.

But then I woke up. Over the next year, I would wish countless times that I hadn’t. I could barely walk. I couldn’t lift things like a fork, or my computer. I couldn’t shower or cough or even shit. I couldn’t practice or sit upright for more than fifteen minutes. Pain became a constant. I started to wake up with night sweats, my forehead creased in subconscious pain. I would jump at every loud noise, my heart lurching like a ruined engine, and I couldn’t remember names of flowers. I fell into a massive depression over the next few months, made worse by the 2016 election; because of my infirmity I had moved back home with my Trump-voting parents. The bravest thing I did that fall was ‘come out’ as a liberal on Facebook. My parents pretended not to notice when I stayed up late that cold November night, huddled with a blanket on the couch, crying my eyes out.

The Christmas 2016 season is a blur. I know I half lived in memories, half in grief, but all in self-pitying misery. I remember reading a passing article about Jay, not knowing who it was, and I remember adding a lost mother to the list of things I cried about. How could the world be so cruel, so unfair? My days were filled with PT and sleep, immobility and exhaustion, and questions, questions like if I can’t do what I love, what I’ve spent years training for, what’s the point? What does it mean to be an artist when you can’t do your art? What is left of me that matters? Is the future only more pain? It would have been better to have died. It would have been better to have died.

Up until this point I had been unlucky in love. I could never find men attractive, though many friends pressured me to try, which of course had led to not good things. I’d been confronted a couple times about maybe being gay, but I’d shot this down immediately, my face bright red, my heart pounding. No, that’s not it, I’m just picky. Two girls in grad school had flirted with me; I’d accidentally gone on a date with one. I’d felt deeply, gut-wrenchingly uncomfortable about her. But how could I ever unpack all of that when just coming out as a liberal had given me anxiety for days...

The new year came and I had nothing to look forward to. I could see no happy future. I wasn’t really in my right mind. I would escape as best I could, perhaps in masochistic ways; I’d watch SNL for humorous liberal comfort, and Colbert to feel some spark of angry solidarity. And that’s how I stumbled on Harry. He got me with his puns, because I love those. For the first time in months, I was giggling about something, this charming boy with curls and dimples who had replaced the scream-speech of James Cordon. For once I didn’t turn the tv off after Colbert.

I began listening to Harry’s songs. As I had no reference for contemporary pop music, his old school rock album was familiar to me in a comforting way. I knew these sounds, these tropes, and yet they didn’t feel stale to me, they spoke to something I was feeling in the present. Because the album, in essence, was about pain, wasn’t it? Pain and escaping it. The lies we tell to survive, the dreams we cling to for hope, the drugs we use to forget. I’d never bought a pop album before, Harry was my first, and I listened to it for hours every day.

HS1 seeped into my blood, but I’d been on a hopeless, aimless track for so long that the railway tie hadn’t yet switched. One warm, sunny spring day I wrote a note, filled a bag with rocks, and walked to the old bike trail, out past the freeway, into the marshes and pools of abandoned swampy wasteland. FTDT played in my head on a loop as I walked, as my brain hummed with the equation of worth. Was it worth it to stay alive?

Yes. I threw the rocks. I threw them as far as my fragile arms would allow, and they splashed into the murky water. And I turned around and called my mom to come get me. Harry had made something that was beautiful, that was touching, that was real. And if he could... then maybe I could too. Maybe I didn’t have to be just what I’d been before. Maybe I could try creating other things; maybe I could make art that, like Harry’s music, made other people feel less alone.

There was something magical about that album. Not freedom, per se, but the promise of it, a glimpse of truth that kept me hanging on.

I began writing poems again, songs. I got into an orchestra program, I healed month by month, I started carrying crystals, I found this crazy fandom and, little by little, grew to understand that my yearning upon looking at baby larry videos was really a cry of sameness that I had never before understood. After the Pulse shooting, during my horrible homebound year, I’d watched Lin-Manuel Miranda give his love is love is love speech, and I’d burst into tears. And I’d not known why. Now I began to realize. I remember the first tentative anon I sent to Phoenix @alienfuckeronmain asking if maybe I was... bi? I remember anxiously awaiting her answer, as if I needed an invitation to join the community, to be valid, to have this not just be a crazy swelling of hope in my chest. She replied while I was wandering through a corn maze in the frigidness of October. The next day I walked into rehearsal and I felt free, free of the way boys looked at me, free of being FOR them, and I’d never felt so... alive. Coincidentally I met my ex girlfriend that day too.

Through Harry I found this fandom, and Louis. Louis, who has spoken to me on levels I cannot even express, whose class and political and emotional intelligence have challenged me to stand up for things I never thought I could. For me these last few years have felt like a journey WITH Harry. As he started waving them, I started wearing rainbows, just subtly. A knit scarf, a postcard, a bag. I started writing fic, the most healing thing I’ve ever done. I learned to create art away from the singular thing I’d been trained to dump my all into, and I learned that I have so much more to offer, even if chronic pain will follow me in some way or another for the rest of my life.

I’m so thankful to Harry for taking me on this adventure with him; I don’t know if I’d have ever taken that first step by myself. It was like he held my hand through it all, like this fandom held my hand through it all. Like by being himself, Harry helped me be brave enough to evolve too.

Through the catalyst of Harry’s art I’ve experienced more happiness than I’d have ever imagined. I cannot wait to go on this next journey, a second album, and reflect on just how far we’ve both come.

#mine #personal #tw suicide #tw disordered eating

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thisguyatthemovies · 4 years

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A movie in search of itself

Title: “Where’d You Go, Bernadette”

Release date: In theaters Aug. 16, 2019; on disc/streaming Nov. 19, 2019

Starring: Cate Blanchett, Billy Crudup, Kristen Wiig, Emma Nelson, James Urbaniak, Judy Greer, Trojan Bellisario, Zoe Chao, Laurence Fishburne

Directed by: Richard Linklater

Run time: 1 hour, 44 minutes

Rated: PG-13

What it’s about: An award-winning architect who is on hiatus battles depression and social anxieties before leaving home and her family to rediscover herself and her motivation.

How I saw it: Director/co-writer Richard Linklater asks the near-impossible of his audience with “Where’d You Go, Bernadette” – have sympathy for a wealthy woman, with an even wealthier husband and a boarding school-bound teen daughter, who gets most anything she wants and treats everyone around her poorly. The ability to do that will go a long way toward determining whether you find Linklater’s film, which jumbles tones as it heads toward a largely implausible ending and wastes a predictably solid performance from Cate Blanchett in the title role, mildly entertaining or a frustrating mess.

“Where’d You Go, Bernadette” is based on the best-selling 2012 comedy novel of the same name by Maria Semple. Linklater (the brilliant “Before” trilogy, “Boyhood,” “Dazed and Confused”) has said turning the book into a movie was challenging, and it shows. The novel was written as a series of documents (including emails) and told from the point of view of Bernadette’s 15-year-old daughter Bee. The movie changes the story into narrative form, and it puts more of the focus on Bernadette and her issues, with the occasional narration by Bee (Emma Nelson). As is typical of Linklater films, it is heavy on the dialogue. But that dialogue bounces around haphazardly between melodrama, comedic moments and sentimentality. Like its lead character, “Where’d You Go, Bernadette” is a film in search of itself.

Bernadette Fox (as we mostly learn in a YouTube video about her career) is an architect whose work in a field largely dominated by men is hailed as brilliant. But after her pet project, the 20 Mile House (thus named because all of the materials had to come from within a 20-mile radius), was sold and turned into overflow parking, she and her husband (Billy Crudup as Elgie Branch), a Microsoft engineer, leave Los Angeles for Seattle. Bernadette, especially after Bee’s birth, becomes agoraphobic. She is condescending toward everyone, especially the other parents at Bee’s school, including next-door neighbor Audrey (Kristen Wiig). She relies heavily on personal assistant, someone named Manjula in India, to do everything, constantly dictating commands via email. The family lives in a massive old home that, despite their wealth, is only half remodeled; its roof leaks during frequent Seattle rains, and vines are growing through its floors.

So much of the early part of “Where’d You Go, Bernadette” is spent on Bernadette’s disdain for everyone that it’s difficult to feel for her when it is gradually revealed she has serious mental health issues. Her world falls totally apart when her husband arranges for an intervention led by an overzealous analyst (Judy Greer), an FBI agent (James Urbaniak) who reveals that Manjula is not on the up-and-up and, oddly, Elgie’s attractive new assistant (Trojan Bellisario). Bernadette escapes out a bathroom window and eventually heads for Antarctica, where the entire family had planned to go because Bee was studying the continent at her private school. It just so happens that the land of penguins holds the key to Bernadette getting her groove (and her career) back.

Blanchett does what she can with what she is given to work with. Her character might not be likable (though the ending tries mightily to let her off the hook), but Blanchett wonderfully captures Bernadette’s many moods. She has fun with the character when she is being nasty, she lets loose when Bernadette is having near-manic episodes and ranting about Seattle’s design choices, and she brings just the right touch of vulnerability when her character seems at her lowest. Wiig has some funny moments as an over-the-top privileged busybody, and Urbaniak is briefly hilarious as an FBI agent who seems to have seen one too many TV shows about his profession.

Crudup doesn’t fare as well. He seems overwhelmed by Blanchett or perhaps disinterested (or maybe just seems disinterested in comparison to Blanchett’s all-in performance). In his defense, his character is a movie trope – the workaholic father who must be shown the error in his ways by his children. Bernadette and Bee clearly have formed a sisterhood (Bee is more friend than daughter to her mother) that frequently teams up against Elgie. Bee is not happy that her father has tried to get his wife help, and she is critical of her dad at almost every turn. But he makes Bee happy, however, when he leaves his job (the most frequent movie solution for the always-at-work dad). Lucky for him (and the family) that he no doubt already has banked millions in Microsoft money and is married to a woman who is ready to restart her lucrative career. Elgie also, somehow, takes responsibility for his wife’s boorish behavior and sidetracked career and is apologetic for trying to get her help because, well, a husband is supposed to do that sort of thing.

“Where’d You Go, Bernadette” isn’t a terrible movie, but it threatens to become that in the final act, which comes dangerously close to totally jumping the shark. Apparently, people of great wealth can pull off the type of feats that Bernadette, her husband and daughter are capable of while on separate cruise ships in the vast, frigid Antarctic (Greenland, in reality) and somehow pull it all together for an unlikely happy ending. It’s a testament to Blanchett’s star power and Linklater’s moviemaking skills that “Where’d You Go, Bernadette” isn’t the total disaster it could have been and nearly ended up being.

My score: 40 out of 100

Should you watch it? Not unless you are a diehard fan of the book, Blanchett or Linklater’s films.

#movies #movie review #where'd you go bernadette #cate blanchett #richard linklater

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kenneth-omega · 5 years

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Sink or Swim **Ben Hardy**

Prompt was from here

“I need to make my ex jealous.” Fake dating trope.

Warnings: Swearing, Ben being too cute for his own good, and also hot af, mentions of body issues.

Word count: +8.7k

A/N: I’ve had some major heart eyes for Ben since I first saw him in X-Men: Apocalypse (ooF)

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The invite on Facebook that went around to the majority of your old classmates made you want to curse. You stared at the event on your laptop screen, sat at your dining table in your pyjamas, legs curled up as you rested your chin on your knee.

A dinner party hosted by one of the girls who you shared English with at your high school. She had been popular, naturally, and her looks hadn't faded over time, despite it being almost 12 years since you had all graduated. She'd gone on to work at a modelling agency, whereas you'd decided to work behind the scenes as a hair stylist.

However you could hardly complain about your job, as it had allowed you to work many amazing opportunities. The most recent one being on the set of Bohemian Rhapsody, the new biopic that had recently hit the cinemas.

You'd been assistant to the head stylist who was in charge of all the wigs. This meant you had fixed and removed wig after wig, morning and evening, for a few months. It had been a brilliant experience, and one that you'd not taken for granted.

It also meant you had gotten a lot of time with the actors and actresses in the film, specifically Ben, who had portrayed Roger Taylor in the film. You'd gotten on well with him, however it had never progressed into anything more, certainly not into anything romantic.

Sure, Ben was easy on the eyes, but you were professional and so was he.

You'd swapped numbers after filming wrapped, but mainly because Ben found you a real laugh to be around. You were around the same age and so it was nice to be able to talk about similar topics, such as TV shows you'd both grown up with, how your school life had been, etc.

After the filming was done, Ben had invited you out a couple of times for pizza or a drink, since you lived a half hour drive from his area, it was easy to drop by and catch up.

Looking through the invited guests of the dinner party, you read many names you recognised, and some that you didn't. Already there was 30 responses from people confirming that they were going. They looked to be mainly people who hadn't settled down, with little responsibilities such as kids or serious jobs, meaning they had little in their schedules.

You clicked the 'Interested' button, not wanting to seem rude or ignorant. But then you saw a name that caught your eye, having RSVP'd that they would be attending, and it filled you with anxiety.

It was your high school boyfriend. Or ex for that matter.

He'd dumped you before prom, telling you that he didn't want to go with a girl like you, and that he had been asked by someone far better.

Looks like they hadn't worked out either, as they weren't in each other's friend lists when you had a cheeky sneak through. A little stalking never hurt anyone.

However this new revelation made you consider changing your answer to 'Not Going'.

You really didn't want to face that ass after 12 years, with no boyfriend or much else to show for it. If you were going to be reunited with him, you wanted to be able to rub it in his face about how successful your life had become after he ditched you.

