#AND WHEN I THINK IM RIGHT YOU STRIP AWAY MY PRIDE YOU CAST IT ALL ASIDE

[azurdlywisterious]

The amount of songs that have dead money vibes to me that are emo rock songs i listened to in high school is a staggering amount

[artificialqueens]

Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor, 3 (Branjie) (and background everyone else) - Ortega

a/n: hey fam!! we are over halfway through the rewrite so hopefully soon i can get a brand brand new chapter out to u soon, in the meantime enjoy chapter 3 all over again and see if u can spot the differences lmao?? idk but i hope u enjoy anyway!!

fic summary: Strictly Come Dancing enters its 18th series and its producers, after being goaded by a rival dance show on its inclusivity, commission it to be an all-female cast. Unlike Akeria who’s just here to bone her potential dance partner, dancer Vanessa is ready to act like a professional.

And then TV presenter Brooke Lynn walks into the rehearsal room.

***

28th September 2020

Vanessa has never been more excited in her life as she paces the rehearsal room, checks herself out for what is surely the millionth time in the mirrors and pulls a few strands of her dark hair out of her ponytail to frame her face. There’s a cameraman and a lighting person and a random producer set up in one corner too but Vanessa hardly acknowledges them, because it’s her first rehearsal with Brooke and in a moment she’s going to walk through those doors and they’ll get to start their journey together.

Saturday night had been a blur. They’d been rushed off to film their post-show reaction interview and Vanessa hardly remembers what she’d said. She supposes it couldn’t have been more incoherent than her immediate reaction. Or perhaps it had been. They’d swapped numbers excitedly, Vanessa’s heart dipping a little as Brooke insisted she couldn’t join for post-show drinks as she had to film early the next morning. With a pang of embarrassment, Vanessa remembers the text she’d sent to Brooke in the early hours of the morning as a result of Monique and Akeria’s shocking influence and way too much tequila:

V: iknow its 1am but im still so excited to be partnered wirg u and i cant wait for first rehearsal!!!!!!! x

It’s a miracle Brooke had still been up so her reply could come instantly and Vanessa didn’t have to wake up smelling of alcohol, kebab and regret the next day.

B: I’m excited too!! Have a good night, can’t wait for Monday x

It’s not like Vanessa has a crush- she’s just excited, as she keeps reminding herself, and Brooke is her first partner. It’s natural to look forward to seeing her as much as she is.

Vanessa inspects her reflection again, frowning and pulling out two more strands of hair from her ponytail to hang loose. She gives a cry of frustration as she realises she’s ruined it by pulling out way too much, so she bends over and hangs her head down between her knees to gather her hair up again.

She’s in this position when the door opens and she hears Brooke’s voice ringing into the echoey room.

“Good morning! Oh shit, am I interrupting something?“

Embarrassed, Vanessa flips her hair back and stands up straight, walking quickly over to Brooke as she dumps her gym bag at the door. “No, fuck, sorry, I was just fixing my hair! Hey!”

Brooke has her arms out ready to hug Vanessa and she accepts gladly. She smells all clean and of fabric softener. She probably uses in-wash scent boosters like an adult who has complete control of her life and more money than sense. They pull out of the hug and Vanessa fixes Brooke with a smile.

“So!” Vanessa starts, but there’s a noise from the other side of the room. One of the producers has stepped forward.

“Uh yeah, ladies, we can’t use that intro. We’re gonna have to film again.”

“How come?” Vanessa asked, realising too late that it’s because she was bent over with her hair hanging to the ground and that Brooke swore. The girls share a guilty laugh and Brooke retreats to the door. The good news is that they get to hug for a second time when they reshoot, and Vanessa gets another scent of Brooke’s detergent and the protected feeling of having the other girl’s strong arms around her.

“So, first rehearsal!” Vanessa chats cheerfully, leaning on the barre and tilting her head as she talks to Brooke. “How we feelin’?”

“Good! Excited. Ready. Positive adjectives,” Brooke says all at once, smiling at her. “How about you?”

