#(sorry no scan version - i was too dumb to draw in the middle of the page so everything would fit -_-" )

[opopnomi]

@doubleohsandwich Smile ! It's always such a pleasure to see you in my askbox :3 Killer totally get the punk vibes (so is the rest of the crew)... Hope you'll like it ! loved this pic

Historical Fashion Event

(shorter hair version under the cut)

[nadjaofstatenisland]

“You’re late.”

Alice puts on her best stern face, but Gladys pays her no mind. Instead the brunette kicks her bag under the bar and pulls on the collar of her blue work shirt to take a sniff. Alice sucks her teeth and starts pouring another beer for the kid standing in front of her.

“Look alive, Cohen. I said you’re late.”

Gladys steps into her personal space and some beer sloshes onto Alice’s hand. Gladys tugs her shirt towards her.

“Take a whiff. Do I smell?”

Alice slams the wet glass on the bar and snatches the crumbled up bills from the kid’s hand. He’s too young to drink - hell, she’s too young to drink too - but it’s a party going on and it’s the Southside of town and normal rules don’t apply in places like the Whyte Wyrm.

The kid slaunders off looking put out and even younger than he is in his way-too-big letterman. Alice crosses her arms, discreetly wiping her hands on the inside of her open flannel shirt, as Gladys inches ever so close. Her breasts press against Alice’s arm and she can see the smirk on Gladys’ face without looking.

“Al,” Gladys nudges her with a sneakered foot, “do I smell? I think I got some motor oil on my shirt. Well do I? Al? Alice Smith?” She nudges her shoulder. “Can you hear me? I’m right -”

“Yes, you reek. You smell like a goddamn garage.” Alice shrugs her off and takes a step away, taking in the sight of the bar. There were too many blue and yellow jackets for her to be at ease. “Can’t you bother to shower before you get here?”

“We’re fixing up a Mustang at the garage. I lost track of time.”

“It got real busy here for a while, you know.” Alice tries to sneak a look at the four loud boys whooping at the pool table, but Gladys’ gaze is burning a hole in her. “And I was all alone, left to deal with these drunk morons.”

Hog Eye isn’t even ten feet away doing a crossword puzzle at a table. They both know he’d never let the bar get backed up when there were Northside kids here with good money burning holes in their pockets, but Gladys keeps her mouth shut at Alice’s lie. She unbuttons the top of her work shirt, exposing the tank top underneath.

“Please, Gladys.” Alice mockingly covers her eyes, as if Gladys has anything she hasn’t seen before. “I asked you here to tend bar, not entertain.”

The words would cut if she was on the receiving end, but Gladys is all smiles. “This place couldn’t afford to get me up on that stage.”  Her expression changes as she pulls her shirt over her head. She looks either way around the bar, grin tilting. “Are we in school or something?”

Alice leans back, finally getting her glance in at the boys hogging the pool table. Fred’s running his hands through his hair in exaggerated frustration, FP has a sour look on his face, and -

A hand in front of her eyes brings her back to the bar. “What’s going on? Why is the entire football team here? I’ve told FP a million times the less I see of those stupid jackets, the happier I am.“

“You know we won that big game against Seaside High last night?” Gladys’ expression doesn’t change. “Well, we did. And since it was an away game, the team got home late so,” she waves her hand around the bar, “they decided to celebrate tonight.”

“Right.” Gladys rubs her bare arms. “And this is their idea of celebrating?”

“I guess they want to live life on the edge.” She rolls her eyes. “A bunch of dumb jocks slumming around a scummy bar.”

“Hey, you frequent this scummy bar all the time.”

“Not by choice.”

“Hmm. Where is FP?” She scans the place. “He can’t be too happy about his football buddies hanging around his stomping grounds.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” She drops her voice. “He’s in disguise.”

Alice head snaps back to the pool table to gesture at them. Of the four boys, only FP is sporting his RHS colors, yet he still looks more in place than the other three. Gladys cranes her neck to look at them and a mischievous grin comes upon her.

“My, my. What have we here?”

Alice bites her lip as she stares down the foursome. Hiram is in the middle of a celebratory dance and Fred and FP look sulky. The other -

“How did FP drag Fred here?”

The fourth boy lines up his shot on the pool table and Alice feels her breathe hitch. “Probably bribed him.”

Gladys laughs. “Oh I bet he did.” She does a rude gesture with her hand and mouth that earns a smile from Alice. “Are they hustling Northside boys?”

“Fred’s a Northside boy.”

“Northside boys with money, I mean. No one would be dumb enough to hustle Fred’s broke ass.”

The boy makes his shot and Hiram claps him hard on the back as he sinks a ball. “Sure looks like hustling to me. But Fred’s selling it too hard. Every time he misses a shot he starts throwing a fit. Good thing Hiram’s too stupid or drunk to notice.”

“Hiram’s not stupid.” Gladys goes about wiping down the wet rings on the bar with a rag. “He’s just cocky, arrogant.”

“That’s worse than being stupid.” Alice catches a lump in her throat. “He’s not even on the football team. God knows why he’s here.”

“Neither’s Fred.” Gladys pauses mid-wipe and looks over her shoulder. “Lodge is friends with Coop, he’s probably with him.” She shakes her head and returns to wiping down the counter. “Poor idiots. They’re going to walk out of here with no shoes.”

Alice clicks her teeth. “Yeah, well. It’s what they get. They’re not from this side of town.”

“Neither is Fred.” Gladys parrots her words for a moment ago.

“Fred is - Fred is Southside by association. Plus he and FP are trying to save up enough to buy a van. It’s as good a cause as any to scam some rich boys, right?”

“Right.” Gladys nods. “Hey, if they make enough tonight I bet I can weasle some two am milkshakes out of them.”

“I’d kill for a rootbeer float right now.” Alice peeks at the boys again. Hal Cooper’s looking in her direction and she snaps her head back so quick her hair brushes Gladys’ bare shoulder. “I’m just craving something sweet is all.”

Gladys raises an eyebrow and looks back towards the pool table. “Something sweet alright. Is that why your panties are in a twist?” She breaks out a cheeky grin. “Fred and FP ripping off the wrong rich boy tonight?”

“I don’t give a shit if Hiram Lodge is stupid enough to fall for the oldest trick in the book,” she scoffs. The heat rises in her face and her voice comes out several octaves higher than she cares for. “The pool scam? How dumb can you be?” She grabs a bottle of tequila from the wall and pours herself a shot. “Hasn’t he ever seen a movie or anything?”

Alice downs her shot and Gladys takes the glass before she can slam it on the bar. “Panties twisted,” she whispers an inch from her face. Alice swats her away and goes to tend to the group walking up.

“You’re so testy tonight, Al. I’m only messing with you.” Gladys hands off the beers Alice fills from the tap. “I know you have better taste than him.”