Unable to ponder on it any more, you slammed the laptop shut and ran upstairs to get dressed, checking the time on your phone. A missed call.

From Ben.

You rang him back, having him pick up after the third dial. By the sound of it, he seemed to be in a car.

"Ben?" You asked down the phone, to which he laughed.

"Why do you sound so confused?" He responded with a question of his own, obviously humoured by your quizzical tone.

"Because I don't know why you're calling me?" You suggested, opening your wardrobe and trying to pick out an outfit for the day. You hadn't got anything really planned, so it didn't need to be anything special.

A pause on his end.

"Please don't tell me you forgot our plans." He whined, a little annoyed as he huffed down the phone.

You frowned, trying to recall making any plans with him. Then it suddenly hit you like a freight train.

Swimming!

"Shit! Ben, I'm so sorry, it completely slipped my mind." You stammered, now beginning to rifle through your drawers for your swimming costumes.

That was also something you and Ben had discovered you both enjoyed whilst on the Bo Rhap set. Your love for water.

He'd suggested you both go swimming one day, and that day had finally come around. He'd asked you last week when he'd popped over for a cup of tea, although you had been a little occupied with not burning your house down whilst he spoke to you. You'd been baking, or attempting to, a cake for your mother's birthday, and had agreed to go, only half-concentrating on what he was saying.

There was a laugh on his end, and it filled you with a little bit of relief, glad to know he wasn't too annoyed.

"Well it's a good job I called you then!" He pointed out, much to your chagrin. "I'll be there in 10, okay?" And with that he hung up, leaving you the chance to run around like a headless chicken, trying to gather up a bag to take with you to the swimming centre. It was the local one near you, about five minutes away from your house, making it easy for you to walk there whenever you felt like it, as you couldn't drive.

You chucked in a clean towel, along with some underwear and a bra, and some toiletries for after you were finished. You didn't fancy reeking like chlorine around Ben, despite the fact you rather enjoyed the way the swimming pools smelled. You'd opted to put your swimming costume on under your clothes to save you time in the changing room. You'd only had two choices to decide between when it came to which swimming costume you could wear.

Either you picked a really old, grey one-piece suit that was practically threadbare, or you put on the red, polka-dot bikini that you'd bought for a weekend away with your girlfriends. You'd gone up to celebrate one of their 30th birthdays at a spa centre with a pool and jacuzzi, and so you'd treated yourself to a new costume.

Aside from that, it hadn't been worn again, and was in practically mint condition. The only downside was that it was a bikini, and you didn't really fancy showing off a load of skin around Ben. He was a good-looking bloke, and very chiselled too. You didn't want him to find your body repulsive or have someone else at the pool laugh at you and Ben and the obvious fact that you didn't really belong around him.

Perhaps you could take a t-shirt?

You chucked in an old shirt that you didn't mind getting all chlorinated, and then went to brush your teeth in the bathroom. You tied your hair back from your face, putting it onto a simple ponytail so that it wouldn't hopefully get entirely wet.

It was starting to stress you out a little, as you realised Ben would be here any second, and you felt rather crappy in regard to your appearance, knowing that it was stupid to wear makeup to a pool, but not liking the idea of going bare-faced.

But then you had no more time to think about it, as your front doorbell rang, signalling that Ben was here. Cursing under your breath as you gave yourself one last look over, you grabbed your little bag of stuff and ran downstairs. You could see his shadow through the frosted glass of the front door as you picked up your keys to let him in.

Opening the door revealed him stood with his back to you, as he looked down the street whilst he waited for you. Upon hearing the door click, he turned around and saw you standing in the doorway, which made a smile spread upon his perfectly pink lips.

His hair had been shaved at the sides and the back, the top remaining relatively long, although he'd pushed it back and fixed it with some product. He was sporting a thin, grey jumper as the air was relatively crisp still at this time of year, along with some blue jeans and basic white trainers.

"Ready?" He asked, nibbling on his bottom lip with one of his canines as you grabbed some flat shoes and pushed them on. You nodded at him, feeling a little conscious of your clothes and your bare face, stepping out the house and locking it behind you.

Ben's car was gorgeous, a beautiful matte green, similar to the colour of moss, with tinted windows and leather interior. He treasured this car like it was his baby, obviously having spent a fair bit of money on it.

He opened the passenger door for you, so you could climb in easily, having to use the little built in step to get in. It was a real beast of a car.

Once Ben had gotten in the driver's seat and gotten you both off your little street, he looked over at you, noticing the tense way you were sat and how you were nibbling on your nails.

"You alright?" He asked, trying to keep his eyes on the road but also look at you occasionally. You nodded and made a humming noise.

"Just thinking." You told him, feeling a little bad that you weren't acting your usual self today. You didn't want to ruin the mood or your day that you had planned.

Ben laughed to himself. "That can sometimes be a dangerous thing to do. Care to indulge me as to what's on your mind?" He enquired, pulling his car into the car park for the swimming pool centre. It was hardly bound to be busy on a weekday, but there were a few cars parked up. When he stopped the car you shook your head, putting on a smile.

"It's nothing Ben, really. Let's just go and enjoy ourselves." You told him, hopefully making it clear that you didn't want to speak any more on the subject. He got the hint and just nodded, getting his bag out the back of the car and following you into the building.

The faint smell of chlorine and cleaning fluid hit your nose instantly as you walked in, and you couldn't help but inhale deeply. Ben shot you a funny look, but you just giggled, feeling the heat in your cheeks inflame.

"I like the smell." You told him sheepishly, to which he couldn't help but smile, placing a hand on your back and guiding the two of you to the front desk. The receptionist seemed a little surprised to see you with someone, recognising you from the many previous visits, however none of them having a partner beside you. You wondered if she would recognise Ben, as she kept glancing back and forth between the two of you but said nothing. You paid for your time in the pool and then walked off to the changing rooms.

A little bit of dread crept up into your throat as you neared the door with the female sign on it, realising you were going to have to get undressed and meet Ben on the other side, no doubt feeling like a fool.

Ben squeezed your bicep, grabbing your attention away from the door. You turned to him and found him stood by the gent's changing room.

He shot you a playful grin raising an eyebrow, and you couldn't deny how it made your heart flutter a little.

"See you on the other side?" He asked, pushing the door open. You nodded, giving him an uneasy smile, but he didn't pick up on your slight discomfort.

He headed inside, and you dashed into the women's, finding an empty cubicle and shutting the door, locking it so no one walked in on you. Plonking your bag on the seat, not wanting to put it on the wet tiles, you slipped off your shoes, glad you didn't have socks on that would get soaked by the water that people trailed through from the pool and showers.

Inside the tiny cubicle, you managed to shimmy off your jeans and the nice shirt you had on, folding them neatly in your bag, taking out the old, scruffy one that you planned to wear over your costume.

It was such a nice bikini, you felt it was a shame to cover it up, but you kept having the same thought of how Ben would react to seeing your body that was nowhere near as perfect as his was.

With a sigh, you unlocked the cubicle and chucked your bag and shoes into a locker, taking the little key that was attached to a plastic bracelet and locking it up, tying it around your wrist. There was a floor-length mirror on the wall before you headed past the showers and towards the pool entrance. You stood in front of it, inspecting how the bikini looked, wondering if somehow it had become too tight or loose in the short drive from your house to here. It hadn't, it looked the same.

You looked down at the shirt clenched in your fists and eventually caved, throwing it on over your head.

It came down to your upper thigh, covering as much as you needed it to, much to your relief. Sighing, you walked towards the changing room exit that lead out into the pool area, ignoring the funny look that one woman gave you as you passed her in the shower area.

You dodged the cold little puddle of water that was always in public swimming pool areas, hating how you had to walk through it to go back and forth between the pool and changing rooms. Stepping out into the huge leisure room, you could see the glistening water, the orange glow from the lights bouncing off its surface. It was so calming to see, instantly putting you at some form of ease, making you momentarily forget about the intrusive worries and doubts in your head.

That is, until you heard your name being called from your right and you looked to see Ben walked towards you. It was painfully unfair to see how brilliant he looked in his swimming shorts, his toned and very muscular torso on display for everyone to see. You could see the muscles under the skin shift as he got closer to you, the way they tensed when he ran his hand through his hair.

You knew then that it had been a good idea to put the t-shirt on, knowing that you would look ridiculous stood next to him.

"Hey! You look a little lost, is everything alright? What's with the t-shirt?" Ben asked when he finally had gotten to your side, giving you the once over as he spotted the t-shirt you donned over your costume. You shifted from foot to foot, toying with the hem of the shirt as you tried to find a better excuse than simply the fact that you felt rather crappy compared to him. You knew that people were looking at him, more specifically the women that were in the pool. Even the young lifeguard that sat up on her tall chair couldn't help but give him a very satisfied look down. Ben seemed oblivious to it all.

"Just, feel a little bloated?" You guessed, not entirely convincing him. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing more.

"No worries. Well, let's get in then!" He pushed you playfully, teasing at throwing you in the pool, making you squeal.

"Ben!" You snapped, although you had a huge grin on your face. He backed away before you could grab at him, diving in head fist, with the grace of an Olympic athlete. You watched him disappear under the surface, before popping back up with a splash, flicking his head to shake the wet hair out of his eyes. Rubbing it with his hand caused it to stick out at weird angles, and you couldn't help but laugh at how funny he looked.

"Coming in?" He asked, swimming back towards the edge of the pool. You nodded, sitting down onto the cold tiles and slipping your legs into the water first, opting to sit on the edge for a little bit first.

Ben swam up to your side, resting his arms on the side so he could tread water easily.

"So, why the t-shirt? And be honest with me this time." Ben asked you, his face deadly serious, catching you a little off guard. So he hadn't believed your poorly put together lie. You felt your face go extremely hot at having been caught out.

"It's just..." You trailed off, hating the fact that you were going to have to tell him the truth. You didn't want to sound like an ass.

Ben waited patiently, careful to not pressure you into speaking. He rest his chin on his hands, continuing to tread the water as he watched you fumble over your words.

"It's you, Ben." You admitted, wincing at the way his eyebrows furrowed together.

"Me?" He responded, and you quickly tried to explain.

"NO, well yes. It's complicated." You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose as you tried to keep back the tears. Ben stayed silent. "You're hot..." You began, earning a laugh from him.

"Thanks love." He replied with a shit-eating grin. You swatted his arm.

"Shush, I wasn't done." You chided him, only he simply waggled his eyebrows, biting his bottom lip. You tried to ignore how that little action made you feel. "Well, as I said, you're hot..and I'm, well I'm not, basically." You explained to him, hoping he would understand what you were trying to say.

Ben silently pulled himself out of the water, his bicep muscles tensing and flexing as he did so, so that he was sat next to you, your shoulders bumping slightly. You kept your eyes focused on the shimmering surface of the pool. It was too much of a distraction having Ben sat next to you with beads of water sliding down over his abs and dripping off the ends of his hair.

"You know that is a load of shit, right?" He laughed, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you closer to him, his hand resting on your waist. "Listen to me, you're beautiful. Now I don't say that often, except as a joke occasionally on one of Joe's Instagram posts."

You couldn't help but laugh, having seen said Instagram comments for yourself.

"But on a serious note, you do not have to feel like you're worth any less because you're with me. I hate that you feel so insecure around me, because I always want you to be comfortable." Ben confessed, tugging on your ponytail jokingly so that you'd turn to look at him.

"It's just so difficult." You sighed, wrapping the t-shirt fabric around your finger.

Ben nodded. "You can keep the t-shirt on if you like, that's entirely your choice. But I just want you to know that I think everything about you is perfect. You're very hot, if you don't mind me saying." Ben nudged you at that last part, making a giggle erupt from your lips. It was a sound that Ben loved to hear and was glad that he was the one who could make it happen.

You began to pull your legs out of the water, and Ben frowned up at you as you got to your feet.

"I'll be right back." You mumbled, turning on your heel and going back into the changing rooms, forgetting about the cold puddle and stepping through it with a shiver and a grumble.

You stood outside the locker that was yours and opened it. With a long, slow exhale, you tugged the t-shirt up over your head, screwing it up and locking the door in a hurry, not wanting to change your mind if you lingered for too long.

Tugging at the bra part of the bikini, you repositioned it, hoping that it covered your breasts up well. You really didn't want a slip up to happen in front of Ben.

Perhaps you should have just wore the old swimsuit, you thought.

It was far too late now though, and you tried not to look in the mirror as you walked past it, failing miserably.

Ben's words echoed around your head as you tried not to look at all the imperfections you saw instantaneously.

I think everything about you is perfect.

You managed to pull your gaze away from the mirror and head back to the pool, forcing your arms to remain at their sides and not wrap around your midriff like you so wanted to do. You dodged the puddle and poked your head out to look around the big pool room. Ben was floating in the pool, not paying any attention to anyone as he gently floated on his back. Grumbling, you forced your feet to walk, one in front of the other, so that you were now well and truly exposed.

Nowhere to hide now.

"Fuck it." You whispered to yourself as you stepped up to the side of the pool.

It was at this same moment that Ben happened to look over, obviously wondering where you had gotten to, and spotted you stood on the edge with your hands balled into fists. You couldn't help but groan, as you'd been hoping you would be able to get in the pool without him seeing.

The smile however, that graced Ben's lips was one of pure happiness and...admiration?

He swum over to you until he was a metre from the edge, looking up at you.

"You took it off." He pointed out, his voice soft. It made your heart melt a little.

"Yeah." You admitted sheepishly, clearing your throat as you felt yourself grow more awkward by the second.