“I’m happy. Kinda nervous, ‘cuz now I have to live up to your expectations.”

“And they are great expectations.”

Vanessa nods. “George Orwell style.”

Brooke pauses, fixing Vanessa with a funny look, then bursts out laughing. “Even Charles Dickens?”

Vanessa laughs, shrugging. “They both wrote books, I stay winning.”

She watches as Brooke doubles over clutching her stomach in hysteria, and feels a sense of pride at having made the girl laugh so much. Remembering the film crew in the corner, she smacks her hands together. “Right! For our first dance as a Strictly partnership, we are doin’ a…quickstep!”

Brooke raises her eyebrows and nods slowly. “Ballroom first, okay! I can do that. I guess I’m surprised we’re not doing Latin.”

Vanessa shrugs. “Ballroom ain’t my strong suit so I figured it’s better to get it out the way early while we got other, shittier girls we can hide behind.”

There’s a beat of silence as the two girls look at each other. They both speak at the same time. “…Farrah.”

“Reshoot!” the producer shouts over, Vanessa feeling herself roll her eyes like a teenager. Brooke snorts a laugh and Vanessa feels that little match spark up in her gut again. They reshoot, having the same conversation as before in so many words. It’s tricky remembering not to swear- Vanessa peppers fuck and shit into her daily language like she’s seasoning it, so it’s odd attempting to remove that from her vocabulary. She should probably be trying to give Brooke the impression of a mysterious and graceful woman who says gosh and darn but if she’s going to be working with her she’s going to be working with her, not a cookie-cutter picture perfect imitation.

“You wanna warm up?” Vanessa asks her, feeling a little bashful as Brooke rolls her neck slowly. She gives a small shake of her head as a long strip of her bare neck is exposed, her blonde ponytail falling over her shoulder. Vanessa feels like shaking her head herself, shaking all the thoughts that just entered her head out of it. Get a grip.

“Nah, I already did a bit before I came. We’ve got a gym at the flat, so it’s good for that kind of thing.”

Vanessa feels her eyebrows fly up her face. What kind of fancy-ass flat does she live in? “You wanna just do a bit of conditioning then? I saw you were good at it on the induction day, so you prolly don’t need to do much-”

“You had your eyes on me on induction day then?” Brooke interrupts, gives Vanessa a cheeky wink that makes her face hot. She thinks about making a jibe related to Brooke eyeing her up during squats, but she thinks it’s maybe a bit much. This is only the third time they’ve seen each other, after all. She doesn’t know why she’s acting like such a teenager.

“You wish, princess,” she sticks her tongue out. Brooke laughs and Vanessa joins her, trying not to think too much about where that princess appeared from out of nowhere.

Brooke shrugs in agreement and they do a bit of conditioning on the mats that are kept at the studio. They don’t really need to be doing too much- it’s a quickstep, it’s not exactly Cirque du Soleil- but Vanessa enjoys giving her muscles a proper stretch anyway. She doesn’t need to be the bendiest dancer in the world but she likes to feel as if her flexibility and strength are constantly improving. The film crew stay to catch some rehearsal shots but Vanessa feels as if it’s only her and Brooke in the room, their easy small-talk coming naturally as they stretch and chat over the chill R&B Vanessa’s stuck on in the background. Brooke’s been working that morning already, shooting for The Voice. They’ve moved filming to the morning so she can participate in the show. Vanessa says she hopes it’s not inconvenienced her too much and Brooke laughs and waves her apology away, saying it’s been her dream to get asked on the show ever since she rose to TV-presenter status.

Vanessa agrees, tells her about growing up watching the show with her Mom, how it inspired her when she began to compete all those years ago. She could get into other stuff, like the Summer when they couldn’t fly back to Puerto Rico because Vanessa had begged and pleaded with her Mom to spend the flight money on another term at dance school instead and it had caused a rift so huge it almost tore a hole in her family. But she doesn’t. As Vanessa reminds herself, it’s only their third meeting.

So why does she have to fight the compulsion to tell Brooke her damn life story?