“Damn right I do.” She passes off the last beer and makes no move to give change for the ten they pass her. She raises an eyebrow and the group shuffles off looking embarrassed. “My type is the exact opposite of whatever Hiram Lodge is.”

“I get it.” Gladys nods. “You don’t go for short, dark, and handsome. Nope. You’d prefer tall, blonde, and boring.”

“Hal is not boring,” Alice hisses. She half glances over her shoulder. “Don’t you call him that.”

“Who said anything about Hal?” Gladys smirks at her confession. “But you did actually call him that last week.”

“I - no. Of course I didn’t.”

“Hiram said something dumb to you and you said,” she clears her throat and tries to mimic Alice’s high voice, “‘You think you’re so tough just because you have tall, dark, and stupid and tall, blonde, and boring with you.’ Ring a bell?”

She remembers the exact moment, coming out of the cafeteria and walking smack dab into Hiram with Marty Mantle and Hal Cooper on either side of him. Hiram falling flat on his ass and telling her to watch her attitude as Hal lifted him back up.

Alice shrugs. “I don’t remember that.”

“Of course not.” Gladys’ eyes search the smokey ceiling. “I just didn’t peg him as your type is all. Alice Smith drooling over some broad shouldered, all American boy who’d look better suited in a Leave it to Beaver rerun than a bar on the Southside. I’ve really seen it all now.”

“I’m not - he is not my type!” she hisses. "I don’t have a type! There is no drooling here! He’s just - just nice is all.”

“Nice and boring.” Alice glares at her. “Sorry. I just don’t get it.”

“Well no one is asking you to.” Alice plays with the loose button of her flannel.  “He’s just kind of - of cute. And I like his articles in the school paper. And maybe I like,” she sighs, “caught him drawing in English class one day and we got to talking and everything, but that doesn’t mean anything. I don’t like him. He’s not my type. I don’t have a -”

“Well, your type or not, he won’t stop staring at us.” Gladys peeks over Alice’s shoulder and gives a little wave. Alice pulls her hand down and whips her head around. Hal is looking at them, but Gladys’ wave is directed at FP. Hiram’s bent over the table lining up a shot as FP makes a crude thrusting gesture behind him and Fred fake coughs to cover up his laughter.  

Gladys shakes her head. “FP’s so stupid,” she says, but there’s a smile on her face and adoration in her eyes. Alice doesn’t know whether it’s sweet or sickening. “He’s like the teenage version of a puppy.”

“Uh huh.” Alice can feel Hal watching her even though she isn’t looking. “Trying to hump everything around him. Sure sounds like a dog to me.”

“Hey, barkeep!” Alice hears FP scream, even over the music blasting. “Mind bringing me and my boys over here some shots?”

Gladys cups her hands around her mouth. “Sorry, jock. Table service is for fellows from this side of town only. Guess you’ll have to come up here yourself.”

FP licks his lips. “There might be a nice tip in it for you.”

“Yeah? With what money?” She has the attention of half the bar. “You look like you’re about to lose the shirt off your back!”

He winks their way and turns back to the game. The patrons - still far too many Riverdale High students for her taste - slowly turn back to their own business. She catches a glimpse of Marty Mantle by the dart board looking stupid as ever in his varsity jacket, playing against some Serpents who look ready to tear him apart if he says one wrong word.

“I did my part. Maybe they’ll believe he really sucks now.” She turns back to Alice. “What’s with the pout?”

“I’m not pouting.” She wraps her arms around herself even though she’s as warm as anything. “I just wanna head home already.”

Gladys does an exaggerated pout herself. “What about your root beer float?”

“I’ll live.”

“Ah, I know what this is about.” Gladys takes her by the shoulders and spins her around so she’s facing the pool table. “Did my little outburst ruin your chances with Wally Cleaver?”

She shrugs her shoulders up but Gladys doesn’t let go. “I am not Hal Cooper’s type, okay?

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“Hey.” Gladys’ voice is softer than normal. She wraps her arms around Alice from behind and rests her chin on her shoulder. She nudges her head until she looks up and she sees their ridiculous reflection in the mirror over the bar. “You see that girl I’m looking at?”

“Uh huh.” Alice tries to go back to wiping glasses, but Gladys tightens her grip.

“That girl right there,” she swings them back and forth a bit, “is one of the hottest girls in town, you hear me? I’d probably sell my soul to get curls like hers.”

Alice snorts. “As if you have a soul.”

Gladys squeezes her harder. “Anyone in this bar would nail her.” She smiles as the corners of Alice’s lips finally twitch. “Present company included.”

Alice finally let out a full smile. “Don’t profess your love to me just yet.“

"I didn’t say love. Just said I’d nail you.”

“Guys like him like prissy cheerleaders. Not me.”

“Oh, I think guys like that love girls from this side of town.” She turns her attention back to the pool table. “Look at him. Boy is a freak waiting to come out. And a virgin to boot.”

“He is not a virgin!” Alice rolls her eyes. “People like him.”

“Alice, please.” She takes her chin and turns Alice’s face towards the boys. “Look. He’s the type who’s mother has probably instilled abstinence and chastity into his head from birth. He’s just waiting for right girl to free him from that. Teach him the ways of the world. Show him a good time.” She turns Alice’s face towards her own, her lips pouted out like a fish. “You can be that girl, Al.”

Alice lets a breath out as Gladys frees her face. “A guy like that would never date a Southside girl.”

“Who said anything about dating?” Gladys scoffs. “You don’t need some suburban prince to save you, Alice. You know that, right? You don’t need to date him. But what you do need is to get laid, so get your ass over there and talk to him.”

She bites the inside of her cheek and fixes her eyes on her scuffed boots. “I don’t want to.”

“You’re such a pain in the ass.” Alice doesn’t look back up until she feels Gladys plucking at her flannel. “You’re all flushed. Let me borrow this. I’m getting cold.”

“No.” She wraps her arms around herself. “All I have on is a -”

“A t-shirt and I just have a tank top.” Gladys practically takes it off of Alice. “Just give it here.”

A thin line of skin shows between the bottom of her shirt and her jeans, but she’s worn a lot less in this place. Gladys slides the flannel on and rolls the sleeves up. She regards Alice, looking her up and down quickly.

“You look perfect.” She finally meets her eyes. “Hot, but casual. Knock ‘em dead.”

“Knock who -”

“Hey, Cooper.” Gladys glances over her shoulder and Alice freezes, unsure if she’s joking or not. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Hey, Gladys.” Goosebumps run up her spine as she turns. He smiles at her and, even in the dim bar light, it’s blinding. “Hey, Alice.”

“Hey.” Her words come out slowly and she forces a smile. “Cooper.”

“Cooper,” he repeats. “You’ve never called me that.”

Her mouth goes dry, but Gladys saves her with a light smack on her shoulder. “Of course Cooper must be your father? You prefer Coop.” She looks over at the pool table. “At least that’s what all your football buddies call you.”

