#why the fuck am I getting emails about a pizza party we didn’t ask for were an actual club now we don’t need your planned events fuck off

[boomerang109]

i came home, panicked about one thing, and my toilet was leaking. bathroom floor is covered in water and brown particles. oddly, this has not improved my mood

#i just want to be a child again. i understand being a child was also miserable I am not glorifying my childhood #i was in pain and sad and lonely #BUT I WAS SAFE AND CARED FOR AND I NEVER QUESTIONED THAT no matter how much pain I was in #what I wouldn’t give for everything to hurt because I was so overstimulated by school and being bullied #being a kid had such clear cause and effect. being an adult is just…I am guilty and I want to cry everytime I think about the fact that I’m #here. i miss something that never existed and I’m the only one who is trying to remember a person who never existed but is important to me #(cause it’s me—I’m the only one who cares about preserving my childhood. my parents don’t give a damn. they were so busy surviving they #don’t remember it or care either) #why the fuck am I getting emails about a pizza party we didn’t ask for were an actual club now we don’t need your planned events fuck off #the way I was about to brag about our club name by just name dropping my school which would then make it so easy to find me holy shit my #internet safety is getting lax 🙈 #boom’s bad days #omg I just got reccommended ‘boom blogs high’ what if I got high I would feel so much better #i keep just coping sober cause like. not relying on substances. but I don’t actually have skills rn to improve my issues so like. substances #are more helpful tbh 🙈

[serenadeonacanoe]

Honestly, I'd piss him off on purpose. (Namjoon x OFC)

Pairing: Namjoon x Original Female Character

Genre/Warnings: Smut, Angst, Fluff, too tired to beta

Tags: Artist!Namjoon, Yoongi and Tae are the best flatmates, Enemies to Lovers I guess... more like brats to making out in the storage unit, OFC is an idiot.

Summary:

"Wow. Is that that grumpy artist behind you? Jesus. He really looks like a bit of a dick. And you are right. He really is hot..." Oh no. Speakerphone. Namjoon was standing behind me and was staring at me. Then at my phone. He let out a little laugh, then raised his hand to wave at Tae and Yoongi outside who were now also staring at him as if frozen, before turning around in unison. As if that would help. As if he couldn't see them. Or better even... couldn't hear them.

[...]

Mister Darcy has nothing on Kim Namjoon - that new and upcoming artist you probably already heard of (You haven't? How dare you? At least have the decency to pretend you have!). He is cold, serious, and rather good at making other people believe he is a prick. Especially Elizabeth Bennet - uh... Charlotte - is about to lose it because of him. Maybe in a good way. Man, I'd literally piss him off on purpose.

More chapters on AO3

CHAPTER 1

Even the sound of my own nails rhythmically tapping on the top of the counter was annoying me. To be fair, it didn't need much today to blow my fuze that had never been particularly long in the first place. But after a week consisting of being belittled by old white men and endless hours of unpaid overtime I about had it. Welcome to the art world. You know well before you enter that the hours are horrible and the job market is more than frustrating, but you love art and you have good organisational skills, you are resilient, charming when it counts and tend to romanticize things even when you know you shouldn't. It's too late to turn around now.

"That is why I don't use an agenda or notebook. If something is important enough for me to attend I simply won't forget. I know you youngsters are all about the bullet journaling and expressing yourself by mapping out your life but it really is just another way to procrastinate instead of getting to actual work." For a second I considered throwing my damn notebook in the buyer's face, but that probably wouldn't have helped my CV and the new job I would have to look for starting tomorrow. At least I should have screamed at him a little. Mainly, that I didn't care, that I was on my period and my shitty shower in the shitty flat i shared had broken and no dry shampoo in the world had fixed my hair this morning and that god damn it, how the hell was I supposed to remember every phone number, every call my boss had to take, every art handling transport I had organized if I couldn't write it down somewhere. Instead, I smiled. Died a little on the inside and complimented him on the gift of his exceptional memory and asked whether he would like another cup of coffee.

"What a dick." Samantha murmured, more to herself than me, after the guy had finally left, which made me snort under my breath. She usually didn't say much but when she did it was usually pure gold. In the end, it didn't matter that he was. Didn't matter that everyone at the gallery thought the art he had bought from us over the last couple of months had neither been smart nor impressive purchases. Mainly expensive. And flashy.

"Doesn't matter now." I said in a sigh after a quick glance at the clock. It was Friday night and we were about to close. Since it was my birthday on Monday I had taken two days off, about the longest break I had had this year and I was looking forward to being the lazy slob for a few days I was maybe always meant to be. In silence we answered a few last emails, tidied up the desks and counters so that potential buyers that would come in over the weekend wouldn't have to suspect anyone was actually working here. - A white desk. A huge Imac on it. That was all they needed to see, folders and pens and apparently especially agendas to be hidden away in drawers.

At five to eight I threw on my coat and Samantha just gave me a tired smile. Probably happy for me, just exhausted. "Have fun then? Don't get too wasted?" "Oh..." I said with a huge smug grin on my lips. "You have no idea... gonna take a bottle of Moët with me from the bar and drink it in my bathtub after eating a huge pepperoni pizza by myself and dancing to only the finest of 90s Euro Trash." I couldn't help it, apparently, I felt it necessary to give Sam a little demonstration, waving my arms up and down while swaying my hips in a way that I'd probably would not have if it hadn't been for a bit with an audience of a single person. Or maybe two?

A quiet scoff behind me and I quickly turned around, slowly lowering my arms, Sam biting her lower lip at the sight of me standing there like an idiot in front of HIM of all people.

Men didn't have to be old to annoy me. Or white. Yes, those were the ones that pissed me off most usually, but no one had managed to do so as much as Kim Namjoon recently. And now he was standing there, looking me up and down and stopping at my hair. The crazy too-much-dry-shampoo-because-the-shower-broke-hair. "Nice." He just commented and then looked over at Sam. "I'd like to take a last look before Sunday's opening if that is okay?" I stood there, my shoulders dropping, completely ignored.

"Uhm, actually, my babysitter has to leave in about an hour and I will have to be home before that." Samantha replied and I was impressed by how calm she stayed. "Of course." Namjoon said and gave her a slight smile. "Anyone else still around? Chris maybe?" Of course Chris hadn't been in today. It was Friday and unless important guests had announced themselves the owner of the gallery wasn't around on Fridays... "I am afraid not. But maybe Charlotte has a few minutes?" Well. Thanks. Thanks a lot. I felt a little betrayed. "Wouldn't want to keep anyone from their important Moët-Pizza-Dance Party plans." Namjoon replied before I could say a word. His voice once more dropping to a hushed, deep disapproval and his hands buried in the pockets of his rather expensive looking coat. Silence for a few moments and then he just walked off towards the room his exhibition had been set up all week. Showing without a further word that I would have to stay anyways if he wanted it that way.

"Well thank you for pushing me under the bus like that. Really appreciate it." "I am so sorry. But I was serious, I can't lose this babysitter. She got Jamie to eat vegetables. VEGETABLES!" Samantha suddenly seemed in a rush, grabbing her jacket and purse and showering me in promises she would make it up to me. Even though we both knew that wouldn't happen and wasn't necessary. Suddenly having to stay longer was normal. I just hated that it had to be today. And because of him.

I heard the door close behind Sam and I stood there for a second before putting my bag down again. Usually, I would have followed the artist, asking if I could somehow help, but nahhh... my ego was bruised up enough now, especially remembering the little dance. I closed my eyes. Fucking hated the guy. Always had. Well, not quite. I had thought he was cool for about five minutes when he had come in the first time. We had heard about him for quite a few months before, I think I had even seen pictures of him at some point, but those were nothing compared to him in real life. He came in all cheekbones and sharp chin and an all grey outfit, quick pace, observant gaze. Incredibly hot. He had also completely ignored me.

That's how it had started - a bruised ego. He couldn't know that it was my weak spot. Having studied art and its management and now feeling like a better secretary at times, when my colleagues and I were doing all the behind the scenes work while Chris worked very little hours and ended up with all the money and recognition. I was aware this wasn't the only field of work where this was the case, but it still frustrated me... I had imagined my life in the last years of my 20s to be a bit more glamorous than living in a tiny apartment on the outskirts of the city... spending my Friday night waiting for some rude artist dude to leave so I could lock up.

But what I perhaps hated most about him... was that I admired him. - Purely for his art. Really. Even the fact that he kept acting as if I wasn't around every time he came in didn't mean I couldn't admit that. At least to myself. The stories behind his huge colleagues were clever and thought through, but even without context, the pure aesthetics were mesmerizing. It was the kind of art that touched something deep inside of you and standing in front of it I always had a hundred questions. Whenever he brought in a new piece I was the first one to sneak a peek in the back rooms before it was hung.

"I don't get why you have such a problem with him. He is just... quiet. I think he might even be shy... stop being so sensitive and just ask him out already." I had almost strangled Sam for that comment a couple of weeks back. Stop being so sensitive. What did that even mean? Comments like that made me want to cry and scream at the same time, which probably would have been perceived as even more sensitive, but when had insensitivity become something to strive for? I had only kept quiet because I liked Sam and I knew what she had tried to say. At least I thought so. That I might have given less of a shit if I hadn't been rather attracted to Namjoon. Even though I had never mentioned it, she just knew. She knew if I didn't care about something I didn't waste my time on it. But if something made me angry or upset there was usually more to it. I hated that she could read me that easily. But he was still a dick and I still wanted to go home.

He took his sweet time. After an hour I walked up to him, a little speech prepared in my head about how he could come back first thing tomorrow. But when he turned around he just raised a hand between us to keep me from interrupting and turned away again. I hadn't seen that he was on the phone. "No, it's nothing, just one of the gallery employees." I heard him say and okay... if I wasn't about to explode before I was now. I stood there for a minute, fuming, and then simply walked back to the office area, my hand shaking when I started turning off the gallery lights one by one. It wasn't as satisfying as I had hoped but still felt good. Two minutes later the only lights still on were the one above my head and the one in front of the door. I would at least give him a clear direction where to head, he seemed to need it.

When Namjoon appeared out of one of the dark corners he looked even more annoyed than usual. Looking my direction through squinting eyes and his tongue pushing against the inside of his cheek. "Seriously?" he yelled my way and almost walked into one of the little flyer shelves. Wasn't the first time I had seen that happen to him though so maybe that had nothing to do with the light.

I felt oddly triumphant. By the time I had put on my coat and turned off the remaining lights, ready to finally lock up, Namjoon had almost found his way, standing in the open door, still on his phone. A little groan from my side when he didn't even notice that I was standing behind me went by unnoticed. Or simply ignored. But instead of the appropriate clearing of the throat or the maybe less polite squeezing past him, I just put my hands on his back and gently pushed him forward a bit, until his feet hit the pavement and he turned around. Dropping his hand with the phone in it, for a second he looked like he wanted to push back. Or trample me.

"Okay, what the hell is your problem, Charlotte?" His voice was hoarse. His eyes dark. God, he was hot. I hated him so much. "You." I simply replied and stared at him for a second, then turned around and locked the two locks on the door before stepping over to the alarm system. I couldn't help feeling smug because apparently, he knew my name. I imagined him staring at the back of my head because he was flustered, but couldn't be sure. All I knew was that when I turned around again a minute later he was still standing there, his arms crossed in front of his chest, his lips pressed together forming a straight line and watching me.

"Do you always act like that at work around people who could get you into trouble?" He was right, he could get me into trouble. But I was too fired up now, my heart racing. "Is that a threat?" "An observation." "Only around the ones I don't like." "Cool." "Great." "Enjoy the dance party. Sounds shit."

And with those words he had turned around, coat flying open in the wind, unfortunately making him look really cool as he walked away and I ABSOLUTELY HATED HIM. I kept my mouth shut and just walked off in the other direction, realizing minutes later that my car was parked the other way, but I kept walking for a while before I finally turned around. It took a while to calm down and only cuddling up to my cat on the couch to trash tv finally did the job. But by then I had realized something I wasn't sure I liked too much. Yeah, I thought he was a prick. And yeah I should have just played it cool. Would have been much smarted in many regards. But I also had somewhat enjoyed myself in the most fucked up way.

Seeing that stern look, that intense posture as he was towering over me... man, I'd literally piss him off on purpose.

More chapters on AO3

#namjoon fanfic #bts fanfic #namjoon x reader #namjoon smut #namjoon angst #namjoon fluff #artist!namjoon

[atlafan]

a/n: these have been in my inbox for a while, and I thought why not just get all of these into one big blurby bundle??? I think I hit the main things everyone wanted. Enjoy! There is smut in this fam! @dancinginblackandred​ @harryhiswatermelon​

Lock the Door - Blurb Four - Harry and Y/N Play House

The semester was just about to end, and finals week was upon everyone. But that didn’t mean parties weren’t still a thing. Harry was hesitant to bring Y/N over to Matt’s, but she had practically begged him to bring her out. 

“I need to de-stress, and his parties are fun.” She whines. 

“I know, but...it’s a little awkward, don’t you think? Have you two even spoken so since you hooked up?”

“No.” She shrugs. “Doesn’t he know you and I are together?”

“I haven’t had a chance to say anything. I’ve been busy working on different projects.” 

“Harry, please, bring me with you. I need to go out and have fun, and I’d rather have fun with you.” She pouts.

“God.” He leans in to kiss her. “You make it really hard to say no...” 

It’s a chilly evening, so Y/N clings to Harry’s arm as they walk. The smells of weed and alcohol fill their nostrils as they walk into the apartment. Harry finds a place to put their coats, and the second he finds Y/N, Matt has already backed her up against a wall, clearly uncomfortable. Harry rolls his eyes and comes onto the scene. He yanks Matt back by the collar of his shirt. 

“Yo, what the fuck, Harry?”

“She’s got a boyfriend, mate.”

“Oh really, who?” He crosses his arms. 

“Me.” Harry takes a step closer, getting in his face.

“Harry, relax, I was just about to tell him.” Y/N says, hoping a fight isn’t about to break out. 

“Whatever.” Matt rolls his eyes. “Her and loose cunt are worth it anyw-” Smack.

Y/N gasps as Matt hits the floor. Harry looks down at his knuckles and then to her. She grabs him and pulls him into the kitchen to get some ice. She moves people out of the way as she does so. She gets some ice from the freezer and finds a cloth to wrap it in.

“You didn’t have to do that.” She says, not looking up at him.

“Don’t even start, you heard what he said.”

“I did.” She looks up at him. “You should have let me punch him.” She winks, and he hooks an arm around her to hug her close. 

“Harry, did you just punch Matt?” One of his other friends asks.

“Yeah, he was talking shit about my girlfriend, is that a problem?”

“Nope, just wanted to confirm it was you.” He shrugs. “Didn’t know if we needed to kick some random out.”

“Nah,it was me.” 

//

Finals week was busy as fuck. This would be the last week Harry and Y/N would have until they’d both be going home for for the holidays. Sure, they’d be coming back two weeks later to be on campus for winter break, but still. Y/N just had projects or presentations, nothing she really needed to study for. But Harry was either in the computer lab working on a larger screen for his graphic design stuff, or down at the studio painting. 

Every time she looked over at his empty bed she was sad. He’d come home super late and would be too tired to even crawl into bed with her. One night she decides to order a small pizza and bring it down to him. It was kind of creepy going into the studio so late. 

“Harry?” She squeaks as she goes into the room she knows he paints in.

“Y/N?” He looks up and rubs his eyes. “Did you walk down her by yourself? It’s late.” He frowns.

“Had my keys in my hand the whole time.” She smiles. “I brought you some pizza.” 

“Aww...” He takes it from her and kisses her cheek. “Thank you.”

“I feel like I haven’t seen you all week.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” He sighs and grabs a slice. “My graphic design stuff took longer than I thought so I’m frantically trying to get things done here. I know you wanted to spend time together before we’re both gone for two weeks.” 

“It’s okay, I understand. Wanna show me what you’ve been working on?” 

He nods and walks her around to the different drawings and paintings. He explains the choices he made for each one. She was in awe of him. 

“You’re so talented, I can’t get over it.” She wraps her arms around his waist and nuzzles into his chest. “Miss you.” She mumbles. 

“Fuck, and I still have so much to do...otherwise I’d come home now.” 

“Any chance of you taking a break?” She looks up at him.

“What kind of break.” He smirks. 

“Are there cameras in here?” She looks around. 

“Not in the rooms no, just in the halls. Are you suggesting what I think you are?”

“Could be fun?” She smiles. 

He grabs her by the hips and lifts her onto the table. She giggles while he hooks his fingers into her leggings. 

“I’m very surprised by you.”

“Thought you knew by now that I’m not some goody goody.”

“I know, but this is like...really cool.” He kisses her as her hands work his belt and zipper. 

Harry slides her leggings down and leaves them around her ankles. He runs his fingers over he slit and moves her panties to the side. She groans into the kiss as he pushes his fingers inside her. 

“Still need to be quiet, I may be the only one in this room, but I’m not the only one in the building.” 

“Okay.” She whispers. 

“I don’t have any condoms with me, shit.” 

“In my jacket.” You nod over to it. 

Even though they both had been intimate a million times at this point, neither of them had been tested, so condoms were still a good idea. They both agreed to go to the doctor when you’re home. 

“You thought of everything didn’t you?” He smirks as he rifles through her jacket pocket. 

He rolls the condom on his hard cock and pulls her a little closer. her head rolls back the second his tip starts to push inside. Her legs wrap around his waist to get him even closer. She clings to him, nails digging into his back. The room was filled with the sounds of their heavy breathing and panting. 

“Shit, I’m...I’m not gonna last very long...” He groans. “You feel too good.” 

“It’s okay, just touch me.” She leans back on her elbows, and his hand immediately starts rubbing her clit, while his other clutches to her hip. 

“Fuck, Y/N.” He grunts. 

She loved making him feel this way. He also just knew exactly what to do with his hands. Her release was coming just as quick. She bites her bottom lip and put her forearm over her mouth to stifle her moans. He loses it when she does. They stay like that for a moment until they both catch their breaths. He pulls out and finds a garbage can for the condom. She hops of the table and pulls her leggings back up. 

“I hope your phone’s charged.” He says to her.

“Why?”

“Because I still have work to do, and no way am I lettin’ yeh walk back by yourself. So sit and get comfy, okay?”

“Alright.” She shrugs, too fucked out to argue. She grabs a slice of pizza and sits as he gets back to painting.

As she watches him it dawns on her that she’s totally and completely in love with Harry. She almost chokes on her pizza just thinking about it. She couldn’t tell him, could she? Would it make things weird? What if everything went wrong?

“Y/N?” Harry turns around to look at her, leaning against the table. 

“Yeah?” 

“I, uh, I love you.” 

“I love you too, Harry.” 

“Cool.” He smiles and turns back around.

“Cool.” 

//

Y/N was happy to be back on campus, especially since she had her entire apartment alone with Harry. Liv and Chris didn’t have a reason for being on campus. Y/N got an easy job working for admissions answering calls, emails, and sending out mail. Harry would usually get back from basketball practice when she’d be getting home from work. They’d cook together a lot, it was great. 

“Hey...” He was looking around your shared room. “What if we pushed our beds together like Liv and Chris?” He turns to look at you.

“We can’t.”

“Why not?” He frowns. 

“Because...well...I finally told my parents we were sharing a room like I said I would...they weren’t thrilled, but they understood with Liv and Chris. But...”

“You still haven’t told them we’re together?” He sits down next to her, clearly disappointed. “I told my mum...”

“I know, I’m sorry. I just have this fear that they’ll yank me out of here if they knew. They like you, I just think they wouldn’t understand. I mean, to them it’s like we’re playing house at a really young age.”

“So they don’t mind we’re sharing a room?”

“They’re annoyed, but they’re dealing with it. I’m sorry, Harry. I’ll tell them, I just can’t yet.” 

“Well, they always call before they visit. Why not push ‘em together, and then we can separate ‘em when they come?” 

“Oh, so you don’t like being pressed up against each other all night anymore?” She jokes.

“I love it, but it would be nice to have a bit more room to spread out.” He kisses her. “Don’t you think?” 

“I suppose.” She kisses him. 

“Are you able to come to my game tomorrow?” 

“Mhm.” She smiles. “And I’m gonna drive out to your away game this weekend. I’ll be like your personal cheerleader.”

“You’re the best.” He squishes his nose to yours and gives you another kiss. 

Harry had gotten Y/N a sweatshirt with his last name and jersey number on it for her to wear to his games. A lot of the guys did that with for their girlfriends. She was happy to wear it. She looked extremely cute sitting in the stands. She waved to him and blew him a kiss. He was a starting player, so he was very busy. 

She had completely forgotten the dance team would also be there in their skimpy outfits. Harry wasn’t allowed to chat between quarters, coach’s rules, but that didn’t apply to the dance team girls. Y/N felt annoyed when she saw him laughing with a couple of them. He looks up at her and waves though, taking all jealousy away. He only had eyes for her and she knew that. 

“Woo! Go Harry!” She would cheer and clap for him, especially when he made a basket. 

The team won the game, it was very exciting. Y/N knew it was okay to go onto the court when she saw the other girlfriends go down to their boyfriends. She races down the bleachers and practically jumped into his arms. He spun her around and kissed her.

“Sorry.” He sets her down and lets her go. “M’all sweaty. Might shower quick.” 

“Please, don’t ever apologize. You know I think you look hot like this.” She runs her hand up his tattooed arm. 

“H, meet us downtown in an hour to celebrate.” One of the guys says and he nods. 

“Feel like goin’ out?”

“Where to?”

“One of the bars.”

“But...we’re not twenty-one yet.”

“They’re cool with us during winter break usually. They’ll just stamp our hands. Then we’ll go back to Pete’s for a real party.” He grins.

“Sounds good to me.” 

Harry looks around and sees not many people going into the locker room, and tugs you to walk in there with him. 

“Harry.” She whispers. “Isn’t your coach still here?”

“You mean my female coach whose office is in the women’s locker room?” He cock’s an eyebrow at you. “Think we’re good. I need to shower and it’ll take too much time to go all the way back home.” 

“I know you don’t think I’m getting naked in here.” She crosses her arms. 

“Oh, so you’ll fuck me in the studio, but not in here?”

“Nope, sorry. It stinks in here. But...we’re gonna drive downtown right?”

“Yeah.”

“So...shower quick.” She winks and leaves the locker room.

Harry does so and meets her back in the main part of the gym. They walk out to his car and she immediately climbs into the back seat. He smirks and starts the car up so it can get warm. He joins her in the back.

“See.” She says straddling him. “Isn’t this better?”

“Mhm.” He kisses on her neck. “I love seein’ yeh wear this sweatshirt.” 

“I love wearing it.” She rolls her hips down on his. She feels him growing hard against him. “You have no idea the torture of watching you play, and get all sweaty, and see your muscles and just everything about you out there.”

“I thought it was torturous watchin’ me paint?” He says against her neck as he tugs the sweatshirt off her. 

“It is, it’s all torture. My biggest problem with you is that you’re too sexy, Harry. Everything you do is hot.” 

“I could say the same for you.” He unhooks her bra and shoves his face into her chest and groans. “This is my favorite place in the world.” He mumbles, making her giggle. “Right between.” He kisses on one of her breasts. “These big.” He kisses on the other. “Tits.” He licks around one of her nipples and sucks it into his mouth. She rolls her hips on his again, grinding against his hard-on. 

She reaches for the button on his jeans and the hem of his shirt. It was clear she wanted him naked. He rips his shirt off and tugs his jeans down. She gets hers off as well. He takes her gets her fixed on all fours. She thinks he’s about to stick it in, but she jolts when she feels his tongue. 

“Just need to taste yeh first, that alright?”

“Mhm.” 

His tongue works from her clit all the way up dangerously close to her other hole. His tongue enters her center while his thumb works her clit. 

“Harry, please, fuck me.” She groans. “Need your dick, please.” 

He pulls away from her lines his dick up with her and pushes in. They both sigh with relief. They had been using condoms less since they both came back clean. 

“You feel so fuckin’ good.” He moans.

“So do you, so big.” She bites her bottom lip. 

The windows in the car got foggy, and they could barely hear the music coming from the radio from how loud his skin was slapping against her. His balls were hitting against her clit just right. 

“Oh my god, fuck, don’t stop.” She moans. 

He moves faster and faster, and he feels her tighten around him. She lets out a moan of his name as she releases around him. He pulls out to come on her ass. She was panting and collapses onto her stomach. Harry grabs a towel from his gym bag to clean her up.

“Thanks.” She breathes. 

He hums his response as she flips over. He pulls her panties and jeans up her legs for her and she smiles big at him. 

“I love you.”She says.

“I love you too.”

They both finish getting dressed and drive down to the bar. Y/N liked Harry’s basketball friends, they were really nice. Some even had boyfriends. They all order some nachos and other junk food to split. 

Y/N knew as soon as the semester started the little bubble they were in would burst, but for now all was good. Her head was leaning on the shoulder of the guy she was absolutely smitten with. Harry Styles was in a monogamous relationship for the first time in his life, and he couldn’t be happier. 

#lock the door #lock the door blurb #harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles fic #harry styles smut fic #harry styles fluff fic #hope you enjoy! #feels good to post again #college!Harry

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

U N P L A N N E D, part 1

There was one other time when you found yourself like this. Just once. 

In a bathroom stall in your college dorm room, your roommate on the other side with bated breath. What’s it say? She had asked, her voice echoing off the beige tiles that spilled into the messy living room, littered with solo cups and stale tortilla chips.

This time you were alone. No roommate on the other side of the door, no beige tile. Instead, a clean, white bathroom nestled on the third floor of the Los Angeles Facebook office. 

The white plastic stick in your hand, this time, showed a tiny plus sign. A light pink symbol of what was usually happiness. But alone in the bathroom at work didn’t feel like a happy place. 

You stared down at it, wondering if the tears in your eyes were responsible for the blurring of the result. You shook it, wiped at your eyes, and checked again. Still positive. 

So you capped it and tossed it into the top drawer of your desk a few minutes later, more than happy to pretend that it wasn’t a looming disaster. A life-changing, career-altering disaster. 

When it burned a hole in your drawer, begging you to open it and pray that the plus sign had changed, you decided to text Lexi. 

Y/N L/N (3:34pm): Broke down and took a test. 

You put your phone face down, hoping that an impending text from your roommate wouldn’t create a higher heart rate than what was already pounding in your ears. You tried to take a few breaths. 

This wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t the way you pictured life and it certainly wasn’t the way you pictured your summer. When the phone buzzed next to your mouse, you grabbed it so quickly you almost dropped it to the floor. 

Lexi MacMillan (3:35pm): And??

Y/N L/N (3:35pm): Positive.

You stared at the screen, watched as the three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again, and then vanished. You imagined Lexi sitting on set, maybe in her dressing room or maybe right beside her co-star, typing and erasing, typing and erasing. 

You ignored the email that came through on your computer, likely a request from a team member to edit one of your last images, this marketing campaign is due at 5pm! This marketing campaign was also the furthest thing from your mind right now. 

Your phone started buzzing in your hand, a picture of Lexi with big white sunglasses splashed itself across the screen. You answered it quickly, holding a hand up to your mouth to keep your voice low and your words private.

“Hi,” you said, heading back for the bathroom that was around the corner from your office. 

“What the actual fuck, dude? Are you serious?”

“Yes--why would I lie about that? Do you think I’m that twisted?!”

She let out a noise of exasperation. “No, I just--I don’t know--I thought you were being paranoid or some shit! I didn’t think it was actually possible!”

“Me neither,” you said, shutting the door behind you and leaning against the cool metal. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s alright. People get false positives all the time, right?”

Her voice was suddenly more relaxed than it had been, like she realized how serious this was and how fucked you were. 

“I think people get false negatives,” you replied, defeated.

“Okay, well, you can take another test tonight.”

“Okay.”

“And then if it’s still positive, you have to go to the doctor. That’s the first thing.”

“Right.”

“They’ll do another test there,” she informed you. 

“Uh huh.”

You thought back to your most recent sexual encounter, half drunk and giggly, white linens and sneaking out when he was asleep on top a memory foam pillow. Lexi already made it home, she was high on the couch with a bag of pretzels when you sauntered in at 4am. You made pizza bagels and laughed until sunrise about the fact that you hadn’t gotten laid in what felt like ages. 

I don’t know how you made it that long, she said. You must have an extremely low sex drive. 

Or you just have a high one, you laughed. You’re always horny. 

You didn’t think about it again for weeks. Okay, that was a lie. The drinks were good and the sex had been even better. Lexi had dragged you along to the party even though you knew all the players. You had deadlines for days coming up and a Sunday night didn’t seem like a good time to end up drunk somewhere near Laurel Canyon. But you went anyway.

The first time you realized something might be off was when you were a day late. It never happened. You lived your life on schedule and your period followed the rules--it was no exception. It typically came in the morning, and by bedtime, you were only a bit concerned. You went to sleep with confidence that you’d wake up to it. 

The second day came and went, too. Lexi put on her OBGYN hat and assured you that it was nothing to worry about. Women are late all the time, uteruses have a mind of their own, really. 

Days three and four were busy at work. Five and six were spent finalizing ideas for a new commercial campaign for a product launch, dinner with Lexi and Glenne. It wasn’t until the seventh day, when the light purple app on your phone gave a gentle nudge. Be sure to log your period! 

There was no way you’d miss it altogether. You’d been careful and you watched him toss the condom into a garbage bin in the bathroom through tired eyes. He fell asleep beside you while he traced a circle on your skin--you were sure you’d never hear from him. 

So you slipped out in the early morning light and took an Uber home, knowing that while it might not mean anything, it was at least a story to tell your close friends and to keep tucked away in your mind. 

“Okay--I have to go,” Lexi said suddenly. “Derek’s being a dumbass today and can’t get his fucking lines right, so, I’ll see you tonight.”

“Okay,” you said, voice small, blurry-eyed again. You let yourself slump down to the floor, at least thankful that this time, the tile wasn’t beige. 

You did your best to make it through the rest of the day, playing Lexi’s words over and over in your head. People get false positives all the time! You weren’t so sure, but telling yourself that seemed to quell the nausea. 

Traffic was heavy on the way home, sunglasses pushed up on your face and radio high enough to drown out your thoughts. You parked your car on the same leaf-littered street in Century City, walked the block to your apartment, and dropped your bag on the floor before heading for the bathroom. 

Lexi keyed in right after you sat down, water on to induce the stream of urine that you had prayed for the whole way home. 

“Hi,” she said, pushing her sunglasses off of her face and dropping her keys on the kitchen counter. She let out a small laugh at the sight of you: pants around your ankles, hair up in a scrunchie, pink plastic cap in your mouth as you held the second stick between your legs. 

The afternoon sunshine danced through the window, a breeze from the open sliding door felt like sweet relief in your stuffy first floor apartment.

“Hi,” you breathed out, flushing and pulling up your pants before capping the test and putting it on the counter. 

She took a few steps towards you, her eyes wider than usual. “How long does it take to show up?” 

“I don’t know--a minute or two, maybe? The first one was quick.”

She came over and stood beside you, her eyes on the tiny window where the result would appear. She crossed her arms and leaned over, letting her shoulder bump into yours. 

There was one line forming, like fog fading in the early morning, the other came into view as the two of you stood side by side. You let out a shaky breath--tears in your eyes again when she turned to see you. 

“It’s okay,” she said. “It’s not the end of the world.”

You didn’t say anything in response, but a few sobs escaped through your lips when she wrapped her arms around you. She smoothed your hair with her hand and eventually brought you back to the kitchen, pulling two beers out of the fridge and setting them on the counter as she rummaged through a drawer for a bottle opener.

“I can’t have that!” You said, pointing at it like it was poison, mascara smudged beneath your eyes.

“Oh fuck,” she said, a small laugh from her mouth pulled one from yours, too. “Damn--sorry, it just--felt like a good option.”

“It would be,” you said. “Typically.”

She was quiet for a second. “Is it his?”

You shrugged, staring at the shade of dark red polish on your nails. “Has to be, right?”

“You haven’t had sex with anyone else?” 

She asked as if she didn’t know. You shook your head. 

She sighed. “That, uh, that makes it a bigger deal.”

“I know--I don’t even--what am I supposed to do? Call him up and tell him? I don’t even have his number.”

“Maybe we should call Glenne.”

“No!” You said quickly, shaking your head with force. “Don’t bring her into it yet. She’ll just tell Jeff and I need to figure shit out first.”

Lexi bit her lip, torn between the two options. She’d known Glenne since they were kids, they grew up down the street from each other in Sherman Oaks and when they got drunk enough, they tried to remember the super secret handshake they’d made up in the 8th grade. 

You’d met Glenne plenty of times in college, especially after Lexi became a more permanent fixture in your life. You’d met Lexi at resident assistant training the fall of your sophomore year, but you still had no clue how adults trusted her to be in charge of eighteen students each semester. 

The party was at Glenne’s house--the one she shared with her boyfriend Jeff. You’d met him a handful of times, too, but you typically opted out of the dinner parties or cocktail hours that Lexi invited you to. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t like her friends. They’d always been nice and welcoming, but being the one person not involved in the entertainment industry normally left you feeling like the odd man out. 

What's the latest at Facebook? They’d ask, gathered around a table with wine glasses in hand. 

You’d give them the update, tell them about whatever marketing campaign you’d been working on or whatever new feature you’d helped with, but the conversation always made it’s way back to music or acting or something in between. 

Glenne worked for Apple Music in artist relations, her boyfriend for a prominent artist management firm. Lexi MacMillan, a self-proclaimed B-list actress in a new Netflix series, fit right into their world of Teslas and hedge fund investments. 

She never liked to admit that she came from money, and she was more than humble about the uneven split in your rent or the fact that she often paid for groceries. Your salary at Facebook was good--more than a lot of your other friends who had graphic design and marketing degrees, but it was small in comparison to the type of money the rest of them were pulling in. 

“Well she’s gonna be the easiest way to get in touch with him.”

“I know,” you waved a hand and took a seat at the island. “Just, not yet. I mean, don’t you think I’ll need proof? I can’t just show up on his doorstep and say: ‘hey, remember me? I’m your manager’s girlfriend’s friend’s friend and we had sex one time at your house in late April and now I’m pregnant?’”