Ben quickly looked you up and down, but it didn't go unnoticed by you.

"You're even more beautiful than I first thought." Ben told you, making a warm heat pool in your stomach that spread all the way up to your cheeks.

"Thanks, Ben." You replied, sitting down and quickly lowering yourself into the pool, wanting to at least cover yourself up partially, plus it was getting rather chilly just standing on the edge like a lemon. The water was relatively warm, and it felt so natural to slip into it, you couldn't help but smile as you felt the warmth wrap around your body, in between your fingers and toes. Ben pushed away, and you swum after him, heading towards the shallower part of the pool.

It was here that you could eventually stand up, the water just reaching your collarbones whilst it only just made it up to Ben's pectorals.

"Feeling okay?" Ben asked you, moving his hands in the water, feeling the way it swirled around him, creating little currents. You nodded, bouncing on your tiptoes.

Ben stepped a little closer to you, and your heartbeat went a little funny when he nibbled on his lower lip, now flushing a deep red colour by how often he seemed to bite on it. You wondered if it was a habit or something to do with nerves, although you couldn't fathom why he'd be nervous around you.

"Is that everything you had on your mind?" He asked you, a drop of water slipping down his cheek and eventually dripping off his jawline. It was a pretty sharp jawline.

You shrugged. "There was this other thing, a dinner party, but it's alright, I've decided not to go." You told him nonchalantly. Ben pulled a face, his bottom lip sticking out a little in a pout.

"Why not?" He asked, splashing you playfully with a little water. You giggled, splashing him back, the water simply hitting his chest and running over his rock-hard muscles. You swore mentally at yourself to stop looking at his body.

"Because it's a high school reunion, hosted by a really popular girl who's now a model, and my ex who dumped me before prom has RSVP'd that he's going. I don't fancy turning up single and having to deal with him the entire night." You grimaced. Ben nodded, understanding your reasoning for not wanting to go.

"Just get a date for the evening." He told you, splashing a little harder, a few droplets of water hitting your cheek. You shook your head, partially due to the fact that Ben was going to get drowned if he kept pushing his luck.

"It's too short notice." You sighed, chucking a rather large amount of water at him. Ben wiped the water off his face with a grin.

"I'll go with you then." He offered, slapping his hand on the surface of the water, creating a huge spray of water that drenched your face and your hair. You gasped in shock, jumping on Ben and trying to push him under the water, but with little luck as he was far stronger than you and had anticipated your move.

His strong hands gripped onto your hips, holding you still as you burst into a fit of giggles at your pathetic attempt of shoving his head underwater. You didn't even register how close you now had gotten to Ben, hands resting on his shoulders as his toned abs were pressed against your stomach. The heat that radiated off the two of you as you stayed pressed together was intense, Ben's eyes flicking down to your lips on more than one occasion.

"So?" Ben practically whispered, unable to stop himself from letting his hand slip a little higher up to rest on your waist. The sensation of his hand on your bare skin made you shiver. But you remembered he had asked you a question, so you tried to remain focused on the conversation rather than how you enjoyed his hands on your body.

"Erm...So what?" You asked, having a momentary lapse of memory loss.

Ben chuckled, with you being able to feel the rumble of his chest under your hands. "Want me to go to this dinner party with you? I'll pose as your boyfriend or something, and make your ex see what he missed out on." Ben offered, explaining the little plan he had concocted. Your eyes widened in surprise.

"You mean, be my...fake boyfriend?" You laughed, unable to believe what you had just heard.

"Well, I never said fake, but sure." Ben joked, but you didn't miss his quick glance at your lips again.

Could Ben be interested in you?

You shook off the thought quickly, scolding yourself for how ridiculous you sounded.

But still, the offer of having Ben as your boyfriend was inviting, even if it was just for one night. Plus, you could rub it in your ex's face.

How wonderful that sounded.

With a mischievous smile, you agreed to Ben's plan.

□■□■□■□■□

It was two days after your trip to the swimming pool with Ben, and you were finishing up your makeup in the bathroom mirror, knowing Ben was coming to pick you up in the next few minutes. You hadn't forgotten about this night however, but you had been a little late in getting ready, as you had been on the phone to your mother about the dinner party.

When she'd asked if you were going alone, you had mentioned Ben, but stated firmly that it was simply as friends. Your mother hadn't sounded very convinced.

Now the evening was upon you, you had butterflies in your stomach. It was silly, but it almost felt like a date to you, even though you had told yourself countless times today that it wasn't, if anything it was an operation.

Operation: Jealous Asshole Ex.

You'd put a lot of effort into your appearance tonight as well, but you didn't know if it was because you were doing it to pile on the jealousy, or if it was because you were going to be with Ben.

Either way, you scrubbed up pretty well.

It was a black dress that your mother had bought for you. You'd had a bonding day together and went to a huge shopping centre where you'd had lunch and treated yourselves. You'd been rather resistant to let your mum get you something, especially a dress that you'd had no idea when you would ever wear. But now you were grateful.

The dress zipped up your back to your shoulder blades and had a halter neck front but with a cut out that showed off a little bit of cleavage. It had built in breast support and boy; did it support alright. You'd never known your boobs to look so bouncy and voluptuous.

It was pretty modest in length as it came down to the top of your knee, but it was devilishly tight, hugging every single part of your body, hiding nothing. Had it not been so figure-hugging you would have considered wearing something over the top, but due to its tight form, it seemed to make everything look slimmer and curvy.

Whilst you detested heels, you had nothing flat to wear that matched, so you begrudgingly borrowed a pair of black stilettos from one of your friends. You'd curled your hair instead of tying it up and let it hang loose, framing your now dolled-up face.

You liked this style. It made you look confident and sexy.

Something you often struggled to feel.

The doorbell rang downstairs and your heart began to thump heavily in your chest.

Ben was here.

You grabbed your phone and carefully got down the stairs without any injuries. You were certain that you'd trip and twist your ankle by the end of the night.

There was no hesitation this time as you opened your door, eager to find out what Ben would think of how you looked.

You didn't have to wait long to find out, as his mouth physically dropped open when he laid his eyes on you. But you were no better as you gaped at how handsome he looked.

He was sporting a black blazer with shiny black lapels, alongside some tight black dress trousers. What made your jaw drop was the shirt. You recognised it as one he'd worn at a premiere for Bohemian Rhapsody, having seen photos online, but in person you couldn't stop staring. It was made of a mesh kind of material, slightly opaque, just enough to be able to see how defined and toned he was under his clothes.

"Ben.." You trailed off. You couldn't deny how good he looked, and it was impossible for you to tear your eyes away from him.

Ben was quick to speak up in your silence.

"You look stunning. Absolutely gorgeous." He complimented you, extending a hand out to you. You took it without hesitation as he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek. You could smell the cologne he'd put on, the intoxicating scent drawing you in closer. He was so magnetic to you, attracting you like a moth to a flame.

"And you don't look half bad yourself." You joked when he pulled back from you. Ben rolled his eyes and shrugged.

"What, this old thing?" He waved it off, feigning disinterest. You bit your lower lip just at the sight of him laughing, looking so ravishing in his suit. His hair was slicked to one side, with a couple of blond strands falling over his forehead.

"I don't doubt that tonight will be a success with you looking like that." You told him, as you headed towards his car. He opened the door, just like he had done a couple of days ago, only he stayed and helped you into the car, keeping a hand firmly on your back for support. When you were in, he gave you one last smile before shutting the door and returning to the driver's side.

He was treating you so nicely, it made your heart swell.

This felt a lot like a date to you.

But you knew that it wasn't really. So you pushed the thought out of your mind and waited patiently for him to begin to drive to the dinner party. But before he did, Ben remembered something and slipped his hand inside his blazer. You watched quizzically, wondering whether he'd forgotten something, until he pulled out a singular, red rose.

It wasn't real, and Ben explained it was to make sure that you never had to get rid of it, that it would be forever permanent. You just about fainted at his sweet gesture, fingers trembling slightly as you took the rose from him, stroking the petals that were made of velvet.

"You're such a charmer." You giggled, leaning over and kissing his cheek quickly, pulling back before he could react. Although it was dark as he drove you both towards the party, you could swear that in the glow of the street lights, his cheeks had gone a faint red.

Had you made him all flustered?

It humoured you to think so, but how likely was it to be that you'd managed to make him blush?

You didn't think about it anymore as you sat in silence for the rest of the journey, albeit a comfortable silence.

It wasn't until you arrived at the house that you started to feel some jitters. There were cars parked along the street, lots of guests having already arrived. You dreaded to think how many you would remember, and how many might remember you. But you were only here for one thing, and you intended to carry out the plan you and Ben had devised.

Once Ben had parked up, you both hopped out and crossed the road towards the house. Although it was more of an estate really.

"Jesus, this place isn't half posh." Ben muttered under his breath, shoving his hands in his pockets as you both walked down the fully-packed driveway. You hummed in agreement, but in reality you were trying to calm the nerves coursing through you, straightening your dress and fixing your hair.

You'd like to think you'd changed considerably since high school, but who knew?

Ben noticed your nerves and brought one of his hands out of his pocket to grab yours. You startled at the sudden contact and the unusual action, something that neither of you had done before.

"What are you-"

"Come on." Ben interrupted, throwing you a playful wink as he noticed your confusion. He pulled you along towards the front door. He was the one to push the doorbell button, hearing the little chime from inside. The entire door was made of frosted glass, so you could see a dark shape getting closer as the person on the other side approached.

Gripping Ben's hand a little tighter, you let out a deep breath before the door was opened.

And there she was.

Amelia Hargreeves.

The host of the evening, who hadn't seemed to of changed a bit, save for her chest being a lot bigger than it was, and her curves having gotten even more curvier than when she was 16. Although she had dark brunette hair, it was a little lighter at the tips, hinting that she'd gotten a balayage recently. The dress she wore was beautiful, obviously made specifically for her by some clothing brand.

But she wore a smile as she greeted you and Ben. You noticed the big engagement ring on her left hand and sighed a little, glad that you wouldn't have to worry about her possibly trying to get on with Ben. Not that it should really matter to you.

"Oh my god, hi!" She pulled you in, giving you an air kiss on either side of your cheeks, before doing the same with Ben. "I'm so glad you made it, please come in. Geoffrey and I were just talking about you!" Amelia ushered you both inside.

You put on a big smile, perhaps a little too forced, but still believable. "I hope we aren't late." You replied, stepping into the spacious, open hallway. You could hear soft music and chatter down the hall, knowing that everyone must be through there.

Amelia shut the door, beaming at the two of you. "Not at all! Please, come through and meet everyone else. God, you look so beautiful tonight, I love the dress." Amelia lead you down the hall, passing numerous pieces of art, pictures and decor.

You couldn't help but feel a little sense of pride in yourself. Amelia, whilst she had never been cruel to you in school, hadn't exactly been the best person ever, often a little self-centred and egotistical. But she was being especially nice to you tonight, and you had to wonder if perhaps she'd changed her tune.

"Thank you, and I love yours as well." You complimented her back, to which she laughed, a little, tinkling laugh.

"Thanks, it's Louis Vuitton." She giggled.

You had to refrain from rolling your eyes just a little.

She looked over her shoulder at Ben, giving him a warm smile.

"You're an unfamiliar face though, how do you two know each other?" She asked, looking back and forth between you both, waiting for one of you to answer. You clammed up, hoping Ben would take the lead in spinning this web of lies.

"We met on set actually, we're currently seeing each other." Ben smiled proudly, to which Amelia cooed.

"How sweet! Geoffrey and I met in Milan, I was over there, and he was doing a shoot with me in it. We're engaged." She waggled her hand, as if we hadn't seen the boulder of a stone on her finger.

Ben smiled. "That's lovely."

He was far better at this small talk business than you were, and for that you were so grateful.

The chatter of voices had gotten louder now as you reached the big open space, a giant living room with ceiling-to-floor windows overlooking the garden. The ceiling was tall and had a large, modern-looking chandelier in the middle, casting a golden light over the entire room. People were sat around, and many were stood in little groups, all talking amongst themselves. Some were in deep conversation, whilst others were laughing at whatever one person had said. It was a calm and relaxed atmosphere.

A few pairs of eyes spotted you instantly, and many people turned to the sound of heels clicking on the wooden floor. Ben let go of your hand, much to your distress, until he slipped his arm around your waist, pulling you a little closer into him. You were grateful for the support.

Amelia introduced the two of you, which had your face turning a deep red as many watched on, Ben smiling at anyone who happened to be looking your way. When Amelia had moved on, a couple of people came up to you instantly. You recognised them both.

Keerah and Jonathan. Both of them had been in your maths class.

Keerah's thick, black hair was tied in a braid that trailed down the length of her back, with little beads and rings woven in, and she wore a deep blue gown with a white sash around the middle. Jonathan's curly red hair was now cut short, so that the curls stayed close to his head instead of the wild mop he had sported in high school. He was wearing a white, short-sleeved shirt and skinny black tie. He'd actually been rather nice in school, often mucking around in class to entertain the students, much to the teacher's chagrin.

"I thought that was you!" Keerah laughed, giving you a quick hug and shaking Ben's hand. "You barely look like yourself anymore! Wow, 12 years makes a difference, huh?"

She was sweet to you and Ben, and Jonathan piped up, a bottle of beer in his hand.

"You haven't got drinks? Come on, let's get you something." He led the two of you over to the built-in bar at one side of the room. There was even a man in uniform stood behind it, waiting to serve whoever came up. You ordered a glass of white wine, but only a small, whereas Ben went with a bottle of beer, the same as Jonathan.