His eyes stay locked with Alice even though his words are directed at the other girl. “Coop is fine. Cooper’s fine. Alice just normally calls me Ha-”

“Did you want something?” Alice cuts him off and his mouth drops at her harsh tone. There’s still a smile there, still more teeth than she can believe, but there’s a slight sense of hurt behind his eyes.

“Drinks, yeah.” He breaks their gaze to pull his wallet out. “FP has requested shots.”

“Whiskey good?” Gladys asks. She pinches Alice’s forearm before finally taking her hand off her and grabs a bottle off the bar by the neck. “Or do you and Mr. Lodge over there have more refined tastes?”

“Whiskey’s great, thanks.”

Alice starts for the shot glasses, but Gladys bumps her hips to stop her, shoving her closer in Hal’s direction. She grabs a rag to keep busy and wipes the clean-as-it’ll-ever-be bar down next to him.

“Coop, is that your Dodge Dart I saw outside? The ‘74?” Gladys asks. She stomps on Alice’s foot but her Doc Martens protect her from Gladys’ sneakers. “It’s a beauty.”

“Thanks.” Hal takes his eyes off of Alice and she finally lets out the breath she’s been holding. “I like her alright.”

“Do you know,” Gladys passes Alice the bottle and sets six shot glasses down, nudging her to pour, “the car was originally called the Dodge Demon until some Christian organizations protested it and they changed it to the Dart for the next model?”

“No kidding.” Hal fixes himself back on Alice as she quickly pours. “My mom would be one of those protesters.“

Gladys gives Hal a lopsided grin. “Your mom would, huh?” She pokes Alice in the ribs. “You don’t say.” She grabs a shot and nudges one to Alice. “Take one with us, Coop. Alice will top you off.”

“No.” Alice nudges hers towards Hal. “I just had tequila. Take mine.”

He starts to shake his head. “I couldn’t -”

“You can and you will.” Gladys forces another shot glass into Alice’s hand. “Tequila for the lady.” She clinks her glass against either of theirs. “To Riverdale High winning a football game.” She regards Hal over the rim of her glass. “That’s why you boys are here, right?”

“Yeah, sure. That’s it.” Hal’s eyes are fixed on Alice again and he clinks his glass against just hers this time. “To the very attentive bartenders at the Whyte Wyrm.”

Alice takes her shot with him and slams the glass down. “Impressed with this hole in the wall?”

“Aspects of it, yeah.” He breaks his smile with her to take his shot. “That is - that is not smooth.” He coughs. “Oh, let me get that.” He takes his wallet out but she shakes her head at the bill he offers her.

“Don’t worry about it, Coop. This round is on me.”

He waves it towards her. “Oh, Alice. I couldn’t let you -”

Her instinct is to snap at his niceness, at him turning down her generosity, but she forces her voice to come out as nice as she can get it. “Hal, I’m serious. My treat.”

“I insist.” He holds out the money. “I couldn’t -

Gladys snatches the ten from Hal’s hand. “Let’s just call it a tip then, yeah?” She folds it up into quarters and slips it in Alice’s back pocket, giving her a sharp slap on the ass before walking to the other side of the bar. Hal raises his eyebrow.

“She is certainly,” Hal thinks of the right word, “friendly?”

Alice bites her lip. “Handsy is the word I normally use.” She lets her shoulders loosen. “And that’s just her after one drink. You have to see her after a few.”

“Right.” He gulps subtly and she knows she’s not supposed to notice. “So do you work here every weekend or -”

“Hal!” Hiram Lodge’s voice rings out across the bar. “You here to pick up girls or you here to play pool, Hal? Where are those shots? Hal!”

Gladys groans. “Cram it, Lodge! Can’t you see he’s busy!” She nudges Alice before ducking under the bar and stomping over to the pool table.

Hal rolls his empty glass on the bar. “I guess I should get back over there.” He picks up two shots with either hand. “I’ll come back when they want another round of beers -”

“They’re scamming you guys.” The words leave her mouth before she can help it and she leans across the bar towards him. “Fred and FP. They’re pretending they’re bad at pool and when your guard is down they’re -” Hal starts laughing. “I’m being serious.”

“Alice, Alice.” He shakes his hands and a few drops of whiskey fall on his sleeve. “I’m not stupid. And no offence, but Fred and FP aren’t exactly subtle either.”

She furrows her brow. “So why are you still playing?”

He shrugs. “We’re having fun. And if I’m being honest,” he downs one of the shots he’s still holding, “I only came out tonight because FP told me you work here on the weekend.”

Her heart speeds up. “Yeah?” He nods and she grabs the whiskey bottle to refill his glass. “That’s - that’s cool. I’m glad you came. Even if my stupid friends are bleeding you dry.”

“Nah.” His smile verges on goofy as the drinks settle into him. “It’s Hiram’s money we’re betting anyway. He has plenty to lose.”

Her nose scrunches up as she laughs. The face her dad says makes her look mousey, but Hal is still all smiles at her.

“I think Gladys has taken my place.” He looks over his shoulder at the pool table. “I’d ask if you want to go hang out, but I drove Hiram.”

“You’re too drunk to drive anyone anywhere right now.”

“I am not drunk.” He looks back to her cross eyed. “I’m fine, really. But Hiram -”

“They’ll take good care of Hiram. Get him home safe.” Alice leaves out the part about them not having a car. “I promise.”

“You sure -?”

“Nice shot, Cohen!” Hiram screams. They turn together just in time to see Gladys ignore Hiram’s attempt to high five her.

“He’s having a blast.” She taps one of his shot glasses. “Lets drop those off and go.”

“You can just leave?” He glances both ways down the bar. “Aren’t you working?”

She shrugs. “It’s fine.”

He smiles at her again, half dreamy and half drunk. “Cool.”

Her leather jacket is tucked under the bar and she pauses before sliding it on. She may have been warm enough in the October air with a flannel, but Gladys is already working up a sweat running around the pool table in it. She slides the leather on and watches Hal’s eyes take her in.

“Let’s go?” He nods obediently and she takes two of the shots from him to carry over.

FP has his hand tucked into the back of Gladys’ jeans as they approach. Alice hands one to FP and leaves another on the table for Fred.

“We’re going to take off,” Alice mutters under her breath to Gladys. FP’s ears perk up and she gives him a death glare before his mouth even opens. “You guys can take care of Lodge, right?”

“Hiram and I are pool buddies now,” Gladys says loudly. “Of course we’ll take good care of him.”

“You’re leaving?” Hiram gives Hal a hard shove in the shoulder, almost knocking the glasses out of his hand. He takes one from him. “Suit yourself, Hal. Gladys is a better partner anyway.” He clinks their glasses together, spilling whiskey to the floor. “One for the road.”