She stifled a laugh, nodding as if it was a good idea, her tone completely serious. “I mean personally I would love to see you do that.”

“Well, I’m not,” you said firmly. “There must be rules for this type of shit. I don’t know the etiquette.”

“You mean the baby mamma etiquette?”

You shot her a look, narrowed eyes before you let your forehead rest on the counter, a groan from your lips. “My life is over, Lexi--this is seriously the worse thing that can happen.”

She brought the beer bottle up to her lips to take a swig. “Which is why we should call Glenne.”

“I have to go to the doctor first, okay? That way we don’t stir up any shit without really knowing if they’re right or not.” You motioned over your shoulder to the test you’d left behind on the bathroom counter. The other, from earlier, was still in the side pocket of your work bag. 

Lexi nodded, brown eyes with a new shade of sympathy. 

**

A woman bounced her baby on her knee, big blue eyes looked up at the two of you, nervous and caving inward in the waiting room chairs. 

“Do they all stare like that?” Lexi leaned over and whispered, her gaze fixed on the tiny human beside you. 

“I don’t know,” you said quickly, hoping she wouldn’t make any other remarks. She didn’t--quickly distracted by the nurse who called your name and greeted you both with a smile.

“Y/N?” 

You stood, walked forward and ignored the nervousness in your stomach. Lexi was following behind, she’d been positive and upbeat in the car as if heading over to the gynecologist for what you’d both been referring to as a legit test was a typical Wednesday morning errand. 

“Are you her partner?” The nurse smiled over at her when she pointed at a chair in the hallway for you to sit in. She wrapped the blood pressure cuff around your arm when Lexi pulled her head back. 

“No, just her roommate.”

“Just my roommate,” you nodded, repeating her words as if that’d ease the tension in your muscles. 

The nurse smiled, scribbled a few numbers on a post-it and before handing you a small, plastic cup. You disappeared into the bathroom and realized you’d never thought so much about pee in your entire life. When you were done, you walked back to the small room that the same nurse pointed you towards to find Lexi in the small visitor’s chair beside the paper-lined exam table.

She looked up quickly, a life-like plastic uterus was in her hands. “I maybe broke it.”

“Put it down,” you ordered, rolling your eyes at her childlike curiosity. “Let’s just get in and get out, okay?”

“Knock knock!” A voice from the doorway, Laura Weston, red hair and blue eyes. Her white coat covered a pink blouse, one that matched the color of blush on her cheeks. “Good to see you, Y/N--who’s this?”

Lexi extended her hand and smiled. “Lexi MacMillan, roommate and moral support, nice to meet you.”

“So I hear there’s a possibility of pregnancy?” Dr. Weston sat down on a rolling stool, picked up the chart on the counter and flipped through some pages. She closed it, waited a second, and offered a smile when you didn’t answer. “How are you doing?”

You nodded, licked at your lips, and then met her gaze. “Been better.”

You’d been seeing Dr. Weston for a while--you found her card in the health services building on campus during your Freshman year. Now, a whole seven years later, her smile was a calming presence in a moment of fear and uncertainty. 

“Well, note says you’ve taken two tests, and they were both positive?”

You nodded again. “Just a drugstore brand, though. I don’t know how accurate they are.”

She tilted her head side to side, lifted her shoulders a bit when she rolled towards the counter. “They’re good enough--we’re running the urine sample now and that’ll give a good idea, too. Would you like to do a blood test to be sure?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Let’s do that.”

“Okay,” she nodded, “I’ll have Justine order that for the lab downstairs.” She produced a paper wheel diagram, the colors of the rainbow seemed to distinguish different parts of a typical menstrual cycle. “When was your last period?”

Lexi handed over your phone. “April, the middle of the month. I was due eight days ago.” You pulled up the app that now seemed like less of a friend and more of a source of shame. You were proud of how well you knew your cycle. You could typically tell when you were ovulating, knew enough about your PMS symptoms to know what to expect. 

“And do you know when the possible date of conception was?”

“April 18th,” a tinge of red on your cheeks. “That’s the only possibility.”

So sure, maybe you weren’t the most sexually active human on the planet. Maybe you were slightly embarrassed that the first time you had sex in a good eleven months resulted in a possible pregnancy. 

She scribbled something on a piece of paper, just like the nurse had. A knock on the door that Dr. Weston had shut behind her. The same nurse delivered another post-it note. Pink this time, not blue like before. Dr. Weston took it in her hands and then looked up at you, an unreadable look on her face when the nurse quietly left the room.

“That urine sample read positive, too.”

You didn’t mean to do it again, but another shaky breath left your mouth and Lexi was on her feet, a hand rubbing your back in an attempt to comfort. You wiped at your face, feeling guilty for the outburst of emotion. 

Plenty of people wished and hoped and prayed for this moment. They dreamed about it and tried for years to have this moment. And you’d been stupid enough to stumble your way into it. Ahead of schedule, unprepared, and unplanned. 

“I’ll order the bloodwork and you can do that on your way out--just to be sure. But take some time and when that result comes back we can talk about some options.”

You nodded--her words were a jumble of sounds that you couldn’t really comprehend. She offered a smile and left the two of you alone, Lexi still standing beside you.

“Let’s go do the bloodwork, okay? We can get ice cream when we’re finished!” 

You nodded, wiping your cheeks again before hopping down from the table. You knew she’d keep her word. 

**

The sunny California sky and a cone of soft-serve from McDonald’s made the afternoon somewhat better. You worked from home and went to bed exhausted, almost feeling detached from reality. 

You talked with Lexi that night about having Glenne over for dinner. It’d been a few weeks since you’d seen her, drinks after work one night to celebrate Lexi’s show getting signed for a second season. So when she knocked on the door of your apartment the next evening, Lexi opened it with a big smile. 

“Hi, hi,” she said, opening her arms in greeting. “Look at your beautiful face,” she pinched Glenne’s cheek between her thumb and forefinger. 

Glenne laughed and pushed her hand away, leaning around Lexi’s shoulder to see you in the kitchen. “She’s high already?”

“No,” you laughed, “she just loves you.”

Glenne made her way past her friend, offering you a hug before she set her purse on the counter. She’d always been so poised--perfect, clear skin, hair that was always flawlessly colored and cut. She took a seat on one of the stools and put her chin in her hands, “please tell me you have margarita mix.”

Lexi laughed, rounding the kitchen counter and heading for the fridge. “Oh, do we!”

“Tacos are on the way,” you said, reaching for glasses from above the sink. 

Mexican was always the go-to. You’d moved in with Lexi after college, and when Glenne ended up living only a short drive away, take-out became a regular reason for a get together. 

“How’s life?” Glenne stared up at you. “I’ve been so busy which is why I had to cancel on that movie last week. But--what have you been up to?”

Her question was pointed at you. While you and Glenne were definitely friends, you trusted that she communicated with Lexi a lot more regularly about life updates. 

You cleared your throat, ignored the awkward glance that Lexi shot in your direction when she reached for the tequila above the fridge. “Same old, you know. Just work, and stuff.”

Okay, so lying wasn’t a strong suit. You forced a smile and turned to Lexi, hoping she’d jump in with a hilarious story or funny remark. She was too busy lining up the cups, ready to distribute the liquor. 

You looked back to Glenne. “Uh, I wanted to talk to you actually.”

That got Lexi to turn around. Her eyes were wide, lips parted as if she was thinking oh, you’re doing it right now? 

“Remember in April, at that party--” You trailed off, referencing it as if it was ages ago. 

“The album wrap?”

“Yeah, when I, you know, got laid for the first time in a while?”

She laughed, looking up at you with an amused smile. “Yeah?”

Glenne had been the most excited about your rendezvous that evening. When she’d first introduced you the two of you, she made your promise you wouldn’t get all weird around him. Apparently people did that. You laughed it off and tried to ignore him at the other end of the dinner table--an Italian restaurant in Studio City for her birthday last fall. He showed up twenty minutes late.

Lexi was still now, tequila on the counter, she wore nothing but a pair of shorts and a tube top in the afternoon heat. Glenne was impatient, the smile fading from her face when you broke eye contact with her for a second. 

She tilted her head to the side. “What? You’re freaking me out.”

“I’m, uh, I’m actually pregnant.”

Quiet. Outside the windows, the setting sun illuminated a hazy Los Angeles dusk. Kids swam in a pool at the house next door, their laughter was muffled through the sliding door out to your patio. It felt strange to say it like that. Up until this morning, the word possibly had been sprinkled in, a safe and reassuring disclaimer. 

“You’re joking,” she said, readjusting in her seat, the color drained from her tan skin.

You swallowed. “I’m not.”

She looked over to Lexi, then brought her gaze back to you. “And you’re saying it’s his?”

You rolled your eyes a little. “He’s literally the only person I’ve had sex with in the last year.” Lexi came over to the counter to stand beside you. She leaned forward and rested her elbows on the smooth granite. Glenne just stared at you, still in disbelief.

“I took two home tests on Tuesday and went to the doctor yesterday.” 

What you didn’t tell her is that you cried this morning when the email came through, new test results available from Dr. Weston’s office! Positive. Both the urine and the blood test. There was no denying it now--even if you wanted to. 

“Holy fuck,” she said. “Holy fucking shit. This is not good, you guys.”

“Don’t, Glenne,” Lexi stood back up and shook her head, making a face at her friend. “She’s already freaked the fuck out and she won’t stop fucking crying, okay? She doesn’t need you to add to that.”

You tried to swallow the emotion now, heat to your cheeks when Glenne rolled her eyes.

“I’m not trying to add to it--I’m just--I have no clue how they’ll take that.”

You knew who she was referring to. His team. The people around him who’d made sure, for all this time, that something like this never happened. 

She let out a sigh and looked up at you again. She stood from her seat and rounded the counter. “I’m sorry--I just--are you okay? How are you feeling?” She hugged you, it felt more obligatory than genuine. “You haven’t told him, have you? Does he know?! Jeff doesn’t know!”

“No--you two are the only people who know. I haven’t even told my mom.”

Glenne’s arms still encircled you, Lexi stepped over and hugged you both, a kitchen group hug. “This means more tequila for us, Glenney.”

“You’re fucked up,” she laughed in response, pulling away and looking at Lexi. 

It was quiet for a second, that was Lexi’s cue to make them both a margarita. Glenne went to sit back down, immediately going into business mode when she clasped her hands on top of the counter.

She took a deep breath, you were unsure if that was for your benefit or her own. “So--okay. Where are you at with it all?”

“Are you asking if I’m, like, excited? I am not excited. This is not how my life is supposed to go.”

“Oh enough with the plan, will you?” Lexi rolled her eyes and poured the liquor into two matching glasses, nonchalance lacing her voice. 

“Well forgive me for ideally wanting to find a partner before having a baby,” you shot back at her. 

“That’s not what I mean,” she turned around. “It’s just--I dunno, dude, you’re always so hard on yourself if something doesn’t go according to the plan. I get it--this is a big one, but, stressing over your plan isn’t gonna help.”

Glenne nodded, almost reluctant to side with Lexi. “I’ve heard about the plan. You are obsessed with the plan.”

“I’m not obsessed with it,” you retorted. “I just have a good sense of how I want my life to go.”

Had. You changed the verb tense in your mind. You had a good sense, until now. 

“Well, are you...gonna keep it?” Glenne’s question was innocent, her eyes searched your face as soon as the words left her mouth, she looked nervous, like she didn’t know if it was okay to ask.

A tired voice. “I don’t know,” you shook your head. “I haven’t even thought that far.”

She nodded. “You have to tell him. Have you even talked to him at all since then?”

“No,” you laughed. “It was only, like, a month ago.”

“He didn’t text or call?” she pulled her head back in surprise.

You shrugged. “No. I wasn’t expecting that. Why? Did he mention me?”

“It came up once or twice, yeah.”

“With who?”

“With me and Jeff--and Lexi.”

You turned to your roommate, narrowed eyes when she delivered the drinks. You knew she’d seem him once since then--a brunch one morning before Glenne left town for business. 

“I told you about it--he just said you were nice and that we should all hang out,” she mimicked his accent, earning a laugh from Glenne.

“That wasn’t the first time you met him, though, right?” Glenne pulled the glass to her lips, took a sip and then made a face. “Jesus, strong enough?”

“I figured you might need it since your boyfriend is about to be hella upset.”

“Thank you, thanks for that,” you made a face at her. “But no--” you turned back to Glenne to answer her question. “I met him at your birthday party last year--in Studio City.”

“Right,” she nodded. The doorbell rang and Lexi went to greet the delivery person, or, more so, the tacos. 

“But listen, you can’t tell anyone, okay? I don’t even know what I’m gonna do yet.”

She closed her eyes, made a face that told you it was going to be hard to keep her mouth shut. You leaned forward and lowered your voice, hoping to convey how serious this was. “Give me a few days to just--to talk to him first.”

She dropped your gaze, bit at her lip. You knew it was a big ask. Don’t tell your boyfriend something that is about to make his life a living hell. 

“Please, Glenne.”

She let out a long sigh, one that sounded like it was slowly deflating her lungs, tired and unsure. “Fine,” she said. “But you’ve got to get in touch with him then--like, soon.”

You nodded, Lexi reappeared from the front door with a box in her hands and a smile on her face. “Okay--two for each of us and plenty of guac to go around.”

“So,” Glenne pursed her lips. “Need his phone number?”

**

It felt like one of those dreams you couldn’t wake up from. Like a cloud that looms over the city when everyone is dying for a sunny day. 

You ignored the two phone calls from your mom you got in the span of three days--quick to text her some excuse about work or being busy with something at home. It felt too soon to tell her. You didn’t even know what he’d say or what he’d think or do or feel and the last thing you wanted to do was get a bunch of people involved in this before you even knew what to expect. 

There were a few options, in terms of what his response might be. Glenne had continued to prep you that night in your kitchen, the more margaritas in her the more she accepted that she was now complicit. In moments it felt normal, laughing and talking and then watching a stupid youtube video of some kid falling off of skateboard. 

But when you went to bed and then woke up, realizing that no amount of sleep would change the current predicament, you decided that maybe it was time to get in touch with him. 

You had no clue when or how or where. Over text? On the phone? Lexi agreed that was too impersonal. Out to dinner? Too public. In person? Terrifying, and possibly not an option. 

The truth was that you didn’t know him. He was someone who happened to be friends with your friend. Nothing more, nothing less. At least, that’s what you told yourself when you saw a billboard on the side of the 405 with his face on it. 

So you didn’t know if he’d even want to see you--he might consider you an acquaintance or even a stranger and maybe he had no desire to ever speak to you again.

You went about work and life as if everything was normal. You showered and brushed your teeth and took solace in knowing that whatever form of life was inside you was so tiny that it could just as well be a blip on the radar. 

A story in the future of hey, remember that time, when you were, and then it...

Plenty of people got pregnant and lost it, not even knowing until it was too late. You weren’t sure if you were wishing for that, in all honesty, but you knew that the alternative felt too overwhelming to think of right now. 

But when you found yourself sitting outside in the courtyard on your lunch break, a search typed into the app store for pregnancy tracker, you figured that maybe it was time to bite the bullet. If you were starting to think in terms of what size fruit a baby is at any given stage, maybe it was time to loop him in. 

You pulled up your text thread with Glenne--scrolled up past a meme and a recipe she’d sent you, until you found his name and number. You clicked it once, create new message. 

You stared at the blank bubble. A thousand words and a thousand choices of what to say and how to say it. With a rush of adrenaline, you exited out. Clicked the number again, call now. 

It rang. Three times. Then voicemail. A deep breath, you stood from the bench and started to pace. 

Beep. “Hey, uh, this is Y/N--uh, Y/N L/N. Lexi MacMillan’s roommate. I hope you’ve been well since I saw you, and, yeah--maybe we could get dinner or something soon. My number is--the one I’m calling on, so, I know you’re probably really busy right now, that’s fine. Just, uh, yeah, would love to talk with you. Okay, bye.”

You pulled the phone away from your face and wanted to throw it into the bushes. Would love to talk with you? That didn’t exactly do it justice. 

You let out a breath and clicked it to sleep, hoping that maybe it’d get lost in translation and you’d never have to talk to him or see him or think of him ever again. 

Something told you that wasn’t very likely. 

You went back inside and finished up the day of work, thankful for distraction from Aarav when he found you in the lounge. 

“Did you see the request that Carson sent?” He dropped his laptop on the coffee table and headed for the vending machine nearby. “Not to sound like a dick, but, he’s out of touch with reality. I’m concerned about him at this point.”

“Why?” You laughed, “cause he doesn’t understand that we can’t deliver a whole project with only two hours to do it?”

“Exactly,” he leaned down to reach for the bag of popcorn it spit out. “Hopefully he just fucking leaves and goes to fucking Tinder--he could even go to the Instagram department, for all I care.”

“Levi hates him anyway--pretty sure he regrets hiring him.”

He came to sit next to you and then opened the bag, putting his feet up on the glass table in front of you. “Yeah, well, Levi’s out of here as soon as he gets something with Apple.”

You smirked over at your favorite coworker, knowing exactly what was coming out of his mouth next. 

“And then you’ll get promoted. Much deserved, the queen of saving my ass.”

You brushed your hair off your shoulder playfully. “You’re welcome.”

He cleared his throat, opened up his laptop. “Levi’s great--but if you’re my boss, I’m working remotely two days a week instead of one.”

“We’ll see about that,” you said, giving him the side eye when you looked back to your screen.

You fell into comfortable silence--grateful for the change of scenery from your office that was far enough away from Aarav and Simone, the two people who made work feel like fun. So you got back to the project, sent your designs to Carson when you finished, and prayed that he wouldn’t have a fit over the fact that you didn’t take his advice on using the Aileron font instead of Arimo.

He emailed you, eventually, but you didn’t have time to read it. As soon as it opened on your screen, your phone rang--a Los Angeles area code appeared on the screen and you felt your stomach drop to the floor. You looked over at Aarav. “Sorry--I, uh, I have to get this.”

You stepped away, leaving him on the sofa with your laptop, hand still deep in his bag of popcorn. You swiped across the screen, brought the phone to your ear. “Hello?”

“Hi, uh, Y/N? It’s Harry.”

__

table of contents | talk to me + join the tag list

author’s note: Y’ALL. I’m back. As if starting a new story literally DAYS after I finish one isn’t crazy, here I am. Come talk to me and let me know your thoughts or your theories because THIS ONE is gonna be a wild ride. 

tag list: @stepping-into-the-light @thurhomish @afterstylesmadeit @iconicharry @stylesfics-xx @harryspirate @mellamolayla @harryinsweatersandbandanas @stylesfantasy @clorenafila

#unplanned #harry styles fic #harry styles fiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles story #one direction fanfic #one direction fanfiction #1dff #harry styles writing #idkthisisjustforfanfic #harry styles blurb #harry styles drabble #harry styles smut

[backtobackbakubabe]

I’m Gonna Make This Place Your Home (Part 6)

Bakugo X Reader 

Words : 3036

Warnings: SMUT! THERE IS SMUT IN THIS CHAPTER (finally) also there’s some violence and mention of abuse. 

Runaway reader finds a home with Bakugo. But will trouble follow?

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You were packed in record time. It helped that you didnt have much to pack.

Bakugo was now pulling you into a car you didnt know he had while yelling at someone on the phone. “No you cant come!”.... “Because we’re trying to hide her and blend in and your hair is literally a bride red fucking target!”... “Yes! I will tell you once we’re settled... Thanks Man..”

He threw his phone out the widow of the moving car and sped up. “Alright so they found you, and they know you’re with me. We just need to get somewhere safe and lay low for a bit. I’ve filled Kirishima in on everything and he’s going to see what he can find out through our hero database.” His grip was tight on the steering wheel and shoulders were stiff as boards. He was stressed out.

You reached over and placed your hand in his lap. You could feel him relax only slightly, but enough for him to release some tension. “Where are we going?”

I’m going to drive us out of town then stop at a random hotel. We’ll check in under a fake name and use cash. I have enough to last us a while.” He took the  hand that you had put in his lap and intertwined your fingers, “They’re not going to lay a finger on you. Not if I can help it.”

Later that night you laid next to him while he clicked away on his laptop. “You threw your phone out the window but kept your laptop? Wouldn't they be able to track that as well?”

He scoffed, “I wish they’d try. This is government issued from work. As soon as they even tried it would alert my agency of their location and who they are.” He continued to click through. He started off by asking who I ordered the pizza from. From there he hacked into the cameras of all the locations near our apartment and was now busy watching through hours of footage trying to find whoever wrote the message on the box. You tried to stay awake to keep him company but your eyes were so heavy. His fingers threaded through your hair, “Go to sleep babe. They’ll be plenty of time to talk tomorrow.”

So you snuggled into him and let sleep take over. You kept waiting for him to join you. In fact every so often you'd reach out to join his dream, but he wasn’t there. You hoped he wasnt driving himself mad with all of this investigative work. Wasn’t that was Kirishima was supposed to be doing?

Hours later you heard a loud “Mother Fucker!”

You shot up strait and grabbed onto Bakugo’s arm. “What is it? What’s going on?”

“That fucking asshole from the coffee shop was the one who rated you out... Your boss.” He turned the laptop towards you and sure enough there was a video of him sneaking into the pizza shop and writing his lovely little note on the pizza box before turning to the camera and flipping it off. “He’s one of eight brothers. All of them bad news. The oldest brother is the head of some secret society that they’re all members of. They call him the puppeteer. Riku’s the youngest and his job is to find girls and trick them into going to a ‘party’ after which they're never seen again. Police have been trying to take them down for years but there’s never been enough evidence. I had Kirishima email me over every file he could find on this secret society.”

He opened up a new tab that was full of pictures, mugshots, and reports. “They call themselves the Pure. They believe in arranged relations and breeding for maximum quirk efficiency. There’s allegedly a lot of really important people involved which is why a case has never been made against them. Drugs, arms dealing, racketeering, kidnapping, slavery... this.... this is crazy. How can they be involved in so much but no one even know about them. I’m a fucking hero and I had never heard about it.” He turned to you, his red eyes burning with intensity. “How do you run from something that doesn't exist?”

You scrolled through the file before your heart stopped. “Bakugo.. I recognize that man...”

He looked over your shoulder and you could hear him gasp. He recognized him as well. He had seen him in your dreams. This man had been your prison guard for years. He had hit you, starved you, drugged you, stripped away your clothing and left you to freeze. He was an animal, he was evil, and Bakugo wanted to kill him.

According to the file his name was Bruce. He was from Slovakia, and as far as anyone knew he died in a train accident fifteen years ago. You wish he has though.

“I’m going back to sleep...”

Bakugo held you to him, “You sure? You don’t want to talk about it?”

“I know his name now... I know his face. I think it’s time I pay Bruce a little visit... You coming?”

It clicked with him what you meant. You were about to visit him in a dream. And there was no way he was going to let you do that alone.

He gripped your hand and spooned up behind you. “You sure about this?”

Your only response was, “If it gets to be too much for you , you can leave at any time.”

Then you were falling asleep and taking Bakugo with you. You had done this plenty of times when you were held captive. Taking people with you into dreams was easy enough. They usually couldn’t affect anything the way you could though.

The bright light flashed behind your eyelids signaling that you were connecting with your intended target.

Eh. Even his dreams were gross. You looked around and saw he was dreaming of an orgy. Naked women and drugs everywhere. You strolled right up to him as he sucked at some poor girls neck. You had to touch him to control the dream. That was the rules. And usually you waited for them to make that decision. But not Bruce. He didnt get that privilege. You slapped him across the face.

He shoved the girl off of his lap, “What the fuck-” his eyes met yours and his angry scowl turned into a disgusting smirk.

“Hello Bruce..”

“Well if it isnt my little slut? I was wondering when you would show up. I was careful to never tell you my name but I knew it would only be a matter of time.”

“My name is Y/n..”

He chuckled, “Shit I didn’t even know you had a name. Thought you were just another one of the boss man’s pets.”

Your fist shook with rage and all of the girls disappeared and you were back in that cold room that had been your cell.

His eyes shifted back and forth, “What are you doing? This is my dream. You cant...”

“Oh but I can. I am capable of much more than you ever knew.” All of the sudden his face started to sink in as if he was starving. His skin became littered with bruises. His ears and nose began to bleed just like yours would when they made you overuse your quirk.

He started to panic and tried to run away but his foot was shackled to the floor like the animal he was. “Fucking bitch! Stop it!”

But you didn’t. You continued to make him suffer, he deserved it after all. All the sudden a hand came down on your shoulder. You grabbed it and threw the person to the ground. Your eyes glowing purple with rage. But they softened when you realized it was just Bakugo. Looking worried with his hands held up in surrender, “It’s just me. It’s alright. It’s okay. Just breath. Calm down. This isn't you!” 

You ran your fingers through your hair and began to pace. You really wanted to hurt the asshole in front of you but you couldnt allow yourself to stoop that low. You couldn’t break down like this. Especially not in front of Bakugo. “I’m sorry. I’m just a little on edge right now. I hope I didnt hurt you.”

He shook his head as he regained his footing, “I’m fine, you're the one I’m worried about. You sure you can handle this. We’ve been here for only a few minutes and it looks like you're already losing it a little bit. I’ve never seen you so... angry before.” 

Bruce started laughing that sickening laugh that made your stomach turn. “Your little boyfriend thinks so highly of you. I wonder if he would stick around if he knew some of the twisted shit you pulled to get out of here.”  

You walked over and gave him a swift kick to the ribs, “I did what I did to stay alive. I will never apologize for that.” You knelt down to look him in the eyes. “Now tell me where you are.” 

He spit blood onto your feet, “This is just a dream. You can do what you want and it’ll never actually hurt me. I’m not telling you shit!”

You narrowed your eyes at him but a cool smile came over your face, “That’s true... Assuming you ever actually wake up. I can make sure you don’t. Keep you here forever, in a coma. Have you ever wondered what happens when you die in a dream? No one really knows right? Because our brain wakes us up because it wants to avoid the trauma. Well I know what happens... Would you like me to show you?”

Bruce gulped as his eyes shifted from Bakugo to you. He spit one more time before he groaned, “FINE!...We’re in the mountains. We're at the main campus for the Pure. There’s a big meeting coming up and everyones coming.” He went on to ramble in great detail about how to get there. He made it very clear that you wouldn't make it past the front gate. That they had some strong quirks up their sleeve.  

He was still spilling his guts when Bakugo grabbed your hand. “What if he’s lying? What if he’s setting a trap?”

You sighed and rubbed your temples, “I don’t think he’s that smart.” 

You looked over when you no longer heard Bruce’s labored breathing. “Shit... he woke up” You reached for Bakugo’s hand, “Come on we should wake up too.I have a feeling we have a lot to talk about..”

“You’re fucking right we do.”

You woke up and you felt that your face was soaked in tears. You may have put on a brave face in Bruce’s dream but it didnt change the fact that you had been terrified to be face to face with him again. You wiped furiously, trying to dry your cheeks before Bakugo could see. He probably already thinks you’re unhinged. No need to fuel the crazy fire. 

You took a few deep breaths before turning around and facing Bakugo. To your surprise his eyes were wet as well. “I’m sorry. I know you’re the one who just had to confront the monster from your past. But... That shit was hard to watch. What did he mean when he said you did twisted shit to get out? You told me you jumped out of a moving car?”

You bit your lip and played with the hem of your hoodie. You couldn’t look him in the eye when you told him this. “I lied.... I was scared if I told you the truth you would be scared of me.” 

He cupped your damp cheek and kissed your forehead, “You say scary.. I say badass.”

You would have laughed if the moment hadn't been so tense. “I uh.. If I really focus I can make people see things... when they're awake. Like daydreaming.” You leaned into him and he instinctively wrapped his arms around your waist. “I made them see intruders when in reality no one was there. They all ended up shooting each other and when backup came I made them think that I was also dead. They threw me into the back of a van, didn’t even bother tying me up. When we got close to town I made the drivers vision go blank so he would crash and I could get away.” 

Bakugo pushed your hair out of your face, “Why would you be scared to tell me that? Like you said in Bruce’s dream, you did what you had to. After everything they put you through? I know it has to weigh heavy on your conscious, but it shouldn't. Those people were bad people who did bad things. Who knows how many people you saved by taking them out.”

You nodded, “I guess... But heros aren't supposed to kill people.”

Bakugo smiled, “Well not to be a dick but I’m pretty sure I’m the only one here with a hero license. You’re a survivor. There’s a difference.”

You took a deep breath, trying to expel all of your anxiety. “I also didn’t want you to be constantly trying to guess if what you were seeing was real or if I was manipulating you.” 

“Well I guess it’s a good thing I trust you then...” 

You leaned forward and gently pressed your lips to his. 

You should have known better though because there was rarely anything gentle about Bakugo. He returned you kiss with a burning passion that had you dizzy. 

He rolled on top of you and your legs wrapped around him pulling you to you. You wanted him, all of him. You reached down to waistband of his pants and pushed your hand past it to palm him through his underwear. He groaned and bucked his hips towards you before pulling back. “Y/n. I love you. But are you sure you want this?”

You arched your back so you could peel your shirt off. You hadn't worn a bra to bed and naturally you weren't wearing pants so now the only article of clothing you did have on was underwear. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.” 

He leaned forward and attached his lips to your shoulder while he rubbed one of your nipples between his fingers. You arched your back to lean into his touch a soft moaning falling from your lips. He smiled as his kissed trailed south over the swell of your breeds before sucking your other nipple into his mouth. Licking it and sucking util it grew hard. “Looks like someone has sensitive nipples...” 

Your eyes blinked open, “What are you doing? Dont stop!”

He chuckled, “Yes ma’am.” He tore off his shirt followed by his pants. Now you were both in your underwear. He grinned into you and its made you throb. You bucked your hips up to meet his, desperately needing friction to ease the desire building inside you. 

His lips returned to your neck as he tapped your hip signaling for you to lift them off the bed. Without any hesitation he ripped them off leaving you bare before him. His fingers teased around the sport you wanted him most. But he was trying to give you time to make sure you hadn't changed your mind. And as sweet as that was... You needed him. “Bakugo... I need you. Please.”

With a feral groan his slipped his middle finger into you and slowly pumped in and out. “God Y/n you’re so tight.” He added a second finger and you had to suck in a breath, shit that felt good. He had you whining beneath him. Squirming around his fingers wanting more. 

He kissed up your neck until he got to you ear, where he stopped with a breathy whisper, “You ready?”

You wrapped your legs around him, “Yes! Please!” 

His slid his underwear off and you heard the sound of him opening a condom then his weight returned to you. His forehead already sweaty pressed against yours. “You let me know if I need to stop. If it hurts, if you change your mind. I dont care just let me know...” 

You nodded and he slowly pushed into you bit by bit. Letting you adjust as he went. It definitely stung but in the sweetest way possible. Your fingers gripped his shoulders as he began to thrust into you. It started out as slightly painful but all the sudden he snapped his hips at a completely different angle and you were seeing stars. You couldn’t help your moan of pleasure, “Oh shit! Right there!”

Bakugo picked up the pace looping his arm around the back of your knee and lifting it up so it sat on his shoulder. Heat began to burn within you as you pleasure climbed. You understood why in books they always called it that climax. Legs shaking, fingers digging into his back, “I’m gonna - I’m gonna-”

Bakugo growled as he thrust at an erratic pace, “Let go. I’m right behind you. COME ON Y/N!”

Just like that you you peaked and clamped around him as he stuttered into his own finish. 

You both laid there breathing heavy as he rolled over and pulled you into his chest. His fingers carding through your hair with occasional kisses to the crown of your head. “Hey not to alarm you or anything but I literally saw fireworks...”

You laughed and gave him a funny look, “Yeah me too. That was amazing!”

He gave you a serious look, “No I totally agree.. best night of my life... but Y/n I dont mean metaphorically.. like I literally saw fireworks at the end there. I think you may have subconsciously used your quirk...”

You blushed, “Oh my god I’m so sorry! I didn’t even realize...” You covered your face with your hands out of embarrassment.

But Bakugo wasn’t having any of that. He took your hands and pulled them from your face, “Are you kidding me? That was hot. That was awesome! It was like you got to show me exactly how you felt.” He snuggled closer to you, “Makes me want to do it again.” 

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Tags: @1000fandoms​ @carolinawindsay​ @targaryens-blog​ @fukyouthink​ @malibusurfer56​ @theoneforallkiddeku​ @emmyljo​ @water-melone98​ @opentheskeletonkey​ @ilikeanimeandbands​ @dexterous-deku @joonishantics​ @-hiddlesdweeb-​ @crimson846​ @emotions-and-potions @tokoyamis-luv​ @itsmetsuki​ @awkwardlife202 @tinymatwrote​ 

Hey guys quick thing about the tags, I really am trying to remember to tag everyone who asked. If you aren't here I apologize I have the memory of a goldfish lol. Just shoot me a message and remind me. Or if you want to be added thats totally cool as well!  Also it looks like some of the tags aren't working as they should. So if looks like you’re there but you didnt get a notification let me know. Maybe I spelled something wrong lol. I tend to do that a lot! Thanks! 

- Molly 

#bakugo #bakugo katsuki #Katsuki Bakugō #bhna bakugou #bakugo x reader #bakugo imagine #bakugo x y/n #bnha #bnha fanfiction #bnha imagines #bnha x reader #bnha bakugo katsuki #mha #mha imagines #mha bakugou #mha x reader #my hero academia

[thesaltyace]

big rant/ramble below, you can safely ignore and move on to the next post in your feed.

Urgh

I shared the results of that autism screener with a quasi-friend who I thought would be "safe" (we used to work together and we connected over his being gay and me being visibly queer) but his response was blergh

Everyone has hints of autism.

okay yeah but this isn't just *hints* of autism. I'm answered yes to symptoms I've had since I was a kid that I've learned to mask or work around as an adult. But I still struggle with them.

He pointed out that he sees me as more ADHD than ASD.

Yeah, fair, and I'd need to see a professional to try to distinguish if my symptoms are ADHD, ASD, or both.

You don't hit the three prongs needed for a diagnosis.