"I thought you were driving?" You asked Ben, brows knitting together as he took a swig from the bottle. He gives you a smile.

"I'll just have one, and if I end up having more we can get a taxi. Don't worry, baby." He smirked. You almost keeled over at the little nickname he had decided on adopting for you. You hadn't expected any names to be brought into play, but you sure as hell weren't complaining. You just took a sip of your wine, listening as Jonathan asked Ben about what he did for a job.

Ben wound an arm around you, pulling you into his side.

"I'm an actor, I just starred in a film that came out in the back end of last year." Ben sipped his bottle, watching Jonathan's eyes grow wide.

"Blimey mate, what was it?" Jonathan asked, fully interested.

"Bohemian Rhapsody."

Keerah gasped. "Oh shit, you're the drummer!" She laughed, covering her mouth. Ben nodded, to which Jonathan shakes his hand.

"Bloody hell, good on you mate." He replied, still in awe. Keerah tapped your shoulder, drawing your attention away from Ben, who you had been watching, no doubt with a stupid smile on your face.

"Did you know Jacob was coming?" She asked. You grimaced at the name, recognising it all too well. Ben's ears must have pricked up as his head also turns to look at Keerah.

"Jacob?" Ben echoes, to which Keerah laughs nervously.

"Sorry, didn't mean to bring up your old flame, but I remember how it ended with you two and I didn't want you to get a nasty surprise if you saw him." Keerah apologised to you and Ben, but you waved it off with a laugh.

"Don't apologise, it was 12 years ago. How petty would I be to still hold a grudge against the bloke?" You joked, earning laughs from Jonathan and Keerah, even a chuckle from Ben, but that was more because of the fact that he knew the reason why you were both here.

Jonathan took a long gulp from his bottle before spotting something out the corner of his eye.

"Well shit, it's a good job you don't have a grudge, because he's coming over now." Jonathan put a hand on Keerah's elbow, mentioning that perhaps they should give you and Jacob some space. Keerah agreed and they left, promising to speak to you and Ben later.

You turned to Ben, panic set in your eyes as you stared into his perfectly calm ones. He noticed your worry and set his drink down on the bar, placing both his hands on your shoulders.

"You feeling okay?" He asked, worry laced into his words. You couldn't help but feel a little happy at how he fretted over you and the genuine concern he seemed to show.

"Yeah, with you here I'll be fine." You assured him, placing a hand on the lapel of his jacket. Ben pressed his hand over yours, curling his fingers around yours and bringing your hand to his lips, kissing it softly as he continued to look at you. You could feel him smiling against your skin, and the simple gesture had your head reeling, wishing he would stop being so charming. But that was his whole point of being here tonight.

There was a gentle pressure on your back, the cold hand against your bare skin making your blood freeze. The sound of your name on his tongue made you want to turn around and punch him in the face. Ben lowered your hand, but kept a firm grip on it, his eyes instantly going from twinkling to dark and threatening as he looks behind you.

Turning around, you were met with the very man you had come to see tonight, but now wished you were a million miles away from. Jacob.

His brunette hair was still wavy and long, the ends brushing the collar of his black shirt that was unbuttoned at the top. He wore no tie, but instead he donned a smooth, arrogant smirk on his lips. He no doubt still thought he was the shit, as it was blatantly obvious by the way he looked past you at Ben, raising a single eyebrow silently.

You could feel Ben tense behind you, and you wondered if he might actually punch Jacob.

Part of you secretly prayed for it.

Jacob was the first to speak. "Well, I'll have to admit I didn't expect you to be looking so foxy tonight, so colour me impressed." He joked, sticking his hands in his pocket and letting his head fall slightly to one side, letting his gaze travel up and down your body at an excruciatingly slow pace.

Ben cleared his throat, causing Jacob's eyes to snap back up and look at the intimidating blond behind you.

"Hello mate, loved the film." Jacob stuck his hand out for Ben to shake, which he did. Very firmly.

Jacob couldn't completely hide the wince as Ben squeezed his hand to death. You had to admit it was a little hot seeing Ben so worked up, using his body to appear more intimidating to Jacob.

"Thanks, bud." Ben replied with a smile, although his eyes remained cold.

Jacob shifted his gaze back to you, giving you a lazy smile. "So, how have you been?"

You braved a smile as you spoke to him, remaining civil but uninterested. "Good, made some good friends and worked on some big films, such as the one I met Ben on." You leaned into Ben, feeling his hands go to your waist and pull you against his chest. Jacob nodded.

"Yes, you seem very happy together. How long have you been dating?" He asked, the tone in his voice dripping with sarcasm. You felt the itching urge in your hand to slap him cross the face. Ben hummed, turning you to face him and leaning down to look at you, his face inches away from yours.

"It's been a few months hasn't it, baby?" He asked, one hand slipping up your back to rest at the nape of your neck. Ben looks at you through heavy, almost lust-filled eyes, that bottom lip being caught in between his teeth as he gazed down at you. You knew it was just an act, but you liked having this opportunity to have fun. So you slipped your hands up to link around his neck, pulling him a little further in, giving him an award-winning smile of your own.

Ben showed no surprise at your sudden change in mood, instead he seemed to lap it up.

"That sounds about right..." You purred. "Baby."

The name he had now affectionately called you twice came as shock to him when it came from your mouth. Ben knew he shouldn't be finding it hot, the way you spoke to him and how you looked at him. But he had initially been acting at the start of the night, only now it didn't seem like it was pretend anymore.

He'd never seen you like this before, and he couldn't help but wonder if you were actually flirting with him out of your own interest.

Remembering that Jacob, the self-righteous asshole, was still stood in front of them, Ben devised a smart, little plan to get them away from him. And to also make Jacob regret ever deciding to dump you, and to even think he could try to speak to you again.

Leaning down to your ear, he whispered, "Follow me."

You looked over at Jacob who was stood there, looking rather irritated at how little you seemed to care about this presence, before looking back at Ben. Nodding your head, Ben turned to Jacob with a shit-eating grin.

"Excuse us, we have some business to take care of."

The numerous suggestions that statement left hanging in the air made you want to blush, and Jacob seemed unable to hide his scowl at the two of you as Ben pushed you away from the bloke. You daren't look over your shoulder, but out the corner of your eye you saw Ben wink at Jacob from over his shoulder, before walking alongside you.

The two of you were walking back towards the hallway that you'd arrived from, the slightly darker corridor leading away from the room. You weren't out of the room just yet, but that must have been Ben's plan, as he stopped you just before the corner where you two would vanish out of Jacob's sight.

"Sorry about this." Ben muttered to you, and before you could ask what he meant, he pulled you in and smashed his lips to yours in a hungry kiss. You couldn't help the moan that escaped you as he slipped a hand to the back of your head, running his fingers through your hair and pulling slightly, the other one trailing down to playfully grab a handful of your ass.

Although you were supposed to just be acting, you knew that everything you did in retaliation to Ben was 100% of your own accord and your own attraction to the man that was currently making out with you. He pulled away, bringing your lips apart for just a few seconds so he could whisper to you.

"Walk back a little." He commanded you, before bringing his lips back to yours and slowly pushing you backwards. You did as he asked, making little steps back until you felt the cold plaster of the wall behind you, meaning that you were pinned against Ben.

With his body pressed against yours, you couldn't help but get a little more desperate in your kissing. You parted your lips a little and Ben knew instantly what you wanted, his tongue slipping into your mouth as you deepened the kiss.

"Ben-" You gasped, as his kisses began to trail down from your mouth, travelling along your jawline and down your neck. He hummed in response but didn't stop. You moaned, but then quickly bit down on your lip to stifle it, not wanting anyone to come along and find you both.

"Ben...Baby, please." You whined, accidentally letting the nickname slip from your mouth. He stopped the kisses on your neck, bringing his face up to look at you again. His lips were slightly swollen and red, and was a little laboured in his breathing, but you found it all extremely hot.

"Baby?" He teased. You fidgeted, looking away from him in embarrassment.

"Sorry, it just slipped." You mumbled. Ben rolled his eyes, hooking a finger under your chin and bringing your face up so that you would look at him.

"Yes, and that intense make out session we just had was definitely me just acting." He told you, the sarcasm dripping off his tongue as he looked back and forth from your eyes to your lips that were no doubt swollen like his.

"When did you stop acting?" You asked, biting your lower lip as you toyed with the lapels of his jacket. Ben laughed quietly.

"When I picked you up to go swimming, two days ago."

You blink in surprise, casting your mind back to the day in question. Those kind things he said, the way he admired you and seemed so pleased when you joined him in the pool. When he had offered to be your boyfriend.

"At least we don't have to lie to these people anymore." You giggled, leaning forward and standing up onto your tiptoes to kiss him gently on his soft, pink lips. Ben didn't back away from the kiss when you did, instead leaning in again to stop your lips from breaking contact.

After one more long and passionate kiss, he finally reigned it in enough to pull away. He held out his hand for you, visibly happy when you took it without hesitation, before you began to walk back into the party together.

"Let's knock 'em dead, baby."

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thereddeath2093-blog · 4 years

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2020A_CW-210 personal blog post

DOOM

By Steven Bunch

I spend a lot of time thinking about doom. It’s a rather abstract concept to preoccupy oneself with, but still I find myself living a “doomed” life. I listen to doom metal, I watch movies and TV shows full of doomed people on doomed worlds, I fantasize about the doom of the planet and my own personal doom. It even gets so much more specific to the point of absurdity; my favorite rapper is MF DOOM, my favorite super villain is Dr. Doom, I even play DOOM the video game.

Half of my time spent thinking about doom, is trying to understand what the word itself really means. What is doom? What does it mean to be doomed? This as you can imagine inspires all sorts of philosophical questions about life and death, fate and inevitability, as well as many others. For all my pondering, I can’t really come up with a solid answer or something definitive. Sure, I could go with a typical dictionary definition of the idea, but it is more than that to me. It encompasses too much to be summarized and completed in a single or simple string of sentences. It’s an aesthetic, an ideology, and a state of being to me, something transcendental unto itself.

The aesthetics of Doom are easily recognized but much like the idea itself, abstract and difficult to definitively explain. There are rather obvious tropes and visual elements that appear in art and media that are representative of what I’m talking about; ruined buildings, smoke filled skies, destroyed cities, dead bodies, anything apocalyptic really. However, the idea is much deeper than that. A piece of art, or anything visual, that can inspire feelings of dread, despair, or hopelessness exemplify this aesthetic in its purest forms. This has a place in the greater sense of the word and the idea of Doom itself.

The ideology of Doom, unlike a lot of ideologies, is not one that is readily “chosen” in the same way one might choose to be a democrat or one would take up the cause of conservation. This is a kind of mentality that people usually fall into, and more so often than they might realize. Unlike the aforementioned aesthetics, the ideology is easily explained and familiar to most people. While chiefly the mentality is signified by feelings of doom or feeling doomed, it is a little more complicated than that. A true ideology of doom comes when this mentality is reflected out into the world as a whole rather than the individual. More than a simple feeling of personal helplessness, an ideology of doom encompasses the whole of humanity, to see the entire human race as doomed. As you can imagine, this is not a particularly hot-take, especially these days. That being said, embracing this fact would be the key difference between someone who is merely cynical and someone who is waiting with baited breathe for the apocalypse. Which is essentially what I’m talking about.

People would scarcely admit to themselves, and even more so to each other, that they want the world to end. But the fact of the matter is that most people on some level do. Being a “doomer” has even become a popular internet meme. You get a sense of this feeling anytime someone has a particularly fashionable doomsday prophecy or something like this virus breaks out. People talk about “what if this gets worse?” and “what if this is the ‘big one’?” and they do so in very practical sensible ways, but it’s not hard to see something under the practical nervous façade everyone displays. There’s a part of it that is exciting to everyone. There’s a little voice in every one’s head that says “well fuck, if the world ends, I don’t have to go to work on Monday”.

Now that might seem rather funny like a Sunday newspaper comic, but there’s something deep in the psychology of that mindset. People don’t want to have to go to work, but more than that, they don’t want to be expected to participate in the societal machine that makes people go to work and earn money. Part of being an adult is accepting and fulfilling obligations that are somewhat thrust upon you from outside regardless of how one feels about those particular obligations. People are to a degree forced to participate in a society that they don’t agree with, or at the very least, do not like their position in. An apocalypse frees the shit scrubber and the burger flipper to eat his boss and give a finger to the man free of any guilt of any financial or typical consequence. All of us have someone higher on us on the ladder we wouldn’t mind making a meal out of.

Naturally this all extends outside of working relationships and obligations, but to the far reaches of civilization as a whole. Every person from pauper to prince is well aware, that the “system” in place is not only incredibly flawed and corrupt, but also antithetical to the very human soul itself. Obvious injustices such as bigotry, war, poverty; as well as little things like traffic, wasted time, rudeness, all support the notion that something is wrong .“The system” as your local pothead would call it, isn’t designed to crush people into machines and thoughtless consuming automatons, but one can’t be faulted for believing it so, considering how often said system produces such hollow beings. One of the mindset of “Doom” recognizes that the easiest way for these things to change, if they can be changed, is to wipe the slate clean entirely.