Hal reluctantly takes the shot and claps Hiram on the back. “I’ll see you.”

“Careful, Hal.” Fred finally takes his shot and knocks a ball off the table, narrowly missing his drink. Alice resists the urge to kick him. “Alice bites.”

Pink patches play up Hal’s cheeks. “I’ll take my chances.” He picks up his jacket from a chair - a light blue windbreaker instead of a loud letterman - and follows Alice. When she opens the door, he’s a few feet behind her catching up and Gladys is waving enthusiastically at them.

“My car is right there.” He points as they cross the slew of motorcycles in the parking lot. “The green one.”

He stumbles the last few feet to the car and breaks his fall hard against the side. She can almost feel Gladys cringing at the thump from back inside. He turns around and leans against the door, seemingly grateful for the steady object.

“Remember when I said I wasn’t drunk?” He fumbles through his pockets as she catches up to him. She takes one, two, three steps closer than necessary so there are only a few inches between them. He’s surprised at her closeness when he finally looks up. “I think I lied. I might be a little drunk.”

“No shit?” She throws her head back and laughs. “I think you passed little a while ago.”

“Maybe.” He pulls his keys out of his pocket, a plastic Statue of Liberty keychain dangling from the end. He raises them toward his head. “How about I let you drive if -”

She snatches the keys before he can finish his thought. “If what?”

His hand is still held out and he slowly lowers it as a smile plays on his lips. “If nothing. You drive.”

“You play football with those reflexes?”

“Not well,” he laughs.

“Don’t say that.” Alice shakes her head. “You’re good though.”

“I don’t even like playing,” he admits. “I don’t even really like football. I’d quit if it wouldn’t drive my parents nuts.” He leans through the window of the front seat and she wants to kick him for leaving his windows open on this side of town. Some soft rock comes from the stereo and he hits his head on the frame as he comes out. “I’m okay.”

“I didn’t ask,” she teases. He gives her a smile so genuine and bright, she wants to melt into him in the poorly lit parking lot. Instead, she shifts her weight between her boots and clutches the keys to her chest.

“You don’t mind driving?“ he asks.

"You have a nice car and I never turn down a chance to make Gladys jealous.” She feeds him a wicked grin and forces the words out of her mouth before she chickens out. “So where does Hal Cooper take a girl when he wants to have a good time?”

He bites his lip. “Pops.”

“Pops?” Her voice drops. Her face drops. Her mood drops. “That’s not very,” she searches for the word, “private.”

“Who cares about privacy?” She catches her breath as he tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear. He pulls back, seemingly embarrassed by his own move, and shoves both his hands in his pockets. “I’d kill for a cheeseburger.”

“A cheeseburger.” She slouches and make a mental note to kick herself when she hears the disappointment in her own voice. Desperate. Stupid. She thinks back to Gladys words and smiles. “You want a burger when you have a pretty girl right in front of you?”

“No, I want a cheeseburger.” There are teeth marks in his lower lip when he opens his mouth for a smile. Bright and wide, no doubt a result of the mouth of metal he endured until freshman year. “And you know, I want you to still be in front of me at Pops. I can have a cheeseburger with the company of a pretty girl.”

“Uh huh.” She shifts her weight between her feet. “And what do I get for being your chauffeur for the night?”

He regards her carefully, front teeth digging into his lip again. “A root beer float.”

Alice’s mouth falls open. “How did you -”

“Gladys told me.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head softly. “You prefer root beer floats over milkshakes. She said it would be good to know.” He peeks his eyes open. “For future reference.”

“Right.” She stiffens up. “Well don’t get too comfy yet, Coop. No one ever said this was going anywhere.”

“I like you, Alice.” He smiles softly again. “You know why?”

Her heart beats so fast in her chest, she takes a step away from him. “Because you’re drunk and not thinking straight?”

“No.” He slumps against the car, hands still in his pockets. “I’m good at reading people. At least I think I am. But with you, I don’t know.” He gives her a look that reminds her of Gladys looking at FP inside. Stupid, sappy adoration. “I never know what you’re about to say or what you’re thinking. You always take me by surprise.”

A lump rises to her throat that she can’t swallow. “You like that?”

“Love it. You’re unpredictable. Exciting.” He feeds her that sappy grin again and she doesn’t realize she’s closing in on him until her boots nudge his shoes. “I like you.”

She swallows the lump, swallows her pride. “I like you too, Hal.”

His hands are still in his pockets but she tilts her head up towards him. His mouth opens but instead of leaning down to her, his eyes look to the side and he smiles.  

“Do you hear that?” His face lights up. “Your band just came on.”

She hears a familiar guitar rift coming from the car but the song escapes her. “My band?”

Hal hums along for a few seconds. “The Smiths.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. She raises her eyebrow. “They’re The Smiths, you’re a Smith -”

With a firm yank on his windbreaker, she pulls his face to her level and plants a kiss on him. It’s not until she lightly bites his lip that he opens his mouth and responds, kissing her back. His arms fumble as he takes his hands out of his pockets and wraps them around her waist. A few moments pass before they break away. Stars are in his eyes and color in his lips, apparent even in the dim parking lot. His hands stay firm on her waist.

“What was that for?”

Alice shrugs, letting go of his jacket and snaking her arms around his neck. “I had to stop you from talking before you said something else stupid.”

“It’s very likely I’m about to say something else stupid.”

They’re both leaning against the car as she kisses him again. She pushes from her mind how close they are to her home and how far from his. How different they are. How they come from different worlds.

All she wants is for this moment to last.

[cutiesaeran]

The Star in the SKY- Chapter 7

A Yoosung x Saeran College AU (You can read this on AO3 here)

CH 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 |Ch 5 | Ch 6

Once again I find myself standing outside of Seven’s apartment staring down his door. Rolling my eyes, I take that final step forward, activating its security protocols. Today I’m running on ultimate sass levels - I woke up in a fairly bad mood - so I’m actually looking forward to giving the door a piece of my mind. The little black box blinks its red light at me before the robotic voice speaks.

“Please answer the following question in Arabic: who is the greatest friend of them all, the defender of justice for both big and small?

Oh my lord. “You’ve got to be kidding me. That’s your question? God, how full of yourself can you get?” I knock loudly and impatiently, increasing the volume as the door tries to inform me about me having one more chance before countermeasures, blah blah. I don’t care. “Shut up, you stupid box,” I growl, thumping my forehead against the wood in frustration, “and let me inside before I show you what countermeasures I will take.”

Then, as if by magic, the door opens. Raising my head, I blink in surprise when I see Saeran standing on the other side, a look of confusion on his face. “Threatening to take out the security system now?” he deadpans and I can’t help but smile weakly, huffing out a single laugh. Neither of us move for a second, his eyes scanning over me before flickering over to the box. “He does pick stupid questions, doesn’t he?” With that, he steps back, allowing me inside.