But.... but I do. And the stuff I dealt with as a kid is still stuff I deal with today. I just mask it better. A short and not exhaustive list:

As I kid I had trouble interacting with peers. I didn't have friends, really. I didn't know how to make friends and I didn't try terribly hard to. I acquire friends when someone else "adopts" me and decides that we are friends. And once I became an adult, I have almost never had friends of my own - I share a friend group with my spouse who we're primary connected to through him. I'm okay with that. Maintaining a friendship entirely on my own power sounds impossible and exhausting.

I was okay with not having friends, I liked being alone, but my mom insisted on me being social. She made me join things so that I would have a list of people to invite to parties. I'd honestly have preferred a day of doing stuff I like or just a couple friends. As an adult, I want to be alone on my birthday. I will celebrate with certain friends, separately, usually over a quiet meal. That's it.

I had trouble understanding sarcasm and figurative speech. Like, I understand it now but I still think most figurative speech is annoying. I've been told the way I deliver sarcasm is weird, too.

I liked memorizing movies and quoting them start to finish, I thought it was fun but everyone else thought it was weird. I continued to do this into adulthood but I only quote aloud when I'm alone. Alamo Drafthouse quote-alongs are the BEST. I don't do this with every movie, either, just ones I really like.

Okay actually I also liked to listen to the same album or, in some cases, the same song over and over until I was sick of it (and sometimes even after that point). I mean, just endlessly looping on repeat. Not interspersed with other songs. I do this as an adult a LOT because it's easier with headphones to do this without annoying everyone else around you. Like, often it's fine for me to just put a playlist on shuffle, but I get into Moods where I just want the one album/song over and over. Yesterday I listened to Wellerman about 50 times in a row and only stopped because I had to get up and do something else and that song wasn't "good" for whatever I got up to do.

My special interest as a kid was cats. Literally everything cats, all the time - I sought out obscure facts and could tell you the difference between similar species, and wanted cats involved in literally everything I did. Adults laughed it off as childhood obsession. I was also pretty obsessed with the solar system. I thought asking my peers, as a trivia question, which of Jupiter's moons had its own asteroid (Io, in case you were wondering) was appropriate and interesting and was confused that they didn't know that. That was in fifth grade.

I watched the weather channel for fun. I would watch it for hours and absorb the weekly forecast info just... for fun? I never used it, could never tell you if you should dress a certain way or bring an umbrella or whatever. Everyone thought it was weird.

I was a know-it-all and literally could not stop myself from bluntly correcting people who were wrong. Didn't know or care that it was "rude". I'm still that way but I've learned how to sometimes swallow the urge long enough to find a more tactful way to point it out (but often fail).

I could read on my own before kindergarten, used vocabulary beyond what one would expect for my age, and had a special interest in spelling and grammar throughout my school years. I did not understand how other people weren't interested in learning about it and getting it right. I read at an undergrad level by 4th grade.

I hated loud noises and often covered my ears to block out irritating sounds. I could also hear high pitched noises that even other kids didn't seem to hear (or at least weren't bothered by them). Too much noise sent me into an internal meltdown, I'd just kinda shut down because I couldn't deal with it.

Textures and pressure on my skin bothered the absolute fuck out of me - sock seams, certain fabric materials, socks that weren't equally elastic, one shoe tighter than the other, tags.... all of that. (Also, fun anecdote I just unlocked - when I was 4 or 5 my grandmother started letting me use the soft silk sleep shirt she had as a young woman because I preferred it to anything else. Soft, smooth, no irritating qualities. Bliss. I wanted to wear it all the time.)

Don't get me started on food. Until I was in COLLEGE I mostly subsisted on pasta with either butter or alfredo sauce and chicken. I would eat other things, but pasta and/or chicken was (and still is) my biggest safe/comfort food. I'd eat other stuff mostly if I could control the balance of ingredients, get it made plain, or could confirm the texture wouldn't be offensive (so, like... plain burgers, plain cheese pizza, grilled cheese, mashed potatoes, etc.) I cannot stress this enough - from childhood through COLLEGE I did this. As a kid my mom had to make me a completely separate dish most nights to get me to eat something. My spouse was horrified at what little variety I ate. The only reason I eat so much variety now is that he knows what I do/don't like and tells me in advance if I'll find a texture or taste offensive. Of course, rather than wanting consistent texture like I did when I was younger, I now seek as much texture as possible (so long as they aren't Bad textures) so.... that's fun. But yeah most of my objections to Yucky foods is due to T E X T U R E. Even if I like the taste, the texture overrides it all.

I prefer animals to people. I will seek out animals and interact with them instead of people in the same room. And will pointedly focus on the animal to avoid interacting with people.

I'm perfectly happy with only myself for company. Being with just my spouse counts as me being "alone" though. Always has. I just realized last night that it's because I do minimal to no masking around him because he's a safe person to unmask with and always has been. Never batted an eye at the weird shit I do beyond asking questions about what I was doing or why. And then just "Okay."

Okay honestly just the fact that I want to vent into the void of tumblr instead of actually discussing this with a person - even my spouse! - pretty effectively shows how little it occurs to me to interact with other people directly. o_0

And there are so many more things that I won't list here because I could just go on and on. And like, sure, some of this may certainly overlap with ADHD but my point is that I have enough to point to ASD that it doesn't feel like having a "hint" of autism. And who knows - maybe it is mostly just ADHD and CPTSD stuff interacting in weird ways. Could be!

But just because I can make small talk and make eye contact and do the "normal" shit and I can interact "normally" doesn't mean I LIKE it. I had to LEARN to do those things to avoid having bad social interactions. When I'm by myself or with my spouse, I behave very differently than I do around anyone else. ANYONE. It's not just slightly changing my behavior depending on who I'm with - it's completely suppressing how I naturally would do things if left to my own devices.

Like, the things we recommended to our autistic students who wanted to know how to interact in ways that would help them blend in/be accepted by others ARE THE EXACT THINGS I ALREADY DO. Like, it did not occur to me at the time that neurotypicals literally do not have to think about doing those things. I thought, ah, these students just need to be told what the tricks are. Other people figure these tricks out on their own. It did not occur to me that other people, in fact, do not learn these tricks because they naturally do that behavior. They do not have to actively think about learning the trick, period. I literally thought other people also have to think as hard as I do about interactions. Evidently not.

So yeah, I'm feeling a little upset about the reaction I got from him because I'm like.... honestly, a diagnosis of ASD wouldn't change a lot about how I do things or think of things. But it would make me feel better about interacting with and participating in autism-related stuff if I am actually autistic. I realize I can use the resources and supports meant for ASD regardless, and for formal supports anything I can access due to my ADHD diagnosis likely covers anything I'd need for ASD. But having a diagnosis opens up more community. Right now I'm like yeah I'm ADHD but I totally relate to this ASD content. But I'm not going to interact much because I feel like I don't have the right to join in since idk if I do have ASD.

idk I have a lot of feelings. I had a bad email about the trans insurance coverage thing yesterday and I'm not in a great headspace, but finding out me and my spouse both scored very high on the autism screening stuff was honestly a high point because we ended up sharing a lot of how we view and interact with the world that was very eye-opening about why we interact the way we do, how we relate to others (and how other people think we're weird for how we relate to others), and just...everything. And having someone be skeptical after I've spent a lot of time trying to convince myself that I DON'T have ASD only to conclude that at the very least, I should probably be evaluated because I can't reasonably rule it out. Like, most people do not wonder if they have autism. The fact that I am spending this much time looking into it and trying to find examples to disprove it only to find I overwhelmingly can't in virtually every single diagnostic category.... just..... dismissing it outright is kinda hurtful.

Like, I recognize that ADHD symptoms overlap a fair bit, but seriously. My spouse (who definitively does not have ADHD) scored almost identically to me and we vibed on almost everything when we compared answers. We see most things similarly. We have similar areas of confusion about other people and for fundamentally similar reasons. I can't imagine all of the stuff that points to ASD for me is just ADHD in disguise, not when I vibe THAT HARD with someone else. Spouse does not vibe with me on ADHD content. At all. He can appreciate it since he does live with me, after all, and observes whatever's being discussed. But he doesn't vibe with it. He vibes with autism content, though. And I vibe with both.

idk this rant ended in rambling and I'm just going to go listen to Inside on repeat for a couple hours while I try to calm down a bit. o_0

#rant over #for now #I've actually been listening to Inside for the last twenty minutes already lol #maybe I'll try to nap #idk #blergh #yay Shit is playing now and I'm like LOL cause I did wake up at 11:30 feeling like shit #woot #what a bop #I'm like hell yeah you get it #let's vibe

[lilwenney]

TOO HOT (HOT DAMN)

pairing: james  x reader warning(s): a lot of fluff & james sets things on fire word count: 1.2k  a/n: just a lil something while u all wait on a fic update. and james is severely underappreciated in terms of writing so here’s a random fic about him not being able to reheat food properly 

For a flat in the middle of London, noises during the night typically came from the busy street below - someone was always honking their horn at the ungodly hours of the morning or groups of drunk friends stumbling on the street screaming out the lyrics to house-party songs or laughing, it was always something. 

But never the sound of a smoke alarm.

The smoke alarms were usually never triggered in your flat building, and if so, it was only just for a few seconds because someone was automatically manically waving a towel in front of their alarm to stop it before it triggered the others. You had your own scare once, thanks to your flatmate, and it caused the entire upper level of the building to evacuate, but luckily everyone seemed to manage their cooking or fire-involved activities pretty well after that. That was, until your neighbor moved in.

James had moved into his new flat a mere 72-hours ago and already had the fire alarm blaring in the kitchen. It was quite impressive, actually. 

You never cared about the alarms cutting into your sleeping schedule for a few seconds, but this time, it was far too late and this alarm had been going on far too long for your liking. Glancing at the clock on your nightstand, you groaned when the digital numbers read off 02:31 a.m. - you had work in less than six hours and there was no way you could get back to sleep until the blaring alarm stopped. 

Sliding your feet into the pair of slippers at your bedside, you briskly walked through your flat and to the door, throwing it open and poking your head out. The alarm got louder and louder as you neared it, your head ringing while looking down the hallway to see the source of the alarm coming from the flat with an open door. 

It was your new neighbor, as in so new you hadn’t even got the chance to meet him yet. You only knew someone moved in because the landlord had sent out an email to those on the floor, telling them to give a warm welcome to the new addition.

Well, your ‘warm welcome’ happened to be standing in their doorway in light smoke as they fanned a towel in front of the fire alarm yelling “what the fuck?” 

You quickly took in the scene, piecing together the story of what might have happened. The microwave door was wide open and inside laid something small and burnt, smoke rising to the cabinets above it. Your neighbor, who you didn’t particularly focus on, was standing on a chair waving a towel. Like an instinct you sucked in a deep breath and walked further into the flat, grabbing the first thing you saw (which was an instruction manual) and used it to fan the smoke in an attempt to clear it out. 

Less than fifteen seconds later, in the rush of fanning wildly, the smoke alarm finally stopped beeping. Smoke fanned across the ceiling and out to the hallway, disappearing, and whatever was in the microwave, had also now melted. 

“You were trying to reheat a burger?” You finally asked, looking into the microwave to see a burnt (partially melted) wrapper on a McDonalds burger. Turning to him, you raised a brow, “are you mad?” 

“In hindsight, probably wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had.” 

“I could have told you that beforehand.” 

Heavy footsteps followed the clicking of the stairwell door and within seconds two firefighters appeared in the doorway. They looked at you both, frazzled and out of breath, and then nodded. “We’re going to have to evacuate this floor.” One of the firefighters said, behind them someone knocked on the neighbors door, telling them to head downstairs. “Get your keys and head down, please.” 

You nodded and quickly moved past them, down the hallway back to your flat. In a rush, you grabbed your keys and a blanket from your sofa to put over your shoulders, then took the stairwell to the first floor where you stepped out among the other floor residents. None of them seemed particularly happy to be standing out in the cold on a Tuesday morning when most of them, including you, had to be at work in just a handful of hours.

The culprit came outside a minute later, pocketing his phone and keys as he walked down the steps to the pavement. Everyone stood together quietly, mostly still half asleep, as firefighters came in and out of the building to inspect any damage and the cause of a nonstop alarm for three minutes. 

Looking over at your neighbor, you watched him shudder from the chill. He was only wearing a t-shirt and shorts, not at all prepared to stand outside after his own attempt of a late-night snack went wrong. He shuddered again and you sighed, stepping closer to him.

“Come on,” you held out the side of your blanket to him, and he tilted his head, hesitating, “I’m only offering it for so long, you know.” 

He laughed and stepped over, taking the other side of the blanket and draping it across his shoulders. “I’m sorry about all of this.” He apologized. “And I didn’t catch your name.” 

“(Y/N),” you said.

He nodded, “I’m James, your bastard neighbor who doesn’t know not to put fast food wrappers in the microwave.” 

You let out a small laugh, looking up at him, watching the red lights from the firetruck nearby bounce off his dark hair and eyes. “Don’t worry,” you finally said with a smile, “last fire alarm was because my flatmate tried to reheat a pizza. In the oven. With the pizza still in the box.” 

“Ooh, unlucky,” James chuckled, “fire alarms happen often?” 

“Not really, usually just for a few seconds. So you might have the record for the longest fire alarm now.” 

“Really am off to a great start here, aren’t I?” 

“Great is one way to put it,” you said now watching the firefighter exit the lobby, holding the microwave from James’ flat in his hands. Raising a brow, you turned your body to him, “Please tell me that’s not a new microwave.” 

“That’s my new microwave,” James said with a now dejected tone and your lips flattened, trying not to laugh. “I have a concrete table that I’m trying to get rid of so maybe I should have set that thing on fire instead.” 

You let out a small laugh and the firefighters said everyone was allowed back in. Quietly, everyone shuffled back up the steps and into the building, taking the lift up to their floor. You and James were the last ones to shuffle off, now standing on opposite sides of the corridor, talking like neither of you had to be awake in just a few hours.

“If you need a microwave anytime soon, you’re free to use mine,” you said sliding your key into the lock and turning it, your door sliding open. “On second thought, do you often set things on fire?” 

“Why?” 

“Because we might need to hang out more if you do. You know, for safety purposes,” 

James grinned when he saw you shoot a wink at him. “For safety purposes and safety purposes only?” 

“Of course, why else would we hang out?” 

“Because you like my company?” 

“And where would you get an idea like that from?” You smiled and nodded at him. “Goodnight James,” 

“Night,” he chuckled as your door clicked shut, and then he slid into his own flat.

#ahhhHHH #anyways #luv a boy #james #one shot

[squidbatts]

we could stay-

Or: Your name is Kankri Vantas and your father may be out for the night, but a certain wannabe greaser is in

((i challenged myself to rewrite a fic that i wrote in 2013 and this is the result (though this version is mostly makeouts and dry humping while the original was very “chaste kisses and gentle cuddling” but like, that’s what the kids call growth). anyway: humanstuck, not Quite explicit but certainly more than suggestive, so ymmv))

{ao3}

“I’m only going to be gone a couple of hours, alright?” Your father says as he pulls on his coat by the door. You stand straight-backed and nod. Your brother slouches at the foot of the stairs beside you and rolls his eyes.

“Sure,” Karkat says, sarcasm coating his every syllable, “Just text us when you decide you’re staying the night at the Leijons’.”

“I’m not- who even- why would you-?” Your father splutters, flustered. “Listen, that’s none of your business. Anyway,” He says, regaining control of himself, “No parties, no guests, Kankri’s in charge.”

“I take the responsibility incredibly seriously, father,” You say dutifully. Karkat rolls his eyes again, this time with a dramatic full body motion. You ignore him.

“Great. Please don’t destroy the house while I’m gone.” Your father says, as he always does when he goes out on what he refuses to call Date Nights. Karkat mutters something expletive-filled but you merely smile, waving goodbye as your father walks out the door. You continue to stand there, watching through the window as his car starts and pulls off. You watch until it disappears around the corner, then you look down at Karkat.

“All clear,” You say.

Your name is Kankri Vantas and you are in charge for the night.

“Cool, I’m going to my room, don’t fucking bother me,” He says, but you can see that he’s already on his phone. You have no doubt that he’ll be back downstairs welcoming in a gaggle of his little friends in less than half an hour,  which means that you have some time to kill. You don't send any texts, but keep your phone close by just in case. You do your homework, eat some of the lasagna that your father prepared for you and your brother, and search through the family movie collection. There are a lot of romcoms.

It is, if you’re being honest, mostly romcoms.

But you knew that before you started looking, because you’ve gone through your family’s movies with almost alarming frequency of late.

Regardless, you pick out a movie, put it into the DVD player, and wait. Eventually, you hear a knock on the door, but before you can open it or call him down, Karkat stomps downstairs, scowling.

“Can you douchenozzles not read a simple fucking text? I said not to knock, jesus fucking christ,” Karkat says.

“Language,” You chide, mostly reflexively, as you walk up. There are five children outside your door, including the youngest Maryam, who is holding a pizza box and avoiding your eye. You wonder how she got her mother to let her out of the house on a school night, but decide it’s very much not your business. Still, you’ll probably text Porrim about it later, just to check.

“Shut the fuck up,” Karkat snaps back, likely also only on reflex. This is a dance you both do often.

“Hi, Karkat’s brother,” One of the kids, a boy in blue, says. You can’t stop your mouth from twitching into a slight frown.

The kids know your name, you know they know your name, and yet they insist on calling you ‘Karkat’s older brother.’

“My name is Kankri,” You say, despite all this.

The boy grins and Karkat snaps out a quick, “Yeah, no, we aren’t fucking doing this tonight,” and ushers the all of them in and up the stairs, shooting a quick, “Text me if dad’s actually coming home,” to you over his shoulder.

You nod, agreeing to your own side of the unspoken Date Night agreement you two have. There’s something of a comradery in breaking this one rule; others you won’t allow, and five friends are pushing the “no party” rule in ways that you’ll detail to Karkat in a thoughtfully crafted note tomorrow, but this one... Well, it has benefits for everyone.

Brother and friends firmly dealt with, you pull out your phone and send a simple text of your own: I am going to be watching a movie tonight while my brother and his friends yell and do whatever else children their age do on weeknights upstairs, as my father has gone out with Ms. Leijon and is likely to return late, if at all.

There’s a brief moment before you get a response, like the person on the other end was sitting in their bedroom, part of their attention dedicated to pretending to know how to play a guitar but mostly just waiting for you to text. got it chief, the reply reads, and a smile flickers across your face. Ten minutes later, you hear the sound of a hot rod roaring past your house and around the corner, gaudy and loud with a royal purple finish. You stand, making your way into the kitchen and opening the back door in time to watch Cronus Ampora trip over your neighbor’s hose and his own untied Chuck Taylors. He recovers easily enough, and saunters the rest of the way between the yards and to your door, hips swinging as his expression melts into a smirk like an ice cube on a stovetop.

“Hey there, doll,” He says as soon as he gets close enough to speak to you quietly. Your face scrunches, but he laughs and cuts you off before you can begin yet another treatise on how calling you doll is rude and embarrassing. “I know, I know, K. Won’t do it again.”

He will, almost certainly. You let him in anyway. You leave him in the living room to call up the stairs, “Karkat, do you want any lasagna?”

It’s a test, both to see if Karkat can hear you from the bottom of the stairs and to see if he’s hungry enough that he’ll want something from down here in the next hour or so.

“Fuck off!” Karkat yells back, over a chorus of laughter. You don’t roll your eyes, because you’re not your brother, but you do add another paragraph to the note -- no, email, it would probably work better as an email rather than a series of post-its on his door by now -- that you’re going to leave him tomorrow. You return to the living room and press play on the movie. You barely even remember what you’ve put in at this point, but you give yourself a moment to stare at the screen as the blonde love interest starts her day and rushes around her office, and to take a deep but subtle breath, before you turn back to Cronus.

Cronus is sprawled upon the couch, one leg spread across all three cushions while the other hangs onto the ground and the rest of his body sags against the arm, barely moving as he boredly scrolls on his phone. He’s shed his leather jacket and wears purposely distressed t-shirt that you know he cut the sleeves off himself. You clear your throat.

“Am I going to be allowed to sit down?” You ask. Cronus smirks and you immediately continue, “If you even begin to offer your lap as an acceptable place to sit-”

“Relax, K, I would never do somethin‘ so -- what’s the word? -- demeaning.”

You raise an eyebrow, begrudgingly impressed. “Yes, demeaning is the right word there.”

Cronus flashes you a shark’s smile as he rearranges himself to take a reasonable amount of space on the couch. ��See, I know all my lingo, chief. Talk at a guy enough and anyone can pick up your social justice stuff.”

Your jaw tightens at his words but you make yourself relax. You don’t hang out with Cronus Ampora for his aptitude at activism. You, in fact, don’t hang out with Cronus Ampora at all.

Except for movie nights.

Behind you the movie plays on, and though you’re not watching it, you know what’s happening: a proposed article shot down, a bet and courtside basketball tickets, the consoling of a recently dumped best friend. You’ve seen this one many times, because Karkat and your father have unfortunate affinities for them. You, at least, have the decency to keep misogynistic, predictable, degrading things as a rarely indulged guilty pleasure.

You take a seat beside Cronus. Far enough apart that your bodies do not touch but close enough that you can feel the heat from the arm Cronus has thrown over the back of the couch. You sit, back straight, hands in your lap. You can feel Cronus looking at you. The fingers on your left hand twitch against your pant leg.

“Kankri,” Cronus starts to whine, but you cut him off with a shush.

“I am watching the movie.”

“Is that how we’re gonna play it tonight?” Cronus asks. When you hum in the affirmative, he huffs childishly. You’re surprised that he doesn’t cross his arms and stamp his feet too. “Fine then.”

It’s quiet for a moment, Matthew McConaughey the only voice in the room, before Cronus clears his throat and says, “So, uh, what’s this movie about anyway?”

Your eye twitches. You wish it didn’t but you know it did and you can almost feel the waves of smug glee radiating from Cronus as he shifts ever so slightly closer to you. You hate explaining movies while the movie is playing, but you suppose that since you did make him miss a bit of the beginning, it’s only fair that you help him out.

“She writes how-to articles for a women’s magazine but she wants to do hard investigative reporting, and he’s a marketing executive who’s trying to get a deal to represent a diamond seller,” You explain.

“Alright,” Cronus says, his thigh meeting yours as he leans in, voice pitched low so you can still pay attention to the movie over his questions. “How’d they meet again?”

“The women at his workplace -- they’re both named Judy -- asked him to prove that he understood romance so he could acquire the diamond deal from them, and then tricked him into choosing her as the woman he would ’woo‘.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“Yes!” You exclaim, shoulders rising in annoyance at the lack of attention Cronus is paying to the movie. When they fall again, Cronus’ arm slips over them. “She is trying to sabotage a relationship for her column, so he’d never be able to sincerely start a relationship with her, even if he wasn’t approaching her under false pretenses.”

“Uh-huh, got it. One more question,” Cronus says, voice shockingly close to your ear. You turn and he is- close. Very close. Your breath catches in shock. “How many times have you seen this one?”

“I haven’t-”

“Come on, Vantas, don’t lie to me,” He says, whispers, inching ever closer to you. Your mouth feels suddenly dry and you lick your lips, watching Cronus’ eyes track the movement. “Hey, Kankri?”

“Yes?” You prompt, voice barely a murmur. Cronus’ nose touches yours.

“I really don’t care about this movie.”

What happens next is inevitable. You wish you could say that Cronus kisses you and you’re entirely taken unaware. You wish you could say you don't know who moved first. Unfortunately, you know that it was you who saw the look in Cronus’ eyes, who felt the heat of his body and smelled his ridiculous expensive cologne, and leaned in, unable to keep up an uninterested face any longer. You go to kiss him and Cronus happily meets you, easy and hot and just what you wanted, wonderful enough as he bites at your lip and runs a hand through your hair that you barely even mind that you can feel the smug twist of his mouth against your own. You shift to get closer, to get a better angle to map the shape of his mouth, eventually giving up all decorum and tossing a leg over him to slide into his lap.

“Not a word,” You say.

Cronus raises his hands in surrender though his eyes still flash with mirth. “I’m not the one with the talkin' problem, chief.”

You kiss him again to shut him up. Admittedly, the way he licks into your mouth, how his hands slide over your hips and his fingers edge under your sweater, they’re all enticing, but they’re all particularly nice pluses when the main concern is occupying his mouth with something else. Your pocket buzzes and you think, somewhat vaguely, Oh, my phone. I need to get that.

“One second,” You say, and Cronus immediately starts to whine. You only manage to pull your phone out of your pocket before Cronus decides to switch his energy from whining to paying attention to your neck, taking care to suck and bite only at places that will be under your usual turtleneck’s coverage.

Suddenly, you’re no longer worried about your phone.

It’s fine, You think, dropping your phone to the carpet and shoving a fist into your mouth as Cronus presses an open-mouthed kiss to your jawline, Whatever’s happening can wait. You weave a hand into Cronus’ gel-stiff hair, mussing it as you tug to get Cronus’ mouth back up to yours. Cronus groans, low and needy and cut off as you greedily swallow the sound. From your perch on his lap, you can feel that Cronus’ whole body is very interested in the proceedings; you don’t grind down because that would be undignified, but even a slight shift of your weight is enough to make Cronus’ hips jerk.

“Jesus fucking christ, Kankri,” Cronus gasps into your mouth, “You’re gonna kill me.”

Something like pride fills your chest as something like interest warms your stomach. You shift again. “Am I?”

“Fuck, alright, lemme just,” Cronus starts brokenly before gripping your thighs and easily laying you onto the couch before leaning over you, arms bracketing your head. “This okay?”

You throw a leg around his waist and an arm around his neck, pulling him closer. “I find it perfectly acceptable.”

“I’ll show you ‘acceptable’,” Cronus says with a roll of his eyes before he’s kissing you again, his whole body a warm, shifting weight against your own. When he grinds into the couch, into you, you arch into it, heel digging into the small of his back.

You aren’t sure how long you’re there, kissing and rocking against one another, but eventually you hear a faint rumble over the now-ignored sounds of your movie. It sounds familiar, and something inside you, a part of your mind that’s somehow been able to retain its ability to think about anything but the sensations you’re experiencing now, says Pay attention! You reluctantly shift some of your focus to listening, allowing Cronus to go back to mouthing at your neck; it takes you a moment but you’re able to remember that it’s the sound of a car pulling up to the house. You jolt with shock and horror as you place it even more specifically as the sound of your father’s car.

“Fuck.”

Cronus leans back on his haunches, eyes wide. “Kankri Vantas, did you just curse?”

“Now is not the time,” You reply, pulling him back down and out of view from anyone who might look into your living room windows. “On the floor, now.”

“Are you being bossy now? Is that the move?” Cronus asks, laughing.

You don’t have time to explain or deal with his humor as you see the shadow of your father pass by, so you just shove him off the couch and cut off his grumbling by saying “My father is home.”

Cronus presses himself flatter to the ground. “Oh, fuck.”

“Exactly. Stay down and stay quiet, I can handle this,” You say as the lock turns. Cronus nods and mimes zipping his lips. Your father enters the house.

“Karkat? Kankri? You guys up?” Your father asks, kicking his shoes off. You sit up, hoping you look more sleep-rumpled than hand-mussed.

“Oh, father,” You say, affecting a yawn. “You’re home early.”

“Yeah, Di- er, Ms. Leijon, she felt sick, so we decided to call it a night,” He says. Cronus, from his spot lying completely flat and supposedly still, taps on your knee. Your father is not looking at you, busy removing his shoes and coat, so you entertain Cronus with a glance. He’s pointing at a nearby chair over which he threw his jacket, but you know it’s out of eyeline from the foyer so you shake you head subtly, eyes still on your father, and emphatically gesture something you hope he interprets correctly as stay still. Your father says, “I texted you.”

You think of you phone, on the carpet under Cronus, and curse past Kankri. “Ah. You must’ve sent it after I’d already fallen asleep.”

“It’s bad for your back to sleep down here,” Your father says, muffled as he opens the coat closet. “What were you doing anyway?”

Nothing really, despite my best efforts, thinks a sullen and unnecessary part of your mind. The rest of you clears your throat. “I had just been watching a movie.”

“Which one?”

It takes you a beat longer than it should to remember. It feels like there’s been a millennia of kissing Cronus between you picking out the movie and now. “How To Lose A Guy In Ten Days.”

“Oh, that one! I really-” Your father turns to you finally and pauses for a moment. When he continues, his voice is more disbelieving. “How To Lose A Guy In Ten Days, huh?”

“Yes,” You answer, off-put by his tone. The movie is still playing on the television behind you, so you’re not sure why he’s acting like it’s out of the realm of possibility. Somewhat defensively, you continue, “It’s one of my favorites.”

Cronus doesn’t laugh, because he values his life and is staying quiet, but you can see how he tenses like he’s holding in laughter in your peripheral vision. It takes effort not to scowl at him.

“Mhm. Well, you should probably be getting to bed soon.”

“Will do.” You say, and then you stare at your father with a fixed smile as he watches you with a raised eyebrow. It is the most stressful minute of your life. Eventually, he shakes his head and smiles.

“Alright. Goodnight, Kankri,” Your father says, and you reply in kind. You sink into the couch in relief, sharing a still-panicked we did it look with Cronus.

“Oh, and Kankri?”

You freeze and pop back up at the sound of your father’s voice. He’s not in your eyeline, speaking as he walks up the stairs. “Yes?”

“Next time, make sure that your friend isn’t taller than the couch is long.”

Your eyes dart to the floor and catch on Cronus’ stupid candy cane socks are far past the edge of the couch, where they can definitely be seen from the foyer. “I-”

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow, I’m too tired for this right now. Night, kiddo.”

You facepalm, with both hands for good measure. Below you, Cronus whispers, “Sorry.”

“You should just… Go, please. I’ll,” you run a hand down your face, embarrassment quickly overpowering whatever brief bits of relief you felt. “I suppose I’ll text you, after I speak to my father.”

Cronus nods and you help him to his feet. You walk him to the door, at which point he asks, “So… no more movie nights?”

You tighten your jaw so hard that your teeth ache. “Are you seriously thinking about that right now?”

“Yes- No- I mean, okay, yes, I’m wondering about like, this, about hookin’ up and shit, but also, I’m gonna… miss hanging out with you,” Cronus says, looking out into the yard rather than at you, which is good because your face feels hotter than it ever has before and you’re sure you must look ridiculous. “We don’t talk at school, obviously, so this was the only time I got to spend with you in person, y’know.”

“I-” You open and close your mouth in shock. “Cronus-”

“But I’m also gonna miss touching that sweet ass of yours,” Cronus continues, absolutely destroying the mood.

“Go.”

“You’re cute when you’re pissed,” Cronus says. You scowl, but still lean into it when he kisses you goodbye. Everyone has their vices. “See you, doll.”

Your splutters drown out his laughter as he books it for his car. To his retreating back, you hiss, maybe too loud for this time of night but absolutely necessary, “Don’t call me doll!”

#cronkri #kankri vantas #cronus ampora #homestuck #humanstuck #one shot

[aroworlds]

Fiction: The Pride Conspiracy, Part Two

December isn't the best time of year for a trans aromantic like Rowan Ross, although—unlike his relatives—his co-workers probably won't give him gift cards to women's clothing shops. How does he explain to cis people that while golf balls don't trigger his dysphoria, he wants to be seen as more than a masculine stereotype? Nonetheless, he thinks he has this teeth-gritted endurance thing figured out: cissexism means he needn't fear his relatives asking him about dating, and he has the perfect idea for Melanie in the office gift exchange. He can survive gifts and kin, right? Isn't playing along with expectation better than enduring unexpected consequences?

Rowan, however, isn't the only aromantic in the office planning to surprise a co-worker.

To survive the onslaught of ribbon and cellophane, Rowan's going to have to get comfortable with embracing the unknown.

Contains: A trans allo-frayro trying to grit his teeth through the holidays, scheming aro co-workers, a whole lot of cross-stitch, another moment of aromantic discovery, and many, many mugs.

Content Advisory: A story that focuses on some of the ways Western gift-giving culture enables cissexism and a rigid gender binary, taking place in the context of commercialised, secular-but-with-very-Christian-underpinnings Christmas. Please expect many references to said holiday in an office where Damien hasn't figured out how to run a gift exchange without subjecting everyone to Santa, along with characters who have work to do in recognising that not everybody celebrates Christmas.

There are no depictions or mentions of sexual attraction beyond the words "allosexual" and "bisexual" and a passing reference to allo-aro antagonism, but there are non-detailed references to Rowan's previous experiences with and attitudes towards romance and romantic attraction as a frayromantic. Please also expect casual references to amatonormativity and other shapes of cissexism.

This section contains multiple depictions of platonic physical intimacy.

Length: 4, 789 words (part two of two).

I’ll have a pride coat! And nobody will have the least idea what it means!

On the last working day of the year, Rowan staggers into the office holding a plate of homemade shortbread—the top layer of plastic wrap bearing the Sharpie-written words “NOT FOR HOUSEMATES BUY YOUR OWN FUCKING BISCUITS”, his mood sour. On the one hand, he’s free until January (although he’ll prefer that circumstance more should this be a paid break). On the other hand, Christmas and its family awfulness tag-team with the heat to curse him with mind-racing, restless 4 AM wakefulness.

He chose right. Didn’t he?

In six days, he’ll have survived the family dinner and his housemates will be with their people or travelling for the holiday. He can bag up his presents for their customary donating, buy something online and spend the day baking food he doesn’t have to share or hide.

Christmas will be an exercise in endurance, but it’s a known terrible. Better to suffer one day of hell and leave than to poke the hydra in each of its eyes and allow it, enraged, to hunt him across the earth. Right?

“Rowan!” Melanie greets him at the door, today wearing a silky blouse with a poinsettia print, a pendant shaped like a miniature tree bauble, and stocking-shaped earrings of the heavy, dangly kind. A Santa hat trimmed with silver sequins and a large golden bell sits atop her short hair. “Merry Christmas!”

“Uh … back at you?”

“You didn’t wear anything Christmassy!” Melanie flutters her hands at him: she painted her glossy crimson nails with white and green stripes like the fancier sort of candy cane. “Can’t you get anything in your size?”

“No...” Rowan glances at his usual outfit: dress shoes, jeans black enough to resemble slacks on forgot-to-do-laundry days, navy shirt.  