This is the point where most people will close this page because I’m starting to sound like a cultist of some kind. But, those people aren’t remiss to do so. This is the kind of mentality that leads people into cults. Nearly every cult is a “doomsday” cult of some kind. Even Christianity for all its pomp and circumstance, is hardly ever different. Some of the most colorful and interesting passages of the Bible come from the book of Revelations and the prophecy for the end of the world. That’s how natural this all is, how prevalent it is in the human psyche. We have always been waiting for the end of the world, because unlike most animals, we are very poignantly aware of our own mortality, and this awareness manifest itself in strange ways. The strangest of all being embracement.

This leads to my final point about Doom itself as a state of being, the embracement of death. Now again, I’m not trying to get all death-cult on you, but there is something to be said for not only accepting one’s own mortality, but embracing it. The fact of the matter is, life sucks, and not just these days or in a particular circumstance. Life, on the whole, is a tragedy. We are born into fragile bodies against our will, bodies that will very slowly decay with us trapped inside them. We are born into families we do not choose, with people who do not know but are entrusted with our entire existence, and then as an adult expected to serve someone else entirely. We are expected to work and struggle and to get sick and to suffer until we are physically incapable anymore. And if you whine about it, there will always be someone to chime in and remind you that your particular suffering isn’t even close to the breadth of suffering humans can experience because “someone always has it worse”. This is a world where a good death is considered “getting old”, which is essentially just fermenting and rotting longer than anybody else.

To be “Doomed” in this sense is a recognition and rejection of fighting these things. If we are all going to die, then there can be no “good death”. All death is natural, all the world is transient, a passing image. Nothing, least of all people, last forever. You spend a lot more time dead than alive in the grand scheme of things, and in that, being dead is more of the default state. That’s not to say that this is a suicidal feeling at all. This isn’t some philosophy of suicide in so much as it is a philosophy of embracing the inevitable end of all things. Someone in the “doomed” state of being isn’t going to go out and seek the end of their own life, but they aren’t the kind of person to shy away from it either. They allow themselves to fall away and let go of life’s worries much more readily. There is a reason that coming to terms with one’s own mortality is a huge part of Zen and eastern spiritual learning.

Why would you shy away from death and doom if the world is a bag of ass and you’re going to die anyway?

After many hours wasted thinking, I have come to the conclusion that this is where I draw my artistic inspiration from. All of my world view is painted with a funeral veil. I find myself obsessed with the aesthetics of doom because I constantly live in that state of being. I can’t help but feel a compulsion to drive this aesthetic as far as I can. I feel the innate urge to draw visions of monsters, destroyed cities, and the sky shredded by cosmic terror so naturally. I can’t help but express this feeling through my artwork. Something within me wants to say to people, or remind them; “hey, not only are things like suffering and death very real, but sometimes they are the only thing that is. They are inevitable and they shouldn’t not be cowered from, but embraced and mastered.”

Now, maybe I’m projecting too much. (I tried not to be too first person, oh well). Perhaps I’m just trying to explain my own morbid fascinations I can’t otherwise do so with. Maybe I’m just too edgy for my own good or it’s because I have a very strong belief in the afterlife. Though it’s not out of the realm of possibility that there’s just some people out there (myself chiefly included) who are just sort of depressing, death obsessed freaks. However, I gamble a stamp, that considering how many depressing death obsessed freaks are really out there in the world, that I’m not entirely off-base when I talk about these things being prevalent in the subconscious of the human race as a whole. I believe something deep in the human psyche craves a change, craves destruction to make way for something new. Something in each of us wants these things no matter the cost, something in each of us, craves Doom.

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ask-the-guiding-light-cast · 5 years

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Slowing things down...

So, I’m sure many of you noticed that the blog’s been a bit, uh, off-and-on this week. Well, this week just so happens to be chemo week (infusion’s tomorrow, fun fun), so I expected this to happen. But, moving beyond that, it’s indicative of something greater.

Though it pains me to have to say this, I will have to slow down work on Guiding Light (and this blog). Beginning in April, the fic will not be updating every weekend. Odds are updates are going to be every two or three weeks. At the same time, I’ve set things up so this blog will only have ten posts per day at a maximum. So, this may mean it take longer than you’re used to for any questions to be answered.

I’m sure many of you are disappointed. Trust me when I say I’d like to be able to keep this update schedule going and get the fic to the finish line. And, well, FFN’s the type of site where only a lucky few can afford to update their fics slowly or sporadically and still get any attention. I am no ScytheRider. I won’t blame anyone who chooses to jump ship. I mean, I won’t even be able to tell, for the most part.

But, unfortunately, I’ve run out of steam. Long work days and my ongoing health issues have made it a grueling struggle to find the energy and the proper frame of mind to write. Or, as TV Tropes puts it, I’ve been in a Creator Breakdown since last summer. Episode 14 was, easily, the most frustrating thing I’ve written because of it. Most episodes take me two months to draft. This one took five. Yeah. Over a quarter of the time I’ve been writing this fic has been spent on this one episode. That’s how bad it’s been.

“But Amby, if you’ve spent five months on one episode, how have you kept updating the fic?” you ask. Well, the answer’s simple. Up until recently, I had a twelve-chapter buffer. Meaning the chapter I posted for you guys was one I had finished drafting about three months earlier. I was able to keep that buffer fairly consistent... until last summer.

My work hours started increasing. My exhaustion levels grew. My general mood/happiness nosedived off a cliff. And, frankly, the next few months are looking like they could be very rocky. I love interacting with you all, but I’m currently at a point where I can barely muster up the energy to do that. I’m usually answering your questions in bulk before I slip off to bed and queuing them up to post the next day.

My chapter buffer is completely gone. Hence, I have no choice but to slow down my update schedule. The only other option would be put the fic on a (lengthy) hiatus to build that buffer back up, but I’m pretty confident that would kill the fic completely. I’d hate for that to happen.

Yes, it sucks that I’m doing this with the end drawing closer. But I have to do it for the sake of my sanity. You have to understand, I’ve kept this fic updated weekly since August 2017. That’s nineteen months! I wasn’t even sure I’d be able to update consistently for half a year. And this blog is almost at eight hundred posts and it hasn’t even been here for three months, yet.

Let me reiterate, I want to finish the fic. And I’d really like to not have it take years. But things offline are not where I would like them to be... and that’s made working on the fic increasingly hard. I don’t want the ending to be a rushed mess, but that’s what you guys would get if I keep trying to push myself when there’s little to no gas left in my tank, so to speak.

I’m sorry if this upsets anyone.

#announcement #ooc

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cindiliciouscindi · 6 years

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If Suttard could do it, Kadena can!

That feeling when you've spent several hours piecing together the puzzle that is the ending to the Kadena storyline for season 2. After going down the rabbit hole, I arrived at the following:

Kat and Adena meant the "I love you"s when they said it. There was no deceit, no lies, no holding back, it was authentic and real from both of them.

When Adena said she wanted to stay still and build a home, she meant it. She said she was tired of adventure, and that is true. She started traveling at 17, she was accustomed to freedom and space, and doing her own things. But when she met Kat, she had the desire to settle down, and give domesticity a chance. She found someone she could slow down for, and she was willing to give it her all.

Adena was happy moving in with Kat. She was content with being in bed all day, laying back, making dinner, watching "Friends," waiting up for Kat to come home, all that stuff, which she had never really been able to do with any other partner before Kat.

When Adena opened the relationship, it WASN'T so that she could have more space. No, that wasn't the intention. In the scene of that argument, Kat said "And that's why you started producing more when we opened up our relationship?" She didn't say, "you opened up our relationship so you could produce more" and those are two different statements. Opening up of the relationship happened first before "producing more" started happening. Her intention for the OR was really to give Kat the freedom to achieve self-fulfillment. It just happened that while Kat was away doing her thing, Adena became bored at home and started creating art again, which is as realistic as can be. Sometimes, being left to your own devices brings out the best in you.

Adena answered "maybe" to Kat's question above because she wasn't fully aware of the extent being with Kat had cost her creative abilities. Again, she didnt want to do anything drastic about it, which was part of why she was mad that Kat went behind her to Coco. Adena probably noticed she was stuck, but didn't want to tell Kat to avoid making her feel guilty (like she told her in 2x04) because if she had told Kat, Kat would have risked it all to fix it, and knowing Kat, she would have taken a drastic decision that may have adversely affected their relationship. Instead, Adena was trying to find a way of balancing her creativity and her love for Kat, which was why she said "maybe there's a way for us to just have more space." Adena was in a dilemma but you can tell she wanted to be with Kat more than she wanted to pursue her career. Would she have resented Kat later if 2x10 hadn't happened? Probably, in future. But, she thought there would be a way to fix this without them breaking up. You meet some people in your life and you don't want to imagine life without them. Adena has never wanted to lose Kat, which was why when 2x05 and 2x06 happened, she opted for an open relationship rather than a break up.

Kat walked away from the argument, to clear her head, even though she said she wanted to get ready for the party. It was so heartbreaking for her to think she was a setback to Adena's career, even though Adena clearly wasn't seeing her as a setback. Kat was also in a dilemma. She couldn't do a half-assed relationship with Adena. She wants all of Adena, no spaces, no breaks, but at the same time, she cannot limit Adena from being her fully accomplished self. As much as she wants to keep Adena to herself, the Kat Edison that we know will rather sabotage herself than make Adena unhappy. Remember 1x05.

Kat and Adena have had this long standing unspoken agreement of making space to accommodate the other person. I can't lay down all the instances but if you have followed their story closely, you would know that they have always sacrificed a lot to be together because they truly care about each other. Adena was putting her career behind to be with Kat, and she was doing it without anger or contempt. Kat now has to make the ultimate choice of giving up her desire to have Adena around all the time, just so that Adena can have some creative space, which is why she told Jane and Sutton "Who am I to tell her that she can't have more freedom when she gave me so much?"

Adena was seeking a solution with Kat. She wanted them to come up with a resolution, which was why she asked the same question Kat asked her in 2x06 "What are we going to do?" to which Kat also responded "I don't know." It wasn't Adena's battle to fight alone, it involved the both of them. She believed they could work it out together, just like they worked out with the OR. They have always worked their shit out together, and knowing them, they can fix this shit.

We didn't see the text Adena sent to Kat, but we heard Kat's phone beep, saw the reaction after she looked at it, and then she said "Well, she's not coming." That, I believe, was all the text said. Then, Kat went ahead to say "she said that she needs more space to be creative. Apparently, being with me limits her." Adena couldn't have said all those over text, this was Kat recounting the discussion they had earlier. "She said that she needs more space to be creative" is the summary of what Adena said, especially when she was talking about how her relationship with Coco afforded her the opportunity to create more because they were barely together. I don't believe she wrote it or said it literally. This was Kat paraphrasing. As much as I'm hurt that Adena didn't show up to Kat's party, I feel it was done to give us an impression of this being a serious fight between them, to heighten the angst, and set up the cliffhanger. Remember Sutton said "Wow, I didn't realize the fight was that bad." If she had come, it would have given a glimmer of hope that they could work it out. But I feel like they want us to assume that things are really bad and unresolved.

Adena and Kat really love each other, and neither of them wants to stay apart from the other, but in life, tough choices need to be made sometimes, and I respect Kat for having the courage to let Adena go, even if for a while. Kat said she couldn't do it halfway, and that must have hurt Adena so much, because it meant all or nothing. Adena thought they could balance it out, and probably went somewhere to grieve, which was why she blew off the party.

We don't know if they have broken up or are just taking a break, though I'm leaning towards the latter. Breaking up would be a reach; if they could weather through Kat's sexcapades, this is child's play, except there are other factors relating to Nikohl's stay on the show. Adena went for a walk because she needed to think. Just like she went away after Kat confessed in 2x06. It is possible that she comes back the next day and they have a mature conversation to fix things. I know we are worried about Nikohl's appearance on set. I have no idea what is going to happen, but I believe they didn't tie things up for Kadena. This may be nothing but Adena's stuff is still in Kat's apartment, so they at least have a reason to contact each other.

Adena's visa got approved. She can come to The US and go as she pleases. This is also why I believe Kadena is not done. I would have thought otherwise, if her visa wasn't approved and they had this disagreement. Now, I think the current situation puts them in an even better position to work things out. They can hit the reset button and begin the dating process, which they skipped by moving in together. They could try Long Distance as well. Anything is possible for people who want to be together.

There are ways in which this can be fixed without them breaking up, and we don't know what the writers are cooking up for next season. They could live apart, work around their joint calender in a way that gives each one time to be productive, etc.

It is totally possible to balance out career and love.

Sutton's example is worthy of emulation.

One should not have to be neglected for the other, especially when the people involved have the desire to be together. I want to believe they are working towards this on the endgame horizon for Kadena.

That being said, I don't believe the writers messed up the storyline, I believe they were working towards this from the very beginning. Granted, some things were not fleshed out enough, which I could blame on the 10-episode season arc, and the desire to tell many stories at once with the little time available. However, as a viewer, I also understand that a lot of things happen offscreen on TV shows, which means I am expected to fill in the blanks with any example or lead provided, and that's the difference between TV and fanfiction. I am also happy to see a storyline that most people weren't expecting, something less trope-y. I am hugely optimistic about Kadena in season 3, but whatever happens, I'm here for the ride.

#the bold type #kadena

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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An A.P. Bio Season 4 Episode Guide with Showrunner Mike O’Brien

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Fittingly for a show about high school, A.P. Bio’s writers are often tasked with the least enjoyable aspect of education: homework.

“One of the ways we try to find new areas in stories is just by writing assignments and homework,” A.P. Bio showrunner Mike O’Brien tells Den of Geek. “We’ll all go home and write. I often call them sketches or scenes – just some little thing.”