Before Vanessa can blurt out any emotional moments from her upbringing (and she doesn’t exactly have a shortage of them), she slaps her thighs, stands up and rolls the mat away.

“Okay, let’s get started. Now obviously you’re good-”

“Oh, of course,” Brooke jokes. Vanessa’s heart gives a dip.

“- so I think we can maybe just start learning the full thing? If it’s too hard then we can just do some of the basics and go over lil’ techniques an’…stuff,” Vanessa clocks the cameras, changes the “shit” she was about to let out. “But the good news is we got two weeks to learn this one instead of one.”

“So there’s no excuse for it not to be perfect,” Brooke nods immediately. Vanessa freezes, taken aback. Brooke in turn looks almost as if she’s been caught out, and her face turns a little red. “Sorry. That probably seems way too keen, it’s just a fun dancing show-”

“Nah, keep that spirit. I’m a fan of that,” Vanessa smiles at her and Brooke, reassured, smiles back. The girl’s clearly a perfectionist. Vanessa adds that to her growing list of things she’s learning about her new partner. “Aight, I’m gonna show you how it’s gonna look. Lemme get my phone.”

Vanessa dashes over to her gym bag, scrambles about in it for a moment. She spent all of Sunday and stayed up all night finishing off the choreography with Crystal, who she’d also helped choreograph her first dance too, not that Crystal needed any help choreographing Latin. Or indeed ballroom. Or indeed any dance full stop. They’d brainstormed and drank gallons of water and chatted together excitedly the whole time. Being on the show with Crystal is nice because they practise their Spanish together so Vanessa doesn’t lose too much of it, and she understands what it’s like to be away from her huge extended family on days like Cinco di Mayo when the only real celebration of that in the UK is a display of Mexican party food in Tesco, and they moan together about the fact that neither of them have seen a single plantain on sale since arriving in the country. Finally finding her phone in her gym bag, Vanessa searches for the video she and Crystal took of the quickstep once it was all finished. Finding it, she plops down next to Brooke who’s sitting on the dusty floor and leaning against the mirrored wall. She hits play, holds her breath nervously and hopes Brooke will like what she’s come up with. Vanessa is relieved when a small smile grows on Brooke’s face.

“Are we actually doing it to Pon De Replay?”

“Damn right we are!” Vanessa replies proudly. She got her song request in early and the producers approved it on Sunday morning. She knows that she’s not as good at ballroom but she likes the fact that she can use songs she likes and twist the style to fit, making it more comfortable for her. The dance she’s created is clever, even if she does think so herself. First week is all about showcasing your celebrity and what they do, what kind of person they are, so Vanessa wants to give Brooke a challenge. The first half is a straightforward quickstep and the second is the same but everything mirrored and in reverse. There’s a silly bit at the start where Brooke’s going to pretend to be interviewing Vanessa to reflect her everyday career. It’s cheesy, but that’s Strictly.

The video comes to an end and Brooke is smiling from ear to ear. “Oh my God. I love it.”

“Ah! Amazing. I’m so glad,” Vanessa beams, happy and relieved all at once.

“I mean, it looks hard. But I didn’t think any of this would be easy.”

“It’ll get easier, though! Just needs practise. And remember, we’ve got two weeks!” Vanessa reminds her, standing up and shaking herself out. “So we’ve got ages. I mean. In between all the press and social media madness, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Brooke laughs, pushing herself up from the floor. “Right, come on then, teacher. What do we start with?”

Vanessa begins showing Brooke the routine, the complex and intricate little steps and hops of the quickstep taking Brooke a little bit of getting used to. But by lunchtime, they’ve gone through a little chunk of the dance already and they’ve run it without and with the music. Vanessa’s pleased with their progress and when they stop for their lunch break they’re both exhausted, sweaty, and smiling.

“You good?” Vanessa asks Brooke, who’s taking a long swig of her drink. Her eyes widen as she nods quickly.