Couldn’t he have worn his cherry-red Docs?  

Her suggestion gives him a convenient out, but isn’t he trying to be honest about his feelings? “I didn’t look. Christmas … isn’t that exciting when you’re enduring family.” He barks a laugh, hoping Melanie understands. “At least being trans, nobody asks me if I’m dating anyone or when I’m going to bring someone home to meet the family, because they don’t want to think about trans people in a relationship.” He steps sideways, hoping to navigate around her, put his plate down and move the conversation towards something less fraught. “I made shortbread. Do you like shortbread?”

He stiffens, trying not to panic, when Melanie envelops him in a bear hug, smushing Rowan’s chest and one arm against her necklace. “You spend Christmas with your family?”

“Don’t most people who celebrate it?” He shuffles out of her embrace to slide his cling-filmed plate onto Shelby’s desk beside a plastic container of pizza scrolls. He slips the ingredients card from his jeans pocket, straightens the creases and rests it by the plate. “Uh … is cling-film better or worse for the environment than biscuits in a freezer bag? I had a set of clip-seal containers, but my housemates left me two condiment-sized ones in the cupboard. I could use a bit of plastic or defrost frozen stir fry, except I didn’t know what I’d put that in if I used the stir fry container for the shortbread...”

Rowan realises he’s rambling and presses his lips together before he rants on how his containers must be growing five types of mould in the bottom of Matt’s backpack.

“Happy Holidays, everyone!” Shelby, both arms burdened by plastic cake containers, enters wearing a red T-shirt with the legend “All I Want for Christmas Is a Unicorn”, a glittery ribbon tied around the end of her braid. Only twice before has he seen her without a blazer. “Mel! Your earrings! Millers?”

Rowan swallows a laugh and, freed from awkwardness, heads for the relative comfort of his desk.

A party day, he soon realises, possesses a distressing lack of work. He acquires plates and spoons from the kitchenette, he works on a few photos from last week, he sorts his emails. He notices Melanie pulling Damien aside to talk about something that requires the waving of candy-cane fingernails, but, before he can start to wonder, the volunteer ropes him into a conversation about a loving family with unusual pavlova-eating habits. Shelby saves him from that oddity only to tell the story of her family’s chipping in to get her granddaughter a four-hundred-dollar dollhouse. “My parents wouldn’t have spent that much on a toy! How can anyone charge four hundred dollars for plastic?”

That seems like a good time to head over to the food table.

Shelby does make a good chocolate cake.

“Rowan.” Damien heads towards him, his approach signalled by a trailing, bell-ringing Melanie. “A minute?”

Nothing good has ever been heralded by this question. Nothing.

Rowan nods and follows them over to the whiteboard, standing in front of the List.

“Do you,” Damien says, at least doing the decent thing of asking straight out, “need somewhere to go for Christmas?”

Oh, god. What provoked this horror? Melanie?

Why...?

“We’d non-romantically love to have you.” Melanie’s smile beams as bright as her nails—her lips a close match for their glossy crimson basecoat. “Me and my daughter and her partner, I mean—not me and Damien together. It won’t be anything fancy, but you’re welcome to come.”

“My wife said my telling her about being recipro makes so much sense, and she’d like to ask questions of someone who actually knows things.” Damien nods, his holiday cheer demonstrated in the absence of a tie, rolled-up shirtsleeves and reflectively-shiny shoes. “And I make beer batter fritters.”

Never has Rowan heard Damien speak in aromantic-identity terms with that much casual fluidity, and he would smile but for two co-workers waiting, expectantly, for his answer.

How does he express appreciation for their kindness while explaining that he can’t not go home for Christmas?

A few moments pass before Rowan’s lips and tongue produce sounds that aren’t “I”, “uh” and “I … uh”. “Thanks? But … well, I’d be fine being alone on Christmas and I'm not doing that because … that’d be bad, so... And, you know, family? And I want to see my dog? So ... thanks, but...”

“But you’re one of us,” Melanie says with unusual solemnity, resting a hand on Rowan’s shoulder. “Just like Damien’s now one of—wait, we need to get you a mug! Why didn’t we get Damien a mug?”

“Well, actually...” Rowan, thanking the Aro Gods for Melanie’s willingness to head down any conversational tangent, darts towards his desk and satchel, the latter housing a heavy tissue-wrapped box. Pinkish-red, of course. “Here. Have a mug.”

“Oh! You should have told me!” Melanie’s lips tremble as she and Damien follow him back across the room. “I would have gotten a mug with you!”

Rowan rests the box on his lap, startled. Why didn’t he think to tell Melanie that he bought Damien a mug? (How else does one welcome another into aromantic kinship?) Why didn’t he wait until Damien was busy and order a mug with Melanie, instead of buying one on his phone on the train home from work?

Rowan owns skill in list-making, cross-stitch, baking, fixing other people’s photos and designing his own leaflets. He’s quietly proud of the many arts in which he dabbles with varying degrees of success. He’s mastered, too, survival on the fringes of other people’s lives, survival in a world where few are worth trusting. That ability though, makes him a man too comfortable in isolation. It makes him, in ways that have nothing to do with allosexual frayromanticism beyond his living in an aromantic-antagonistic world, a man who doesn’t know how to welcome other people into the house behind his five-metre fence.

He keeps everyone at arm’s length, even when—perhaps especially when—he plies his crafts for their benefit.

Does everyone experience acute flashes of insight at inconvenient times, the irrevocable sense that their personhood is one bewildering state of immeasurably fucked up?

“I’m sorry. Really.” He passes the mug to Damien, looking at Melanie. “I’m used to doing things on my own. I should have thought, but I didn’t.”

“We do realise that,” Damien says, tearing both wrapping paper and the box lid in a sharp tug. “You got the green-stripe one—oh, wait, it’s got both?” His hands render the mug’s size almost laughable, but Rowan couldn’t find soup-sized variants from a store willing to custom print aromantic flags on crockery. “Mel, there’s both. The recipromantic-only one and the shared one. Thank you!”

Is Rowan imagining that hint of passive-aggression? “You realise...?”

“That you’re independent, that’d you’d rather suffer alone than risk asking for help, even when it causes problems for you. That you’re only comfortable with people when you’re in a position of knowledge or authority. We learnt early on that you work best when we get out of your way.” Damien sets the mug on the desk with a soft clink. “I’m not completely useless in my job, so try harder to stop rolling your eyes over my photos.”

“They’re terrible,” Melanie says, squeezing Rowan’s forearm—apparently forgiven. “You know that, right?”

“The next person to say they can do better has to prove it—”

“My dog photos prove it!”

“At an event! Not in your backyard!”

For a reason likely tied up in internalised ableism, Rowan thought anxiety his designated, annoyance-causing personality failing. His tendency to overreact, freak out, let things get to him; his tendency to shaking hands and rambling incoherence. He didn’t consider that, in the company of people more inclined to decency and less inclined to avoid criticism on deadnaming and cissexism by casting him as the problem, they may find something else frustrating or difficult.

“Is this...” Rowan halts, thinking better of it, before he says the words “being fired just before Christmas”. Even he doubts Damien capable of inviting someone to join him for the holiday only to retaliate with a firing on Rowan’s refusal, although logic doesn’t still his hands. What’s the good of logic if my anxiety still ignores it? “What is this?”

Damien shrugs, tapping a finger against his new mug. “Yearly performance evaluation, maybe? Shame that I’ll have to write it down. I’d rather just call this sort—”

“What’d you say on mine?” Melanie blurts, clapping her hands.

Damien raises both eyebrows. “As if I’d answer that sober!” He shakes his head; Melanie trills her laughter. “We realise that there’s reasons, Rowan. It isn’t a real problem for us, but it may be one for you. If you find yourself in the company of a therapist at some point, consider mentioning it?”

Reining in Melanie wasn’t the reason Damien asked her to work with Rowan, he realises in yet another dizzying, revelatory moment, but that isn’t the cause of Rowan’s spluttering. “If? You think it’s only if? I’d have more aro shit on my desk if I weren’t paying a psychiatrist and a psychologist!” He sighs and nods. “January. I see them January.”

“I don’t like to assume.” Damien shrugs again; Rowan guesses it his attempt at conveying casualness. “Given that this isn’t quite the … er, situation for this conversation, I should—”

“I’m fine,” Rowan says, thinking Melanie’s heedless interrupting a contagious quality. “Really. It’s good. Like actually...” He doesn’t know how to voice this feeling that, for the first time in his life, someone has voiced a critique that doesn’t feel like he’s being disdained or unravelled. “Melanie … again, I’m sorry.” He thinks the time right for another distraction and grabs the second parcel from his bag—tissue paper tied with strands of aro-coloured embroidery floss. “Here. I’ve been working on this. I got your name.”

Melanie lunges for the parcel, struggling to untie the knot with her long fingernails until Shelby—was she close by?—hands over a pair of scissors. Blades click shut; Melanie pulls away the paper.

Twenty square embroidered patches in the purples and greens of many aro-ace and aromantic pride flags cascade from Melanie’s hands onto the worn carpet.

Melanie has always been given to laughter, but the way she bends over, resting her elbows on her knees as though she can’t hold herself up, has Rowan fearing that he’s given her a heart attack via pride patches.

“Aro-ace! Are these all of them?” She draws a shaking breath and carefully kneels, gathering patches. “I didn’t know there were this many!”

“Aro and aro-ace. The ones I know about, anyway. There’s probably a few I don’t.”

“Did you make all these?” Shelby asks. “You should sell them!”

Rowan considers explaining why he’ll never make even minimum wage selling hand-embroidered patches in aro pride flag colours, but Melanie’s pulling him into another grasping hug has him scarce able to breathe, never mind speak. He doesn’t know for how long Melanie smothers him, just that she, like an eventual retreating tide, steps back, leaving Rowan bewildered and giddy. Perhaps this is too much?

“You’re a liar, and this must have taken forever, and you shouldn’t have. I can’t believe you sew!” Melanie shakes her head, shuffling through the patches. “There’s the aro-ace flag with blue and orange, and a combined one, and one without black stripes—oh, thank you!”

Rowan shrugs, relieved that she seems happy. “Do you have something to put them on?”

“I have a coat. I’ll have a pride coat! And nobody will have the least idea what it means!” Melanie grins, shaking her head, before leaning over to tap Damien on the forearm. “Should the rest of us swap gifts now?”

Damien settles himself down on the closest chair. “Good idea. Do you want to—”

“We’re doing Secret Santa now!” Melanie stands on her tiptoes, waving the hand not clutching a handful of patches. “Find your person and give your gift, and then come here and show me what you got! Rowan made me aro-ace patches! All the aro-ace patches!”

“You know your evaluation says ‘needs to stop interrupt—’”

“Quickly, because Damien’s nattering on about performance evaluations!”

Damien sighs, shakes his head and leans back on his chair, looking up at the ceiling. “Lord give me—is that mould up there?”

“Probably,” Rowan says, hoping that he doesn’t look like a man expecting to open a set of golf balls. Did Shelby get him and lie about Melanie? Does that explain the voice recording? “Does the janitor have a step ladder? It’d be easier to tell if we got up close.”

“She does, because of the lighting.” Damien shakes his head. “Remind me first week back to get someone in to look at that. Or to write it on the whiteboard before we leave.” He reaches inside his left trouser pocket, removes a small card-sized parcel held between thumb and pointer finger, and flips it onto Rowan’s lap with surprising deftness. “I think this will be appropriate? While I didn’t know what you planned for Melanie, I saw you working on the train one evening. You had earbuds in and were too busy looking at your hands to notice, but I guessed then you’d made your bag’s patches.”

“It’s hard to cross-stitch on a moving train,” Rowan says by way of apology, a shade confused: what gift needs this explanation? “Hard to cross-stitch well. Not so hard if you don’t care about neatness.” He peels back the tape—Damien wrapped the card the way he presses his suits, the edges inhumanly crisp—and finds a gift card for his local sewing store. Rowan stares, drops the card on his lap and slides his hands under his legs, doubtful he can say anything comprehensible past this isn’t a gift pack of golf balls.

“That’s what you got him? A gift card?” Melanie shakes her head and pokes Damien in the shoulder with startling vehemence; only Damien’s size and his feet, firmly planted on the ground, keep him from falling. “Did you put any thought into that? I don’t like to be that oldie—” She stops, scowling: Rowan can’t hold back his spluttering laughter. “As I was saying, gift cards are the laziest way to—Rowan’s laughing at me, isn’t he?”

Damien tucks his hands behind his head and leans further back in his chair, grinning up at the popcorn ceiling.

Moments—in which Shelby gives Damien a six pack of fancy-looking artisanal beer—pass before Rowan’s ribcage resumes its regular pattern of movement. Finally, he manages to rasp an explanation: “Buying a gift card for a department store? Impersonal, but okay if they shop there. Buying a gift card for a trans man at a clothing shop where every tag has woman on the label? Hateful, unless you know he wants it. Buying a gift card related to someone’s interests so they can pick what they want? Good. And I need fabric, so … thank you.”

“Did someone get you a Millers gift card?” Melanie asks, her hands raised to cover her mouth. “That’s horrible!”

“That’s Aunt Laura,” Rowan mutters. Melanie’s expression of horror, Damien’s surprising evaluation and the wonder of a good, useful present leaves him inclined to truth: “That’s the most considerate gift I’ll get. One with thought that isn’t ‘outright cissexism’ or ‘you’re a man so we’ll ignore your personality to give you the most generically-male of generically-male items’.” He places the gift card and paper on his desk before nodding at Damien, who continues his overgrown Cheshire Cat impression. “Really, thank you.”

Even though Rowan isn’t standing atop his desk to blather about names, the room falls into an uncomfortable quiet.

Shouldn’t someone rustle some wrapping paper? Bite into a biscuit? Thank somebody for their gift? Why aren’t they making noise?

Melanie breaks into a broad smile, threading her fingers together like a self-congratulatory cartoon villain. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

Rowan’s body, ever alert to strangeness in the people around him, stiffens long before his brain concurs that this change in conversational direction is at minimum odd and veering towards confronting with a high likelihood of I’m so not going to like it.

Damien jerks upright, chair creaking. “Didn’t we talk about how to do this—”

“His aunt gave him a Millers gift card!” Melanie grabs Shelby by the arm and drags her towards the meeting room like an illegal firework gone out of control.

Damien isn’t much an arbiter of this office’s brand of chaos, but he’s the closest thing to a pillar of stability inside this mouse-scented bewilderment and therefore the person at which Rowan directs his questioning: “What...?”

“You know how Melanie gets all enthusiastic?” Damien runs both hands through his already-mussed hair. “She comes up with plans and you can’t so much stop her as guide her in the safest direction and hope you’re alive come the landing?”

Does Damien know that is the worst answer anyone can give to a man with more than one anxiety disorder? At least short of pronouncements like “we volunteered you to give year 12 biology students a seminar on recessive genes and you’re starting right now”? Wasn’t that something to do with the monk who grew beans? Hendel? Mendel? Or did he just grow beans at a monastery for some reason? Or was it peas?

“What...?” Rowan croaks, staring at the dark meeting room like a man waiting to face a starving tyrannosaurus.

“She thought we should demonstrate our acceptance of you, after our failures in this. And then she realised Christmas isn’t a great time of year for you, which made her even more … uh, enthusiastic. I made her promise she’d do this after everyone else left, but...”

Melanie staggers out of the meeting room with a large basket held in both hands, a basket covered with glinting cellophane and decorated with a mix of blue and green ribbons.

Shelby trails after her, clasping another pair of scissors.

Rowan will never understand, never mind be able to explain, the thought processes leading to his diving off his chair for the sanctuary underneath his desk—just that one moment he’s sitting on his chair and the next he’s crouching beside computer cables and a lid from someone’s Pikachu lunch box. Some primeval sense of cave as safety, perhaps … but didn’t prehistoric humanity fear cave bears and cave lions? Aren’t large, bright spaces, with visibility and room to run, safer than small, dark places concealing unknowable predators? What about drought, then? Or deserts? Are there any safe places, really...?

Melanie holds no respect for the ancient tenets of let the hiding man hide undisturbed until he’s ready to stop hiding, but she does rest the basket on the ground at the entrance of Rowan’s desk-cave, blocking legs and chairs from sight. “Merry Christmas,” she warbles from behind the mountain of cellophane and wicker. “We hope there’s something there that you like!”

“Happy Holidays!” Shelby echoes, followed by a few more rounds from the rest of the office. “Do you want scissors? Melanie wraps things like she’s paid to use sticky tape by the metre.”

“We only have cheap tape in the office! It won’t stick unless you use heaps!” A thunking sound echoes from above Rowan’s head, and then Melanie’s candy-striped hand reaches around the leg of his desk, offering Shelby’s scissors. “Here. You’ll ... probably need them.”

There’s something to be said for this workplace’s willingness to treat escapades atop and beneath office furniture as normal, Rowan thinks. Breathe. “Than—uh—thanks.” He takes the scissors, staring at the back of shining cellophane; a miscellany of shapes wrapped in green paper sit within like an aromantic dragon’s treasure hoard.

“Damien, can you make them give us better tape next year?”

“We can have good tape if we stop spending the stationery money on good coffee and your fancy teas?”

“The tape’s fine,” Melanie announces before changing the subject: “Rowan? Are you opening anything? You have to tell us what you’re opening if you’re going to do it down there. Oh, do be careful—I think Liam used to shove his chewing gum under the table.”

Rowan shudders, but better his hair brushing old chewing gum over seeing his gift-opening become the focus of everyone’s attention! He draws a steadying breath, tells himself delay won’t help and slits the cellophane until he can draw out a wrapped box, one suspiciously weighty. At least fifty pieces of tape fasten the flaps on each end; Rowan promises himself that he’ll wrap everything in string and tea towels from now on before ripping into the paper. A mug with five horizontal bands wrapped around its body, the trans flag fading into the aro flag—blue into green, pink into green, white unchanged, pink into grey, blue into black.

Shelby, he thinks in disbelief, the non-existent golf balls making their appearance inside his throat. He rests the mug in his lap before reaching through the cellophane with shaking, sweating hands for another box. Another box with the same dimensions and weight...

“Oh, god,” he whispers.

His co-workers got him a basket of pride mugs for Christmas.

Melanie breaks into ringing laughter.

He needs a moment to find his voice, a moment in which he unwraps a mug with a gradient allo-aro design and another with the aromantic flag on one side and the bisexual flag on the other. “Did you  … did you … uh, get me any coffee to go with all my mugs?”

“It’s on the bottom!” Melanie trills. “And it isn’t just mugs!”

“Mostly mugs,” Damien says.

After another couple of minutes, a gradient frayromantic and a frayromantic-and-allo-aro mug join the collection precariously balanced on Rowan’s thighs. He sighs in relief when the next item in the basket feels soft, flat and light, something rustling underneath the wrapping paper, but a second lot of golf balls settle in his throat when he spots the pink and blue stripes, the drape of fabric: a trans pride flag.  

He can’t swallow, can’t lessen the burn in his eyes or ease the stiffness in his jaw and neck; his fingers fight to tear, peel and grasp. Bewildered to the point of dizziness, he finds an aromantic flag with its glorious green stripes, a frayromantic-and-bisexual mug and the expensive coffee Rowan permits himself on special occasions.  

He scoops wrapping paper and boxes back into the basket before hugging his clinking pile of mugs and flags.

Inchoate feeling abounds: a tangle, a knot of emotion with trailing threads of pleasure and overwhelm, surprise and gratitude, guilt and shame ... and something like the shock of being slapped across the face. They shouldn’t have done this! He shouldn’t be like this! Why is this too much? Why can’t he say “thank you” and express a normal, sensible gratitude for these people doing what Rowan’s family can’t ... instead of struggling with the feeling that Rowan, ungrateful and demanding, doesn’t deserve anything from people who have provoked his annoyance, frustration and alienation?

Mugs. Mugs and flags.

Why does something this wondrous have to hurt so much?

After a few moments, the only sound from him the chink of shifting crockery, someone moves the basket. Melanie sits on the floor and wriggles herself backwards underneath the table, grunting, to sit beside him. For once, she doesn’t speak; she rests a hand around his shoulder and lets him be a shivering mass of man clasping mugs.

Finally, Rowan’s rasping, croaking voice manages a few words: “Is this why Shelby recorded me ... talking about my identities?”

“I told you he thought it was suspicious!” Shelby crawls to Rowan’s other side, her braid trailing over the carpet. “Mel said you’d think it was just me being old—no, nobody does that!” She clasps his forearm, squeezing like a vice on wood. “Mel tried seeing if you’ve got a … all those accounts that aren’t Facebook, where you might say what you are? But she couldn’t find you, so I had my granddaughter show me how to record you. We knew we wouldn’t remember if you just said them.”

“I don’t know all the flags yet,” Melanie says in apologetic tones. “And I thought if I made the others check, they’d learn more about us!”

Part of Rowan feels a habitual spike of terror at the thought of offline people finding his social media accounts; part of him feels a quiet pride at Melanie’s using him to educate others in aromanticism. Most of him, fearing a blubbering breakdown, clings to the lifeline of asking questions: “And why Damien started that whole conversation?”

“We had to know where your mug seller was.” Damien bends down to peer underneath the desk and, at Melanie’s brow-arched stare, adds: “I’m not getting under there! You’ll have to call the SES to cut me out!”

Rowan nods and draws a breath. “I … I...”

“You’re very welcome.” Shelby squeezes his arm again. “Can I have your shortbread recipe? They’re good!”

“Yeah. Bag. Front pocket, left-hand side. People ask, so...” Rowan tries for another slow inhale. It’s supposed to help. Supposed.  

His family expects gratitude said clearly and directly, even when undeserving; they’ll never take emotional speechlessness as its shorthand. They want the formula followed, interactions never deviating from the same narrow structure: gift given, thanks provided, everything right in their world where it’s the thought that counts justifies disrespect of another’s personhood. They avoid messiness and honesty; they fear navigating and acknowledging mistakes and missteps.

They won’t see him as a man, or understand the pain they cause in believing his masculinity something he can put aside for their comfort, because they fear a world with unpredictability and fluidity.

Mum and Dad will never conspire to give him a gift like this. They’ll never want to get to know Rowan well enough to try. They’ll never put his needs ahead of their comfort. They’ll never speak of challenges or difficulties with Damien’s kind casualness. They’ll never want to acknowledge their failures. They’ll never give him an awkward, chaotic Christmas that veers from their notions of how things are supposed to be.

Does he want to endure their narrowness, now that he knows what better looks like?

Does he want to endure their truth that Rowan Ross isn’t a real man to them—and won’t be a real person until he remembers his deadname and the stereotypical trappings of the gender presumed to accompany it?

Or does he want to expect and get something else?

Maybe he doesn’t want a world so predictable his erasure becomes acceptable collateral damage for sticking to the pattern.

Maybe, despite his anxiety, he wants a world where people can surprise him.

“Melanie? Damien?” Rowan, shaking, pokes his head out from underneath the desk. “Can I … can I still spend Christmas with one of you?”

#aromantic #aro writing #arospec creations #alloaro #fiction #original fiction #original fiction and prose #contemporary #christmas #christmas mention #found family #aroace #frayromantic #recipromantic #physical intimacy #cissexism #aromantic and bisexual #frayromantic and bisexual #aromantic and transgender #aromantic and trans #romance mention #love mention #long post #very long post #extremely long post #k. a. cook #familial relationships #anxiety #mental illness

[imagine-docx]

overnight [1/2]

Summary: You and Steve are best friends from young, but you have a massive crush on him. How cliche. But him being the sweet dumb ass he is, tries to let you down gently and doesn’t reciprocate your feelings.

Warnings: Uhhh occasional swearing cause I have no filter.

A/N: So hi, this is my first fanfic here. I have many more accounts for older fandoms. Requests are open as well! Also, while I was writing this, my pizza delivery boy’s name was Peter. Coincidence? I think not. - Amanda

You didn’t really anticipate spending your Friday night at a graduation party for a seventeen year old while your friends were persuading you to confess to your longtime crush. But hey, here you are.

Steven Grant Rogers, was your longtime best friend, now crush. Quite cliche right? Having a massive crush on your best friend, who more than likely does not like you in any way more than a friend. You can’t exactly pinpoint when exactly this crush came to be. But you got it bad.

So here you are, sitting on Tony Stark’s floor, attempting to celebrate his adoptive son’s high school graduation, while your friends were attempting to hook you up and Steve Rogers. You were sitting on the floor with Valkyrie, Natasha, Wanda, Hope, Carol, Maria, Mantis, Gamora and Nebula surrounding you.

“You know this seems like the perfect time for you to confess to Mr. Rogers over there.” Natasha nudged you.

“He doesn’t see me as anything more than a friend,” you said looking down at the coke that was occupying the red solo cup.

“I can tell he likes you sweetheart. Take it easy on yourself,” Wanda reassured you, rubbing your back.

“Steve really has taken a liking to you,” Mantis reassured you as well.

“If he doesn’t like you, you know we got your back and can take him in a fight,” Carol said, petting her head. Natasha, Valkyrie, Gamora and Nebula hummed in agreeance.

“Thanks guys. I’m gonna go take a minute outside.” You said getting up and brushing any dirt from your pants.

Hope grabbed your hand and gave you a reassuring squeeze, “Yell if you need anything.”

You nodded before heading off to the balcony to take a breather. “Are you okay?” You heard a young voice from behind you.

Turning around you were greeted by Peter, “Of course I am,” you moved over on the bench and patted down for him to sit. He sat next to you.

“Are you confessing to Mr. Rogers tonight?” He said softly.

“Where did you hear that?” You asked.

“I walked by on that part. Don’t worry, he was occupied by Bucky, Sam and Tony last time I checked.”

“I don’t know Peter. I don’t think he likes me in that way.”

“He is really protective of you, you know. He is not that protective over anyone.” Peter said.

“I don’t know,” you muttered, looking at your coke again.

“I had to ask you something,” Peter said looking up at the sky.

“What’s up?”

“Can I get a discount on college textbooks?” He said.

“Peter! Stark could literally buy you an entire college!” You said laughing.

“Peter!” You can hear Ned calling from inside.

“Go, Ned needs you,” you said trying to get him into the house.

“Will you be okay out here?” Peter asked standing up.

“Yeah, go,” you said giving him a smile.

Peter murmured, “Stay safe,” he said before opening the sliding doors and going in. You were looking up at the sky looking at the occasional star that inhabited the sky.

“You’re gonna strain your neck looking up at the stars like that,” you heard a voice from behind you, immediately recognizing who it belonged to.

“Worth it.”

“You okay out here? Why are you not enjoying the party inside?” Steve asked, occupying the space next to you.

“Just thinking,” you responded taking a sip from the solo cup.

“About what?”

“What would happen if I launched myself into space.”

“You’re not doing that.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, you automatically rested your head on his shoulder, “Now what’s really up?”

“I don’t want to say,” you said, exhaling.

“You know you can tell me anything right?”

“Yeah I know.”

“Now talk to me.” You lifted your head from his shoulder.

“Promise me that no matter the outcome, we would still remain friends.” You said, trying to reassure yourself that the friendship would remain in tact.

“Are you pregnant?” He said looking into your eyes.

“Holy fuck, no!”

“What is wrong then?”

“I may have a massive crush on you that hasn’t gone away in the last few years.” You let out in one breath.

And this is what you were scared of, the awkward silence and tension between the two of you. He grabbed your hand and squeezed it, “I’m sorry sweetheart, I don’t feel the same way.”

You felt your heart break into several different pieces, “It’s okay, I just felt like getting that off of my chest.”

“You okay?” He asked giving your hand yet another squeeze.

“Yeah. Promise me that this won’t make things awkward between the two of us?” You asked.

“Promise.”

You two sat in silence looking up at the stars. But so many thoughts were running through your head. You knew that this was going to happen regardless, and yet you still weren’t prepared for it.

- - -

Over the course of that same weekend, you spent the majority of your days moping around your house and sobbing. You called in sick to work for the last two days.

You, Wanda and Natasha owned a small bookstore named, ‘Prologue’ in the heart of Brooklyn. There was always someone in the shops at all times. Wanda typically worked the nine pm to five am, where she typically reshelved books, cleaned the shop and find orders that people would usually call in or email about. Natasha worked the five am to two pm, where she would finish what Wanda couldn’t finish and prepare for the shops opening at nine am. You typically worked the two pm to ten pm shift, helping out doing various tasks around the store, and helping close the store at nine pm.

Wanda was able to cover your last two shifts, resulting in no one being in during the night and being slightly backed up. On Sunday between Wanda and Natasha’s shifts you appeared into the shop and called a quick meeting in the back.

“Your eyes are puffy. What happened?” Natasha said, examining your face.

“I told you he doesn’t like me in that way,” you said looking down at the floor, bottom lip quivering.

Wanda immediately rushed to your side and started rubbing your back, “Baby, it’s okay.”

“I will march over there and single handedly fight Rogers myself,” Natasha said, getting up from her seat.

“No Nat, it’s okay.”

“You want more time off?” Wanda asked.

“We can give you the rest of the week,” Nat said, grabbing your hand, “You know, you don’t have to fake it in front of us. If you need it, let us know.”

“No, it’s okay. I can’t spend forever moping about someone who doesn’t like me in that way.”

“We can get you Tinder,” Natasha said wiggling her eyebrows.

“I can do the photo shoot, and make the bio!” Wanda said in a matter in fact tone.

You chucked, “Thank you guys. I love you guys so much.”

“Anything for you baby.” Wanda said before engulfing you in a hug, then Nat hugging the two of you.

- - -

The next day everything was falling back into its routine. Natasha in the early morning, you in the afternoon and Wanda at night. Natasha stayed back for a little bit to finish the orders that she was doing in the back.

It was fairly busy for a Monday and had three extra associates around helping out on the floor and making sure everything was tidy. You finished serving a customer when Natasha made her way to join you at the front.

As you two were laughed, you noticed a tall muscular figure walk into the store. You almost tensed up, but Nat rested her hand on your lower back reassuringly.

“Hey guys,” Steve said, walking up to the register.

“Hi Steve,” the two of you murmured.

Steve, Bucky and Sam worked at a security firm located right next door to your bookshop. They typically worked similar hours to you, Nat and Wanda. Steve was in from five am to two pm, Sam was in two pm to ten pm, and Bucky stayed nine pm to five am.

“Boss? Is it okay if I head home now?” You looked over to see one of your workers, Brittany.

Brittany has been working for you guys for less than six months, “Yeah it’s okay,” Natasha said.

“See you guys tomorrow!” Brittany beamed walking away from the register.

“Bye,” you and Nat said in unison.

“So who’s the Latina?” Steve asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Brittany, started working about four months ago,” Nat said helping you ‘sort’ through the receipts that were littered around the register.

“Is she single?”

“I don’t know. Why would I?” Natasha asked.

“Cause you are her employer?” Steve battled back.

“There’s a line between friendship and boss, Rogers.” Natasha said, trying not to lose her cool.

Steve raised up his hands defensively. You tried to battle back the tears, as soon as you thought you had them under control, you looked up to see Steve and Brittany laughing and flirting.

You called Tiffany to cover cash while you were in the back. You walked in and closed the door behind you. Sitting in your desk chair you hunched over and buried your face into your hands. You didn’t know how long you were sitting there like that, and failed to hear the door open and close, as well as the lock turning.

“If you cry over him, I will hit you in the face with the leftover peanut butter and jelly sandwich that’s left in the fridge,” Nat said, walking over to you and crouching in front of you. She removed your hands from your face and brushed the little strands out of your face, “Don’t cry over him. Maybe this is the opening you need.”

“What is wrong with me?” You managed to croak out.

“Nothing, sweetheart. You are perfect, he is a dumb ass.”

You took a deep breath in, “I’m okay. I just need time away from the front.”

“Do what you need to. You know Wan and I only care about how you are.”

“Nat, just go home. I’ll camp out back here and pretend I need to do stuff.”

“Are you sure? I can stay with you, if you need.”

“Yes. Now go home.”

“Call me if you need anything, okay?” Nat said squeezing your thigh reassuringly before getting up off the floor and heading out.

You took a few seconds to gather your thoughts. You looked in the mirror and wiped away where your makeup smeared and fixed your hair. You turned around and turned the computer on, you grabbed the sheet off of Nat’s desk to go and check which books were delivered, and which were not.

“I thought we said we were gonna keep this civil.” He said leaning on the door frame.

“I have no idea what you are talking about. Plus, Nat wanted to talk about business stuff. Quite secretive, you know that right?” You said looking up from the sheet.

“I’m sorr-” Steve started, before you cut him off.

“It’s not your fault. Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“That means I can see Brittany right?” He asked, carefully studying your face.

“Wait what?” It took you a moment to register what had just happened, “Yeah it’s fine. We are not in a relationship, you don’t have to ask me.” You said quickly turning to the computer and opening Chrome.

“I’m going to go home now. Call me if you need anything okay?” He said coming up behind you and kissing your hair.

Once the door closed, you let out the breath you didn’t even know you were holding. You sat in the chair and hunched over and let tears start to fall.

- - -

This has been going on for the past six days, Steve would finish his shift at the security firm, then come and spend a few hours around your shop flirting with Brittany. Thus, resulting in you camping out in the back room for the past six days.

You finally had enough and called a meeting between you, Natasha and Wanda. It was ten, the store closed and it was the three of you huddled in the back. “What’s up?” Nat asked.

“I want to switch with Wanda and do night, is that okay?” You asked, looking down at the floor.

“Of course sweetie,” Wanda said rubbing your forearm.

“Starting Monday?” Natasha asked.

“Starting Monday,” You confirmed.

- - -

And that’s how you got here, working night shifts all the time with the occasional night or two off. If someone told you a year ago that you would be working the graveyard shift, you would have laughed in their face.

You would have felt uncomfortable being at work during these late shifts, but knowing Bucky was next door watching the security cameras and making sure you were safe made you feel more comfortable.

Shipments didn’t come in for the night, there were minimal orders to do and very minimal reshelving and cleaning to do. At around two thirty am you decided to give yourself a break after cleaning.