O’Brien’s homework assignments have apparently paid off as they’ve allowed the comedy to reach four seasons, the first two of which aired on NBC and the following two on streaming service Peacock.

A.P. Bio is set in the fictional Whitlock High School in Toledo, Ohio and follows disgraced Harvard philosophy professor Jack Griffin (Glenn Howerton) as he returns home to teach some eager nerds A.P. Biology. Unfortunately for the nerds, Jack has no intention of teaching them A.P. Biology and instead forces his students to join him on missions to address his many petty slights and grievances. Fortunately for the nerds, some lessons are learned despite Jack’s most sincere efforts not to instill any.

With all eight episodes of A.P. Bio season 4 available to stream on Peacock now, we caught up with O’Brien to discuss the journey so far. And since we’re thorough, we decided to ask about each of season 4’s eight episodes.

Read along with our A.P. Bio season 4 syllabus below.

Season 4 Episode 1 “Tornado!”

“Tornado” begins with a set up that should be familiar to many current and former Midwestern students: a tornado drill. The concept of avoiding the mighty power of a tornado by gathering in a hallway and hoping it doesn’t notice you is ripe for comedic possibilities. A.P. Bio, however, decides to take things in a bit of a different direction. This premiere is a vessel for the students of Whitlock High to share slash fiction stories about their teachers with one another.

“One of the writers in the room, Jess Lacher, wrote the cold open of ‘Tornado’ almost word for word,” O’Brien says. “That stayed pretty much as is. We were like, ‘Maybe this is a whole episode.’”

Naturally the excursion into one of fandom’s most treacherous pastimes required some preliminary investigations.

“We did a decent amount of research (into slash fiction). I tried to get into the origins a little bit of it, which seemed to be maybe Spock and Kirk.”

As of press time, there is no available slash fiction about A.P. Bio characters that I’m aware of…yet.

Season 4 Episode 2 “Sweatpants”

The simplest of actions lead to the grandest of consequences on A.P. Bio. In this episode, that action is a dress code policy to curb bullying. The consequence is the formation of a cult, naturally.

A.P. Bio Season 3 Preview: School’s Back In Session

By Alec Bojalad

“We were trying to use some of the tropes of real cults,” O’Brien says. “I feel like I’d just seen Midsommar, and I’ve been a fan for a long time of The Source Family. There’s so many good fiction and nonfiction cult movies and things to talk about, that writers are always talking about and imitating.”

What makes A.P. Bio’s cult particularly interesting is that it centers on sad sack student Victor (Jacob Houston).

“More than anything, we wanted to put it through Victor’s filter. So things he likes and hates are all given Jonestown-level of intensity.”

And that’s how you get delightfully strange scenes of a whole classroom yelling “Divorce! Divorce!” at things they don’t like.

Season 4 Episode 3 “An Oath to Rusty”

Following his break-up with the lovely Lynette (Elizabeth Alderfer), Jack needs some friends. Unfortunately, the only way he knows how to go about getting them is by asking them to play the world’s hardest board game

“I found Twilight Imperium by Googling ‘hardest games to learn.’ It’s always in the top five. It’s a lot,” O’Brien says. “Talk about going down deep rabbit holes. I spent more time learning tutorials on YouTube for that game than anything else.”

While Jack’s relationship struggles, this episode spends plenty of time with a trio of characters who are thick as thieves. Stef Duncan (Lyric Lewis) and Mary Wagner (Mary Sohn) find themselves frustrated with their friend Michelle Jones’s (Jean Villepique) refusal to tell them what case she worked on during jury duty. According to O’Brien, this is another concept that came directly from the writing staff’s “homework assignments.”

“That was a homework assignment from David Neher, who plays Geology Dave on the show. He just randomly brought in as his homework one time a thing where Stef and Mary are doing police sketches of a fully misunderstood thing from Michelle, who isn’t saying anything about her boring trial she was a jury member for.”

Season 4 Episode 4 “Tons of Rue”

Though the delightful Joe Manganiello notably pops up later on, cult movie star Bruce Campbell is A.P. Bio season 4’s biggest get. The beloved Evil Dead actor portrays Jack’s scumbag father who is trying to turn over a new leaf.

“That was so cool,” O’Brien says of bringing Campbell aboard. “He’s not as well known as Tom Cruise, but his fans are all fever pitch fans. Certain crew members and a handful of the writers were going nuts. I think Glenn was a big fan and really excited.”

Unfortunately for Howerton’s Jack, his father’s instincts to flee when things get too real win out again in the end. Though Campbell’s time on the show was brief, he left a big impact behind the scenes, according to O’Brien.

“He’s just so nice. I guess you’d hope it’s either that, or he’s like a weird psychopath that requires tiny orange juices to keep coming to work. But he’s gregarious and funny and nice and does a great job with the script. I loved having him around. I was a big Evil Dead fan in college, so it was the best.”

Season 4 Episode 5 “The Perfect Date From Hell”

So I’ll be frank: we ran out of time to discuss “The Perfect Date From Hell” with Mike O’Brien. And that’s a shame as there’s quite a bit going on here! From the introduction of Jack’s new love interest Shayla (Hayley Marie Norman) to Principal Durbin (Patton Oswalt) going all Undercover Boss, there was certainly plenty to unpack. Oh well, next time we’ll get to hear all about Durbs’ disturbing prosthetics.

Onto the next one!

Season 4 Episode 6 “Love, for Lack of a Better Term”

This is Victor’s second big showcase episode of the season, after serving as a cult leader in “Sweatpants.” This time around things are a lot less sinister. This half-hour serves as a parody of ‘90s teen romance movies (Third Eye Blind soundtrack and all) in which a lovable schlub goes for the popular girl and can’t realize his true love was in front of him the whole time.

“It ended up being a big Victor season. He kind of takes over this episode and has a couple of other really great moments,” O’Brien says.

Despite Victor’s clear status as MVP, O’Brien says it’s important for each student character to get their time in the sun.

“I would say I hope that all of (the students) shine at different moments, because they’re all so talented. It’s on the writing team to make sure we aren’t letting any of them slip through the cracks, even for one episode.”

Season 4 Episode 7 “Malachi”

It’s no secret that comedy titan Paula Pell is a big part of A.P. Bio’s success as school secretary Helen Henry Demarcus. Through three seasons, the show has treated her as a Paul Bunyan-esque character, capable of astonishing feats and fit to bursting with a positively insane backstory. While Helen has quite the internal history on A.P. Bio, the show has not yet fully reckoned with her as a sexual being until this season. And this is the episode that delves furthest into Helen’s horny heart to amazing success.

“She’s in and out of relationships that aren’t great all the time,” O’Brien says. “We cast Paula’s wife who is a very funny comedy writer and performer. That not only was really fun and exciting, because we know Janine (Brito), but in the midst of a very tense February and March COVID shoot it was a little bit of a relief for Paula and Janine to be able to kiss.”

The story of Paula and a waitress at a local bar’s torrid (and quick) love affair is quite madcap. But according to O’Brien, the show has considered some other off-the-wall possibilities for Helen’s love life in the past.

“We pictured she had a girlfriend who works on one of those fishing boats in Alaska, like Deadliest Catch. She’s there 363 days a year and then on one day Helen calls their “Purge dating day’, they try to have dinner, make out, and go to an amusement park and a concert, all in one day. That was probably a little too wacky.”

Season 4 Episode 8 “The Harvard Pen”

“The Harvard Pen” has a high concept befitting a season (or perhaps series?) finale. The episode flashes back all the way to Jack Griffin’s first day with the A.P. Bio class, which is somehow only “a few months earlier.” Jack gives one golden rule to the assembled students: never touch his Harvard pen. Naturally they do, and the episode follows the pen’s months-long journey to eventual oblivion.

Ultimately though, the real standout in this installment is the web series that the A.P. Bio kids have been producing with Heather (Allisyn Snyder) starring. Janet Fist is a ‘70s style cop drama in which the titular character is a receptionist who has an incredible ability to solve crimes…and to shoot everyone she sees full of lead.

“I used to write a lot of short stories about a ‘70s renegade cop that I would read when I was in improv in Chicago,” O’Brien says. “I thought ‘what if that was through the eyes of this kind of quirky high school girl? Maybe she’s not even allowed to be a cop in the ’70s.’ It becomes this kind of feminist statement that Heather wants to make. It was just really fun to write after that.”

If a fifth season of A.P. Bio isn’t in Peacock’s plans, we’re gonna need to go all-out on a Janet Fist spinoff fan campaign.

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A.P. Bio season 4 is available to stream on Peacock now.

The post An A.P. Bio Season 4 Episode Guide with Showrunner Mike O’Brien appeared first on Den of Geek.

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#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

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avatoh · 6 years

Note

You asked for shassie prompts soooooo what about the classic fake dating scenario 😏

Hey, Anon!Sorry I took my goddamn sweet time with this. Thank’s SO much for the prompt! I love these tropes!

AO3 Link

“Huh. Isn’t that Lassiter over there?” Gus pointed out towards the beach as he took a taste of his half-finished soft-serve. He and Shawn had taken a break from Psych and decided to take a stroll along the boardwalk with the original intent of pursuing a cool and tasty treat, which they had no trouble finding.

“Woah, really? Where?” Shawn asked as he moved his head quickly in search of the man.

“Right there. That wedding venue,” Gus pointed again.

Shawn squinted his eyes and noticed a very familiar man in a suit walk around, alone, under a shady canopy.

“That’s him, right?” Gus asked.

“Definitely,” Shawn replied. “Let’s go over and bug him.”

“Mmm. You know it,” Gus nodded.

“Hey, Lassssssiiiieeeeee,” Shawn drew out his breath as the two of them walked up to the tent.

Lassiter seemed to recognize that the two of them right away, but quickly turned his head refusing to make eye-contact. Instead, he opted to look at the “fascinating” sand particles on his shoe, kicking at the ground a little as he did so. “Don’t come. Don’t come. Don’t come,” raced his mind.

“Hey,” Gus said.

“What’s up, Buddy?” Shawn spoke too as they got closer.

“Not now,” Lassiter said, his eyes not leaving the floor. This was not a good time!

“What? Come on, man? You just gonna dis us like that?”

“Not now, Spencer,” Lassiter said again, this time with gritted teeth.

“Why?”

“Because I’m-”

“And whose this, Reggie?” came a man from behind. He held two drinks in his hands and ended up handing one to Lassiter as he finished talking.

“Ah,” Lassiter replied, taking the drink from the man. His whole body language was different than his normal. “They were just leaving.”

Eyes darted back and forth between the four men and the air felt tense, nobody knowing what to say.

“This can’t be him,” the strange man finally said, eyeing Shawn up and down like a mother inspecting her daughter’s date.

“And who would I be?” Shawn asked.

“His boyfriend, of course,” the man said.

“His…Oh, you mean Reggie’s boyfriend?” Shawn asked. Lassiter must undercover. He was pretending to be a guy named Reggie. Gus looked a bit confused but also seemed to know something or another was up.

“Oh, I knew it!” the man said, jumping to conclusions then turning to Lassie. “This man right here is John? He’s just how you described, Reg! Especially his face and hair. Perfection.”

Gus looked at Shawn, the man, and then at Lassie. “Ok. This little chat was nice but, umm, sooo…. I gotta go,” Gus said pointing back to mainland.

“I should get going too,” Shawn quickly said. Normally, he liked to have some fun annoying Lassie, but now really didn’t seem the time. If looks could kill, he’d most certainly already be dead by the looks Lassiter was giving him. “Anyway, it was nice meeting you…uh…”

“It’s Deacon,” the man said with a thick accent, “And nonsense, I don’t want to put you two out if you want to stay-”

“Oh, no. It’s fine, John here really does have to get going,” Lassiter encouraged, pushing the two men back towards the mainland. He turned to Shawn “I think my boyfriend just got jealous and wanted to check on me with his friend.” His voice turned a bit sour for what followed; he couldn’t help it. “He just had to come and check on me even though I said I was going to be in good hands, your hands, over and over to him for about a week. Isn’t that right, dear?”

“Yeah,” Shawn said, seizing Deacon up with his observations skills. “What if he gets ideas here with you at this wedding!? Anyone would be happy to have a man like Reggie… I just wanted to check on him during my lunch real quick since I was, you know, in the area. I guess I’ll have to trust you for now though. He doesn’t seem like he’s too into you but, please, don’t steal him, he’s all I have. I love him!”

Lassiter looked as if he was going to have a heart attack at that last comment.

“I won’t,” Deacon chuckled. “It was nice finally meeting you, John. And don’t you worry. I’ll take good care of him,” the man spoke, extending his hand out.

“Uh…thanks,” Shawn said, shaking it. He then turned to Lassiter. “See you later, mister” he said slowly, giving a discerning look with pleading eyes towards Lassiter.

When they were far enough away from the wedding venue, Gus spoke, “What the hell was that about!?”

“Lassie’s playing an undercover gay guy, dude.”

“I figured. But what was up with that man who thought that you were his boyfriend!? Why didn’t he think that I was his boyfriend!”

“I dunno. He said I looked just how he described me. Take it up with Lassie and his backstory.”

“You know what. I will.” Gus paused and thought. “Wait, so Lassie, was playing a gay dude and describing you as his boyfriend? That’s messed up.”

Shawn nodded. “Guess so.” Part of him wanted to think more about that, but he decided against it. It was clear that Lassiter could never like him in that way. He wasn’t even sure he like him in any way for that matter. These thoughts saddened him.