“Yeah! Christ, it’s so tough. You’re a good teacher, though,” Brooke says, finally finishing her water. The praise makes Vanessa blush; she’s glad she’s already red from all the dancing so it doesn’t show as much.

“You’re doin’ great. Makin’ my job easy,” Vanessa smiles at her. She bites her lip before speaking again. “Hey, you wanna come have lunch with me?”

Brooke pulls a face and pouts. “Aw, that sounds amazing but I’ve got a meeting with my agent at quarter past. To make sure you’re not committing human rights violations against me or whatever.”

Vanessa snorts a laugh, tries not to look disappointed. They promise to meet back at the studio in half an hour, and Vanessa heads to the canteen where she knows some of the other girls will be having lunch too. The studios that a bunch of them have had the foresight to block-book are great and modern, and Vanessa feels bad for girls like Jan who’s having to rehearse in a draughty church hall near Jackie’s sleepy Hounslow suburb. Pushing open the double doors, she finds Phi Phi, Jaida, Monique, Crystal and Plastique already sitting at a table and eating lunch. Vanessa dashes over.

“Beep beep, hoes! Winner coming through,” she shouts over to them cheerfully, Monique laughing and rolling her eyes long-sufferingly as Jaida shakes her head at her.

“Take several seats, bitch.”

“One’s fine, thanks,” Vanessa flutters her lashes at her, causing the other girl to laugh.

“How did you even get in through the door with your head this big?” Monique scoffs, as Vanessa chucks her bag down and rakes through it for her lunch.

“Hey, you’d be crowin’ as well if you saw what my girl can do,” she points out, ignoring the way Monique’s eyebrows fly up her face at the my girl.

“It’s not about who’s got the best dancer from the start, it’s all about the potential,” Plastique shrugs at her. Vanessa gives a laugh.

“Aw, Scarlet’s got loads of that, right?” she jibes, the other girls laughing. Plastique rolls her eyes.

“We spent half an hour on a step-ball-change. Every object in the room slowly started to merge into implements with which I could kill both her and myself,” Plastique put her head in her hands. She’d ended up being partnered with the soap star and Monique, to her badly-suppressed delight, had been given singer Monet.

“At least she’s trying to work hard,” Phi Phi sighed, her face taking on a sour expression. “Willam is killing me. She keeps doing shit wrong and if I point it out she just makes a joke about it. And she keeps dashing next door to show shit to Courtney! What the hell is up with that? Courtney’s got Blair to worry about, she doesn’t need a damn goofball interrupting her rehearsal every two minutes to add to that.”

“Where is Courtney, anyway?” Vanessa asked, taking a big bite out of her chicken and rice. She knows Courtney shares their studios too and she’s notable by her absence.

Phi Phi pulls a face in response. “Let’s just say her and Blair have a lot of work to do.”

“Well, I can’t relate,” Monique smiles smugly. “Me an’ Monet have been doing amazing.”

“So’ve me and Gigi! She’s awesome,” Crystal pipes up excitedly. Vanessa swears she can see her pupils turn into little hearts as she speaks. “She’s so hardworking. We’ve done, like, half our dance already.”

“No you haven’t, stop lying,” Phi Phi nudges her under the table with her foot. Crystal rolls her eyes, resigned.

“Okay, not half, but maybe like a quarter. An eighth? A twelfth.”

The girls explode laughing and Vanessa actually has to wipe tears from her eyes. When she calms down, she asks Jaida how her rehearsals with Yvie are going so far.

“Alright, I guess. The girl’s really great, she’s got so much talent. But the bitch won’t stop filmin’ shit for her fuckin’ vlogs! I’d leap out the damn window but our room’s on the ground floor.”

Another roar flies up from the girls. It’s always funny to see how they all gel with their dance partners, and Vanessa has never got to experience it for herself until this year. She’s so happy she’s been paired with Brooke.