The apartment is oddly silent, generally not a good sign. It either means that A) Seven is about to pull some sort of prank on me or B) he’s not here at all. I’m not really in the mood for a prank but I’ll take it right now if it means he’s around since I came over to do the interview for my paper. Running a hand through my hair, I toss my bag on the couch and turn to face Saeran as he’s closing the door. I can feel the scowl on my face and I know it’s not fair to direct it at him because it’s not his fault, but I also can’t seem to get rid of it.

Green eyes meet mine and he instantly holds up his hands, palms facing me with a slightly alarmed look on his face. “He was called into work late last night and hasn’t be home since,” he says cautiously, averting his gaze when my scowl deepens. “I-he was supposed to tell you.”

“Yeah, well, he didn’t,” I grumble, dropping onto the couch sullenly. Crossing my arms, I glare at the coffee table in front of me, cursing Seven in my mind. Why? Why would he not tell me? Seriously, this is so dumb. I need them both to answer my questions in order for it to work. Granted, I still have plenty of time before I need to really worry about it but that’s not the point; he should have told me. A small chunk of my hair falls forward and I puff some air at it, trying to get it out of my face so I can be angry in peace.

A small chuckle catches my attention and I glance up to see Saeran looking at me with a hand covering his mouth. Did he just laugh at me? “What’s so funny?” Stay mad, stay mad, stay mad, I chant to myself, not quite willing to give up on my little temper tantrum yet. Yet for some reason as I look at Saeran I can feel my anger melting away; his red hair is even wilder than usual and the sides of his eyes are crinkled, most likely meaning he’s hiding a smile under that hand of his. The lack of black surrounding his eyes makes me realize that I either woke him up or was very close to doing so, because he hasn’t even gotten ready for today. Which means - yep, he’s still in sleep pants and a plain black t-shirt. Oops.

Shaking his head, Saeran drops his hand slowly to reveal the lopsided grin gracing his face as he looks at me. “Nothing,” he says at first, causing me to narrow my eyes at him in frustration. All that accomplishes is making his smile grow wider still. “It’s just that… when you’re mad, you’re…” he trails off, a light pink tinge appearing on his cheeks. Fingers are playing with the bottom of his shirt, rubbing it between middle and thumb and he looks to the side, a shy look passing over his face.

I think I know where this is going, but I can’t let the sentence hang in the air like that. “I’m?” I prompt, gesturing for him to continue. Please don’t say cute. Anything but cute.

“Cute.” Damn. It. Groaning, I lean forward and bury my face in my hands. It is both my blessing and my curse to be ‘cute,’ something I can never escape even when it’s the last thing I want to be. My whole life people have said I’m cute when I’m mad, which usually makes me more mad and then they say it’s still cute… and the cycle goes on. Just for once I’d like to be able to express some sort of emotion without it being cute; is that too much to ask for?

Silence hangs in the air between us for a while before I hear the scuffling of feet against the floor. Peeking out between my fingers, I see Saeran reach up and scratch his forehead, weight shifting awkwardly from one leg to the other. He clears his throat and then says softly, “I’m sorry if that was… wrong to say.”

Guilt slams into me like a 50 pound hammer and I sigh, dropping my hands and sitting up. None of this is fair on Saeran; not me interrupting his morning, not Seven dropping the ball on telling me not to come over and certainly not me subjecting him to a foul mood that is not his fault. “No, no, you’re fine,” I assure him, rubbing my temples wearily. “I hear that a lot, I just don’t generally like being told it when I’m, you know, mad.” I smile at him, hoping it comes across more cheerful than I feel.

“Ah.” He’s looking down the hallway with a faraway look on his face, almost like he doesn’t remember I’m here. Well. I should probably go home so I don’t take up any more of his time. I need to work off this frustration, anyway; I foresee a couple of rounds of LOLOL in my future. Nothing better than killing monsters or even helping bus newbies around to make myself feel better. Pulling my bag into my lap, I stand up, taking a step in his direction.

Eyebrows dipping when he looks back at me, his eyes flicking from my face to my bag and then back again. “Oh… are you going?” Something in his tone gives me pause; is that disappointment?

Sliding the bag on my shoulder, I give a quick nod. “I don’t want to take up more of your time when I’m not even supposed to be here,” I explain, lifting a shoulder in a shrug. “Plus, I’m not in a good mood today and all I’ve done since I got here is take it out on you.” The guilt increases when I say that and I kick my foot at the ground, dropping my eyes to the side. All I’ve been wanting since Saeran showed up again was to become his friend and now that it seems we’re finally headed down that path, I have to go and ruin it by being a jerk.

“You don’t have to go… if you don’t want to.” Furrowing my brows, I look back up to see him watching me with what appears to be hope etched in his features. That… doesn’t make sense. “Um. If you want to play games, we have some games here? Or if there’s something else you’d like to do…” He visibly gulps and that’s when it hits me just how nervous he is right now. He’s nervous, and he’s more or less asking me to stay. To hang out, like friends.

Okay. I can do that.

I smile brightly at him, feeling some of my ill mood evaporate. “If you want me to, yeah!” My bag falls to the floor and I bounce on my toes, excitement starting to build. I’ve never hung out with Saeran before and I’m super curious to see what’s he’s like underneath that prickly surface.

We end up agreeing to play Mario Kart again, partially because it’s one of the only multi-player games they own and partially because he mentions he really enjoys it. While our characters are zooming through the tracks, he opens up a bit about how he used to play one of the older versions of this game with Seven when one of them had a rough day. It just became a way to destress, to relax and have fun. That transferred over to adulthood once he came back from rehab - a place I noticed he mentioned with a rather neutral tone - and he plays it whenever he feels stressed. No wonder he’s so good.

Unlike the day when all three of us played, Saeran’s a lot more animated as we start to get competitive. He still doesn’t move around as much as I do, but he does lean forward and allow his body to slightly tilt whenever he turns the wheel. He’s also more vocal, grumbling or softly cheering when certain events happen. I glance over to see a look of concentration on his face, his red hair floating over the tops of his squinting eyes, nose wrinkled and tongue sticking just the tiniest bit out between his lips. Some odd feeling rises in my chest, but I just push it away; I don’t want to do any sort of introspection today to figure out what it is. I realize I’m staring when my character beeps for going too far off the track and my eyes snap back to the tv, immediately switching back into gamer mode, zooming around to try to catch up.

We play a few rounds and each time he gets progressively more relaxed around me. Never to the point that it feels like he’s fully open or comfortable, but enough that it no longer feels stiff and awkward. We chat a bit, with me mostly dominating the conversation but him inserting tidbits and answering or asking questions as necessary. I’m very cautious about keeping the topics present-oriented, mostly about school or what we do in our spare time, not wanting to end up asking the wrong thing and causing him to clam up. If he’s anything like Seven, the past is a touchy subject and the little I know of his past would lead me to believe it’s definitely more sensitive.