You sat in the back, looking off and your mind wandered back to where you went wrong with Steve. You didn’t know how long you were sitting there for, until the ringing and vibrating of your phone brought you out of your trance. Looking at the caller ID, a photo of you and Bucky from Sam’s birthday three years ago. “Yes Mr. Barnes?”

“You okay there doll? You had me creeped out there for a hot minute,” Bucky said with concerned laced through his voice.

“Yeah I’m fine,” at this point, you felt like a broken record player. You probably said you’re fine a million times, when everything was not fine and you felt like everything was crashing down around you.

“Yeah, stop lying to me doll. Pizza or McDonald's?” He asked.

“McDonald's?”

“Alright, I’ll order it. I’ll be over soon.”

You looked up at the security camera in the office and smiled sadly, “Thanks Buck.”

“Anything for you,” you then heard the line cut.

-

About forty minutes later, McDonald's was delivered by an UberEats driver. McDonald's wrappers littered your desk. You explained the entire situation to Bucky and he once did not interrupt you but nodded along.

You dipped your chicken nugget into the barbecue sauce, and took a bite. “So that’s my fucked up relationship status.”

“You know Steve is an idiot, and he doesn’t realize what he is doing,” Bucky said taking a sip of his root beer.

“Sounds like Steve,” you said popping a French Fry into your mouth.

“He doesn’t know what he’s missing,” he said before taking a bite of his Big Mac.

“Damn right he doesn’t,” the two of you laughed.

Bucky ended up leaving around four fifteen am. Before he left he gave you a tight bear hug and kissed your hair. And just like that, you were alone again and you were back to picking out orders.

- - -

Steve was walking by the shop at four fifty am, when he noticed you in the shop. Your glasses were perched low on your nose, pen and paper in hand and you were looking for books. His heart warmed at the sight of you.

Steve walked into the security firm, “She’s in tonight?”

“Wanda needed some time off of the night shifts so the two of them switched,” Bucky partially lied. You were the one who needed the break, but Steve didn’t need to know that.

Steve nodded and looked at the security camera to see Natasha relieving you of your shift so you can get home. “Buck?”

Bucky hummed, “Yeah Steve?”

“Make sure she gets home safe okay?”

Bucky nodded before leaving. Steve watched as the two of you met up in front of your shop and walking away from the security camera.

#steve rogers #captain america #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfic #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #mcu #mcu fanfic #mcu fanfiction #captain america x reader #mcu x reader #marvel x reader

[megbox]

2019 Year in Review

Previous Posts: (2018) (2017) (2016) (2015) (2014) (2013) (2012) (2011) 

It’s actually kind of interesting how... less interesting these year-in-reviews get as I get older. Depending on how you look at it, 2019 was somewhat of an unremarkable year. I spent much of it tragically broke, I didn’t get the opportunity to do much traveling. But at the same time, not having these flashy, colourful experiences to write about all the time makes me value the easy, simple things more. It forces me to be a bit more reflective about how the day-to-day life I am carving out for myself teaches me things and about the person I am becoming. 

Far and away, the most positive thing to come out of 2019 has been that I am real deals social worker now. I have the best job in the entire world. I have “RSW” in my email signature and on my business cards. I do work that is meaningful to me every single day. There is so much to learn but I’m in the right place to be learning it. And I am really proud of myself for getting here ❤️

January 

Unlike the last few years, 2019 began on a high note. The millisecond that student loan hit my direct deposit, I took a little trip to Jasper to visit my friend Oliver who was teaching snowboarding at Marmot Basin for the season. I braved some very treacherous roads to make it to Jasper. It took me nearly eight hours. Highway 93 was closed so I had to take the long route and basically white-knuckled it the whole way. But it was so worth it. I found myself later that evening in a dorm room full of young Scandinavian people, downing American Vintage iced teas and feeling like I was at a frat party. We went to this club called Four Peaks and they played Rasputin by Boney M and everyone went crazy. I hooked up with this gorgeous Danish ski instructor named Rasmus. He was so beautiful. I am proud of that one, honestly. Oliver and I went skiing and hiking and we went to Earl’s and he tried a Caeser. By the end of the weekend, I think we maybe ran out of things to talk about. But it was really cool to see him and to hear about the last few years of his life and how excited he was to move to New Zealand to be with his girlfriend (whom he met on the same trip where he and I met, in Hawaii!)

On January 14, I started my second practicum. It was a sad transition. My time at CommunityWise had been so great that anything new was going to pale in comparison but my new placement was especially bad. It was so slow there. My computer hadn’t been updated in years and I didn’t have access to anything for weeks. My supervisor was barely around (not her fault, though. She was finishing her MSW, had two young children, was the team lead for both family centres in the city and had two practicum students to supervise. Girl was busy). I remember one morning while I was helping one of the caseworkers with some menial task like organizing the food pantry, and I was just so frustrated, I kind of asked her point-blank, “Is this practicum meant to be more self-directed?” and I just started crying as I asked it. I kind of… whimpered it. It was awkward but from that point on, they made way more of an effort to give me tasks and engage me in the work that was being done there. Lesson learned: you get what you ask for.

February  The first weekend of February is what we would call a “power weekend.” Looking back on these actions now, I cringe. However, at the time, I was pretty stoked. I slept with a friend from podcast club after a house party. For ease, I will refer to him as W. W had asked me out twice prior to this happening. I actually said yes, and we had plans to get drinks, but his best friend ended up going through a breakup the night before and he cancelled last minute. So then we slept together. Drunkenly. And it wasn’t… good. I chalked it up to the drunkenness. We went out on a real date, I made sure to have like one glass of wine maximum. He was lovely and great company and he taught me how to play crib but… you know that feeling when you’re like god, I wish I was enjoying this but I am just not enjoying this. It was like that all night. And it felt heavy. If I am being completely honest, there was also this strange moment that night where I had the thought, “he kind of looks like my grandfather if he were younger” and there is truly no recovering from that kind of realization.

February was also a terrible month because I had no days off. I will go to my grave angry about being required to work for free in my practicums. I was doing 32+ unpaid hours at this boring practicum and then working evenings and weekends at Famoso whenever I could. And Famoso was dead, so I wasn’t even making good money. This was also where I began to start witnessing things in my practicum that started to fuck with me. At first, I thought I was just having trouble sleeping. But over time in seminar and debriefs with my social work friends who were going through the same thing I realized that it was the oh-so-pleasant combination of vicarious trauma and compassion fatigue. 

Over the reading week, I went to Fernie with Maddy and her friends for a ski/party weekend and that was truly awesome. One of those weekends where your ribs ache for days once you’re back because you laughed so hard. Some highlights: 

It snowed 60cm the night before we skied. It was powder up to your waist. 

• Maddy’s friend Melissa liked our bartender at the hostel. She took his phone and texted herself from it so he would have her number and vice versa. Then she got so drunk that later the same evening, she was looking at the text and forgot that she had sent it to herself so she texted back, “Who is this?” Also LOL #Bryna. 

• I took nudes of Maddy in the hostel shower to send to the guy she was seeing at the time. LOL. What are friends for? 

• Maddy and I met this set of twins who are the definition of gym bros. Identical twins. We ended up hooking up with them. At the same time. In our bunk bed at the hostel. We high fived. I later fell off the top bunk. We gave them a beer for the road when they left. All year long, we send one another their Instagram posts and stories whenever it’s them flexing in the gym mirror and just laugh about, “we really slept with those guys.” 

March 

In March, I got the flu. It was very annoying. I had to miss practicum (meaning I’d have to make up the hours somehow later). I stated binge watching Grey’s Anatomy. 

I ended things with W. It was kind of harsh but it needed to be done. I need to stop breaking up with people in the weeks prior to my birthday because we had a total Dave-Simard-2.0 situation where W told me he had purchased a birthday present for me and he still wanted to give it to me.

I also ran the St. Patrick’s Day Road Race again!!! Good times as always. 

Practicum got much better in March. I had many things to do. I got to design the curriculum for and facilitate a six-week girl’s group. I assisted with the planning and running of a series of community tax clinics which was cool. Except the guy from the agency whose project it was is a creep. He kept telling me all of these stories that were incredibly inappropriate given the fact that we knew each other only in a professional sense. He made many comments about women’s bodies and appearances that were gross. And I got left in some pretty unsafe situations all by myself. AND he made me pay out of pocket for snacks for one of the tax clinics and never reimbursed me for that. I kind of forgot about that until just now. Wow. 

April 

April was a big month! 

I went to Portland for my birthday weekend with Matt and Connor. When I think back to this trip, it was lovely, but mostly what I remember is a lot of beer, a lot of rain, and being hungover. Portland is a really cool city. I wasn’t totally expecting to be confronted with as much homelessness and substance use as I was but, that’s my privilege talking. Some highlights from the trip include: 

• The “Flower in the Kettle” IPA I had. 

• The mascarpone, corn and lobster agnolotti I had for my birthday dinner at A Cena. Recommended to me by a trusted friend I worked with at Famoso. So rich. SO FUCKING GOOD. 

• Meeting this really drunk real estate agent at a dive bar and convincing her that Matt and Connor were both my boyfriends. I still have her business card in my wallet. I am unsure why. 

• The Weezer concert was honestly awesome. 

• Matt actually trying out the guyliner. 

• Meeting some random guy when I went to get gum at a corner store. His name was Dan. He was old. His girlfriend had kicked him out and he was just walking around. He’d been in prison for a lot of his life. We had a good chat. I got his phone number and now we have each other on Facebook. 

• In the airport on the way home, Matt and I were so overtired that absolutely everything was hilarious. The gif game (the gif of Kevin from The Office dropping the bucket of chili. “Me in Thailand”), and the beginning of when I got let in to the “KEVIN!!!!” joke. I had tears in my eyes. 

• Connor yelled at me in a pizza restauraunt LOL (sorry Connor. I know you Ctrl+F your name. But this was memorable to me.) 

In the middle of April, I FINISHED MY PRACTICUM HOURS AND EFFECTIVELY GOT MY DEGREE. I cannot describe to you how good it felt to be driving home from one of those tax clinics after my third twelve-hour day (making up practicum hours is fun) knowing I never had to go back. Knowing that soon enough, I’d get to work on all the same cool projects but actually get paid for my time.

We visited Saskatoon for Easter, which would turn out to be the last time I got to see my Baba. She was very ill, and both of us knew that it would likely be the last time, so I did get to say my goodbyes. It was very difficult and I sobbed for a lot of the ride home. It’s a weird feeling, when someone you love has been so ill for so long, and you begin to see their condition really deteriorate. When the idea of life without that person starts to become a reality. There was almost an… acceptance? It sounds so callous to say and it’s way more complex than this but also somewhat of a relief in the finality of it. I don’t know. It was a lot. 

April was also when I started interviewing for social work jobs. I had two interviews. The first one was at CCASA, essentially for what I thought was my dream job. I have never psyched myself out so hard for anything in my life. I thought about that interview and that interview alone for weeks. I studied harder than I have for any test ever. When the time came for the interview, I was so nervous. I became this meek and mild version of myself. It was honestly devastating. But of course, had I gotten that job, I would never have interviewed at the University of Calgary. My boss-to-be called me for a pre-interview while I was on shift at Famoso. It was busy, too. But I just said fuck it and ducked into the back and talked to her on the phone for twenty minutes. She invited me for an interview a week later where I had to give a five-minute presentation on managing stress as a student. Rock on. 

May 

On May 1, I got offered THE JOB AT THE UNIVERSITY OF CALGARY! It was truly one of the happiest moments of my life. There is nothing more satisfying and exciting than actually attaining something you’ve been dreaming of for so long. It was for a one year contract on a maternity leave coverage, facilitating community trainings around suicide prevention, helping skills, all that good stuff. I was going to be on salary. I was going to have benefits. I WAS GOING TO BE ABLE TO WALK TO WORK AND HAVE A REAL CAREER THAT I WOULD BE PROUD OF AND EXCITED ABOUT.

I hung up the phone after accepting the job, texted all the requisite people about the good news, and then immediately drove to Famoso to quit. My boss at Famoso was angry with me because I did not give two weeks notice. I said I would work out the rest of my scheduled shifts. He was a jerk, he yelled at me in frustration saying, “You work here for five fucking years, we accommodate every trip, every vacation, every practicum and you don’t even have the courtesy to give me two weeks notice?!” It wasn’t a big deal though. He was just being an asshole. And hey, Steve, you’re still an asshole!

So my last day serving tables at Famoso Westhills was May 3, 2019. I’m usually not good with goodbyes but it was the easiest thing in the world to just walk out of there at the end of the night knowing I would never be back. I had ten days until I started my actual job at the University (a bit of an oversight on my part because I had ~no money~ so what the fuck was I going to do with ten days).

My grandmother passed away on May 19, 2019. Back to Saskatoon on May 28 for the funeral. It was really fucking sad and really fucking weird to see all of my cousins crying. My grandma also had a big Catholic funeral and none of us are particularly religious and as the direct relatives of the deceased we were at the front of the church and it was really obvious none of us had any idea when to kneel vs. stand and didn’t know any of the words or tunes to the songs.

On a happier note, my brother was accepted into medical school in May. Not that I ever doubted my brother would be a successful person, but this just really solidified it. Dr. MacKay.

June 

June was rather uneventful. I was honestly so cripplingly broke at this point, and it was so long before I actually saw a full salaried paycheck. I had to borrow money from my parents just to like, function. And pay my bills. It was embarrassing. But I was working full time and learning so many cool things about the job that it made it alright.

I walked the stage on the first week of June and accepted my BSW degree. I didn’t want to go but it was actually a pretty awesome and happy occasion.

The other big thing that happened in June is that Maddy moved to Australia. It sucks that I only met Maddy in the summer of 2018. She is so awesome and we became so close so quickly. I genuinely love her so much and spending time with her is so easy and fun, it was really sad when she left knowing that it was highly possible she may never return or at least not for several YEARS.

July 

By July, my new job was in full swing. I was facilitating trainings every other day (so much public speaking experience!), I was sitting on a committee, every day was new and challenging and exciting. 

My dad had a giant party for his 60th birthday, with some friends even coming from Saskatoon. They rented a limousine that took us to the Black Diamond hotel because apparently my parents have some kind of significance there. I did a shot with my grandfather? We played pool and Big Buck hunter? None of my friends came but all of my brother’s friends came and I honestly think that it turned the tables in terms of who my parents’ favourites are in terms of friends. 

I also had an awesome weekend at Folk Festival mostly with Kendal and Lachlan but also featuring guest appearances from Chad and Gillian. Podcast club pals. There is just nothing better than folk festival, honestly. Food trucks and music in the sun and drinking sangria from a flask and admiring everyone’s cool outfits and getting a tan and listening to concerts all day. I had a nap in the middle of the afternoon on Sunday and it was like the most glorious 45 minutes of my entire year. 

August 

Oh, no. August. I was still cripplingly broke (it takes a long time to catch up to a point where your entire paycheck is not just going to paying back things you’ve borrowed) and I made the utterly stupid decision to go to a music festival. 

Big Valley Jamboree, baby. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: the best weekend that I am never ever doing again. Some highlights: 

• Mere minutes after arriving, I watched a man vomit. 

• The “Tony Keith” joke really took off. Lucas and I were so #inone on the Friday night we kept yelling and trying to start chants (“old man graphics!” is my personal favourite in response to Toby Keith’s random, pro-military Americana concert graphics).

• I gave my phone to somebody and then wandered off in search of this stupid boy’s campsite. I got very, very lost. The BVJ campground is a large place. I had no idea where I was going and was literally just stumbling through the dark and the mud. I ended up in the middle of some middle-aged Newfoundlanders’ campsite. They welcomed me. They offered me and sandwich and several beers. We chatted for like an hour. It was the best. I walked for SO LONG and finally found my own campsite. But we’re talking literally hours of walking around blind and disoriented. There were a few moments when I genuinely thought I was going to have to wait until the sun came up. 

• A few less-than-classy moments in porta potties. 

• The HANGOVERS. Jesus lord. I couldn’t survive. 

• Airwaves guy was great and I also had a really good buffalo chicken poutine thing that I remember fondly. 

In happier and much more professional news, I facilitated my first Community Helpers training in August. I was very nervous. Like, stay up all night the night before nervous. And we had some technical difficulties with setting up. But my coworker / work BFF Jeannie was there and she was a great support to me. She ran and got me a coffee and a banana bread because I hadn’t eaten and was so so stressed. And she encouraged me through the whole thing. It went really really well. I almost choked up at the end while thanking the participants for coming and explaining how it was my first training and they were such a great group to do it with. 

The squad was all super broke so we turned to free activities. It was very wholesome. We spent many afternoons and evenings reading in Prince’s Island Park with snacks. We went to Shakespeare in the park. We went hiking. 

A lot of my friends moved away in August. Such is life when your friends are all academics or have bright futures that are not confined to the Calgary city limits. Sydney moved to Victoria to start her PhD and we had a nice day at Elbow Falls eating berries and then having dinner with my family. Adam and Kendal both moved to Ottawa to start a fancy new government job and an MSW degree, respectively. I am really really proud of all of my friends but I miss them, too. Calgary is not the same without these people. 

On the flip side – a new roommate moved in! Maddie left to move to Red Deer to be with Joel and so our new roommate was a French exchange student named Aurore. She arrived and was shocked to see that none of the advertised furniture was in her room except for one limp mattress. Karla and I hadn’t even known she was coming because my landlord sucks, but we helped her get her things together and then ordered her some Skip the Dishes. She was exhausted. And sweet. And was starting a block week MBA class the next day in her second language. I felt for her. 

September 

In September, the inklings of me moving into a different role at the university were planted. My boss called me in to her office one afternoon and shut the door. I was terrified but she said to me, “you’re not in trouble. Actually, just the opposite.” She brought up the recent vacancies in the job I now hold (lol: spoilers) and said, “Just think about it. I just want you to know that there would be no hard feelings if you chose to apply for the role.” I was flattered but also caught off guard. I did not think I was qualified for the job. I had virtually no client experience in either of my practicums. I wasn’t even registered with the ACSW at this point. And I loved my old job and my health promotion coworkers so so much. But also… I was on a twelve month contract. And the person away on leave was definitely coming back. I was “strongly encouraged” to get registered with the college. 

It was honestly such a mess. They gently nudged me towards applying for the role, I was torn. Then they told me it probably wouldn’t work because I wasn’t yet registered with the ACSW, and even if I did register would still only be provisional. I felt an odd sense of relief at that, and had totally psyched myself out of being able to do the job at that point. At the last minute, I was told “just submit an application to keep our options open.” I did so. I got an interview. I interviewed (and it was SO fucking stressful…. Interviewing with people you already work with is 10x worse than interviewing with strangers. I tell ya.). And… I got the job!!! Not only did I get the job, I got a full-time, permanent contract (there were two positions, one full-time and one on a longer contract. I was told from the beginning I would just be applying for the longer contract but I ended up getting the FULL TIME ONE.) It was a HUGE boost to my confidence and again, one of the happiest days of the year.  

September was also just absolutely insane for work. So many orientation presentations, students reaching out wanting to get involved, starting all of the volunteer programs, planning. I was so, so, so SO FREAKING TIRED. But we did lots of fun things. Like we took Aurore and her friend Cecile to Banff, had them try Caesers and Beaver Tails and all kinds of Canadian things. 

October 

On my last day in my old role, my coworkers decorated my desk with a homemade banner and got me desserts. We went to McDonald’s for a feast and sat in the Hub and made jokes. It felt really special and I was really touched. 

On October 7, I started my new-but-also-kind-of-the-same job. I was very nervous and there was a lot to learn right from the get go. And it was so… strange. I HAD MY OWN OFFICE. WITH MY NAME ON THE DOOR AND EVERYTHING. The imposter syndrome hit me like a tsunami. I was extremely stressed, extremely overwhelmed. But my teammates and my boss are great. They understand I’m new not just to the role but to the field. They were (and are) so kind and patient with me and answer all of my questions. 

For Thanksgiving, we went to Banff. We had beers and did a little bowling at High Rollers and then went to the Rimrock for dinner. It was very nice. A few weeks later, I hosted my own friendsgiving dinner and roasted a turkey! And spent all day decorating my parents’ house and the table to look fancy. Everything turned out really really well. I was super stoked. Note to self: throw more dinner parties. 

November: 

What I recall from November is just… stress. The case management / social worker life came at me real hard, real fast. I had to call CFS for the first time. My client did not want me to. It was hard. I did not cope well. My coping strategy was to fuck off to Lake Louise (?) for a weekend in a hostel and drink two bottles of wine with some random sorority girls from Chicago. And tears.

The cooking phase was in full swing at this point. Eggs benedict, soft pretzels, curry, French onion soup, gnocchi, prosciutto apple blue cheese chicken, apple and chai galettes.

The third week of November was also when I decided to start training for the half marathon. I found a plan online and set out to follow it and honestly, it’s been great. I usually don’t stick to exercise routines for longer than a month because I tend to go too hard, too fast and I overdo it and I let one hungover day derail me. But this plan wasn’t focused on distance but rather time spent running. So rather than, “I have to run 5km” today it’s, “I have to run for 45 minutes today.” I thought I’d hate that but I actually really like it. It encourages me to go a little slower and just run out the clock, at whatever pace. And the speed is building gradually, and naturally.

December: 

Aaaand December!

December has been so much marathon training. Today, I am entering my seventh week of consistent running and exercise. That is a badass accomplishment for me. I am very pleased. I even managed to do my runs in Saskatoon on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.

Aurore left back to Paris. She had a birthday party at the house with all of her international friends and we went for sushi and looked at Christmas lights in the rich people neighborhoods before she returned home. She ended up being so wonderful. I will miss her.

I went to Radium for a weekend with Kennedy, Matt, Amanda, and their friend Katie. The takeaways from this experience are: I am excited to get to spend more time with Kennedy and Amanda and to become better friends with them, I think I like smoking weed now, and skiing is the best.

2020: 

To be completely honest, my life is pretty good. I sometimes wish I had somebody to share it with, and that’s something I hope to be a little better about in 2020 is putting myself out there in more of a meaningful way. 

I also am super excited to continue down this path with my career and to develop personally and professionally as a social worker. There is truly so much to learn and I’m really motivated and excited right now to do well at this which is an awesome feeling. I do need to work on not taking my work home with me so much, about separating the social work life from the personal life. Setting boundaries and all that good stuff. 

I’m hopefully going to run my first half marathon in 2020. May 31. The countdown is on. Excited to cross that item off the bucket list and experience the rush of crossing the finish line! That endorphin high is going to be insane. 

And I want to keep developing my cooking skills. Though they may be small, they are mighty. I want to try and learn how to make fresh pasta dough. LOL. Simple goals. 

Anyways... thank you 2019 for all you have brought me and taught me. I am grateful for the life I get to the live and the experiences I get to have. And I’m super stoked to see where 2020 takes me. 

<3 

#megbox #personal #year in review #2019

[you-and-i-for-forever]

10 Things I Hate About You AU Chapter 8

Fandom: Be More Chill, Dear Evan Hansen

Ships: Boyf riends, treebros, richjake, Zolana, Pinkberry

Word count: 1.8k

Feel free the read this on my ao3 instead! 

Jeremy was flipping through his French homework on his bed when he heard the front door open and close. He threw his book down onto the bed and ran to his door to find Evan coming up the stairs.

“Hey,” Jeremy said

Evan looked up at him and gave him a small smile, “Hi.”

Jeremy gave him a quick once over. Evan didn’t look any worse than last night except for-

“What happened to your cast?” Jeremy asked once Evan had reached the top of the stairs. Evan’s cast was gone, replaced with a heavy wrapping of ace bandages.

“It uh- it melted a lot last night so I went to the hospital this morning and had it taken off. The doctor said that it was basically healed so he just gave me this.”

“What even happened to you last night?” Jeremy asked.

Evan picked at his cast as he filled Jeremy in on what had happened once they had arrived at the party and Jeremy went off to find Jake.

“…and then after the hospital, Connor dropped me back off here,” Evan finished, picking at his bandage.

Jeremy was leaning against his doorframe, arms crossed, eyes squinting by the time Evan finished his story.

“What the hell are you doing with Connor Murphy?” Jeremy asked

“What?” Evan asked, looking caught off guard.

“What are you even doing with him? He’s the school nut job, why are you hanging around him?”

Evan blinked rapidly, “He…he’s my friend.”

“It’s bad for your image” Jeremy pursed his lips and shrugged, “There are rumors about the two of you around school. I didn’t think they were true but when he showed up last night and you just went with it?”

Evan stared at him, eyes large and shiny, face flushed, “I, um, he’s-he’s really nice. He was, uh, the one who convinced me to go to, to go to the party.”

“Evan, you can’t hang out with him. People are going to start thinking you’re a freak too.”

Evan was quiet for a long moment.

“Don’t they already, don’t they already think that? Plus, Connor saved my-my life.”

Jeremy opened his mouth to say something else, but Evan cut him off.

“Why do you even…care? I’m surprised that you even-even noticed what I’ve been up to with all the time you’re spending with-with Jake.”

Jeremy’s face turned red, “We’re dating! We’re supposed to hang out!”

“Well, I’d rather hang out with the school freak then…someone-someone who abandons their friends for some popular jock. You’re becoming a real jerk, Jeremy!”

Evan watched as Jeremy’s hands and teeth clenched.

“You know what? I’m so sick of having to deal with this!” Jeremy yelled, stomping back into his room.

He turned around, glaring at Evan, “I wish our parents had never met so I didn’t have a loser for a brother!”

The door slammed and Evan’s eyes blurred. A mix of sad and angry tears almost fell but Evan rubbed them away.

He walked to his own room and laid down, mentally exhausted from all that had happened in the last 15 hours.

-

Evan,

Are you still doing ok?

 Dear Connor,

I’m still a little freaked out, but other than that I’m ok. What about you?

Evan

 I’m fine, I’m just glad you’re ok. Can we meet up tomorrow or something?

 Dear Connor,

I can’t. My mom doesn’t want me going anywhere for the rest of the weekend.

Evan

 Ok. I wanted to ask you in person, but do you want to go to the school dance that’s coming up? I don’t really want to go but I heard someone mention it at the thing last night so I thought I’d ask.

 Dear Connor,

I don’t have a tie to wear so I can’t go.

Evan

 Just think about it? I promise it can’t be any worse then what happened last night.

 Dear Connor,

I will.

Evan

-

Michael was reorganizing his collection of Magic the Gathering cards the day after the house party. He was too worked up to do anything productive, like gaming. Plus, there was no one to play with.

Michael frowned at the thought of who he should be playing video games with. He sighed and flopped over the beanbag chair next to him. He glanced over at the red one next to him. That was Jeremy’s spot.

Whenever Jared was over, Michael always insisted on dragging his bed, a stack of mattresses, in front of the tv so they could sit on that instead.

The beanbags were Michael and Jeremy’s.

Michael covered his face with his hands right before the doorbell rang. He pulled himself up and climbed the stairs. When he opened the door, he expected the pizza delivery person to be on the other side, but to his shock it was Jeremy.

“Hey…” Jeremy said, looking a little nervous.

The surprise of seeing Jeremy again almost caused Michael to pull him into a hug, but he remained where he was.

“What?” Michael asked

“I just wanted to talk.”

Michael remained silent.

“About what? How you called me a loser or how you left me for dead?”

“Michael, please it’s not like that-” Jeremy started but Michael quickly cut him off.

Of course, Michael still wanted Jeremy, but he was so hurt he couldn’t stop himself from speaking brutally honest.

“Not like that? Then what was it like, Jeremy? You're finally realizing that you can do better than me? That I’m nothing to you? That you’re so much better than me? That I really am a fucking loser? How can one anyone, let alone Jack, change you so much?”

Jeremy looked down at the ground in shame. Michael had to fight the urge to comfort him.

“I just want people to like me. To think I’m cool.” Jeremy said in a small voice.

“Newsflash asshole; I already liked you and thought you were cool before you frenched Jake!”

“Yeah?! Well, you and Jared-”

“What about me and Jared? At least I didn’t leave him to die in that fire!” Michael shouted before slamming the door close in Jeremy’s face.

Michael stomped his way back down to his room and yelled into a pillow.

He didn’t even get back up when the pizza boy arrived.

-

“No.  None of that stuff is true.” Connor said with a grin.

Connor had called Evan the Friday after the house party. They still emailed most of the time, but Connor was allowed to use the house phone at times. He and Connor went out for ice cream and decided to go back to Evan’s house since there was no one home.

As they pulled up, Evan has started asking Connor about the rumors that followed him and Connor asked him questions back.

“State trooper?” Evan asked

“Fake. Uh, did you really hide in a janitor closet all day?” Connor asked.

“Not-not exactly.” Evan said with a blush “The duck?”

“He’s safe. Throwing up on Mr. Munsin while trying to give a speech?” Connor asked

Evan groaned, “Fact. I hid in the bathroom-in the bathroom until school ended then dropped, uuuum, his class the next day.”

“Fair enough.” Connor laughed and followed Evan inside after he had unlocked the front door.

“The hair?” Evan asked with a smile.

“My hair?” Connor asked, sounding surprised.

“Someone said that it’s just a-a wig you made from the hair of your…murder victims.” Evan laughed and led Connor up the stairs.

“Yeah well no,” Connor said with a smile.

“Where, um, were you last year? I know the porn career's a lie.” Evan said

“Do you?” Connor asked with a quirked eyebrow

They both paused for a moment then shared a laugh.

Evan opened the door to his room and they sat down together on his bed. They were both still grinning from the ridiculousness of the rumors and gossip people had spread about them.

“Will you…tell me something true?” Evan said.

“Something true?” Connor parroted, then scrunched up his eyebrows in what looked like deep contemplation.

“I hate peas.” He offered.

“No. Something real. Something no one else…no one else knows.” Evan said.

“To be fair, no one else probably knows that,” Connor said.

“Come on. Really though.” Evan said and nudged Connor’s shoulder with his.

Connor readjusted on the bed so he was facing Evan and rubbed his neck, looking awkward.

“Okay, so when I was 12, or something, my mom took me shopping for a really nice suit. You know, something I was just gonna grow out of in a year but she said that everyone was gonna start having Bar Mitzvahs and parties and I should have something nice to wear to all of them. I didn’t…end up getting invited to anything so it just sat in my closet forever.” Connor said

Evan felt terrible, “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you talk about that.”

Connor shrugged and reached into his hoodie pocket.

“Actually, I went looking for it the other day cuz um -”

Connor pulled a blue folded up square and held it out to Evan. Evan took it and unfolded it. It was a tie.

“When we talked about the dance the other day you said you didn’t have a tie and this is the only one I have and I thought it’d be cool if you wore it and it’s never been used before and it’s blue and you like blue you know?” Connor rambled

No one had ever given him something like this before or told them something so personal. It must have been embarrassing to bring up something like that from the past but Connor had done it because Evan had asked. Connor had hung onto the tie all these years, it probably still hurt to think about not getting invited to any parties but he still dug it up to let Evan use it.

Evan felt his heart start to beat fast and he started to sweat.

“I mean I’m not gonna wear it so only if you want to you can and -” Connor was still talking.

Evan leaned forward and kissed him. Connor jerked back and Evan’s face heated up and his body froze.

Oh god, what had he done? He hadn’t even though that through a little bit. He had just thought it would be nice to do then he did it. What if Connor got up and left? What if he never wanted to talk to Evan again?

Evan’s mind was going a mile a minute, but he tried his best to concentrate on Connor.

Connor looked slightly scared for some reason, then just nervous, then something that looked like guilt, before he met Evan’s eyes. They stared, wide-eyed for a few heartbeats then Connor lurched forward, and kissed Evan. Evan threw his arms around Connor’s neck and kissed him desperately. Connor snaked his arms around Evan’s middle and clung to him. Evan made a soft noise into Connor’s mouth and was kissed harder.

They kissed and kissed and kissed and finally Evan pulled back a little. His heart was wildly pounding in his chest. He rested his forehead on Connor’s and took in shaky breaths. They just sat there holding each other after that. Their chests were pressed together, and Evan could feel Connor’s heart beating just as fast as his.

#be more chill #dear evan hansen #boyf riends #treebros #richjake #pinkberry #zolana #galaxy gals #deh #bmc #AU fanfiction #fanfic

[notailtheories]

NotailsAndMore Tweet Compilation 2

Last Compilation | Next Compilation

This section will contain the tweets that I consider make up Act 2. Because they are not actually from O-1, you could also consider them an intermission... But they still hold important information either way. OwO

This batch of tweets began a little over an hour after the last round stopped... Which isn’t a very long pause. You can most easily tell the difference because this person’s face is “TvT” rather than “=)”, if you’re looking to track these from the Twitter itself... OwO

98 |

I passed out and I wake up to me being logged into this creepy ass notail fact account. Fuck off who did this? TvT

Reply to 8, & 99 |

hate to be a stickler for details but you didn't say a fact just a question tho i *would* like to know some notail facts about my dark past :D

Holy fuck. Look if you know me O-2 sir I just want you to know I did not make this account or tweeped at you, I just woke up to this. Who tweeps shit like this at an O-class? TvT

100, reply, & 102, reply, 108, reply, & 112 |

X-7364 if this was you and some of your shitty experiments I WILL strangle all of your dirty rats. These O classes could order my death for no reason. You even used my actual email to do this. They could figure out who I am! TvT

Your buddy even said "fuck you" to me. Now that guy's got some real claws. >:3 

I am so sorry O-6 sir. I had nothing to do with this but I will still apologize. Please forgive me, I'm ok if you don't forgive my friend and kill him though. TvT

Grovelling ain't pretty, you know. But hey, you ain't done anything, right? Maybe I'll let you go. >:3

You would be most kind if you let me go for words that were not my own. Thank you. TvT

I'll think about it. >:3

Thank you. That is all I ask, and all I am allowed to ask. TvT

Reply to 98, 101, reply, 109, reply, 113, reply, 114, reply, & 115, reply, 118, reply, 119, reply, 120, reply, 122, reply, 124, reply, 125, reply, & 126 |

lol u rly had me worried there sweetie :3 im still curious abt this whole thing if u want 2 help me find out abt it :3

I didn't write any of this! This has to be an X class prank. "Ha Ha, make your friend pass out, make an account with their email and possibly kill them by telling O-6 that you love them. So funny!" TvT

lmao u creeped out like every single o class tho i think thats kinda an achievement u should be proud of urself :3 whoever made this account was saying some really spooky stuff tho do u think it was just creepypasta or what :3

Please don't say I did it. I had nothing to do with this. I wouldn't contact the O classes, much less say such things to them, for they are most favorable to my survival. It was just some shitty prank. Some of the reactions are, strange, but that is no matter to me. TvT

watching u suck up 2 them is rly funny lol but kk babe i guess ill drop it :3 smh i thought this was something cool :3

I rather not relate "something cool" with angering the O classes but I understand. TvT

suckuuuuuuuup :3

I rather live a suck up than die for something I didn't do. TvT

how abt i give u smth else 2 suck on hot stuff :3

Look I don't even have a tweeper and I'm about to abandon this account and never touch it again. So my response to that is "um bye." TvT

i hate 2 see u leave but i love 2 watch u go :3

That's extremely holy and not ok. TvT

i hope ur not as disappointing in bed as ur friends failed arg was on tweeper :3

How could a notail raise so high to grace? TvT

u sure raise some things of mine baby :3

I would block you but I'm not going to be related to this account anymore, and if my friend logs back in I'm ok with him getting fucked over by your words. TvT

id prefer 4 u 2 to get fucked by me :3

Courtship between notails is not ok, but I suppose you know that. Just understand that "no." TvT

lol our society sux anyway i dont think its possible to pollute our gene pool more than its already fucked up babe :3

Ok well society gives me a roof over my head, food, and the time I got bit by a mallon I was experimenting on society fixed my arm before it rotted away. So we'll have to agree to disagree. TvT

lmao :3 the more u talk the more stupid and boring u seem :3

Says the notail who keeps going after clearly making me uncomfortable. But "sigh" I guess that's most people. TvT

ppl are funniest when theyre uncomfortable :3

Typical notail. You fit in just nicely. TvT

Original, 103, reply, & 105 |

@NotailsAndMore is it time for my 13 other facts?