After the girls finish their lunch, Vanessa and Brooke continue to rehearse. The days pass like that easily with hours spent in hold, out of hold, stepping, hopping, watching Brooke tear her hands through her messy ponytail in frustration when she can’t immediately nail a particular move. Vanessa learns that Brooke’s hard on herself and, though she never snaps or yells, Vanessa knows it annoys her having to really properly work at the tricky bits. Truth be told, Vanessa gets annoyed at herself too. She curses herself whenever Brooke struggles with something, becomes convinced she should have made the dance a little easier for her. If Brooke doesn’t pick something up quickly Vanessa is irritated at her own teaching methods. She knows Brooke wants to be the best no matter how much she plays the competition off as simply a bit of fun, and she gets annoyed when it seems like she’s not doing enough to help her achieve that.

On the whole, though, Vanessa tries not to beat herself up too much. They do seem to be making really good progress in comparison to some of the other girls, and they’ve more or less learned the whole dance by the end of the first week. It bodes well for their next few weeks together, as they both know the two-week rehearsal process is a luxury that’s not going to be afforded to them for the rest of the series. Besides, next week is full of social media madness and promo filmings and they’ve got their It Takes Two interview with Cheryl on Friday. It’s going to be exhausting.

“It’s going to be exhausting,” Brooke smiles gently, contemplating the week ahead and rubbing her eyes at the end of their Saturday night rehearsal. It’s 10pm and probably far too late and Vanessa should’ve let Brooke get an early night but she got carried away polishing up little sections with her.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kept you so late tonight,” Vanessa laments, frowning. Brooke frowns back, her face full of concern.

“Don’t apologise! I’m willing to stay as long as it takes. However long you think I need,” Brooke gives a small laugh, and Vanessa concedes and joins her laughter. The thought hits her that they’ve not shared too much on social media yet. Some of the pairs are giving round-the-clock updates as if they’re News 24 (she doesn’t think Aja and Farrah have stopped going live on Instagram since they began rehearsing but that’s what you get with a reality TV star as a partner), and Vanessa feels a bit guilty. She knows she’s got fans- it never gets any less crazy to say but it’s true- and she knows they’re as excited about her Strictly journey as she is. So she takes her phone out of her bag and waves it a little at Brooke.

“Hey. I know it’s late, but we’ve been workin’ so hard we kinda forgot about all the fun shit. Wanna take a few post-rehearsal selfies for Insta?”

She pauses as Brooke lets out a small laugh, suddenly feels embarrassed. “You know. If that’s your sorta thing.”

“I’m a TV presenter, Vanessa, I’m not the Prime Minister. I’m allowed to have fun,” Brooke laughs, struts up to stand beside her and faces the mirrored wall. “Go on then, Naomi Campbell, start the damn photoshoot.”

Vanessa laughs and her heart gives a little flutter as Brooke locks her fingers and rests them on her shoulder, leaning down and resting her head on them. She pouts and in turn Vanessa throws up a peace sign and sticks her tongue out. She takes a burst of five photos that will all look identical but she knows she’ll be able to find a tiny, minute difference in them all. Brooke leans over her phone as she scrolls through the photos, and suddenly jabs a finger against her screen.

“That one. It’s cute.”

Vanessa obeys orders and puts it on her Instagram story along with a timestamp and a little gif of a teddy bear falling asleep.

“Now do a video!” Brooke bounces on her toes all excited, and Vanessa has to laugh at how much she’s getting into the swing of things. Vanessa points the camera at them both, begins recording.

“Hey guys, Vanjie here with my girl Brooke Lynn, so it is…” she forgets the time, appeals to Brooke. “10.05? 10.06?”

“Way-too-late-o’clock,” Brooke chimes in, pokes Vanessa’s face teasingly. Vanessa rolls her eyes.

“We’ll go with that. An’ we have just finished a run of our full dance, you’re gonna love it, I can’t wait to show off this girl, y’all are not ready.”

Vanessa feels her face grow ever-so-slightly flushed as Brooke turns to her and smiles. “Aww. That’s cute, thanks! Oh, can we tell them what the song is?”

Vanessa faces her and laughs. “No way! We gotta wait til Monday, that’s when they all get released.”