“So how did you get into drawing?” We just finished talking about what we liked and disliked about our classes, and it didn’t take long for me to notice that anytime he speaks about art his eyes light up. Actually, it’s not just his eyes… it’s his everything. Like somebody plucked a star from the sky and gently placed it in his heart so that when he’s doing something he loves he shines.

A voice in the back of my mind whispers that I want him to look at me like that one day. I shush it and shove it off a cliff.

Narrowing his eyes at the screen, he barely avoids a green shell before answering. “I’ve always liked it, but…I dropped it when I joined a gang. I didn’t get into it again until I went to rehab.” He hesitates, like there’s more he wants to say, so I remain quiet, just trying to get Yoshi to stay on the stupid rainbow road while occasionally glancing at him out of the corner of my eye. It remains quiet until we complete the track - with me not even placing in the top four, stupid level - at which point he sighs and puts down his controller, turning to face me directly. Fingers tapping on his thighs again, he slowly meets my gaze, that shy little smile back in place. “I find it really relaxing to draw whatever’s on my mind. It can be hard work, and yeah, school sometimes makes me stress out over it but generally it’s my go-to to calm down.” I nod; this makes sense. It would be like how I play LOLOL to calm down but if it were to somehow be my job or I had to study it, occasionally it wouldn’t be fun because it would be work.

His eyes drop to the side again. “I… I’m sorry I freaked out when you looked through my sketchbook. I just… wasn’t expecting it.”

“N-no!” Shaking my head rapidly, I drop my controller onto my lap to wave my hands. “I shouldn’t’ve looked without asking! It was rude, I’m sorry.” Scratching my forehead, I look at him sheepishly. “I was just curious, I saw you drew Leia and it kinda… captured my attention. I liked it.”

Saeran’s eyebrows knit together and he gives me a strange look, as though I’m suddenly a mystery to him. “You… liked that picture,” he repeats slowly, his voice full of confusion.

“I think so?” What’s so weird about me liking the picture? To be honest, even though the drawing in and of itself was amazing, what really drew me was that he didn’t choose to put her in the slave outfit. No, she was wearing her outfit from The Empire Strikes Back, all white with a vest, standing regal and brave. It was a perfect depiction of what her character was really about. “But also, that painting you gave me was stunning. I have it hanging up in my room!” I love stars, I really do; my room has a lazy star theme going. Lazy as in I didn’t put much effort into it, but it’s there if you look. Saeran’s gift fits right in, not to mention it’s a gift and it’s beautiful.

“Oh… thanks.” Silence descends between us for a moment and I fidget with the controller, tracing the outline of the buttons as I try to think of what to say to him. He beats me to it. “If… you liked those, would you want to see what else I’ve done?”

I perk up instantly, scooting to the edge of my seat and grinning at him enthusiastically. “Yeah, of course! I-if you’re comfortable with that, that is,” I quickly tack on when I see surprise flash across his face at my reaction. I really need to remember to try to temper myself around Saeran; he just seems so timid and easily made nervous. Definitely not a combination I expected from him based on what I know from Seven, but… maybe it’s just something that comes from what he’s lived through.

“I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t...dork,” he says softly, standing and beckoning me to follow. Unable to wipe the smile from my face, I trail behind him as he leads us down the hallway.

I knew Seven somehow manages to afford a three-bedroom apartment, but I wasn’t expecting the third to have been more or less completely repurposed into an art studio for Saeran. When he opens the door, my jaw drops; the walls are populated with various paintings, some obviously done in anger while others have a more tranquil vibe to them. There’s an easel in the back corner and two desks back to back in the middle, one covered in scattered sketches and the other more organized. Saeran makes his way to the back, tying back the heavy curtains to let the natural light shine in before turning back to me.

“So uh. This is where I work.” Waving a hand in a gesture meant to encompass the room, he ducks his head and shuffles his feet a little. “There’s finished paintings over there-” he points at a couple of rows of canvases along the wall, “my sketches are in that mess there-” the desk filled with lots of paper, “and there’s other random stuff littered throughout the room.” Shrugging, he gives a small laugh. “I… spend a lot of time in here. Obviously.”

“Yeah…” I breathe out, looking around with wide eyes. Slowly stepping forward, I head over to the canvasses lining the wall first. Dropping to my knees, I reach out a careful hand to go through them. A ship at sea in the middle of a storm, the bow breaking and the deck cracking; a grassy field filled with flowers and wildlife, the sun shining brightly down; empty chairs at empty tables; the snow melting away to glimpse at some of the earth underneath. There’s so many and every one of them is filled with such emotion, to the point that I feel like I can tell what mood he was in when he painted them. Some are in different styles, most likely experimenting to find what was comfortable for him. There’s a few that are obviously drawn for anatomy purposes, but even those are impressive. It’s very evident just how much time he’s put into this and how much he loves doing it.

“Wow, Saeran, I’m… wow.” Speechless, my brain provides helpfully after I give up searching for the word. “These are so beautiful.” Making my way over to the desk, I shuffle through the sketches there. Many of these are people or body parts, possibly for school. There's several pictures of either Seven or Seven and Saeran, both as children and adults, but very few seem happy. One in particular catches my eye: it shows Seven pointing to someone off the paper with what appears to be a lovestruck expression on his face while Saeran stands next to him but a few steps back, not looking where Seven is but instead at his brother with… resignation? Everything about him here suggests he's given up- slumped shoulders, bent over slightly, head drooping, like a wilted flower. It hurts to look at. I wonder what that's about.

There's some pictures of V as well, but those are sketched with what feels like anger behind them. Otherwise it’s people I don’t know or occasionally characters from movies or cartoons; some business man with a cat appears a few times, the same cat I saw in some pictures with Seven. Interesting. Maybe I'll ask sometime.

I wish I could draw like this. “You can.” Startled, I lift my head to see Saeran standing on the other side of the desks, watching me with interest.

“Did… did I say that out loud?” I ask, mildly horrified. He nods and I groan, covering my face. “Why am I like this…”

The sound surprises me at first when I hear it. At first it's a giggle, like the one from earlier but freer, but it quickly changes into a full belly laugh. Dropping my hands slowly, I look up to see Saeran leaning over, one palm on the desk supporting him while the other is clutching his chest. I feel like I should be offended that he's laughing, but strangely enough, I'm not. The look on his face is amused and almost happy, and his laugh is pitched much higher than I'd ever imagined for him. It suits him, strangely enough. I break out into a grin watching him. He looks perfect like this.

Gradually he calms down, shaking his head before glancing back up at me and there it is, the light is shining out of him while he's looking at me. My heart skips a beat.