Look it up yourself? Go read the Cosmosdex or something. I may be a K class but I'm not some fact machine. TvT

The what

Can you not look up basic and common terms? Geez look. http://cosmosdex.com/cosmosdex/ TvT

104, reply, & 107 |

X-7364 just walked in with coffee and called me a sleepy head. Said I passed out after intensely working on typing. Said I wouldn't respond to me when he had a question. He's lying, he knows he went overboard this time. TvT

You may want to improve your security. This could have ended very badly for you. :V

I will do what you recommended O-7 sir as you are most wise as all O classes are. I do have good security, I must have passed out so fast my computer didn't lock so my roommate and coworker decided to fuck with me. TvT

106, reply, 111, reply, & 117 |

I just checked the profile page to see if I could find some evidence of who did this. "i'm not sorry i told the truth when you didn't. no one deserves lies." The hell. If this is over lying about who ate the last pizza I'm going to be pissed. TvT

This went better for you than it could have mate, but I would recommend keeping closer guard over your belongings. Some of the other O-classes seem a bit agitated right now. uvu

Fully understood O-5, who kicks clockworks across the skies. I'll attempt to not pass out at my computer with my roommate around. TvT

The epithets aren't necessary mate. But maybe give your roommate a kick so they don't pull this again for good measure. uvu

I will make sure to give him a kick no matter how much he says he had nothing to do with this. Thank you for the advice O class. TvT

Original, & 110 |

@NotailsAndMore Once you figure out who did this, send me their ID number. Immediately. unu

I....think it's my roommate X-7364, but he's swearing the whole time this was going on I was working and refused to respond. I don't believe him but he sounds so serious about this. TvT

Reply to other party, & 116 |

Is there any way I can convince it to become a solid Yes? c:<

(Note: I won’t record this whole exchange because I don’t think it’s relevant... The context is O-8 is looking for who made this account. That’s all. OwO)

I know this is rude of me, and feel free to confirm this, but will you spare my roommate? He seems so honest in his pleads that he didn't do it.... He's the only one who could have done it, so it's him, but it seems like he regrets it deeply now. TvT

Original, 121, reply, 123, reply, & 127 |

I really am impressed by how many people they managed to unsettle in, what, an hour? uvu

Honestly as an X class he is naturally unsettling but I've never seen him act this badly. I wonder if I really ticked him off with the pizza thing. TvT

I've dealt with much worse than some X class...if it was just that then whatever...what does your friend know....OwO

I wish he would just admit it already. He said a few really odd things on this account and I have no idea where he's getting it from. Just. Fucking admit it X! Why is he being so rude to O classes you guys could KILL or BANISH us. TvT

It feels like something stranger is going on...OwO

It's just a stupid prank. A stupid prank that's now getting us basically evicted cause we can't stay here anymore. Stupid, stupid, prank. TvT

128, & 129 |

Ok this account is done. My roommate likely made this account as a laugh and somehow got the attention of the O classes. I'm sorry this happened even though I had nothing to do with it. I wish I could say my friend was sorry too but he's pissed off. TvT

Logging out, and never logging back in again. Yet again. Sorry for all the problems this account caused. Just unfollow this account. Bye. TvT

[ THIS ACCOUNT IS DEAD | Shitty prank by shitty roommate/friend who refuses to admit it | Will never be logging in ever again ]

Last Compilation | Next Compilation

#fortuna #cosmosdex #category: references #category: o1 #category: notailsandmore #category: twitter #mod OwO

[brolikeidkman]

An ex friend of mine tried to reach out to me and this will be a post about why I will not speak to her (TRIGGER WARNING:SELF HARM, REFERENCES TO RAPE CULTURE, GENERAL INSURGENT HOMOPHOBIA)

So she reached out to me and I have severe reasons why I completely cut her out of my life. The stories will be numbered. the first one is the longest the rest are pretty short.

#1. The Birthday party.

First, she was always giving off a bad vibe. Not just being a generally grumpy person because I can( and have) dealt with that kind of thing before. She had a ton of drama that came with her because, to be honest, she is a damaged person (None of which was her fault or was a problem for the most part).

The problems that came with her problems was that she created them. Her mental issues caused her to act out in a desperate plea for attention. Now, im a very caring person and I can say that with pride because I have worked hard to be one and I don’t say it lightly. Despite how caring I am I can no longer bring myself to help her because of the way she treated the people around her and me.

First, im going to tell you about my thirteenth birthday party. This is kind of in the middle of all the stuff she did but ill try and keeps all the other events in order so you can see the build up.

So the birthday party was big for me as it was a sleepover and the first birthday party I was having with friends since the first grade. Now as I said, this was a sleepover, so I told all six of my friends that my house didn't have enough room for no one to sleep on the floor and if need be I would sleep in my bed or two people could sleep in my bed and we all discussed how the sleeping arrangements and we figured out where and how everyone would be sleeping. She had volunteered to sleep on the floor. When she got to my house she showed up with no sleep clothes, no blanket, and no pillows. So a bad start. Now I wasn’t going to get upset about it because it wasn't a big deal, but the problems didn't stop there. One of my friends I invited has a very severe allergy to milk so we ordered her her own pizza without cheese. So why did this have anything to do with ex-friend? Because she would not stop commenting on how much of a burden it was. She said we should have just ordered it half cheese and half no cheese(despite the fact that this could have hospitalized my friend) or how she should have brought her own food. (who the fuck does that.)

Then came the presents.

Two of my friends didn't get me a gift because I made it very clear if you don't know what to get me or don't think you can you don't have to get me a gift (the actual wording was “company preferred than presents”). She, however, thought present should be mandatory. My dairy allergic friend got me a stuffed animal that I still have to this day, my ex-friend that has an allergy to sawdust (which comes in later) got me a ten dollar target gift card. My artist friend gave me a drawing (which I think I still have somewhere). Now, my friend that has an allergy to sawdust (which comes in later), She got me this HUGE multicolored crayon. WHICH I LOVED! I had a really close friend in my childhood who used to make them and it was such a fond memory. this friend actually felt really bad about the gift because she thought I wouldn't like it. As I was about to tell her about just why it was so awesome the ex-friend interrupted and said that she could have given me the receipt. Which she had. The ex-friend made comments to the two that didn't bring presents that hey should have. One of them was a friend of mine for five years before (it would have been longer but I had only known her since the moment I moved in you know.) Not only had this friend already gotten me a present  she was also waiting for my actual birthday to give me another present (my birthday is in the summer so it was easier to have a birthday party a month early so I could keep contact for plans inside school) so I was pretty mad but I didn't say anything to the ex-friend because I knew she would start a fight. My old friend is very understanding about this when I tell her this.

The cake went well and there wasn't a problem because we had gotten my dairy allergic friend sherbert ( think this what its called its basically shaved ice sold like ice cream).

Then we had downtime. We played Guitar hero, played Jenga and some suggested we go outside before my art friend had to leave because she couldn't spend the night. Which was good except for two of them. The first was you-know-who and the other was my friend who is allergic to sawdust. She asked if we had done any work on our house and I said no, but that our neighbors had recently sawed down a tree.

I pointed out where it was to her and it isn't close to my house it's on the opposite side of their yard so she said it was okay and I told her to let me know if something was wrong. Now my ex-friend. Not to step on any toes here but I don't believe Ouija boards work. That being said, if someone else believes that they do work im not going to tell them otherwise. She believed they worked but she's an idiot. She told me she couldn't go outside because demons will kill her because she left a bord without saying goodbye and she was alone.(aren't those basic rules?) So we said she didn't have to go outside (which honestly was rude but we needed a break from her at this point). And then she went outside. And pretending she was possessed by demons. Which you know isn't that bad but then she had fits of crying and screaming. And then she did something that is the main reason I bringing this story up. She went to my neighbors' yard and grabbed a handful of the sawdust. AND STARTED CHASING MY FRIEND WITH IT. My friends' sawdust allergy as far from mild she would break out in hives and she had asthma. She also can’t run well because one of her legs is significantly shorter than the other. My ex-friend knew all of these things. So I tackled her. Which went better than I thought it would because she blamed it on the demons so I sent her inside to wash her hands and told my mom to make sure she did and to let me know when she did so we could go back in. My artist friends mom picked her up and then we watched a few movies, played some Minecraft and more guitar hero. Ex-friends mom picked her up at four am.

#2. You cant be that because I said so ... (warning: insurgent homophobia)

This was the year gay marriage was passed. When my friend told me about it it was a slap in the face because I hadn't known being gay was even an option. I welcomed it with warm arms and I got to know a lot of my friends closer through it and I learned a ton from them and learned a lot about my parents' views (which aren't good). Now my ex-friend (let's just call her X) decided that she wanted to explore her sexuality more and identified, in this order, as: Lesbian, genderfluid, bisexual, lesbian, trans, gay, genderfluid, no longer trans, lesbian, pansexual, bisexual. 

All of this was fine with me, and though I thought it was odd she kept jumping labels so much and so rapidly I was still there for her because I knew sexuality is a hard thing to pin down. 

During this time, however, she did many things I will never tolerate:

X told one of my friends he could not be gay because she wanted to have sexual relations with him.

Said that a questioning genderfluid couldn't be genderfluid because he didn’t feel it the same way she does. (He figured out he just really loves drag and now identifies with his birth gender wholely as well as being bisexual)

X Said that a girl was ugly because she refused to send naked photos

Stated genderfluid people don't exist (only after she decided she wasn't)

Called the cops on my friends' mom saying she was a heroin addict.

X Told a teacher she would call the cops and tell them he asked for photos if he didn't put in the grade for an assignment she didn't do (I hated that teacher but this was days after X asked the girl for photos so I talked to the guidance counselor who got the cops involved and the teacher let them look into his messages and emails and they couldn't find a trace of interaction with her besides asking her to turn in a big assignment. I found out what happened a year later after the guidance counselor retired when she thanked me for stopping a potential problem and for never causing one. I thanked her for not involving me as a witness for the police.)

X said multiple times that she willingly had sex with an older male (which worried us to all hell and we told the new guidance counselor this many times. He was later fired without a public reason)

Then X decided that she would be the one to pick which sexuality suited me best.

I don't think there is anything wrong with helping someone find an identity that suits them but not when it's unwanted and isn't helping them work it out themselves by picking the actual label themselves. She was just labeling me as she thought I should be.

She decided that I am asexual. This was very offensive to me NOT because I think badly of ANY sexuality but because:

A: I am not asexual

B: I did not ask her for advice she just came up to me and said it.

C: Said she knew an asexual when she saw one.

D: Continued to tell people I was.

I now identify as Polyamorous Aromantic.

I also was told by a friend that X was telling people that I had sex with X and that she “helped me figure out I am asexual because I didn't like it”, I could never confirm this was spread by her, but Its highly possible as she had said something similar to me about another girl. (I am to this day a virgin btw)

She told multiple people they had been faking their sexualities to go with a new trend.

#3: The Biggest reason. (WARNING: Non-graphic self-harm main topic)

After all that happened in #2 I had stopped being friends with X but this is why I completely cut her out of my life before she got expelled.

During this time I had severe depression and my family couldn't afford to get me help. I had one friend that I was really close to and he had severe mental issues including depression, bipolar disorder and he also was being physically abused by his grandfather and was mentally abused by his mom which he hid from his dad who he only saw every other weekend.

Unfortunately, he was also a cutter. He has scars now on his arms and legs and he confessed to me that he had tried to kill himself on a few occasions. He was my closest friend and he is much better nowadays. This is the questioning genderfluid friend I talked about in #2 that X said was wrong. 

Honestly, I could have gotten over every other reason that I will not talk to her except this one.

Heres what happened.

She drew cut marks on her arms and legs and said: “Hey look I’m (Cutter Friend)!”

There is a big difference between kids being mean and people who you think are your friends calling you out.

After that happened most of my friends stopped talking to her completely and if she sat at our table we would leave.

She decided she should start to actually cut herself and blame us and say we told her to do so.

Then one day she tripped me in the hall. (To be honest, I don't know why she tripped me to this day) She started doing things like this all the time she told the counselor I was cutting myself and smoking cigarettes (which led to my stuff getting searched and her getting detention when they asked me why she would say that I had them).

When she relised she couldnt target me without getting in trouble she decided to start targeting my friend.

By this time he was doing so much better. His grandfaather had died, he told his dad about his mom, and he had mostly stopped cutting unless something triggered it.

Triggered like when someone asked about it. Or when someone called him a slur.

So X decided to go up to him, grab his wrists, push up his sleeves, rake her acrilic nails down his scars and ask “What are the best brand of razors to use? Mine never cut deep enough. Should we swallow some?”

He tried to kill himself when he got home. He had to be rescued by his dad and emts after he overdosed and tried to drown himself in his bathtub. He he kept his clothes on so his dad didn’t have to see him dead and naked. He was in the hospital for a week. That was when I started cutting. 

Its my worst memory.

She eventually was expelled after she threatened multiple teachers.

When we got to Highschool she got expelled after two months for drug use, dealing, bringing alcholol into the building and eventually threatening  a shooting.

She now is saying shes coming back to my school and I refuse to respond.

#pride #gay #gender #trans #homophobia #self harm #cutters #cutting #self care #ex friends #polyamourous #asexual #aro #aroace #ace #aromantic #triger warning #genderfluid #lables #labling #suicdal #worst girl in the world #love #im sorry #it was time #i needed to get this out #BI #lesbian #biseuxal #demisexual

[artificialqueens]

The Bullshit of Whiplash. (Bitney) - Zeezee.

Summary: Shane receives a drunken phone call from Roy and hears more than he ever expected. There’s no way he can pretend with his “friend” that he didn’t hear a private conversation, and so, with anxiety but a strange sense of hope, he confronts him. What comes is explosive and more than either of them anticipated. Sometimes people are complicated.

A/N: Based on a really old request - “A Bitney fiction/one shot where they drive for hours and it’s a warm night and they fall asleep on the ground watching the stars while talking about their life. (Even more bonus points if it’s after an argument that they fix)” Okay so I know it’s been months since this was requested , and I did start it when the person requested it but life got in the way, and for some reason I picked it up again recently and didn’t want to stop. It went somewhere I didn’t expect, but I hope y'all enjoy!! - Zeezee <333

(Also shout out to the wonderful Veronicasanders for being my first beta! Supportive through and through, especially when it comes down to the heated discussion that America doesn’t have burger vans and I have to remember middle aged Drag Queens don’t eat the same food this British 20 something graduate does. Thank you, V! My favourite bitney bitch.)

Words: 15252. (Whoops, my hand slipped.)

Shane had had a particularly stressful few days, but not begrudgingly. He’d been travelling all over L.A. doing gigs, filming videos, and recording new music. He couldn’t recall when the last time he’s sat down to relax was. Had it really been weeks since he’s kicked back with a glass of wine and one of his trash television shows? Was it before or after the phone conversation with his mother about the vegan recipe he emailed her? It must have been around the time he first started booking studio time after writing lyrics to a new song…

Whenever it was, it was overdue!

There wasn’t anything in the world that meant more to Shane than his work, and he would never trade his job for all the leisure and money in the world. However, to actually lay back on his couch, swirling a glass of wine in one hand and the other holding the back of his head…it was heavenly.

Shane never imagined he’d ever be this happy when he was a kid picturing his adult life - of course he never exactly envisioned himself dressed as a woman, performing in sweaty bars with drinks being spilled down his sequin dresses. He knew the limelight was his calling, the stage was his fate, but under a stage name wearing lace fronts was a delightful surprise. He use to worry nothing would ever come of his life, and those years stuck in limbo, hopping between retail jobs, was horrifying for someone as ambitious as he was.

All the worry was in the past now. Shane was wonderfully content. Lavish living, grand friendships, regular work and not a grey cloud had been seen in weeks, what more could he ask for?

He decided to spend his Friday night in the blissful company of a sweet vanilla candle, the soft tones of John Mayer’s acoustic set, and his tattered copy of The Great Gatsby. He hadn’t read the novel since he was 17 years old and studying it in school, and there was a constant yapping stuck at the back of his head to get around to rereading it. Why not finally give in after so long now he has the free time- there wasn’t anything else he wished to do right now.

At first it’s a little odd to be alone and free of actives. His glass of wine is sour in the right way, making his mind swim after a few sips, and that takes the edge of the abnormality of being able to do whatever he wants. Soon he’s wrapped up in the elegant language of his book, and the stress bruised under his skin begins to soothe and return to his normal beige.

About an hour later his phone starts to ring. Without any rush, he picks up the mobile and looks at the caller ID. It’s a picture of Roy from the last Christmas party, wearing a crudely knitted Rudolph jumper, eyes half open as he pretended to make out with a broom. Shane hadn’t seen Roy in months, and he truly misses his company. Some of his best memories came from the nights out he had with Roy - one of his all time favourites was when he, Roy and Danny were all together in Boston and got completely wasted in an alley bar. Afterwards they stumbled to the closest public park and lay on the grass with greasy slices of pizza in tissue, and they stayed there for hours talking about nothing in particular. Danny threw his crusts in the air and Roy cursed him out when it landed on his head. Shane gave the bench near by a lapdance while Roy and Danny sang ‘Baby Got Back’ out of tune. All of them were brought back to their younger days when getting drunk was the most exciting part of their plans.

“You know, I don’t say this often, but I love you. My little angel.” Roy teasingly drawled out, pinching Shane’s cheek. Danny had fallen asleep while wrapped up in Roy’s jumper, cheese and sauce smeared around his mouth as he snored. Shane and Roy sat watching the stars, knees touching and boundaries thrown out the window. They were usually mocking with their affection toward one another, but when Roy got drunk he was suddenly overwhelmed with love and admiration, and it was sweet to receive.

“You’re really laying it on thick tonight, pussyface.”

“I’ll show you thick.” Roy tried to say seductively, but burst out cackling, falling on his back holding his stomach as the laughter racked through him. Shane shook his head, watching his friend find himself so amusing.

“Come on, we better wake sleeping beauty and get ourselves back to the hotel.” He pushed himself up and reached his arm out for Roy. The older man took it with a grateful smile, but to his surprise tugged Shane down to land on top of him. He began cackling again, holding Shane close, and then Shane found the amusement of the situation and laughed along with him. He may have stayed on top of Roy for longer than either expected, but his warmth was endearing and comfortable; he wanted to stay in that moment forever.

“You know, I’ve never really noticed but…you have really nice eyes.” Roy complemented, stroking Shane’s back.

“Oh. Wow, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.  

Shane smiles to himself as he recalls the memory, seeing Roy’s picture on his phone is like a blessing in disguise. He misses him terribly, truthfully, and with a playful smirk, Shane answers the phone.

“Hello?”

“Haaaaaaaaay, cumbiscuit! My favourite asshole in the whole world!”

The sounds over the phone pound with bass, making Shane wince at first, accompanied by galvanised screams and familiar taunting voices around Roy’s. Shane could tell instantly by the way his friend’s tone droned out, flatter in pitch and more nasally than usual, that he was drunk. Approximately 3 fireballs and two double vodkas in drunk.

Shane laughs. “You having a good time, pussyface?”

“You bet your sweet ass! Your horny self would be creaming all over the place if you were here! There was just a guy on stage with sleeve tattoos and calve muscles bigger than your head. Very your type.” The sound of his eyebrows bouncing could practically be heard in the teasing allure of his tone.

Shane frowns, confused. “Where exactly are you?”

“We’re in Montreal, in a-”

“In a strip club, bitch! The guys here are so hot! Twink heaven for sure, even the overgrown ones like yourself.”

Shane hears clashing as Roy snatches his phone back from Detox, shouting at him in a quick rage before composing himself as he returns to the phone. “Sorry about that. Everyone’s drunk.”

“Including you?”

“Obviously, why the fuck would I stay sober?”

“Maybe because getting blackout drunk isn’t cool or exciting after the age of 25.”

“Fuck you.”

Shane laughs, picking up his wine glass and leaning against the wall nearest. Hearing Roy’s voice did something to him he couldn’t completely explain - a small twinge of melancholy, caught up in everything else that’s so much heavier. He doesn’t have time to acknowledge the feeling because he’s always busy, there’s no time to evaluate something as minuscule as what it is he feels for his best friend. It’s probably just the fact he misses him so much. Roy always knows exactly what to say when Shane was most down, and he always knows how to make Shane laugh. Roy just knows instinctively how to make Shane feel good with the simplest gestures.

Shane takes a sip of his wine and hums. “So, a strip club aye? You hoping to get lucky? Let me guess.” He smirks, pointing a finger forward as if Roy can see him. “Shorter than you so you don’t feel inadequate, muscled arms, short blonde hair, and a great rear end? No- a perfect rear end. That’s the Roy Haylock check list, right?” Shane snickers smugly. “You’re too predictable.”

“Again, fuck you! I am not predictable, and that is not my type!”

“Yes it is.”

“No it’s not!”

“Yes it is.”

“No it fucking isn’t!” Roy laughs. The music was still heavy in the background, and Shane could hear the familiar voices around the table teasing Roy for being on the phone. It was a little peculiar that he would call Shane in the middle of a night out. “Hold up, I just want to get somewhere quieter, stay there!”

Shane listens to the shuffling static on the other end and the few times Roy shouts “excuse me!” as he marched through the presumably busy room. Soon it’s quiet and all he hears is Roy breathing.

“You good?”

“Yeah.” Roy says, laughing under his breath before grunting. “I’m so drunk- shit. You don’t feel it till you’re outside.”

Shane has always been amused by drunk Roy - he’s a lot more open and free spirited. He walks across his living room into his kitchen, putting the wine glass on the counter and leaning on the surface to watch out his window. “You’re such a mess.”

“Neither of us are clean queens, bitch. I know what you’re like drunk so this is strictly a judgement free zone, got it?” Roy warns, going on before Shane could interject. “When was the last time I saw you? It’s been way too long, right? So fucking long. Was…was it when we went to the alley bar in L.A with Darienne? And oh my God, he took home those two 20 something year olds! HA! He left us, a couple of losers to lick our wounds. What an asshole. But, that was it, yeah? That was when I last saw you?”

Shane smiles. “Yeah. Well I saw you the next morning when you woke up hungover and almost naked in my bed- if you want to get technical.”

There’s a pause, then a cough. “Mmm. But I can’t believe it’s been such a long time. I miss you, my little angel. Feels like I’ve lost an arm being away from you this long.”

Shane can’t help the eruption of a laugh that let loose. “Okay, I’m cutting you off- you’re way too drunk for your own good!”

But his laughter doesn’t interrupt Roy’s train of thought. “You’re such a great guy, Shane. As much as you can be a cunt, you’re so good deep down- real good. I need to see you soon, I need to laugh with you.” He chuckles - Shane swears he can hear Roy falling against a wall or something. “You know Valentina stole my fucking white liner! I bet- she fucking wore a lot of white at our gig last night and magically mine has disappeared. Or, maybe I lost it, I don’t know. Detox has been all over it, saying she’s trying to steal my look, trying to take my gigs. Alyssa too, prancing about the place, pretending to stone everything…” there’s a long exhale of breath. “I miss you. You’d love it here, it’s a great fucking laugh.“

Shane’s stomach curls in on itself ever so slightly to make him groan, quiet enough Roy didn’t hear. “When you back in L.A? We’ll do something. There’s a new vegan dessert place that just opened up a few streets down from my place.”

There’s a mess of static movement, then the familiar bass pounding through the background of Roy’s humming. “Two weeks- no, less than two weeks and I’m back. Clear your schedule, we’ll do a whole shebang! Watch some crappy movies, go to this vegan place you’ll probably beg me to try out, it’ll be great!” He hears scraping against wood and more voices cheering. “Listen, I’ll let you go but text me tomorrow morning. Remind me, and we’ll plan it!”

Shane smiles. “Sure. Have a good night, Roy.” He says, picking up his wine glass again.

“I’ll think of you as I’m shoving dollars down a strippers pants.” He laughs and sets the phone down.

Shane was about to hang up and get back to his evening read when he heard muffled laughter still coming from the speaker, and then a faint high pitched voice ringing through the assortments of sounds. Shane held the phone back up to his ear, realising his friend hadn’t hung up. He laughs, ready to hit end when he heard the indisputable voice of Detox:

“You’re a sucker for that guy, I swear.”

And as quick as a flash, he was hooked on the conversation, needing to assure whether “that guy” was himself or the possibility it was was a young, naive stripper that had captured Roy’s attention solely. Either was as unlikely to be the right answer.

“What the fuck you talking about?” He hears Roy slur, not quite angry but not quite amused.

“You, and those big heart eyes you have whenever you talk to Courtney. Are you ever going to admit it?”

Shane’s heart was suddenly in his throat, his eyes wide. He put his wine glass back down and listens closely, wondering if he’d stumbled into a lucid dream.

“Admit what? There’s nothing to admit to.” Roy laughs- that boisterous, overly masculine laugh that differs from the dolphin like sound. Shane holds the phone closer to his ear, as if he can fall through the speaker and land in front of the other man, listen more attentively. He doesn’t realise he’s been holding a breath in the whole time eavesdropping.

“You have the biggest crush on him, Roy. It’s painfully obvious.” Shane thinks it’s Alyssa that speaks.

“Oh, fuck you guys.” Silence, then a glass slamming on the table. “I talk to him the same way I talk to any of you, and trust, I’m not looking to stick my dick in any of you pigs.”

“Sure you do.” Detox coughs. “I’ll think of you as I’m shoving dollars down a strippers pants- Oh cum biscuit- Miss you, cum biscuit!” The sound of mocking kissing noises, then laughter. “The sooner you face it, the easier it’ll be to get over it.”

Shane’s not sure what to think. He’s half praying for more denial, but there’s a twinge in his chest that’s hanging onto hope, like he could stand the very notion with so much distance between them, and so much intimacy already to sieve through. His breaths get heavier, harder to swallow, and his eyes grow frighteningly large. Shane’s not afraid of complications, but he’s afraid of someone like Roy. Those who clung to their personas, and ran when life got too real.

The conversation seems to have fallen quiet, then there’s a barely audible sigh. “It’s not like I can really admit to that shit though, let’s be honest. Maybe I feel something for Court, but we’re friends.”

Shane thinks his heart might implode.

“Friends can fuck.” Shea says; people clink their drinks in agreement.

“I don’t fuck where I eat. Too messy.”

“But you admit you want to fuck Courtney?” Shane can’t quite tell who it was that time. Probably Detox.

“Fine, yeah, I’d fuck Courtney. You happy?” A round of cheers before it settles again. “Whatever. I’m never going to tell him how I feel. It’s like having the flu, just gotta ride it out.”

“Haven’t you been trying to ride it out forever?” Detox teases. Shane hears Roy groan.

“You know what they say, B. Longer than 6 months means you’re in love!” Alyssa drawls out, drawing everyone else to laugh.

Shane yelps, hanging up abruptly before he can be sucked into a truth he’s not ready to face yet. Not when he’s so alone, with a glass of wine. Although as soon as he’s off the phone, and the room plummets into a dark silence that echoes his frantic heartbeat, he realises that it’s little too late. Shane knows something he was never supposed to, sinking under his skin and burning holes through his bones, weakening him.

How long? Since when? Why him? What now? Shane’s brain races a thousand miles an hour as he tries to come up with the answers he didn’t know he had. All of a sudden, things were so different. He couldn’t comprehend how with so much space between them and time to waste, Shane and Roy were now two different people to each other, and Roy was none the wiser to the shift. Behind the lock screen of Shane’s phone, Roy still loves on, drunk in a strip club with their friends, clueless to the skittish thundering of Shane’s heart. His best friend, the seams of their relationship straining to break free-

Shane falls against the kitchen door frame.

“Fuck.”

That was all he could say. A thousand thoughts whittled down to a single curse.

His home suddenly felt tainted. The words echoing between the walls, the underlying emotions still left a mystery screaming like unruly ghosts. The truth was Shane didn’t care about a friend liking him, and someone like Roy, it could be a whole lot worse, but if he knew the older man like he did than that meant the whole ordeal was going to be a trip. Someone like Danny would be easy, they could make out and maybe even sleep together and Danny would bore of him and they’d fall back into their friendship. Willam would skip all pleasantries, they’d fuck out of frustration and then go back to normal after a fortnight of bitchy texts. Almost all of his friends were pretty liberal and sexually free that awkward crushes were as normal as eating breakfast- but then there was Roy. The man with so many hang ups and defence mechanisms it was like talking to a robot sometimes. Roy, who only went home with strangers from bars when he was on his own and never in front of Shane, but of course he had a type. He who never had a boyfriend, only hookups, and a million secrets.

Well…there was that one guy. The model, what was his name? Shane only met him once, and now that he thinks about it Roy had seemed more interested in him than his actual boyfriend.

He needs support. The more he thought, the more his headache came forward. He calls the one person who could help.

“Booty call central. You stock it, I’ll suck it.”

“Hello Willam.” Shane couldn’t laugh, not this time.

“There’s only two reasons people call this late, and that hello was not the hello for fucking.” Willam clicks his tongue. “Not that I’d fuck you anyway. So, who died? Oh God please don’t be a parent, I’m not good with that shit.”

“Willam, if my mother died, I wouldn’t call you first.”

Willam fakes a hurt gasp. “Why not?!”

“You just said yourself you’re not good with that stuff.”

“I said shit, not stuff.”

“Okay, off topic. No one’s dead, Willam.” Shane rubs his eyes, looking back at the wine glass on the counter. He needs something much stronger now. “I just found out something I shouldn’t have, and I don’t know what to do.”

“What was it?”

“You can’t tell anyone.” Shane warns, eyes piercing as if he can see Willam in front of him; arms crossed and expression over it.

“I’m not making that promise.” Willam laughs, making Shane grit his teeth in frustration (maybe not the one person who could help after all).

“Willam, seriously-“

“On a scale of you being pregnant to you being Trump in disguise, how secret is this, really?”

Shane looks at the phone quizzically. “What? I don’t know…as secretive as Trump fucking a clown would be.”

“Oh, so this is about Bianca.”

Shane’s heart drops. “How did you guess from just that?”

Willam scoffs. “Code word: Clown. Come on then, spill. What’s Count Grumpula done now? Stuck a white liner up your ass and called it a night?”

He rolls his eyes at the childish laugh on the other end of the phone, then sighs. “Roy’s in love with me.”

“WHAT?!” The laughter gets louder, it sounds like Willam might pass out. Shane wishes he could find the amusement in the situation.

“Okay, maybe not in love, but he likes me. He has a crush on me, or whatever you say when you’ve passed the age of 12! I heard him talking to- Willam, will you stop laughing!” There’s a few more wheezes, then the supportive words of encouragement for Shane to continue. “I heard him talking to Detox and Alyssa and whoever else, and he said he can never tell me he likes me. He said he’d fuck me. What the hell do I do with that piece of information?!”

“I dunno. Fuck him?”

“You’re the only other person I know as emotionally unavailable as he is, and even then you’re not good enough.” Willam gasps again, Shane ignores it. “What do I do? Should I confront him?”

“At his age, I’d be scared you’ll give him a heart attack. But I mean, what else can you do? The cats out the bag now- Bitchy Del Rio got caught in the act.” If an eye roll was audible, Shane’s would be deafening. “Your best bet is to offer him a blow job of condolence, and then never bring it up again. Bianca is too much of a professional to ever let a friendship become more than just that, especially you. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t trade your cunty ass in for anything, but you’re all feelings and talking, and Bianca…isn’t.” Willam’s bluntness stings Shane slightly, he feels a faint watering festering behind his eyes. He wills them back, biting the inside of his cheek as Willam went on. “But, you’re you. I could tell you anything and all you’d hear is ‘talk to him, talk to him’ so I guess my advice is, talk to him. Just say you know he wants to eat out your ass and you’re cool with it.”

“Willam, why take it there?” Shane says, this time laughing, finally.

There was the sound of jingling pots on Willam’s end of the phone. “Here’s a question. Are you cool with it? Would you let Bianca fuck you?”

In Shane’s head, the question was less ambiguous of emotion: Are you into Bianca too? He thinks about it for a second, the static of the phone and Willam obviously now talking to someone on the other end as the only background sound, and it really didn’t bother him. Full disclosure, Shane thought Roy was incredibly attractive when they were together filming Drag Race, and he had hoped they might hook up just once, but as time went on the fantasy became less and less shiny and soon was another rusted idea, left to collect dust but never thrown away. Roy was still attractive, and he was one of the funniest people Shane had ever met, so maybe the answer was yes, in a weird round about way that could only come up if thrust upon first. If Roy was to kiss Shane, he wouldn’t be repulsed; he’d probably be a little sheepish and filled to the brim with butterflies.  