A few hours of lounging around the Psych office and watching trash TV later, there was finally a knock at the door.

“I’ll get it,” Gus said, getting up with a bowl of M&M’s in his hand. Shawn heard him crunch on some on the way to the door. “Oh. It’s for you,” he said to Shawn.

“Of course it is. I’m the only psychic around here. This place is named after me and my ability. Mine, Gus!”

“Spencer,” sounded Lassiter’s voice from down the hall. “I think we need to talk,” he said, appearing before him.

“I think I know what’s going on,” Shawn said.

“You do?”

“Come to ask your dear, sweet boyfriend for forgiveness. Shame on you for going to the wedding with that guy and not with me, Reggionald!”

Lassiter let out a groan. “Look here, Spencer-”

“Uh. Uh. Uh, It’s John now, according to that friend of yours,” Shawn said.

“Spencer. Stop. That man’s a very dangerous man. An arms dealer. I’m fully undercover while he’s in town for that wedding. We were going to make a move on him soon We have enough evidence, but we’re waiting for a warrant-”

“But why were you pretending to be a gay guy?”

“Pretending…I-” Lassiter started. “Well the arms dealer, he likes guys. So we decided it was a good cover to pretend I was you know, interested.”

“Then why did you have a pretend boyfriend?”

“Because,” Lassiter sighed. “I don’t have to explain myself to you…but I might as well tell you, because whether I like it or not, your involved now. My cover started online with a series of chats for about a month. We knew he was going to be in town for the wedding this week, so they had me start chatting to him. I played a guy who was lonely and tired of being in the same relationship for almost a decade, as it goes. I pretended to fall for him a bit, despite Reggie having a boyfriend. He’s known to go after married or committed guys. I was invited as his date to the wedding and I said that would be alright, that I would tell my boyfriend that he was a old friend coming to town. He liked that.”

“So it was bad that I came to check on you when I did?”

“On the contrary. Now he wants to invite you and I to dinner, to apologize for imposing. Said we made too good of a match to split us apart. I think he almost feels bad?”

“What?” Gus spoke.

“Buckle up, Spencer,” Lassiter said. “I’m taking you on a goddamn date.”

The following few hours were spent coaching and drilling Shawn about the cover story. Gus left while Shawn and Lassiter learned or keep a straight story for their upcoming date. “It’s tomorrow night,” Lassiter spoke. “We’re going to a restaurant, the three of us.”

“Okay,” Shawn said.

“We’re going to have to set a few ground rules. No kissing, no hugging, no groping.”

“No touching?” Shawn asked.

“What? And blow our covers? No. We can’t afford not to. You can touch me, as long as it’s the appropriate amount. If you go further than necessary though, please remember I have a gun, and I do know where you live. ”

“What if he wants us to kiss, Lassie! We would have to kiss, right? Not to blow or cover?”

“Why would he ask us to kiss?” Lassiter asked. “What I said earlier was a threat by the way.”

“We’d have to kiss prove we’re together!” Shawn continued.

“People…just don’t do that.”

“But what if he wants us to prove it?”

“Then we can kiss, I guess.”

“Should we practice just in case he does?”

Lassiter simply just gave Shawn a look.

“Fine,” shrugged, Shawn. “You don’t gotta be that way.”

“You’ve got the plan memorised right? I can’t have you messing this up, Spencer. He’s too big of a fish to lose now.”

“Yep,” Shawn spoke. “He picks us up at that fake house you’ve been staying at, we have dinner, then we go home.”

Lassiter nodded his head. “And the search warrant should come in the following day before he leaves. Our goal is to try and get him to stay in Santa Barbara, unaware, for a day or more if possible. But we have to be subtle about it, Spencer. Subtle.”

“Got it.”

“What time do you want me to meet you at your fake front house?” he asked.

“Come at like three, we’re going to have dinner around six but I asked him to come over a little earlier, for some wine.”

“Pfff. Wine?” Shawn scoffed.

“Yeah. Come over at three, don’t forget,” Lassiter said, bidding Shawn goodbye.

“Ding Dong, I’m here,” Shawn shouted from outside the next afternoon.

“Come in,” Lassiter grumbled, opening the door up. “Your 20 minutes late.”

“Wow,” Shawn whistled, looking at Lassiter.

“What-”

“You look good,” Shawn said, eyeing the other man some more. He was wearing not-a-suit for once, but instead a ¾ sleeve shirt with a bit of a pattern on it. Most people found their respective crush attractive when dressed up, but Shawn suddenly found Lassiter attractive when dressed down.

“Should we go over the story again?”

“I’m fine,” Shawn replied, relaying the information back about their story and plan.

“Fine,” Lassiter spoke. Shawn really did have a great memory. He eyed the other man and his outfit for the “date.” What he was wearing was close to his normal attire. However, he was dressed up a bit where Lassiter could see there was some effort put in.

“Why don’t you show me around?” Shawn spoke.

“Sure.”

It was a pretty nice place. But it didn’t look too well lived in despite things here and there. Hopefully it wouldn’t give them away. When they got to the bedroom, Shawn sat down on the bed. “This looks too clean.”

Lassiter raised his eyebrows.

“We are impassioned lovers,” Shawn exclaimed. “This bed is unacceptable,” he said, rolling around.

“You look like an idiot.”

“I’m your idiot for today.” Lassiter rolled his eyes. “And You’re free to join me, by the way,” Shawn said rolling around more into the covers.

“No thank you, I’m good. I think i’ll go ahead and set the table for wine. You enjoy yourself.”

Shawn pouted in bed for awhile before he got up to follow. He wished Lassiter would like him more. He was teasing, of course, but there was always some kernel of truth to his joking. He genuinely wished that this could be real, them dating. The fact that they had to act like they were together was a dream come true. When he came downstairs, Lassiter was already done setting up and was relaxed on the couch with TV on.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Shawn spoke.

“I already did everything. You don’t have to worry.”

“Thanks.”

“Come over here,” Lassiter beckoned.

Entranced, Shawn obeyed. “Why? What is it?”

“Your clothes are wrinkled,” Lassiter said, standing up. “Here.”

What happened next surprised Shawn. Lassiter actually straightened him up, brushing his clothes and pulling them tight against his skin to get the wrinkles out. Shawn let out a sigh and a shiver that did not escape Lassiter’s attention.

Lassiter’s eyes darted towards Shawn’s lips, and for a second, something almost happened. At the last possible moment, Lassiter turned away.

Lassiter snapped back to himself. “Sorry,” he spoke, rushing away to the restroom. There he stayed. When he came out, he seemed fine, like nothing happened.

“So what are we watching?” Shawn asked, his voice trying not to shake. It appeared to be some sort of car show, he wasn’t sure which one.

Deacon came to the door about a half-hour later, dressed smartly in a suit and remarked how nice and clean the place was. Both Shawn and Lassiter automatically went into acting mode as soon as they saw him pull up in the driveway. Lassiter developed more of an easy going personality as Reggie, while Shawn’s character, John, was more protective than normal. Their change in personality was almost enough for the two to forget that they were pretending…almost.

Lassiter, especially after drinking wine, kept eying Shawn for some reason.

If it was to just look at him, to make sure he wouldn’t screw up the character, or because Reggie’s character should be looking at him, Shawn didn’t know.

“I don’t know about you two, but I’m about ready for some dinner,” Deacon said.

They agreed and Lassiter drove them to the restaurant in his borrowed undercover car. It was a Mercedes, something he would never drive in real life as he preferred to stick to American-made vehicles.

They, ate, drake and had fun at the restaurant and then returned back to the borrowed house. There, they had more to drink. It turned out Deacon was too inebriated to return home to his own place.

“You can crash on the couch,” Shawn offered.

He agreed and they set him up there. When they were grabbing spare blanket’s Shawn felt Lassiter’s hands grab him by the shoulders and pull him towards the cabinet.. “You realize since he’s here, you’re going to have to stay the night too,” he hissed.

Shawn blinked. Oh. “At least it gives you more time to search his place and get the warrant,” he whispered back sharply. He pulled away and continued tending to the violent guest.

Once they got him settled down, Shawn and Lassiter stood at cross-roads in the bedroom. Somebody was already on the house’s only couch and there was only one bed as well.

“What if he comes up here in the middle of the night?” Shawn asked.

“So?”

“I need a big strong-gun wielding hunk to protect me,” Shawn spoke. “Besides. He might get suspicious if he comes in and sees one of us takes the floor.”

“I don’t see why he would come in here-” Lassiter cut himself off, deciding that arguing would get them nowhere. There really was no place for the two of them to sleep comfortable besides the bed. Having one of them on the floor or elsewhere wasn’t fair. They were both grown men. The bed would have to suffice. “I’m taking the right side,” he finally said.

They showered, changed and then got in bed. It wasn’t nearly as awkward as it should have been, but it was still hard for them to fall asleep. Lassiter couldn’t remember the last time he shared a bed with somebody who wasn’t his ex wife.

“It’s been awhile,” Shawn said in the dark to no one.

“What?”

“It’s been awhile since I’ve been in bed with a guy,” Shawn commented ever so softly, not expecting Lassiter to be awake.

Lassiter’s cheeks turned a shade of red that he was thankful Shawn couldn’t see because of the dark. He turned from his back onto his side, away from Shawn.

Sometimes, he couldn’t tell when Shawn was actually telling the truth or not…but sometimes what he said really affected him.

At 4:30 A.M Lassiter’s phone rang. It was the department who he had earlier notified about Deacon staying the night. They had the warrant to search his place and belongings and found sufficient evidence against him. Lassiter was free to arrest the man as he seemed fit. Backup was mere minutes away. Lassiter discharged his weapon and went downstairs to apprehend the man, which he did in under 30 seconds. The man cursed and screamed, trying to free himself, waking Shawn up.

“Morning, honey,”Shawn greeted Lassiter. “Did you get the bad guy?”

Lassiter couldn’t help but smile.

The cops came to collect the man, the chief was even there. “I’ll get dressed then meet you guys down at the station,” Lassiter said as soon as he handed Deacon off to them.

The Chief waved him off. You can worry about that tomorrow, Carlton,” she spoke. “Get some rest.”

The department cleared out of the house in an instant and Lassiter felt like he was hit with a ton of bricks, he felt so tired, he now realized. “Come on,” Shawn grabbed his hand, leading him back to bed. He got Lassiter under the covers and then stared down at him. “I guess I’ll take the couch,” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Stay.”

Lassiter Could hardly believe he uttered the words himself.

Shawn obeyed and crawled in the other side.

This time they fell asleep in an instant, not waking up until the morning.

Shawn was gone when Lassier woke up. The whole thing felt like a dream to him. A good dream though; he caught the bad guy, got to fake-date Shawn, the man of his dreams, and share a bed with him. Not too shabby.

He was congratulated for his work, of course, that following week at the station.

A month later, because he did so good at his assignment, he was given another one.

“I don’t want to seem like I like or care about Spencer, because I don’t. But might I suggest he might join me? The fake-dating scenario worked well enough and of course, you know-”

“Carlton. If you want to ask Shawn on a date, just ask him,” the chief said.

“But I-”

“Carlton…”

“Yes, Chief.”

“Ask him.”

Lassiter stood there, mouth opening and closing. “Ok,” he finally nodded. He was going to try and ask Shawn Spencer on an actual date. If only he could work up the courage.

#psych usa #shassie #psych #fic #my fic #anaon #prompt

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stereksecretsanta · 6 years

Text

Merry Christmas, @divinexstiles!

I hope you enjoy this. I wanted to do something vaguely ABO/mating run, but since I'm not great at that trope, I did a slight variation on it. I hope you enjoy! <3

Summary: To complete the mating ritual, Derek has to go on the mating run to find Stiles, which is a scavenger hunt around Beacon Hills. Derek just wants to find Stiles before he crawls out of his skin.

Read on AO3

*****

Hunting for Clues

Derek clenched and unclenched his fists over and over. He wasn’t even aware he was doing it until his mother reached out and touched his arm with a smile. “Relax, Derek. It’s almost time.”

Derek tried to relax as his mother ran a comforting hand down his arm. Sunset was in just a few minutes, and then there was only around half an hour after that til moon rise. Derek could feel the buzzing just beneath his skin, could already smell Stiles’ scent in the air. It made his fangs push against his gums, his claws ache to come out. He wanted to take off now, let his instincts lead him to his mate, reunite with him and claim him finally as his own. It had been so long since Derek had seen Stiles, his entire body was aching and longing, his wolf whining and uneasy from the separation.

(It had been three days.)

“Are you nervous? Excited?” his mother asked him.

“A bit of both, I guess.”

She squeezed his arm. “Don’t worry. It won’t be long before you’re with Stiles again. It’s exciting. Things’ll never be the same after tonight. You and Stiles are starting a long life together. I’m so happy for you, and that it’s Stiles.” Derek ducked his head and smiled.

“I remember the mating run with your father like it was yesterday,” she reminisced. “I remember standing here like you, beside my own father, my entire body nearly burning with the need to find and claim your father.”

“Mo-om!” Derek groaned. He was a werewolf; sex and modesty weren’t really things that bothered him. But there are some things, like thinking about his parents claiming each other, that weren’t really the thing he wanted to think about when he was about to go claim his own mate.

His mother chuckled. “Enjoy it, Derek. The hunt, the chase, the anticipation. I know you want to get to Stiles as soon as possible, but the mating run only happens once in your life. You’ll find him soon enough, and then you’ll spend all night claiming him.” Derek blushed up to his hairline as his mother watched him with a knowing, mischievous smirk.