“Sorry, I couldn't help it,” he apologizes, giving me a lopsided smile that I want to see on his face constantly. Lifting his palm off the table, he cards both of his hands through his hair, eyes flitting around the desk in front of him as though in search of something. “You said that like it's terrible, like all those little things that make you Yoosung are embarrassing. But you're wrong.” His eyes meet mine for a second before he's back to searching the desk. The sound of paper rustling is the only noise in the room until he pulls out what looks like another sketchbook. Setting it down before him, he flashes me a pointed look, eyebrows raised. “Would you like to learn? I can show you the basics.”

It's surprising that I don't knock anything over in my rush to get around the desk, bouncing on my toes with my bottom lip pulled between my teeth in excitement. Saeran chuckles and motions to the chair. “I'll take that as a yes.”

Sitting down quickly, I scoot up and then look at him expectantly, not sure what to do next. He laughs again. “That’s a new sketchbook. Just open it and grab one of those pencils and I’ll give you tips as you go.” Okay. I can do this.

I flip the black cover of the book open, staring down at the off-white page apprehensively. I’ve never been confident enough to try to draw, but it’s been a passive interest just sitting in the back of my mind. I’m curious to see how a picture will turn out with Saeran guiding me. He’s got an array of different pencils in a cup, and after some study, I choose a simple mechanical one, glancing up at him. He nods. I put the pen to the paper and… freeze.

“What do you want to draw?” he prompts, leaning on the desk next to me, staring at where the point of the pencil is touching the paper. “Just pick the first thing that comes to mind.”

The first thing that comes to mind… “Rika,” I say quietly, smiling a little. “I’d like to draw my cousin.”

Saeran stiffens immediately, pulling back and staring at me with furrowed eyebrows, his expression dark. I’m not sure what I did to cause this reaction, but before I can ask he reaches up and violently rubs his hair, shutting his eyes and rolling his neck. When he opens them again, the green is back to the blank look I’m used to seeing there, but… not what I’d seen earlier today. Somehow I managed to take several steps back by just saying I want to draw cousin.

“Okay,” he says simply, motioning toward the paper. “Draw a circle where you want the head to be.” And so it starts with me slowly doing as he says, constantly stopping and erasing. I bite my tongue in concentration as I slowly work up the basic frame of the body, changing things when he tells me to. Eventually that part’s done and if I squint at it, it looks kinda like a decent approximation of a human.

“Good job,” he says, smiling. It’s good to see him smile again but it’s still tight, like he’s still upset about something. “Now you need to work on making it look like a body instead of several different parts.” So I start sketching again, trying to transform the random circles and ovals into something closer to an actual body with Saeran interjecting tips randomly.

“Make the shoulders softer; they don’t come to a point like that.”

“Good job on the abdomen, but don’t forget that she had hips.”

“You’re too stiff, loosen up so you don’t hurt yourself.”

“Yoosung,” Saeran says at one point after I’m starting to work on clothes, “remember, you need to move from your elbow, not your wrist.” I let out a frustrated noise; he’s told me this over and over again but I can’t seem to do it to his satisfaction. Focusing, I try again. “No,” he says, suddenly leaning over and latching onto my wrist. “You’re still moving this too much.” He shakes it gently, eyes looking at me seriously. “Use your elbow to propel your hand where you want it to go.” Still holding on, he tilts his head at the paper to tell me to keep drawing. My mind doesn’t want to cooperate; it’s completely focused on where his fingers are wrapped around my wrist, sending little currents of electricity skittering across my skin. Why, though? Why does it feel this way? “Yoosung,” he gently urges and I exhale forcefully, trying to turn my attention to the paper again. It halfway works, enough that I can start moving the pencil again. He leaves his hand there, keeping my wrist mostly stationary and forcing me to use my elbow as I sketch out a dress.

“Saeran! You’ll never guess who just called me, I…” We both jump and turn to the doorway when Seven enters, his eyes wide and his mouth open. Saeran releases me as though it suddenly burns to touch me, moving a few steps away and averting his eyes completely from his brother. The air feels like it’s thickening again, similar to how it was the day Seven was trying to convince me to kiss him.

“Yoosung,” Seven says flatly, face devoid of any emotion. “You’re here.”

Dropping the pencil, I let out a frustrated sigh and glare at him, crossing my arms over my chest. “Yeah? Someone forgot to tell me that he wasn’t going to be here, so I showed up?” I huff, narrowing my eyes at him. “For me supposedly being your best friend, you sure never think to tell me things. At least your brother was nice enough to offer to hang out with me since I was already here.”

“Yoosung, please, don’t,” Saeran whispers, and I glance back to see him looking at me with pleading eyes. What in the world is happening? These two seem fine with each other most of the time but for some reason whenever I’m around, things get intense real quickly.

“Is that what you think.” Seven’s still got that blank look on his face, and it’s actually starting to creep me out a little. “Would you prefer Saeran be your best friend?”

I do a double-take at his words. “What? That’s not what I said… why are you being like this?”

Shaking his head, Seven moves out of the doorway. “Yoosung, please leave.” His voice is thick, heavy, like he’s holding back a dam of emotion that’s about to burst at any moment. But the look he casts me as he says it hurts. It’s anger and betrayal. Why would he feel that way?

“Fine.” I stand up, all my frustration returning in one fell swoop as I march toward the door. I turn before I exit and look right at Saeran, noticing how he’s still not looking at either of us. “Thank you for showing me how to draw, Saeran. It was fun.” Ducking around Seven I race out into the living room to grab my bag and leave, heart thumping loudly.

What the hell is going on?

[dredshirtroberts]

*dancing* My new therapist will be covered by my insurance! ^__^

And this new-patient appointment couldn’t come any sooner. After a month+ of a depression episode along the lines of ones I had *prior* to me being medicated, I’m now having a hell of a lot of anxiety which, again, should be taken care of by my medication.

I need...I need help is what I need. I’m struggling accepting the new dynamic between my parents and I and how they’re overcompensating for how i was raised. I also need to come to terms with a couple of my past addictions and where I am with them now as far as coping mechanisms go. And I need someone to show me how to spot a certain type of person I fall in with easily because I need to avoid them in the future. It just ends up with me being shit on and I’m tired of that.

I’ve gone over the parent thing before, but I’ll sum up some of it and bring you to where we are now because there’ve been...updates. 

Essentially I was raised by emotionally immature parents, who were not aware of the effect they had on their two young children. I was then continually bullied by them in lieu of having actual bullies in school due to my being home schooled. 

When we were taken out of the public school system, we were isolated and taught that differing opinions from mom and dad were to be punished with ridicule and infantilization and ablism. We saw that others with different opinions were called stupid, dumb, idiotic, should not be allowed to procreate, and if my sister or I exhibited a potential leaning towards that way of thinking we were picked on, and made to feel ashamed. I did not learn to disagree. I learned to bow my head and accept that what my parents told me was law, whatever it was. I never questioned it either because I had no other information coming in. I had very few friends, and the few I hung out with I didn’t do so often, and the others were online friends I couldn’t be sure were real people until much later (sorry Leah and Kellie, but how was I supposed to know awesome people actually existed???). 