“Please?” Brooke actually pouts. It’s too adorable and her face is so close to Vanessa’s in her attempt to fit into frame that Vanessa could totally lean forward and give her the tiniest little kiss if she wanted.

She doesn’t want to. Why the fuck did that thought just appear in her head?

“No! They’ll find out on Monday. And the dance too! No special treatment.”

“Ugh. I’m so telling my agent, this is definitely illegal. Should’ve stayed on the damn One Show.”

Vanessa bursts out laughing at Brooke’s joke, shakes her head at the camera. “I have to work with this diva. Jeez. Well, see you guys later!”

“Yeah, see you all later! If she hasn’t murdered me by then.”

“If I haven’t murdered her by then. Bye, love ya!” Vanessa signs off and stops recording, posts the video to her story as Brooke laughs. “You’re a natural at all this social media shit. Right, go get some rest. See you Monday, girl.”

“See you Monday,” Brooke smiles. Vanessa doesn’t miss the way she sort of hovers, lingering with the smile still on her face before looking to the floor and then leaving the room. Vanessa wonders what she was thinking. It couldn’t have been that important.

Before Vanessa begins to pack up she checks Instagram to see the reaction to the stuff she’s just dropped. There’s a few replies- she always gets them on her stories from fans and she tries to reply to most of them. One in particular catches her eye- a reply to the video which is peppered with heart-eye emojis and simply reads:

OHMYGOSH!!!!! You guys are SO cute together!!!

Vanessa doesn’t realise how long she’s been smiling until she’s left the studio and walking to the tube.

They both have a day off on Sunday- they all do. It’s been a long first week and they’ve all earned it. Vanessa has an ice bath because she’s forgotten how intense it is to be rehearsing all day every day with just one other person. It reminds her of the show she did that Summer with-

Well. It doesn’t matter now.

What matters now is Brooke, and Vanessa spends most of the daytime on Sunday sitting on the small sofa that’s squashed under the ceiling beam in her tiny narrow flat, curled up under a blanket and trying to figure out how to text her. She wants to make that connection with her partner, she wants her and Brooke to be close friends and to be able to go for lunch and talk about anything together and have their own little jokes and stuff like that. Lots of the dancers have that kind of connection with their girls already- Crystal and Gigi are averaging around two silly selfies a day on social media, Vanessa can hear Monique and Monet’s laughter ricocheting off the walls and down the stairs from their rehearsal room, and there is already some are-they-aren’t-they media speculation in the form of Jan and Jackie, who were papped going to get bagels in a break between rehearsals with their pinkies interlocked and small smiles on their faces. Vanessa’s not jealous of them, whatever it is they have. She’d asked Crystal about them, because she’s closer with Jan, and Crystal had laughed it off and said they’re just friends and they’re getting on very well. Vanessa has reason to doubt her, mind you. She knows chemistry when she sees it.

Vanessa finally decides to shoot Brooke a message at around six at night. She’s making a cheat meal of mac and cheese with a bunch of chorizo through it, because she damn well deserves a carb and some dairy and some oily meat. It’s when she realises that she’s made enough for a small village that she takes her phone out, messages Brooke before she can overthink it.

V: i’ve just made way too much mac and cheese, u wanna have a rehearsal room floor picnic tomorrow? x

The moment it’s sent she regrets how outrageously fucking pathetic she sounds. That is until she gets a reply around two minutes later, one that makes her face hurt with a smile.

B: No chance you’re offloading your failed masterchef attempts onto me. How do I know it’s edible? x

Her reply is flirtatious. Vanessa tries to explain it away but she can’t, so she positions her phone in front of the huge earthenware tray she’s just taken out of the oven, the breadcrumbs giving a satisfying crackle as she sticks a serving spoon into it and takes a boomerang of the strings of cheese and billows of steam that emerge as she pulls the spoon out and a golden slice of the baked pasta with it. She sends it off to Brooke without any written reply and for a moment she forgets about any potential response as hunger overtakes her. She grabs a white bowl with a small crack down its side and piles the pasta high into it, sitting back on the couch and pulling the purple blanket over her knees as she scans the channels for something to keep her company as she eats. She settles on a rerun of some 90s gameshow and as it eventually finishes, so does her dinner. It’s only then that Vanessa remembers her phone, and as she dashes back across to the kitchen counter her heart gives a giant thump of joy as she sees four messages from Brooke.