Shane exhales through his nose loudly. “I’ve got to talk to Bianca.”

Willam hums, uninterested. “If it was meant to be, it’ll be. Don’t call me crying when it goes belly up though, call Alaska.” With that, Willam hangs up. Shane knows that’s his way of caring, directing him to the person who’s emotionally capable of listening to raw feelings, and that’s fine. Willam is the type to be honest, and echo the thoughts a person would rather pretend don’t exist in their head.

Shane’s arms fall to his side, and his body slides down the frame of the door till his bum hits the floor. He sits there, thinking, head dropped back as if he can play the scenario in his head on his ceiling. He had to confront Roy - of course he did, there’s no way he could go on with this secret, but he had little faith in his friend being calm enough to have a mature conversation.

Less than two weeks, that’s all. Shane could wait. It gave him time to write a perfect script for the confrontation; even enough time to write Roy’s lines.

-

Shane’s dreams become infested with Roy’s image. It’s not that they’re profound or sexual, he’s just there. Sometimes a main character, sometimes just in the background. It leaves Shane a little breathless when he wakes up.

Roy’s texting as if nothing’s changed, because for him it hasn’t. Shane replies as if nothing’s changed, just to maintain normality.

With every passing day, Shane feels more and more nauseous. He doesn’t know how he’s going to confront him.

-

Roy almost threatens Detox to keep his lips sealed about their little conversation. He laughs, and Roy worries it means his shameful secret is about to become news to everyone, but Detox assures him they’d all agreed what happens Montreal, stays in Montreal.

He’s never telling him the truth. Never ever. His feelings will die with him, and maybe Shane will find out after he’s long gone, but that’s okay. Less aggravation for Roy. Montreal is the closest to genuine Roy ever plans to be about his feelings for his friend.

-

Willam: AAA gig in San Diego next week. Bianca’s on the line up. U fucked yet?

Courtney: Still away. We’re not going to fuck.

Willam: Alaska agrees you should fuck.

Courtney: I told you not to tell anyone!

Willam: She’s been rooting for you two to get together since day 1. Don’t make her cry.

Courtney: Why did you tell her!

Willam: I told you I wasn’t promising. But fine, I won’t tell anyone else. I promise.

Courtney: You’re an asshole.

Willam: Can’t argue there.

-

Bianca: SAN DIEGO GIG. DO YOU WANT TO TRAVEL DOWN TOGETHER?

Bianca: Sorry, caps.

Courtney: Not getting Mr Del Rio to personally escort you? ;)

Bianca: I’M NOT FUCKING MY ASSISTANT, STOP CALLING HIM THAT!

Bianca: I meant for caps that time.

Bianca: I get back the day before. We can get dinner before driving down. I was thinking of arriving early morning so it’ll be a late drive.

Courtney: I have a new vegan recipe I’d like to try. Come over to mine instead, then we can go!

Bianca: Being vegetarian doesn’t mean I like vegan food.

Courtney: I thought you liked my cooking :O

Bianca: I tolerate it. 6PM I’ll be over. We leave no later than 8PM.

-

Roy had been sitting in Shane’s kitchen for about 10 minutes now. When Shane had answered the door, he felt a weird anxiety twist through the bones of his rib cage like a snake, and it was as if Roy had been away at war for years how Shane was sickly relieved to see him. The wise old eyes as normal as they always were, not any more or any less fond of Shane, and the smirk stitched to his face, the seams scarred, his dimples sharp like glass. His lips were more plump than the last time they’d seen each other, Shane couldn’t help snicker.

“You’ve been hanging around Detox too much.” Shane teased, tapping his own bottom lip.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

They hugged, for good measure. Roy’s arms like tree trunks around his body, he felt secure in his hold, all the frivolous thoughts that had been causing him such anxiety suddenly gone. For Roy, it was just another hug on another day, but Shane had been counting down the seconds until they were next meeting, needing closure on the truth Roy had no idea had been revealed. He was real, not just a voice over the phone or an image in a dream- Roy was a physical body with a working heart, and arms that kept Shane from falling, and he felt happy.

Shane stirred the pot of steamed vegetables. Roy made fun of him. They ate together and didn’t talk about the line between them that they tiptoed around, staying on their separate sides. Roy laughed at something Shane said, and vise versa. Why couldn’t it stay like this forever?

Because Shane was horrible with keeping things in and pretending there wasn’t an elephant in the room.

“I haven’t exactly got a strippers body.” Roy says in response to Shane’s comment about Montreal. He’d seen the video of all of them on stage, where Bianca strutted down the stage and barely touched the stripper pole. Shea was all over the metal like it was lathered in strawberry lube or something, but Roy would never dare be that provocative. “Or face. Or anything. I’m the guy at the bar you talk to after trying to fuck the stripper, grabbing the first top you see.”

“You say that,” Shane takes another bite, chewing loudly, not noticing how Roy scowled. “But you’re pretty flexible. You keep it under lock and key but I saw you doing that gymnasts class with Violet.” He swallows, pointing his knife at Roy, sly smile as if he’s caught his friend in a lie; the unimportant lie compared to what’s to come. “Bet those moves come in handy in bed.”

Shane takes note of how Roy shifts slightly, stuck for a reply longer than what was normal for him. Not the kind of statement he should be throwing around at the guy who has a thing for him and maybe that’s alright, Shane hasn’t decided yet-

“The bartender I picked up in Montreal didn’t seem to mind, sure.” Roy replies, winking. He took the last bite of his food then wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Nice work chef.” He stands up, taking his plate to the sink to wash up - like they were already living a domestic life and this was their house, and washing dishes was their little way of saying ’I love you’ after a long day. Shane lets him take his plate, stuck on his remark.

“A bartender?” Shane repeats. The blush that slithers up his neck makes him twitch, holding the hot skin. The night Shane had spent awake until the exhaustion kidnapped him, Roy was fucking someone. He holds a calm demeanor. “Was he typical blo-“

“No, he wasn’t fucking blonde. He was taller than me, he had two stick arms covered in tattoos, but he did have a great ass so I’ll give you that one.” Roy turns off the tap, drying his hands on his side. “And that’s all I’m telling you.”

“Oh, come on! You can’t just drop a bomb like that and leave me in the dark.” Shane’s eyes follow Roy as he sits back down, then he rests his head in his hands, smiling like a giddy kid. “How was he?”

Usually Roy would stay coy unless under the influence, but he feels a little dangerous tonight, like flaunting a good time to Shane wasn’t the end of the world, and might in fact help him build himself up. He raises an eyebrow and laughs under his breath. “He talked a lot and came too fast, but he knew how to ride a dick so what else mattered. It was one of those nights where it didn’t really matter who it was. I just needed someone.”

Shane’s eyes widen and he tries to play it cool. He straightens in his chair. “Why? Didn’t you have a good time in Montreal?”

Roy shrugs, still smiling. “Same old shit just a different day.” His eyes fall, dragging his finger along the table edge. “It was fun, sure. The same why getting drunk with sloppy, horny queens is always fun, but it just…I had stuff on my mind I guess. Sex always settles the waters, so I got laid and the rest is history.”

Shane swallows the lump in his throat. He feels like he’s against his doorway again, sliding down to the floor, feeling pity for himself. He can still hear Roy’s voice like static whistling through his empty house, bouncing from wall to wall, haunting him. Now he’s here, with the reality of his anxieties in its physical form; the same pointed face with humble brown eyes; he imagines that face distorted with pain, hair tousled and lips swollen after intense sex, waiting to fall asleep with thoughts of Shane. Does Roy fall asleep thinking about Shane? When he was with other men, their bodies soaked in sweat and the sheets stuck to their skin they throw them off the bed for a breeze, does his heart hurt for Shane instead of whatever stranger? Maybe it was narcissistic for Shane to think he was that significant, but he would have never imagined it before he’d found out the truth.

He had to hear it, as a confession.

Shane reaches his hand across the table, touching Roy’s fingers and creating a comfort he needs for himself let alone the other man.

“You can tell me. Whatever’s on your mind, I’ll never judge you.” Shane says, his fingers delicately stroking along the cracks of Roy’s knuckles. They’re a little bruised and battered, but he doesn’t bother asking, both out of fear it’s to do with him or it’s even worse. Roy’s eyes look down at the action, and he holds a breath for a second, before yanking his hand away and rolling his eyes.

“Stop being a dick, I’m fine.”

The subject is dropped. Roy goes on about his wonderful adventures in Montreal and Shane pretends he’s not annoyed hearing about it - the place that was the setting for the destruction of normality. The bartender. The guy Detox was trying to blow. The overcompensating ‘straight guy’. Shane had to hear about them all, and he was beginning to wonder if whatever the feelings were Roy was having were starting to get stronger, hence why he was having more casual sex and indulging him in the details for the first time ever. A good friend wouldn’t have felt jealous, but how could Shane not when there was so much now lying between them.

Before leaving, Roy rooted through Shane’s wardrobe and picked his drag apart piece by piece. Either too trashy or too classy, and Shane would reply with laughter and a middle finger. Roy tried on Shane’s wigs, doing his best Australian accent and twirling around the room, just to get a cheap laugh from his friend, who was fallen spread across the bed in fits of laughter, cursing under his breath all the same. Nothing was different, it was still light and breezy between them- yet Shane couldn’t look at Roy without wondering if he was in pain, or if he was seething with unspoken words left to settle in the dust, and it was driving Shane insane let alone the person who actually felt everything.

Although, how was Shane supposed to pretend he didn’t feel anything for Roy? Of course he did. It was subtle, and more of a distant thought that would need some time to blossom, but it was there. Those short bursts of breath caught on the edge of his tongue when Roy was shirtless, or the sweet sighs of relief after too much laughter together, or the cramping of his heart when they’d been apart for too long. In the most obvious sense, Shane had always had a thing for Roy, but he was so used to bursts of admiration and accepting love that came and went, he never paid any attention to what was right under his nose. Not really anyway, not enough that he ever thought past hooking up and into the realms of a relationship.

They’d probably work out too, if Roy was good with accepting emotions as wonderful and not scary. Shane would keep the level head, Roy would keep them organised, and they’d stay like best friends with all the extra parts that made being human so extraordinary.

However, watching Roy toss the long strands of blonde hair over his shoulder, Shane feels sick again. Lost in the confliction, he needs something to tide over the crashing waves of his stomach.

“Roy, I need to tell you something-”

“Shit!” Roy looks at his phone, before shoving it back into his pocket and pushing Shane slightly as he ran out the room. “It’s almost 8! Fuck, where did the time go?! Come on, asshole, get your shit in my car and let’s get the fuck out of here!”

Shane listens to him gallop down the stairs and run out the door, and when the house was bare, he grunts in annoyance, falling on his back.

-

The evening was setting in. The stars had began to appear in the navy sky, twinkling brighter the further out of the city they drove. Shane rests his head on the window, the cold of the glass and the soft hum of the music brushing by him like drizzly rain, it’s okay. A contrast to the tensing of his chest and the looping of his thoughts, as Roy drives steady down the road.

When Shane was a kid he used to love star gazing in Australia. The American sky has nothing on the outback, that was for sure. Shane can still remember the lucid blues dipping into one another, the black fawning over, and the stars would burst through like there was an urgency to be seen. So many nights he would lay on the warm sandy ground, hands behind his head as he stared up at the breathtaking view, and he’d wish for all the opportunities to bless him. Sun kissed skin caressed by the first breeze of the day, he’d smile every time, like it was the first and last time he’d felt wind. Staring out the window now was less tranquil and more agitating, as if those same stars that once gave him comfort had seen the true, ugly colours of his sinful adulthood. The lies, the tears, and everything that made Shane worry.

American air was stiffer, and the stars were duller- Shane felt like he was about to implode, and Roy still had no fucking clue.

“My mom called the other day asking if I’ve been eating right.” Roy says, breaking the silence. Shane lifts his head to listen more intently. “It’s like I’m not a fucking adult and I’m still the 20 something disaster starving himself in favour of vodka and cable TV.”

“You had your priorities.”

“We can’t all be Mr Tiny Tot, some of us had to work two jobs on 3 hours sleep just to make ends meet!” Roy laughs, winking at Shane before sighing. “Remember when we were 20 though? It was like someone threw a huge hunk of beef into the lion’s cage- every gay for himself! As soon as I was out of my parents house and had my own place…I didn’t sleep alone until I was like 25.”

Shane raises an eyebrow. “You, a regular sleepover host?” He huffs out an exaggerated laugh, smirking wickedly when Roy flips him off. “What happened to that Roy, aye? Aw, were you a little spoon in your 20s?” The very idea of Roy curled up to someone, defenceless to the affection of someone else wanting him, it was amusing yet warming.

But there’s a quiet that settles dark over them. Roy shuffles in his seat, smile untraceable, and then he coughs. “I grew up. Whatever. My 30s were better. I had money, I had dogs, what the fuck else did I need?” The smile returns and Shane relaxes along with Roy.

There’s no point prolonging the inevitable. The repeating anxiety that wavers in every tense silence, every forced conversation was pushing Shane further and further off the edge.

“Roy, I really need to talk to you about something. It’s important.” he says, quiet. Roy looks over at him suspiciously, before shrugging and taking a turn.

“Sure. What’s on your mind?”

“Well, it’s not easy.”

Roy rolls his eyes. “Haven’t seen you in forever and you want a serious chat? Okay, fun, lay it on me.”

Shane curses himself, because soon Roy’s going to be angry and the mood will be awkward, but he can’t go on pretending he doesn’t know.

“Roy…I know the truth. I know how you feel about me.”

He thinks for a second he imagined saying it by the way Roy doesn’t react. He stares at his friend, face blank, eyes clear, nothing strict on his pointed face. Then a chuckle.

“You know I think you’re an asshole? Yeah, that’s not new news.” he jokes.

“No, Roy. I heard you, on the phone in Montreal.” He pauses, watching for any reaction: just his brows falling. “I know you…like me. I also know the last thing you’d want is to talk about it but I need to know, from you. How do you feel about me, Roy?”

The older man stays quiet, processing the confrontation. The cogs in his head furiously spinning, going into overdrive and the smoke begins to pour from his ears as a weird feelings starts to overwhelm him. Anger, so normal, but there’s fear and panic, and his palms are suddenly sweaty as it becomes apparent his dirty little secret is no longer a secret. He tries to take a relaxing breath, laugh it off, but Shane is deadly serious.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Shane,” he replies, voice a little tighter but still firm. Shane sees through him like glass, and keeps watching him, studying him.

“I heard you with Detox and Alyssa and everyone. I already know. I just think we should talk about it because…well, now I know, there’s no going back to before I knew.”

“You’ve obviously dreamt this or-”

“Don’t try and convince me I’m crazy or something, I know what I heard. I’m not trying to embarrass you. We’re friends, I just want us to have an honest, healthy conversation about our feelings for once.” Roy scoffs, but Shane ignores the clear distaste. “I haven’t seen you in a really long time. I missed you like crazy, and after I heard what you said…I started thinking.”

“Please stop.”

“I’m mean hey, it’s not exactly crazy, we do get on like a house on fire! And I can’t pretend the idea of us hasn’t crossed my mind.”

“Jesus- seriously, stop.”

Shane rolls his eyes. “Why? Look, it’s just a conversation. There’s nothing wrong with actually having feelings and wanting to be with someone-”

“E-fucking-nough!” Roy yelled, slamming his hand down on the leather of the steering wheel, making Shane jump and widen his eyes in shock. They fall painfully quiet, and the only sound his Roy’s breathing, quick and brash, full of annoyance and urgency to escape.

Shane didn’t think it was possible for someone like Roy to have a panic attack- he seemed untouchable to the real, raw emotions everyone else showed, the good, the bad, and the ugly. He watches Roy’s face frozen over while his eyes light up like a Christmas tree, caught on fire, shards of glass exploding as the electricity expands. His jaw tenses, his nose flared, his chest high like a proud bird- this was a Roy no one had ever seen.

Terrified.

Still angry, that was normal, but all the same, there was terror in the mix.

Shane was suddenly scared to be in the car with him, his hands stuck to the steering wheel, like he could drive off a cliff’s edge at a whims notice if it pleased him so. He watches his friend, flicking through words to string together a coherent lullaby to calm him down.

“Roy, it’s fine,” he starts, tugging his seat belt to check it’s definitely locked. “I don’t care. These things, they’re a part of life! I just felt wrong pretending I didn’t know, and I wanted to apologise I’d overheard. It’s not as if I want to end our friendship over something so trivial.” He tries to give him a comforting smile, but Roy’s breathing picked up as he continued to stare intensely onward. He looks somewhere between murderous and dying. Shane would normally open the doors of affection, set his hand on his knee, stroke his back, something that would settle all anxieties, but this was the man that locked those doors and threw away the key. Shane held back his hand, like Roy might bite it off, and kept talking. “You don’t need to worry. Really, I’m flattered if anything!” he laughs; it doesn’t loosen the tension. “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, Roy…It’s okay.”

Abruptly, Roy takes a sharp turn down a dark road off the main junction, Shane shifting in his seat as the force of the metal takes strength. Roy grits his teeth, muttering nonsense between short bursts of breath, racing down the pitch black. Shane grabs the ceiling handle and holds on tight, yelling at his friend to slow down, but it’s all white noise. All Roy can hear is the drumming of his heart and the echoes that mock:

I know the truth. I know how you feel about me.

It’s okay.

He skids slightly, not flinching when Shane grabs his arm and screams. He pulls over, car bucking as it mates the curb, and he barely even checks the cars off before hurtling out of it, almost being dragged back by his seatbelt. He scrambles up the dirt path, breathing erratic like he’s in danger of losing it, his legs turning jelly the higher the climb. There’s a grassy hill - he sprints for it, everything in him pounding and crying, he thinks he could drop dead from the lack of control.

Shane grabs the car keys and locks it up, running after Roy. The wind rushes past, burns his skin with a breeze, blistering his pale complexion; the weather sending them down a turmoil of disillusion, like it was all a game; as if anyone could control anything around them. His calves burn as the hill lifts, begging him to stop. There’s not a breath of hope he’ll cease at how fast Roy is running. He watches the older man reach the top and then fall to his knees, and Shane stops. His feet run out of energy and he awaits, the space between them looming the longer Roy kneels, silent.

Then, a loud, gravelly yell breaks the navy sky, and the stars pour upon their souls out of shame and pity.

“FUUUUUUUUCK!” Roy shouts, his voice echoing off into the distance. “FUCK, FUCK, FUCKING FUCK!” He repeats, like the curse could send him back in time. His face drops into his hands, scowling as he breathes heavily through his teeth. Shane watches, standing in the middle of the unknown field, half irritated and half empathetic toward the older man’s obvious fear of real human connection. It didn’t take a lot to see him angry- or, whatever this may have been- but this wasn’t the time he expected the usual.

I’m different. Shane thought, crossing his arms as his own anger rose. I’m different, I’m his friend- one of his best friends. I get him. I know him. I would never hurt him, never.

The night is hauntingly black, and the stars are fickle. Shane can feel the colours fade from his cheeks as the cold waves by, but he doesn’t do anything to warm up. He stays still, watching the older man melt down in the distance, thinking. It shouldn’t be such a big deal, it’s a part of life, developing feelings for a close friend. It’s happened to Shane a million times- he’s not even remotely disgusted or awkward about the fact Roy thinks he’s attractive. If anything, he’s a little too delighted. He couldn’t even bare the idea of ditching Roy over something so unimportant. Why is he overreacting like this?

Shane finally storms over to him after too long of watching the temper tantrum. He lifts him to his feet and grabs Roy by the shoulders shaking him. “Calm the hell down, you’re in your 40s for God’s sake!” He pushes him back, not too hard but enough force to make his friend stumble. They stare at each other, unable to register the others thoughts by their face. “Why are you freaking out so much? It’s not that big a deal.”

“It fucking is to me, asshole!”

“Why?”

“I’m no good at relationships, Shane! I’ve fucked up every single one I’ve been in.” He crosses his arms, looking away, as if looking for too long into Shane’s eyes may cause him to combust, burn down to nothing but the ashes of his affection. “I don’t want to fuck up with you. You’re one of my best friends.”

Shane inches closer. “You don’t know you’ll fuck up. You can’t avoid things in life because you’re scared.” He lifts his smile, trying to catch the other man’s eye, let him know with more than words he’s in safe hands- but rather holds back a curse when the stubborn bastard resists eye contact further. “Just tell me the truth, Roy. I want to hear it from you.”

Roy grunts, pinching the bridge of his nose. The wind picks up, brushing through the overgrown tufts of his hair. Shane watches him, feeling like he may fall off the edge of their crumbling cliff if he didn’t say something: anything! In all the time he’s known Roy, he’s never seen the man in such a flustered silence before.

“What do you want me to say, hm?” Roy barks. “Let’s get married, have a couple of kids and live happily ever after? Is that what you want?”

“No, but I-“

“You what?!” Roy’s glare feels like flame throwers. “This isn’t what I want, Shane! For fucks sake, I don’t want to tell you shit!” He laughs sinisterly. “I’m fine on my own. I’ve got my dogs, I’ve got all my teeth, I don’t need anything more. I don’t need you.”

The walls are starting to go up. Shane needs to think fast, before the bricks are too high and they’re on separate sides of a conversation, yelling into the oblivion.

“Okay.” Shane says, a tone of affirmation. He straightens up and frowns, his smile never breaking. “You don’t need me, fine. I don’t need you either, but maybe I like you being around. That’s allowed, you know. What, you think I need you, like I’d need medicine or something? You think I’d need a closed off cunt like you, really?!” Shane squares up to Roy, and his lips finally falter, straightening into something else- as closed off as Roy is, as cold as the weather is. It makes the older man stiffen slightly. “You’re against opening up but I bet you’re fine with a blowjob. What’s a blowjob between two friends, aye? Sex isn’t important, as long as we don’t talk about it-“

“Get over yourself.”

“No!” Shane shouts. The air turns bitter. “Get over yourself. Come on, Roy,” a smirk reappears, “I know you. Take home a guy, a Tom or a Chris, as long as he’s all over you, and you forget how to be human. Fuck him, get a gig, rinse repeat! You’ll never need a relationship if you satisfy your dick, and you’ll never need to face your feelings if you keep busy- keep running!” Before he could even stop himself, Shane shoves Roy backward. “I heard you, Roy. I know what’s going on in that head of yours.” He shoves him again, this time getting a reaction from Roy slapping his hands away. “Let’s just do what everyone does. What you do, get it out our system’s, fuck away the pain and feelings till we’re empty shells.” Shane links his fingers through Roy’s belt loops, frantically toying with the belt buckle as opposing hands fought him. “Nothing real, just full blown sex.”

“Stop!” Roy grabs Shane by the wrists and holds them up high. He’s practically seething with fury, nails digging into the taunt white of Shane’s skin, but he looks hurt - Shane can see the anguish in his dark eyes. “For once, can’t you not be a slut?”

It’s like acid. Shane can only laugh. “For once, can’t you be human?”

They stand like that for too many seconds, feeling like haunting hours, his grip loosening but never releasing. Everything felt other-worldly, as if they’d been taken over or they’d died, watching a version of themselves that bubbled with a vengeful rage. Roy was smart, he’d been through the trials and tribulations of every disaster natural life had to offer, and even though he was desperate to fight on, he knew deep down Shane wasn’t the worst trial he’d faced. He was the sunniest, the most kind and compassionate being he’d had the pleasure to meet, that falling in love with him was hardly going to kill him - but the fear wasn’t the falling, it was the landing. He didn’t want to splatter a bloody mess when Shane laughed in his face, or worst of all, smiled with that warmth as he let him down gently. He couldn’t bare handing over his heart and being rejected, worst of all by someone so magnificent. The pain of repression was better than the kiss of death.

Roy’s head drops. He takes a breath, the first that doesn’t feel like it’s being held out of reach. He lets go of Shane’s wrists, running a hand through his hair. “Well…look, I’m not good at being human. I’m better at smart, bitchy comments that don’t cut me open.” He looks up at Shane, his face going soft. “I don’t want to make an ass out of myself. That’s not my style. I’m the guy you go to when your boyfriend cheats on you and you need someone to drink with, or the one that helps you make a dress, or…” He grits his teeth, frustrated he can’t string together the right words. “I’m not going to give you what you want. That’s just not who I am.”

The burst of anger settles the raging waves of Shane’s wrinkles, his face falling smooth. He looks at Roy, and his chest heaves, hurt and needing for satisfaction. Time might run out if they don’t race for the ending. He slowly takes Roy by the shoulders, holds him steady as he looks deep into his eyes, seeing galaxies and infinities he wants to settle into, then pulls him in for a tight hug. It takes Roy a minute to process, but soon his arms are around Shane, squeezing back. They embrace till the wind stops, and the crickets sing, and the pressure of the air brings back the colour to their cheeks. Where did the cold go?

Shane pulls back, still holding Roy in case he falls. “I already told you, I know you. You’re more than you’re giving yourself credit.”

“Thought I wasn’t human?”

Shane rolls his eyes. “You’re a pain in the ass, and I was angry. I’m sorry.” It’s sincere, the blues of his eyes shimmering bright as hope refills his irises. “I won’t leave you, Roy. It’s just us here, no one else. I promise, if you tell me the truth, we can move past it. I’ll never bring it up again and you can go straight back to repressing everything. But for once, just say it. Say how you feel.”

His head is racing- Why does he have to say it? Why does it matter if they’re going to move past it? Why does it feel like he might burst into tears any second? Roy scowls, but he doesn’t let go of Shane, he’s afraid the world may tear open if they let go. There’s the smile that catches him breathless on a whim’s notice, and there’s the sparkle in his eyes that brightens up his world on a dull day, and there’s the accent that drives him up the wall but makes his heart skip a beat with every greeting. Roy wasn’t meant to fall for Shane, but he did.

Before he can argue with himself, he gives in to his desires and grabs Shane by the scruff of his shirt, pulling him in for a kiss. Their teeth clatter but they don’t pay the pain any attention, rather Roy pours his heart into the kiss before it’s too late, his lips plush against Shane’s, his hands tight on his collar. It’s like he’s learning how to kiss for the first time all over again, the sweet serenity of feeling another man so intimately, as if the contact could open up Shane’s chest. He hopes it’s enough, that it’ll tide over the curiosity of Shane, and satisfy his own sanity, but before he can pull away he feels hands in his hair, and a tongue in his mouth.

The field is absorbed by the crystal black sky, and they delve deeper into the foreign passion, shattering the darkness with bursts of light. Sparks. Electric, heated sparks that keep their blood flowing and their hands feverish. Roy hasn’t kissed someone like this in years, he could get drunk on it if he’s not careful- Shane is already far gone, he’s wasted on the affection. His fingers lace in Roy’s hair. His legs buck. He pulls Roy down and they collapse on the grass, still kissing, never stopping, and then they’re a tangled mess like a pair of naughty teenagers.

Roy rolls onto his back, shifting Shane to sit on his waist and finally they pull apart, breathing desperately as if they’ve been suffocating. Shane’s skin is so pale under the moonlight, and Roy’s is burning red under the weight of his admission, fear stricken eyes begging for a release soon. He really is suffocating he thinks, with Shane’s eyes boring holes through him, and his hands pressed lightly against his chest. Shane can feel the rabbit-like pulse under his palm, and it’s the thing that forces him to break the mould with a laugh.

Roy frowns. “Don’t fucking laugh,” he commands, not as strong as he would have hoped. Shane bows his head before composing himself, a quivering lip still.

“I’ve got the hots for you too, pussyface,” he says, way too casually for Roy’s liking. “Always kind of have, if we’re being honest.” Which Roy still isn’t completely, but Shane’s grateful he’s quiet for a moment- that’s his honesty, as well as the kiss. “I’m sorry I was eavesdropping. Peek not at a keyhole, lest ye be vexed. But I guess if I hadn’t I wouldn’t be here.” He shifts his hips, feelings a certain appendage beneath him grow, Roy’s eyes widening more with confused annoyance. “What’s a little dry humping between two friends, aye?”

“You’re the fucking worst person I’ve ever met.” Roy says, deadpan, his hands involuntarily lifting to Shane’s hips. “Can we pretend this didn’t happen?”

Shane’s smile drops. “Do you want that?” he asks, with a fragile kindness Roy is eager to shatter, regain his strength and leave victorious.

He stays quiet too long. “No,” he answers, honestly. “But I don’t know what I fucking want.”

“Do you want me?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want to stay here?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want-“

“I’m starting to find what I want is to rip off that pea sized head of yours.” Roy throws his head back and grunts, squeezing his eyes shut. Shane decides to roll off Roy, and lays beside him, keeping quiet. He turns his head to admire him: the long spidery lashes, the point of his nose like a hill, the hollow crinkle of his smile lines on his cheeks. How could Shane not think he was breathtaking? Anyone with working eyes and coherent thought would find themselves caught under Roy’s spell, but Shane was used to crushes. He’d never shined a light on the feelings tucked away in his rib cage before, but they’d lasted impressively long now he thinks about it. Unlike Roy, it doesn’t phase Shane - he’d like to kiss the older man again, but he knows life isn’t always so generous.

In the absence of words, Shane boldly takes Roy’s hand in his own and squeezes playfully. Roy turns to look at him, lost for a moment, till he feels his heart thud like a jackhammer in the presence of Shane’s sunny disposition. He relaxes, his anxiety slowly untangling, and squeezes back on his hand as a sign of solidarity.

“Take your time.” Shane says. His hand is so soft- Roy hates how even his fucking hand gives him butterflies.

“Okay.” Roy licks his lips and breathes. “I’m a fucking asshole, I know. Always have been, always will be, and that reflects in the guys I’ve dated. I have scarred every guy I’ve dated some way or another, because I can’t stand someone knowing everything about me, because they’ll hurt me. It’s fucking pathetic, but that’s the truth. I was single for so long, and then…” He pauses, like someone’s gotten pliers and is trying to open him up, he has to take back the control. “I thought age would change me, but it didn’t. I’m good at the good bits, but I’m a fucking shit storm in the end. And you,” he snickers, “You’ve meant more to me than any boyfriend ever has, and that terrifies me. You’re not like anyone I’ve dated, you’re not the type I’d formed in my head, but you’re…you.” His dimples pinch his cheeks, seeing Shane’s lips tug up, ego probably stretching too. “I do need you, Shane. I do. But I can’t let you hurt me, because I refuse to feel that shit again, and I can’t hurt you, because that’ll fucking kill me.” He tries not to physically cringe at the line, holding his breath before exhaling, “I like you a lot.“

The world seems to have stopped, time no longer existing in the presence of their loving exchange. Shane’s heart swells, and his mood sores through the heavens. He tries not to react like a giddy school girl, but the way Roy looks pained, the way he’s still his best friend under the damage, makes him lift with jovial spirits. He doesn’t move too quickly, afraid to startle Roy, but he shrugs. “I can take pain. I’d gladly welcome it if it meant telling you—“ he chokes on a laugh, stroking his thumb over Roy’s knuckles; they feel rigged with scars. “Telling you the feelings are mutual. You shouldn’t be afraid. We all have a past, we all have demons. I don’t want you to be so afraid of hurting me you avoid what you want, and I would never hurt you, you gotta know that. Roy, I like you too, a lot. And that’s okay.”

“But I’ll fuck it up in the end-“

“You can’t be sure of that. I’m stronger than I look anyway.”

“Really, it’s always been an inevitable with me-“ Shane rolls over and stops him with another kiss, hard and painstakingly slow. Roy’s eyes slide closed as he slips through the lazy current of their ocean, waves coming and going, it’s stupendous. Shane pulls away but stays close, noses touching.

“Let’s just have tonight. I’m fine with pain, I just want you. The funny cunt who isn’t afraid of hurting someone.” Shane let’s out a long, tense breath, stroking Roy’s cheeks in his hands, needing a reminder he’s still here, that he’s not floating away. “Please?”

His gut is screaming to run, flee to the high hills and stay a prisoner of the dark, but Roy can’t seem to deny his primitive urges. Shane’s hands on his face, their chests touching, he feels more home than he ever has. Maybe this is the scare he needs. “Okay.” He gives in, settling Shane to rest on his chest, holding him close. “We’ll have tonight.”

Roy gives over a part of his heart he’s been holding back for far too long. They lay beneath the blanket of stars and watch the lights flicker, the twinkling specks bringing them closer to God and each other. Shane listens to the beating of Roy’s heart like it’s the sea inside a shell; like it will reveal secrets he’s always wanted to know; like it’ll surrender itself for the risk of love. He rests a hand over the one Roy has on his stomach, and sighs with relief. No more tensions causing earthquakes, they can rest on the edge of a cliff that looks over the vast sea of their devotion. In reality it’s a grassy hill somewhere between Los Angeles and San Diego, inhabited by only peace and them. There’s moments of quiet, there’s moments of laughter, and there’s moments that can only be satisfied with lips, spreading over the skin of a neck or a shoulder or wherever sensitive.

It’s like they’ve been doing this for years how natural it feels.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” Shane says, some point past midnight. He sits up, looking off into the distance where there’s the muffled sounds of cars speeding down the highways, and even further are the blinding lights of the city that have nothing on the bliss of stars guiding you home. Roy props himself up on his elbows. “I shouldn’t have made you talk about your feelings if you didn’t want to.”

“No, maybe not…but it’s over and done with now.” Roy shrugs, taking Shane’s hands and sitting up. “I’ve never trusted someone like I trust you. Sometimes I’ll be buying groceries and I’ll think of you and it feels like a knife in my chest how much I’d bleed for you. I see some pretentious vegan cookbook or someone starts talking about gender politics or just blonde hair and bam, I’m fixated and I want to talk to you. I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before.”

Shane blinks, smirking. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“I had no idea.”

“Kind of what I was hoping for.”

“So you’ve loved me since Drag Race?”

“Don’t get cocky.” Roy throws Shane’s hands back at him, snickering as Shane bursts into laughter.