I was convinced because of my parents that I was unworthy of marriage unless I had a certain set of skills because clearly I was not attractive enough to date - and yes, this was something they indicated was my unattractiveness. And some of those skills I just don’t have (cooking *narrows eyes*...the kitchen and I have an understanding and it’s that the oven submits to me, I can use the convoluted can opener, and i know where all the things are stored. Also the dishwasher. Everything else likes to...disagree with me). 

Often throughout my childhood and into my teens I realized i was being raised by an older brother and sister, not by parental figures. They were not prepared to have a child when they had me. {Also there’s a conversation Kaernak and I keep having where potentially my younger sister is actually potentially a half-sister or a cousin raised by my parents because my aunt on my mother’s side wasn’t in a good relationship and/or less prepared than my parents to care for a child. The reason for this being the absolutely uncanny and frankly disturbing similarity between my sister and my aunt in appearance. I have not yet brought this up with my parents. (If you would like a couple examples of this familial scan-troversy - that’s a scandal and a controversy in one - then PM me and I’ll see what I can do for you). )

My parents’ emotional immaturity is coupled with the fact that they are functioning alcoholics and have been my entire life. They’re the socially acceptable version of alcoholic. As they’ve grown older, they’ve become more aware of how they could have been better parents earlier, and have tried to make amends now that my sister and I are no longer living in their house. As the eldest, they realize they fucked me way over, and now that I live an hour away they’re still failing on certain aspects of making it up to me, but they’re trying. At least they’ve been...mostly supportive as of late (which is really fucking weird because literally not six months ago I was having to justify everything to them and they still didn’t take it as legitimate. And now it’s like...oh of course you’re xyz darling, we love you and will support you however you need. And also we’re gonna make sure you’re taken care of financially. Which is why I’m reluctant to bring this kind of shit up to them, because I like that they’ve got the money to spare on me since they claimed never to have any while I was growing up (and yet somehow our collection of computers only grew????).

So there’s that. That was a much longer summation than I intended. But a lot of it was coupled with the “where I am now” thing so that’s ... progress.

Now on to the addictions thing. I was a smoker for a brief period of time but it was enough. Occasionally I’ll have a shit day and all I want is a cigarette or two (or three) to ease everything. It’s not a great coping mechanism but it’s what I had at the time. I also struggle with “how much drinking is too much drinking” because of the previously mentioned functioning alcoholism that runs in my family. And on top of both of those things, I was a heavy pot smoker for a number of years (which is why cigarettes were such a easy addiction to come into). I used it to escape my problems and self-medicate for my two main mental illnesses - which was like the worst thing for them because it made my anxiety skyrocket and my depressions crash harder. Anyway, occasionally I get cravings, and it’s usually in the form of “Hey, unhealthy coping mechanism, come here!” Drinking has been cut back IMMENSELY thanks to Kaernak. He also does not put up with smoking, so I haven’t reverted back to cigarettes since I met him. And I’m no longer associated with anyone who smokes pot, so I can’t be tempted. And these are all good, but on those days where unhealthy coping mechanisms look like good ideas, I need something else to do.

And now for the last part: identifying and avoiding a certain type of person.

I want all of my current mutuals to understand that NONE OF YOU FIT THIS BILL. Okay? Now that I’ve got that covered...

I tend to find myself drawn to a certain type of person when I’m allowed to choose my friends on my own. This person tends to be the victim in everything, blames everyone else for their problems, has a perception of themselves as the main character in the story and never as the supporting character to anyone else. They tend to be very emotionally young, though they may be more “mature” than others their age, which makes it easy to hide this sort of thing for longer.

These people tend to draw me in with the victim thing cause I have a savior complex. I believe I can help people out of their hole and all it takes is showing them the right kind of positivity and love that they say they don’t get anywhere else. It’s something I’ve been working on, but I don’t realize it’s happened until it’s too late so a lot of this is like “shit I should have recognized a, b, and c behavior!” but I didn’t. 

My sister was the greatest offender of these things. She’s exceptionally self-centered and has been her whole life. My parents only fed into this, and now she’s an adult who has her own life and she’s siphoning money out of my parents under the guise of being unable to afford food and necessities using her paycheck alone, but she somehow always has a new item(s) of clothing that she *just* bought and isn’t it so cute and stylish though she has 10 just like it but this one is more new that the last 5 and more stylish than the first 5 because those were from x number of years ago and while they’re still functional, they’re? somehow? not wearable????

She also plays the victim in any disagreement we have. For example, during Xmas, we had a misunderstanding about the seating at the table she and her boyfriend and me and my boyfriend were going to be sitting at. I’d moved chairs I did’t know I wasn’t supposed to (Because no one told me??), and I misunderstood her seating arrangement because her shit was in the middle of the table and I picked a side for her and her boyfriend to sit on. She wouldn’t listen to me, and we got snippy. She was somehow the victim even though there was no victim or victor. It was my fault for everything, and I apologized and attempted to walk away to avoid further escalation and somehow that was wrong too. Staying and explaining was wrong, leaving and apologizing was wrong, and I couldn’t win. This is so standard for our interactions that I don’t always remember what the fuck she was mad about the last time, because it’s fucking stupid every time and it’s that she thinks she understands what I’m saying and when I explain she was wrong, she’s like “that’s exactly what I was saying the whole time you don’t listen” even though she wasn’t saying anything close to that at all. 

I’ve now had two former best friends who fit that bill where they’re the victim, they’re the one who is always right, and if you disagree with them and show them why they’re wrong, they claim they knew that already and that you’re the one wrong. Gaslighting is their argument method, and you can’t win against them. They’re determined to be a heroine without fault, determined that they’re the princess who needs saving but also can somehow handle things on her own. They’re the girls who claim they’re Buffy, claim they’re Bella (or whoever is the lead in any similar books), claim they’re Ana and waiting for their Christian Grey to shower them in money, gifts and food.

And...well it’s hard to deal with that. The last one, she’s young and hopefully she’ll grow out of it, or she’ll learn that people won’t let themselves be treated like that. The one prior to her...well that’s what ended our relationship in the end. I wouldn’t let her be the victim and pull me down with her. My second act of defiance against her and she couldn’t handle it.

My sister...well that’s...that’s something I need to discuss along with my parental issues.

You see, I have a lot of this on lockdown. I’m medicating the worst things, and I’m just...I need more coping mechanisms because the ones I’ve acquired from research and life experience either aren’t cutting it or aren’t healthy for me

Anyway. The boyfriend and I are probably having dinner with my parents tomorrow. Does anyone know what you talk to your parents about when you can’t discuss work because you also work with them? I find myself at a loss.