“Are you going to embarrass Laura and Cora this much when they do their own mating run?” Derek asked.

“Oh, definitely. It’s part of the fun.”

The minutes dragged on as Derek watched the moon rise. He could already smell Stiles’ faint scent on the air, and his eyes had a faint electric blue glow as he leaned against the hood of the Camaro.

Derek’s mother grabbed Derek’s hand and squeezed it. “It’s time.” Derek couldn’t help the growl that started deep in his chest. His mother turned to him and placed a leather cord around his neck. Two matching silver bands with a triskele engraved into the side hung on it. The mating bands.

She looked him in the eyes, her gaze a bright red, and smiled. “With the rising of the full moon on this November day, and as Alpha of the Hales and the Beacon Hills territory, I declare the start of this mating run. Derek,” she paused and kissed him on the cheek. “Go find your Stiles.”

His mother let go of his hands and Derek grinned at her before throwing his head back and howling. Finally. He got into the Camaro, rolled down the window, and started following the scent.

He drove away from the Hale house, off the property and towards town. Mating runs used to be done through the woods, the wolves chasing each other or their human mates until they ended up claiming each other in the woods. The last few generations changed things. His grandmother just waited at a restaurant for his grandfather, and his cousin chased his mate all the way to Iceland. Some of his relatives still liked to do a traditional woods run, but Stiles told him, “Dude, I’m not running through the woods when I’m not running for my life. I’d like to be well rested for our mating night, if you get my drift.” Then he’d winked suggestively and tackled Derek back to the bed.

The first place that Stiles’ scent led Derek made him laugh. He should have known, even without the scent trail. The bookstore where they’d met a few years ago, at a book club meeting Derek had gone to when he’d spent a year reading classics. The meeting was for Treasure Island, and Derek had been eager to discuss it.

But there’d been a guy there who was the most annoying person in the world. He talked constantly, mainly about how much he loved the book and how awesome pirates were. “I mean, it’s like a farce! Were we really supposed to believe those guys didn’t know that Long John Silver was the cook? It’s like, watch out for the guy with the peg leg! But here comes a dude with a peg leg who’s a cook all of a sudden, wanting to go look for the treasure! I was literally laughing out loud.”

Derek was irritated at first, but the longer the guy went on about the comical elements, the more Derek started to soften. By the end, he was even smiling and chuckling to himself.

After the meeting, the man came up to Derek and said, “Dude, did you really want to seriously discuss Treasure Island? Like, a lit class? You do realize we were in that meeting with a bunch of grannies? Awesome grannies who totally love pirates, but I don’t think they would care about, what was it? The futility of desire or the motif of solitude? Like, did you really think about that when you read? I was just like, whoa these are some fucking awesome pirates, yo.”

Derek had been miffed and a bit taken aback at his response and had turned to go, but then the guy said, “You know, we could discuss that motif of solitude or whatever other Englishy, literary, pretentious thing you want to talk about. I was thinking over coffee.”

Derek had just stared at him in surprise. People hit on him often, but it usually had something to do with his looks or sex. No one had ever offered to talk about a fucking nineteenth century book about pirates over coffee before. Then Derek really looked at the guy. Tall, thin but with surprising definition in his arms and shoulders, hair sticking up in multiple directions from having long fingers run through it too often, and bright eyes that Derek could easily see himself falling into.

“Yeah, okay. If you’re buying.”

The guy smiled. “I think I can handle that.”

Derek stared at the bookstore from a parking spot right in front of it, and couldn’t believe that a stupid book had brought them together. And now here he was, on his mating run to find him.

Inside, Derek found Boyd waiting just where he thought he’d be – in the classics section, right beside Treasure Island. Boyd grinned when Derek approached, and said, “Thought you weren’t gonna show.”

“Trying not to get arrested for speeding before I get to him,” Derek said. “Gotta keep Stiles’ father out of this. Just wait until your mating run with Erica. We’ll see if you’re as smug then.”

Boyd laughed as he handed Derek an old, worn copy of Treasure Island. Derek opened the front flap to read the inscription, written in Stiles’ hand, and then was out of the bookstore with a quick goodbye to Boyd, book still clutched in his hand.

The next stop was Laura’s coffee shop three streets over. As soon as Derek entered, he could smell Stiles’ scent even over the rich aroma of coffee.

Their first date had been at a coffee shop that no longer existed. But they’d been on so many dates to Laura’s coffee shop that Derek wasn’t a bit surprised it was part of the run. He glanced over at the corner chairs, where they spent most of their time.

He remembered the first time he ordered for Stiles, when Stiles was distracted on his computer as he finished up a paper for one of his grad classes. It was Thanksgiving break, and he’d wanted to finish it so they could “go home and fuck their way through black Friday while everyone else wasted money on a capitalistic racket.” Derek offered to buy him coffee to help him get finished faster.

Derek’s order was always simple, a hazelnut coffee with milk, but Stiles liked one of those coffees Derek thought were only a tv fabrication. He blamed Laura for enabling Stiles, really. And when he went up to the counter, a new high school kid working instead of his sister, so Derek had to remember the ridiculous order.

He set the cup beside Stiles’ elbow and sat down to read his book. Fifteen minutes later, Stiles muttered, “Well, fuck me.” Derek glanced up to find Stiles looking at him, mouth hanging open. “You know my coffee order.”

“Barely,” Derek said. “I couldn’t remember if it had almond or vanilla, and – oof!” Derek was cut off when Stiles lunged across the empty space between them and flopped on his body to kiss him. The kiss was more intense and eager than Derek was completely comfortable with in a public space, but he found himself kissing back anyway.

“I love you, too,” Stiles whispered against his mouth, then kissed him again before sitting back down in front of his computer. Derek picked his book up, ridiculous smile on his face.

When Derek approached the counter, Laura was waiting on him behind it, holding a lacrosse jersey with a number 24. “Go get ‘em, Derek.” Derek grabbed the jersey, kissed his sister on the cheek, and ran back to the car.

Stiles liked to tease Derek that lacrosse was a better sport than basketball. “You played basketball, how boring is that? God, that’s the worst sport ever. Lacrosse is far superior.” Derek let Stiles ramble about lacrosse, mainly because he didn’t care one way or another.

“Baseball is better than both,” Derek said simply after Stiles stopped talking.

“That’s a given,” Stiles replied. “How have we not talked about baseball yet? We’ve been dating for months.”

“Spring training just started. It wasn’t baseball season until now.”

“I know. I have this dream that one year, I’ll get to go see the Mets during pre-season.”

“The Mets?”

“Stop the car!” Stiles shouted. “If you hate the Mets, just stop the car right now and I’ll get out and walk home. I cannot interact with a Mets hater.”

For their second Christmas together, Derek bought him and Stiles a Mets spring training ticket bundle that included meet and greets and a breakfast with the team. He thought Stiles was going to pass out, but he cried instead and gave Derek probably the best blowjob he’d ever gotten.

When Derek opened the door of the car at the school, the air was heavy with Stiles’ scent. He didn’t know if Stiles had been here recently, had rubbed himself on posts, or had peed on something. (Knowing Stiles, he and Scott went around peeing on Beacon Hills High School just for the fun of it.)

Derek ran to the field and found Scott sitting on the bleachers with Isaac, Allison, and Lydia. They grinned as he ran towards them.

“This is so exciting!” Allison exclaimed, clapping her hands.

“You’re making good time,” Lydia said as she checked her phone. “Faster than Stiles predicted. I told him he underestimated how much you wanted to get to him.”

Derek didn’t care enough to blush because they knew where the mating run was leading. Stiles’ scent was so thick right here, like he’d rubbed himself on each of his friends, and rolled around in the grass. Which he probably did. Then Derek started thinking about Stiles rolling around in the grass, naked, and he only came back to himself when he heard the others talking.

“Earth to Derek,” Scott said.

“His eyes are much bluer than they were,” Lydia stated.

“And he’s wolfed out,” Allison added.

“I’m more concerned about the fact that he’s half hard in his pants,” Isaac said.

“It’s natural,” Lydia said. “You can’t imagine how difficult this is for him.”

“I’m surprised he’s not humping the bleachers where Stiles was sitting, honestly,” Scott said.

“Better get a hold of himself before he goes to see the sheriff,” Isaac said.

“Dude! You’re not supposed to tell him the next stop!” Scott frowned as he handed Derek a blank speeding ticket. “Here’s your clue anyway.”

Derek grabbed it and ran back to the car, the others catcalling and yelling behind him. If the next stop was to see the sheriff, that meant it was the last one before he finally got to Stiles.

The inside of his car made it difficult for Derek to concentrate or even breathe. Everything smelled so much like Stiles. The book, the jersey, the scent of Stiles outside and inside of the car. Derek felt like he was going out of his mind. He just wanted to take off running in any direction until he found him, but he knew that would take much longer than using the clues. His mother had told him to enjoy the mating run, but it was almost impossible when he felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin if he didn’t find his mate soon. He glanced at his crotch, and Isaac hadn’t been lying. Derek was half hard in his pants. Dammit, he should have worn something looser.

He barely registered the ride to Stiles’ house. He parked in the driveway behind the cruiser and ran to the porch. The sheriff opened the door before he took the last step. “Derek.”

“Sir.”

The sheriff smiled and stepped aside to let Derek inside. Which was torture. Stiles’ scent was all around him, thick and heavy. He could taste Stiles on his tongue, and his fingers itched to touch.

“It’ll be all right, son,” the sheriff said, touching Derek’s shoulder. Derek hadn’t realized until then that he’d been whining. “Just a little longer, and then you’re stuck with him forever.” The sheriff gave him a smirk, but Derek knew just how happy he was for them.

“I didn’t think it’d be this difficult to be away from him.”

“Remember this when you’re both yelling and slamming doors.”

“We do that already.” Derek smiled.

“Do you have the rings?” the sheriff asked, and Derek reached beneath the collar of his shirt and pulled out the strand of leather. The sheriff nodded in approval. “I’m so happy for you both. I wouldn’t trust anyone else to take care of him.”

“I know. I love him, and I’ll always take care of him.”

“I know that.” The sheriff placed a hand on Derek’s shoulder and squeezed. “Welcome to the family.” Then, he gave Derek a piece of a paper with directions on it. “Go find him. He’s waiting for you.”

Derek took a deep breath, his nostrils filled with Stiles, and then ran back to the Camaro. The directions took him back to the Preserve, not far from where he started. He drove his car as far as he could, then got out and ran the rest of the way by instinct. His body could feel the pull of the bond, so close now, and his nose was filled with Stiles’ scent hanging in the air. When he got closer, he was able to hone immediately onto Stiles’ erratic heartbeat, beating slightly fast, but mostly calm. Waiting.

Waiting for Derek.

That thought made Derek lift his face to the sky and howl. His mate was close and waiting for him. He couldn’t be happier than this moment.

Finally, Derek broke the treeline to find a small cabin nestled between trees. It was almost hidden if you didn’t know it was there. Unmistakably, Stiles was inside. Derek could hear the creak of the bed as Stiles jiggled his leg nervously.

Derek felt like he could breathe again.

He forced himself to go slow as he walked towards the cabin, up the few steps, and across the porch. He paused, listening to Stiles on the other side of the door. Stiles knew he was there, his scent changed and emanating so strongly that it filled the forest air. Stiles smelled excited and joyous now that Derek was close.

Mine, Derek thought as he opened the door. Stiles was seated on the edge of the bed. When he saw Derek, his face broke into the most beautiful smile.

“Took you long enough,” Stiles said, standing as Derek rushed towards him and lifted him into his arms. Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck and kissed him deeply. “I thought you’d never find me.”

“It hasn’t been that long,” Derek protested between kisses.

“Long enough.”

Derek set Stiles back onto the floor and yanked the leather from around his neck. He dropped the two rings into his hand, and watched as Stiles took one, and then he took the other. Derek lifted Stiles’ hand and slid the ring onto his finger. “With this ring, you pledge to be mine forever.”

Stiles did the same to Derek, saying, “With this ring, you pledge to be mine forever.”

“Mine,” Derek growled, his eyes burning as he shifted, the metal burning his skin like a brand. He was Stiles’ and Stiles was his. “Mine.”

“I’m yours,” Stiles breathed against him. He bared his neck and whispered, “Claim me.”

Derek growled before leaning forward and biting down.

Later, Stiles told Derek how he’d spent the last day preparing the small cottage for their mating. “I know we’re supposed to be here for three days, so I hope we’ll do something other than have sex. I worked really hard on fixing this cottage up for us!”

“It looks wonderful,” Derek mumbled against Stiles’ belly where he was licking and nibbling.

“You haven’t looked at it at all,” Stiles said flatly.

“I will, I promise.”

“I even lit candles!”

“You’re perfect,” Derek said before trailing a line of kisses lower.

They’d have three days to check out the cabin before the Pack came to see them as the last part of the ritual. Derek wasn’t thinking about that right now. They’d only been together for half an hour, and they had three long days to be together. Stiles had a bite on his neck and an assortment of bruises sucked into his skin, but they were just getting started. Derek had plans still.

Derek grinned against Stiles’ skin as Stiles said, “I love you,” his fingers carding through Derek’s hair.

Derek pushed up so they were eye to eye, stared at Stiles’ face, and couldn’t believe his luck, that this man was his. “I love you, too. Forever.”

“Forever,” Stiles said, then pulled Derek down for a kiss.

-fin

#divinexstiles #stereksanta17 #*fic17 #*gifts17

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