There’s not much more to add to the conversation, for fear of going in circles. More kisses, more silence, then the reality must tire them out so much they fall asleep in each other’s arms across the grass, the wind sprinkling in to disrupt the wind. Roy wraps his arms around Shane when he shivers, and maybe this is all that was meant to happen - the beginning of an unknown confidence, bursting from the pits of fear, and nothing more. Maybe their night of romance was destined to be fickle and short lived, given it was never supposed to happen. If Shane hadn’t overheard, Roy would have gotten off scot-free, the walls being miles high around him. They’ll always have each other, but they don’t need this night to become anything more; because broken dishes and fists through walls and bottles upon bottles of sleeping pills are twice as painful when risking a friendship.

At least, Roy knows that. Shane is blissfully innocent when it comes to emotions.

-

Morning comes and Roy shoves Shane awake. They don’t speak initially because they’re hoarse with sleep, but the quiet soon becomes heavier than that. They get back into the car and drive, just the static radio to talk in space of any conversation they could have forced. Roy has bags under his eyes and his fingers keep twitching as if wired on caffeine, and Shane wonders if this is what they’ll become. Are they reduced down to awkward silences and antsy movements, because if so Shane will kiss Roy again just to knock some sense into him. Purely for Roy’s own benefit, nothing to do with what he so desires of course.

20 minutes go by before Roy speaks. Shane doesn’t break the silence because it’s not his heart on the line. He has feelings too, but it’s Roy’s vulnerability that’s fogging up the air. “We don’t tell anyone about last night,” he says, voice gruff like he’s smoked a pack of cigarettes. “I don’t want to complicate things further.”

Shane wants to argue back that everything is already complicated so why pretend otherwise, but he settles on a nod. “And what about us?” he asks, his face wanting to lift with a smile but not wanting to arise prematurely. He watches Roy with such intensity he thinks his eyes might fall out of his head, and the older man does the same but to the road ahead of them.

“I don’t want anything more than…” he pauses, takes a deep breath and grunts. “Nothing happened.”

Shane scoffs. “You just want to go on like nothing happened?” Roy doesn’t answer, so Shane goes on, more annoyed. “Why don’t you want to be happy, Roy? Why is it you’re more preoccupied with keeping a reputation than letting yourself be happy?! I’m not saying we could go the distance but-”

“Exactly, yet I am saying that we can’t.” Roy finally looks at Shane, just for a second. His eyes are burning with anger, but they’re sorrowful. “Don’t you get it? I fucking know where this is heading, and I don’t want that. You think if we were supposed to be together it would have taken this long, with that amount of convincing? Whatever last night was, it’s the end of the beginning.”

“But-“

“You won’t change my mind.”

If Roy scowls anymore, he might get stuck that way. Shane purses his lips, then laughs, trying to lighten the insatiably heavy mood. “How about a blow job? I’m pretty good with my mouth, I’m sure I could change your mind.”

Roy doesn’t laugh. His hands tighten on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white.

Shane sighs. “My feelings don’t matter then. What if I wanted more?”

That’s what makes Roy snicker, and Shane wants to kill him in that moment. His usually lovely dimples defined in a moment to hurt Shane. He’s starting to realise Roy really has scarred all of his ex boyfriends, because it already feels like there’s a cut running down his chest to his navel, but he refuses to waste a single drop of blood for him. Roy takes a turn, less cars on the road now, and he takes a second to look at Shane again. He looks smug, as if he’s won any of this bullshit. “You’ll be fine, Shane. Like you said, what’s a little dry humping between two friends.”

Shane’s throat closes. A whine he hadn’t realised within him caught on his tongue, sour. “You really want to play pretend? Roy, I’d never want to hurt you-”

“God, you’re a pussy. Are you always this fucking dramatic? Sometimes I feel like all I do is babysit you and Danny, and everyone else. Grow the fuck up, Shane. I’m not scared of getting hurt, so shut up,” Roy lies, grunting, then laughs, full of malice and a dark evil presence. “You and your bullshit, you’re like a damn migraine. You’re not the first person I’ve had to get over and you won’t be the last, so get off your high horse. You’re not special.” He looks over, up and down Shane’s body then scoffs. “You never will be.”

The last time Shane felt this angry- spiteful, like his fingers could turn into claws, and his jaw could dislocate so he could cut up and swallow everything blocking his path- was before he moved to America. When he was going through the motions of an unruly ocean, unsure of himself as every other Queen in Australia told him he was worthless. When he started coming to terms with his gender and his sexuality, and the spinning was beginning to stop, he’d feel hands push his shoulder and he’d be off again like a tornado. Their snarky red lips, their broken eyes, the only thing they wanted was to destroy Shane before he had a chance to grow with Courtney. The snapping was an outer body experience, he promised himself he’d never get that angry again. Last night with Roy was already intense, but here in the car, watching his friend mock him was more than Shane could handle. He wasn’t about to be walked all over; not again, never again.

Maybe Shane did want to hurt him.

“Wasn’t my dick that was hard last night though,” Shane says, his tone calm but his eyes raging. He sees Roy stiffen, and the smell of fear is delicious. “It’s not me that’s in love with his best friend. That’s all on you. How does it feel, huh? Knowing no one will ever love you as much as you love them, and it’s all your fault.” Shane’s never felt so strong yet so weak at the same time. He realises they’re off the highway now and on a main road, with pedestrians and walking life. “Stop the car, I’m getting out.”

“What?”

“Stop the fucking car, you cunt.” Shane doesn’t shout, but he’s stern. Roy rolls his eyes, pulling over and turning the car off. They sit in silence for a second- Shane hopes that maybe Roy will say something to stop him, to pull him back under his wing and keep him calm, so they can repair whatever was tearing between them, but he doesn’t. Roy crosses his arms and waits, not dare looking at Shane. He laughs at Roy’s expense, getting out the car and slamming the door. “Call me when you get a spine.” Shane shouts, kicking the car door for good measure as Roy readies to speed away. He knows he heard him, but the exhaust of the engine still makes him cough up all the pain in his chest.

He stands in the middle of nowhere, watching the direction Roy had driven, and tears finally fall from his eyes. They’re not red hot and cooling down his cheeks, they’re soft and strained, barely bringing up any flush on his skin.

He calls an Uber and gets sent to Willam’s hotel room. He doesn’t care if he said not to call him when he’s crying after the downfall, he’s going there regardless. And Willam welcomes him, not with a hug, but with a look of pity and a shot of tequilla.

“Do you love him?” Willam asks when they start packing up their drag to leave, Alaska on her way down from her hotel room to meet them, leave as a three. Shane doesn’t lift his head from his duffel bag, but he can see the look on Willam’s face in his mind’s eye: the facade of smugness that’s really care.

“No,” Shane answers. “But I probably could have, if he wanted me to.”

-

Bianca knows she’ll have to face the music sooner or later, but she’d rather wait till Courtney’s squirming and pleading for her forgiveness. Apologise for forcing her to admit to a truth that made her sick. Apologise again, because the one she left last night was all in the moment, laced in stars and love hearts and all the shit Bianca despised.

She sits at her makeup table in silence, applying her foundation while listening to Adore and Katya babble about nothing interesting. Every so often she touches her chest, the space between her pecs, and lets out a breath of relief that there isn’t a gaping hole, rotting, making her sicker. It feels like it. Telling Courtney everything had left her more vulnerable than she had been since she was a teen first coming out. She hasn’t felt this powerless since her first great love when she was 22, which felt like a whole lifetime ago now she’s had two decades to grow since.

But that guy, with his fiery red hair and enchanting blue eyes, had been the one who changed Bianca’s perspective on love. She wouldn’t be used that way ever again. She wouldn’t let anyone get close enough to hurt her again, because if it happened, she knew she had to hurt them first.

It didn’t matter that Courtney was 100% different from the men of her past. It didn’t matter that Courtney was actually compassionate, smart and could crack a joke as well as Bianca could. It didn’t matter she could run circles around every other man Bianca had dated, because the point was as precise: she didn’t date for her own good, no exceptions.

Of course when she applies the lipstick to her lips, she thinks back to the way Courtney kissed her, bare of drag, but full of feelings. It felt amazing to let go of all her inhibitions for a change, and the hands on her hips to her chest to her shoulders, it was almost freeing for a second like she was reborn. Courtney- Shane, like an angel, no false persona or foundation to cover the red cheeks, Bianca felt her heart soaring at the sight. Courtney was breathtaking, and it was going to kill her a hundred times over in a hundred different ways if she allowed herself to love wholeheartedly. It always did, but this time might not be so numb, and she might not be able to forget with fireballs and tequila. This time might push her over the edge…

And as if Courtney liked her too- that was the pity talking when she said that, how convenient she’d have had feelings in return!

Whatever. It was over. Bianca was moving on. No more thinking about the kissing, or the light touches, or the running out of oxygen feeling like a drug. No more thinking about Courtney.

Bianca adds a few extra strokes of glue to the sides of the lace on her wig, grunting in frustration as the top layer begins to teeter over. Sometimes she despised being a drag queen. Katya and Adore are still cluttering the air of the dressing room with their madness, and it irritates her, more than it should. She glares at them through the mirror. Katya’s whole body spasming as she laughes, Adore’s mouth abnormally wide like she’s catching flies, it’s all too much to handle given the day she’s having.

“What the fuck is so funny? Can you guys shut up for a second, is that doable?” Bianca barks at them, pressing down on the lace hard. Adore and Katya share a look, smirking mischievously like a pair of misbehaving kids, and laugh again at Bianca’s expense.

“Well aren’t you a sour puss!” Katya mocks, strutting over to Bianca and grabbing a few pins from the desk she sits at, holding the higher wig up and sticking it back in place so it doesn’t fall. Bianca watches her, still frowning, not about to give her any sort of gratitude for the help. Katya walks round to sit on her makeup table, crossing her legs more exaggerated than needed, and stroks her chin. “Tell me dear, how’s your mental health?”

“Fuck you, you dumb cunt.” Bianca laughs, spraying her face with a setting spray. “You two are just annoying.”

“Wow, B. You’re usually so nice to me.” Adore whines, wrapping her arms around Bianca and squeezing her, keeping her grip tight when Bianca tries to bat her away. “Come on, tonight’s going to be fun! You, me and Court haven’t been together in, like, forever!” She pulls away, obnoxiously chewing gum, then blowing a bubble and shrugging as she pulls it back into her mouth. “Swear to God, I’m gonna get so fucked tonight! Like- drag my ass off the sticky dance floor I’m trying to hump- fucked.” She laughs, and Katya joins in with a witchy cackle. Bianca rolls her eyes at the two and moves to get changed into her dress.

Dealing with Adore drunk was usually innocent fun, but Bianca is dreading seeing Courtney again. She wasn’t going to let herself spiral into a panic of course, but the anxiety is creeping up on her. Courtney was so angry when she left the car. She had never been that angry in the entirety of their friendship, never mind because of Bianca. If she was a bigger person, she’d admit to feeling guilty. Courtney is actually a good person. It felt like kicking a puppy watching her get so fiery, but it also proved to Bianca she could never drag Courtney down with her in the phenomenal disaster that was a Haylock relationship. If Adore was in the middle, maybe things would feel light and airy, and Bianca could smugly pretend nothing happened.

She slips into her short off shoulder black dress and brushes it down, admiring her reflection in the mirror. Adore and Katya had scampered away at some point unbeknownst to Bianca, but she’s grateful for a moment of silence. San Diego was supposed to be fun - it was always jovial when so many queens were working together, but Bianca can’t focus on anything positive long enough before flashes of the unmentionable force her chest to tighten. She feels claustrophobic in her own body, under the control of her damn feelings.

As she’s touching up the last of her drag, the dressing room door slams shut and she jumps up to see Courtney, arms crossed and face furious. She looks too beautiful to be so angry. Her blonde hair falling around the razor sharp edges of her face, her body delicate and curved, holding so much rage seems impossible in such a tiny figure. Bianca stares at her cluelessly, before all she can sum up was an awkward laugh.

“I guess we’re not going to forgive and forget?” She jokes, scratching the back of her neck. Courtney doesn’t speak, just glares harder it feels like someone is punching Bianca in the gut. “Damn, angry don’t suit that pretty face of yours.”

“You done?” Courtney interjects, the pixie tone gone sour, her accent stabbing. Bianca’s eyes widen, but she can’t muster up a usual anger for self defence. She’s powerless to Courtney’s fury. “You’re a fucking cunt.”

“Wow. Harsh.”

“No, it’s not. In fact,” Courtney lets her arms fall as she slowly walks closer, squaring up to Bianca, their faces barely inches apart that the tension could smother them to death. “It’s perfectly fitting for you. You, who calls everyone a cunt, who pushes everyone away. You, who wants to be such a control freak you’re willing to hurt me.” Courtney snickers, cocking her jaw as she riled herself up. “I confronted you about being in love with me because I care about you-”

"I’m not in love with you-”

“Then what, Roy!” Courtney screams. The silence is suddenly unbearably loud. Bianca has to take a step back to remember this is her friend. Courtney groans, scrunching up her fists and balling them at her temples before composing herself. “Fine, you don’t love me, keep telling yourself that, but I know you.”

Bianca finally comes back to consciousness, scrunching up her face. “What? Oh we’re back on this! A lot of people know me well, for fucks sake. Jamie knows me like the back of his hand, Adore knows me she could probably tell you what I’d say before I said it- a lot of people ‘know me’. So fucking what!” Bianca shakes her head, smirking, wicked and sinister in hopes it’ll stab Courtney in the heart. “What do you know about me that’s got your cage so rattled?”

Courtney raises a brow. “Really?” she asks, calm but in disbelief. “Shall I make a cute little list for you, is that what you want? Fine. You like shit to be precise, you have to plan your day down to the T, you worry your dad’s not proud of you even though he’s told you a billion times he is, you cry when you first see your dogs after being away for so long- just to name a few, but I’ll go on!” Courtney scoffs, holding her fingers out to count. “You didn’t tuck in drag until a New Orleans queen said you had a big dick, you’re a bit scared of heights hence why you drink vodka on your flights, you have an unhealthy obsession with reality television, and the first guy you fell in love with hurt you.” Courtney catches Bianca’s eyes, and for a split second, she falls soft: compassionate. “And I know how. And I’m sorry.”

Bianca stands staring, completely shell shocked and it feels like all the colour from her face had drained from her body and was pooling around the base of her stilettos. All she could do was keep eye contact, listening to the drumming of her heart, so strong it could probably break from her rib cage. Courtney stood tall, not breaking to comfort her, and that hurt more, impossibly so Bianca felt tears behind her eyes. She could feel the red around her contacts, pinching her nails in her palms to will the waterfall away. A frown- she frowned like she always did when times got tough.

“A lot of people know that stuff.”

“No they don’t.”

Courtney was right, and Bianca knew Courtney knew it. She bites her bottom lip, thanking her lucky stars when she feels the tears retreat. “So what? Do you want a gold medal?”

“All I wanted was for you to be honest. Like I thought we always were.” Courtney sighs. “Why do you have to make it so hard? I mean…do you know me at all?”

Bianca’s brows lift, but the rest of her body dropped smooth like velvet. She might get whiplash from her emotions if this continues any longer. “Yes,” she says, barely louder than a whisper before she coughs. “Yes, I do. I know you like I know myself. I wish I didn’t know you so well!” Bianca holds out her hands, but not for anything in particular to fill them, just for distance between them to close a little. “God– look, I’m never going to be able to be honest with you, definitely not when I’m sober! But I did that last night. I tried, and I told you I’d hurt you, and I don’t want that, because you don’t deserve it. Court, you’re one of the most amazing people I know, that’s why I can’t tell you everything.” Bianca drops her arms, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Because if you know everything, it’ll change us. If you know completely how I feel, I’ll have to break you.”

Courtney doesn’t move, by choice and by force. She was exhausted going through the loops, and despite how tolerant she was, Bianca’s self pity, protect-herself bullshit wasn’t going to go down well with her.

“You know what?” she starts, breathing loudly. “It’s already changed us. You thinking I’m a child, like I need protecting. Look at me right now. I’m here, telling you off and you have your tail between your legs, so fuck off.” Bianca pushes out her lips, rolling her eyes, but Courtney ignores her. “You better say something smart in the next five seconds or I’m walking out and we’re done.”

“We’re done?” Bianca snickers. “What does that mean?”

“Five,” Courtney says, stern. Bianca frowns.

“What do you mean we’re done?”

“Four,”

“Now who’s being condescending?”

“Three,”

“Courtney, what do you want me to-”

“Two!”

“OKAY!” Bianca panics, and then it comes out like projectile vomit. “I’m in love with you and I hate myself for it because I haven’t been in love for years, and I don’t know how to do it!” She groans, her throat feels like shards of glass are cutting up her flesh. “I don’t want to be in love with you! That feeling is so much fucking stronger than the actual being in love shit! Because you can get anyone you want, and in fact, you do! And you may be the most amazing, generous person I’ve ever met, but I’m not going through that again, I’m not being with someone who can click their fingers and get sex like that! From anyone else, but especially from me.” She breathes, remembering how, and realises she’d had her eyes squeezed shut. When she opens them, Courtney’s are wide and tired. Bianca feels like she’s a thousand feet above the ground, but unlike yesterday, the fear of crashing is nothing compared to the pain of the damn distance she keeps between them compulsively. “So there. There’s the fucking truth you wanted. I will not be with you, no matter what you say, no matter what you want! Because I’m selfish and I’m not going to be the hopeless romantic again to someone who doesn’t love me as much as I love them- just like what you said in the car.” Bianca looks her up and down, and scoffs. “Sometimes people are complicated. You can’t always conjure up a happy ending and make it happen.”

Courtney’s quiet as she processes. She looks down at the ground, defeated. Her limbs are aching, her head is pounding, everything that used to be so light and bubbly is overcome by the fatigue of an endless fight. She wanted Bianca, because she honestly believed they could work, but now that hope was shattering, and the cracks were out growing themselves to uncontrollable lengths.

This was it. This was the final done. Now there really wasn’t anything left to say.

So Courtney stops talking.

She takes a deep breath, feeling her lungs expand, cooling a burn, and then she smiles. Bianca is still staring with panicky eyes, and that’s it. This is the Bianca she didn’t know, and this is the Bianca that her past had moulded to protect her.

She walks toward the older girl slowly. She stops in front of her, and takes both Bianca’s hands in hers. Bianca lets her, but she watches skeptically. Courtney looks down, running her thumb over the other’s soft skin, and then lifts her gaze to meet hers again. Soft blue contacts, faint, shameful wrinkles by her eyes. Bianca is tired too.

Courtney leans in and kisses Bianca tenderly. Soft like a hummingbird’s wings, her heart as erect as them too. Bianca doesn’t fight, because she wants it so badly. They kiss like the world may stop spinning or the moon may collide, or they’re on the brink of death any second and the only way to get to heaven is to unload all the burdens of their hearts. Courtney kisses Bianca because she desperately wants to, and because Bianca needs someone to love her more than she loves them, for once.

When she pulls away, they just stare at one another with soft eyes, resisting smiling. Then Courtney says, “Well…we’ll always have last night. We’ll always have the night drive.” And she lets go of Bianca’s hands, finally smiling.

That’s when Bianca feels herself falling; plummeting, about come to terms with the reality of her self destruction.

“Yeah. Can we pretend this didn’t happen? Any of it?”

“Do you want that?”

Bianca’s head is screaming not to lie. She’s internally in hysterics, begging and pleading to let herself be weak and happy for once, because kissing Courtney was the adrenaline rush she’s in desperate need of, but Bianca is used to that bitch’s little voice trying to scream past the barricade. Last night was the only time, now she was done talking, forever.

“Yes. We’re just friends.”

Courtney nods, giving Bianca a final knowing, disappointed look before leaving to get ready for the show.

And from that point on, the ordeal was nothing but a distant memory. They remained purely as friends - damaged and wishful, but friends nevertheless. 

-

#bitney #zeezee #bianca del rio #courtney act #angst #oneshot #rpdr fanfiction #submission #canon compliant

[clubdolan]

Meet the King | Pt. 2

No one really cared about part 1, but I don’t care. Sorry it took so long. Sorry it’s kind of long. But I really get into this for some reason. OK BYE.

“I got B for number three and C for number 4...” Zoey mumbled, looking at Lo. “You said for number three you got D.”

“Yes, if you read the end of the question it says to find--

“Ohhhhhh” Zoey quickly corrected her answer as they took an online quiz together.

Grayson sat at the end of the couch, editing a video with Lo’s legs across his lap. Zoey sat at the coffee table, their notes sprawled across it.

“Zoey! Lo! Are you taking the-- um, hello.” A girl said, entering the study room of their sorority house. Grayson looked up at her before looking back at Lo. “Are you in our class?”

“Mal, this is Grayson. You met him two weeks ago at Sigma’s party, his brother Ethan was with Matt and you all night, walked us home...” Lo tried to remind her, “You felt both of their arms a lot and kept telling them they were beautiful.”

Mallory’s face turned red, “I... I am so sorry. I do not remember, any of that.” She walked in and set her laptop next to Zoey. “So you’re a Sigma?”

“No, not even in college.” He said, “Just finished high school online a few weeks ago and listening to you guys take a quiz makes me want to avoid college.”

“Mal, did you get D or B for number three?” Lo asked.

“D” She clicked around before hovering over all of the notes. “I can’t figure out ten, I know it’s not C.”

“I need a break.” Zoey stood up, “Anyone want a water?” No one answered so she left to get her own.

“Are you sure I met you?” Mallory asked Grayson, “I feel like I would remember that.”

“Yes, Mal.” Lo laughed, putting her laptop aside before pulling herself closer to Grayson. “Gray, you need to text Ethan back.”

“I will-

“You said that the last two times I reminded you.” She handed him his phone, “Get him out of your apartment, we can all go bowling or get pizza tonight, he needs to do something.” Grayson started texting as Lo explained to Mallory that Ethan’s ‘almost girlfriend’ didn’t want to be his actual girlfriend and he had been pouting for two days.

As he texted Ethan, Lo rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. “You need to finish your quiz....” Grayson whispered to her, “You have twenty--”, he checked his phone, “Twenty-six minutes.”

“Just a two minute nap.”

“No minute nap, back to work!” Zoey snapped, sitting back down at her computer.

“E wants me to come get him so we can all go do something.” Lo pulled her legs to herself and joined the girls on the floor, “I’ll text you in twenty..... four minutes, when you’re done with your quiz.”

Lo gave him a thumbs up as the other girls said goodbye.

“Okay, are you guys sure I met him--

“Yes, Mal!” Zoey laughed, “You were a wreck and I only saw you when you got home.”

“He’s so cute though, I’m so embarrassed.” She covered her face with her hands.

“Don’t even try it with Grayson, he’s allllllll about Lo.”

“No he’s not!”

“Yes he is!”

“He’s just being nice.”

“More than nice, Lo! I saw you guys walking here holding hands, I saw that hug the other day. He’s been here like eight of the past twelve days.”

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

“Beeeeeth, Zoey and Mallory are the only ones that know, I promise.” Lo said, for what felt like the hundredth time as she was on the phone with her dad’s assistant. Beth had grown to be like a mom to Lo since her Grandmother was busy running a country and her mom had passed away suddenly when she was eight.

“Zoey is the only one coming with me, we picked out outfits online and I emailed you over the list.” She paced back and forth in her room, tossing a pen in the air and catching it, “I don’t have a date, tell her I don’t need a date for a coronation and remind her I’m not dating Zoey.”

“We will be there for a little over a week, we have talked to our professors about it already. Then I’ll be back for Christmas, the New Year, then back to school.” She caught the pen and marked out days on her calendar that hung on the wall.

“Don’t call Zoey, she won’t be any help in finding me a date and do not have the Prince of --- wait, you called Zoey?” Lo’s entire body froze, would Zoey dare tell Beth about Grayson?

Yes. Yes she would.

“He’s just a friend, we met at a party, he’s got a lot of down time so he comes here when I have time off, it’s nothing, promise. And there’s no way I’m going to tell him what’s happening and invite him overseas.” She fought, “Yes, he has a brother. No it wouldn’t be perfect for Zoey and I.”

She listened to Beth explain how her Grandmother had gone on and on about her having a date to escort her down the large stair case at the castle, the one she had made it down alone multiple times by herself in dresses bigger than any she was planning on wearing. “Hold on Beth, someone’s calling.”

She looked at her phone and saw Zoey’s name on the screen, “Hey Zo, I’m on the other line trying to convince my Grandmother that we don’t need dates. Like, it’s myyyy coronation, let me meet the Duke of--.”

“Um... Lo... Uhhhh, it’s not just me.” Zoey cringed, holding the speaker phone out in front of her. “Grayson and Ethan came by, I just ran into them out front because someone told them you weren’t here....aaannnd you’re on speaker....”

Lo hesitated, “I was on a call so my door was locked....” She looked out the window to see Zoey standing with both boys at the end of their driveway near the gate.

“Lo?” Zoey questioned, waking her up from her rambling thoughts in her head. “Wanna grab lunch? We were just talking about Tender Greens.”

“Uh, yeah. That’s fine. I’ll be out in a second. Let me get Beth off the other line.” She quickly transferred back over to Beth who was talking to someone else in the room about catering.

“Beth, hey, I’ve got to go study. My group is going to meet earlier than expected. I’ll call you back another time.” She tried to pull her Converse on with one hand, jumping around her room, “Yeah, I’ll call her in the morning, your morning. She wakes at six, tea at quarter to seven. I’ll try then.”

Zoey gave her the biggest and most obvious ‘what the fuck’ face ever as she walked out of their house. “Ready to go?”

The boys nodded and Zoey gave her another look, “Stooooop.”

They all got into Ethan’s Jeep and he took off through campus, Lo sat up in the middle seat, propping her arms on the console between the two of them, “Can you guys promise me, if you get a phone call from a European number that you won’t answer it?”

Grayson looked at her with a weird face, “Why would we get a--

“Don’t ask questions.”

“Sure, I guess?” He shrugged. “Are you being hunted down by British FBI or something?”

“No, not that. Just, my Grandmother.” She grinned, sliding back into her seat. She texted Zoey who sat right next to her.

Lo: Were they curious? Did they ask questions?

Zoey: They gave each other this look and I think their twin powers like shared brain information. But other than that, nothing.

Lo: I said ‘my coronation’ like...??? How does someone not have questions about that.

Zoey: They’re not that smart, Lo. They probably don’t even know what a coronation is.

Lo: You’re the worst!! lol Let’s just avoid it at all costs, if they ask you, send them to me.

- - - - - - - - - - 

A normal night turned into beer pong at Ethan and Grayson’s apartment. The game kept tying, Zoey kept breaking the rules, Grayson kept making rules up, and Lo couldn’t make a cup for the life of her.

“The fuckkkk?” Lo groaned, “Shit, it’s my Grandmother.” She glanced at the clock, 12am in LA meant 8am in England. She was supposed to call her at morning tea.

“Sober up! Sober up!” Zoey chanted, flicking water in Lo’s face before tapping on her cheeks. “Music! Turn the music down!”

She sat on the couch, making sure the background was free of red solo cups, and slid to answer to the phone. “Good morning, Grandmother.” Lo smiled, trying to figure out if her hand was moving back and forth or her Grandmother’s was.

“Good night, Penelope.” She laughed, “I was hoping you were up late. Studying?”

“Yeah we were studying then went to eat with some friends and came back to their place for a while. Zoey and I don’t have class tomorrow till night so we’re having a chill night.”

“Miss. Zoey is there? Zoey?!” The Queen yelled. Zoey’s head entered frame quickly, smacking against Lo’s. “Oh you two! Miss. Zoey I cannot wait to see you again, it will be so lovely.”

“I am so excited, Penelope just told me the itinerary yesterday and I can’t wait!”

“Who’s that? Behind you?” Her Grandmother tried to peek as if the phone camera would let her. “Is that a boy? Penelope where are you?”

“I said we are at a friends house. They are friends who are boys.” Lo explained, giving Ethan the death glare as she looked behind her. “We ate near their apartment, so we just stopped by.”

“Introduce me, I do love meeting your friends.” 

“Grandmother, it’s not necessary.” Lo laughed, “What did you call me about?”

“I won’t ask until you introduce me, Penelope.” 

Zoey jumped off the couch, pulling beer bottles off the table as Lo walked into the kitchen. “Ethan” She showed his face and he waved, “Grayson” She said, jumping on the counter next to him. “Guys, this is my Grandmother. Grandmother, the guys.”

“It’s so lovely to meet you.” Her accent chimed, “Do you two attend the same school?”

“They’re in the entertainment business, they don’t go to school. People don’t make them go to school.” Lo glared at her Grandmother, “Now, what did you need to ask me?”

She stole a chip out of Grayson’s hand and ate it, “Are you two brothers?”

“Yes, they’re twins.” Lo laughed, “I can’t talk about the trip right now, I don’t have Beth’s notes on it.”

“Can’t a Grandmother just call her Granddaughter to have a chat?” Her Grandmother laughed, “I do need to ask though, do you girls want the horse trainer here for another trail ride?”

“I was pretty bomb on that last trail ride on our supposed lesbian date.” Zoey nodded, thinking of the picture on the front of the paper the next day saying they were dating. “I vote yes!”

“Sounds fine to me, as long as it’s not that rude Irish lady. We just need a trail lead.”Lo rolled her eyes, thinking of the things the Irish lady had yelled at her.

“Ethan and Grayson? Is that right?” Her Grandmother asked and Lo tilted the camera to Grayson and he nodded. “What are you two up to in the next few weeks?”

“Just filming things for our channel, we just kind of do whatever.” Grayson said, completely oblivious.

Zoey thought she was going to have to catch Lo from falling off the counter as she froze up and seemed to turn a pasty white color. “No, no, no, no....” She kept saying under her breath, holding the phone in front of Grayson.

“Why don’t you two come with Zoey and Penelope to England? It’s a fun time, a lot of events, and Penelope needs a date for her coronation. If you’re free I will have my personal plane and car come get you all instead of the country plane.”

“Personal plane?” Grayson asked.

“Country plane?” Ethan asked, trying to squeeze next to Grayson on the counter.

“Um” Zoey grabbed the phone from, currently lifeless, Lo. “They don’t know, like, who you are, what you do, what Lo--Penelope does or is. We just said we were visiting her dad.”

“Miss. Zoey are these boys nice?” Zoey nodded, “Good enough to bring to the castle for a coronation ball and a few other events?”

“Probably.” Zoey shrugged, “I mean if they can come. If they want to come.”

“Can you show me one of them?” Zoey tilted the phone to her right where Ethan stood, just as confused as Grayson. “Here’s Ethan.”

“No, I need the other one, the one Beth mentioned.”

As if Lo couldn’t be more frozen, pale as a ghost, with a slight ‘I might vomit’ face for the last few minutes, she was practically a corpse now.

“Beth is the Queen’s assistant.” Zoey informed them both, smiling to go along with it all.

“Grayson, my dear, my Granddaughter Penelope is royalty over here, she is heiress to the throne while her father and I are currently leading the country. She is being inducted as the Princess in a few weeks and I would love for you to be her escort.”

Her Grandmother smiled, Grayson smiled back, seeing Zoey’s head nod up and down he followed along, “Yes” Zoey motioned for him to keep going, “I would love to, if Lo is okay with it.”

Zoey began to whisper, “Pene--

“If Penelope is okay with it.” He corrected himself, looking to his right where Lo sat, her eyes bugging out of her face as she looked at the phone in his hand.

“She would love it!” Zoey interjected, grabbing the phone, “And I’ll bring Ethan as my escort.” She slid next to Ethan and he smiled and waved, “I’ll have Penelope call you back later, Beth is motioning for you back there.” She pointed at the screen and the Queen looked behind her.

“I am so delighted that you all will be here for the coronation and the ball. Beth will contact you later with more information, I’ve got to go have tea with the leader of Kenya, wildlife conservation has always been a favorite of mine. Have a good day, sweet Zoey.”

“You as well, Queen.” Zoey smiled before ending the call as quick as she could.

She threw the phone on the counter and found Lo, now on the floor, her head in between her hands. “Lo, c’mon Lo, get up.” She pulled her up and pushed her hair from her face, “It wasn’t that bad.”

“It was bad.”

“It wasn’t that bad.” Zoey repeated, “At least you won’t get in trouble for telling them and now they know and now she won’t be on you about bringing someone. It’ll be fine guys, right?”

Ethan paused for a second before looking straight at Lo, “You’re a Princess?!”

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

“That was it. She straight up offered them the entire trip, clothes, meals, everything. Right there on FaceTime.” Lo complained, laying in Mallory’s bed. “It’s not that I’m mad, I’m just embarrassed and overwhelmed and... I will be with them a whole week. Zoey and I are insane, how would anyone spend a whole week with us?”

“I do live with you and it’s pretty terrible.” Mallory joked. “At least they’re hot and you won’t have that weird kid, the Duke of whatever, hitting on you. His front teeth still freak me out.”

“He looks like a gopher!” Zoey said, “Gopher or horse, he also smells like cologne from the 1800′s and tries to flirt with Lo because her family is above his in rankings and if they married he would be in line before Lo.”

“So she said all of that, he asked if you were a Princess, Lo almost vomited, more explaining, then you got an uber back?”

“She also hasn’t slept.” Zoey looked over at Lo who laid in the bed looking up at the ceiling.

“How does my Grandmother have the biggest mouth ever? You think she would have learned after 35 years of running a country, how to keep her mouth closed?”

“I think she’s nervous.” Mallory said to Zoey, “She wants it to go well with Grayson and once you all get there it will be a lot to handle.”

“I’m not nerv--

“They have to leave a good impression on her family and also a country. Like I said, they’re cute, I’m sure they look good in suits, and they’re very polite guys, you’ll be fine.”

“If either of you say ‘you’ll be fine’ one more time.....” Lo threatened, sitting up at the sound of her phone dinging.

“It’s him.” She locked it and threw it back in her lap, “He’s probably texting me to tell me he doesn’t want to go now.” Lo sighed and picked up her phone, sliding to open the message.

Grayson: (I’m not supposed to tell you that Zoey texted me that you’re still freaking out but she did.) I will only go if you want me to go, it’s your decision, it’s your event. But no matter where I am I demand a picture and for you to let me know how it goes. 😊👑

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