B: Omg I take it all back, I will never doubt your cooking skills again x

B: Is that chorizo???????? I’m so hungry x

B: Are you mad at me because I said it wouldn’t be edible?? I’m sorry!!!!!! x

B: Please bring some for lunch tomorrow! I’ll get us a dessert, call it an apology x

Vanessa looks at the little “x” after each one. She’s blushing before she even knows it and it’s almost like Brooke has planted real little kisses on both her cheeks.

V: i’d say it’s a date but i’m not gonna give u the satisfaction x

A reply from Brooke doesn’t come but somehow it doesn’t bother her.

They have their picnic on the floor of the rehearsal room the next day, just as had been promised. Brooke makes ridiculous noises as she takes her first bite of the mac and cheese and Vanessa pokes fun at her for buying the cakes and not baking them (but Galaxy cake bars are delicious, so she doesn’t complain too much). They make a silly video for Instagram- “Hey guys! We’ve stopped for lunch and I brought a picnic!” “Hey, I made cakes!” “Bought cakes. Bought.” - and they’re almost too full to practise afterwards but they do, until late into the night, and the day after that and the day after that. They squeeze in their photoshoot for the title sequence and an interview for the Radio Times and the days pass in a busy blur. Vanessa’s smile grows wider with each rehearsal as they become better and better at the dance and on Thursday night they run it through with no mistakes at all, Vanessa so happy that she jumps into Brooke’ arms and squeals with delight and Brooke squeezes her tight and does the same. Before they know it it’s Friday, they’re the last It Takes Two interview of the week, and the first show is a little over twenty-four hours away.

“You nervous?” Vanessa whispers to Brooke as they watch Cheryl interviewing one of the past contestants they’ve invited on to give their insight. The sister show of Strictly isn’t watched by a huge number of people but it is watched by the hardcore fans, and Vanessa is anxious to make a good impression.

“A little. I’m used to conducting the interviews, not giving them,” Brooke frowns a bit, sweeps her blonde hair over her shoulder. She turned up to the studios in a smart blue suit and orange heels and Vanessa is amazed that she hasn’t dissolved into liquid form under Brooke’s gaze.

Brooke is so beautiful, and Vanessa wonders if she’ll ever stop thinking that to herself.

Vanessa drops a shy hand to her side and takes Brooke’s, lacing their fingers together and giving them a squeeze. They hold hands and press their bodies together and look into each other’s eyes all the time as part of the dance so it’s not weird, it’s almost routine. When Brooke smiles at her, reassured and at ease, Vanessa relaxes by at least ninety percent.

They’re soon called out while a pre-recorded VT of their rehearsal footage plays and they whisper an excited hey to Cheryl in all her fake-tanned, white-toothed glory, the very vision of an Essex girl-turned-professional. Vanessa’s been interviewed by Cheryl before, last year when she was on the bench and all she had to do were some silly challenges and goof around with the other pros. This is different.

Vanessa takes a quick breath in and holds it while she smiles maniacally at the camera and Cheryl does their introduction. “Alright, now, joining us for the last interview of the week- it’s Brooke and Vanessa!”

A cheer goes up from the production crew as they both wave to the camera, and it makes Vanessa’s smile turn more goofy than she’d intended it to be. She leans into Brooke’s side as she laughs and she notices that Brooke’s got an arm resting on the headboard on the sofa behind her.

“Now, Brooke, you’ve had a fortnight of rehearsals and had to work around your busy taping schedule- what’s that been like?” Cheryl asks, leaning forward with interest. Vanessa has always liked Cheryl, mainly because an interview with her feels like a chat with an old friend and she always genuinely seems interested in what someone has to say.

“Ugh, you know what? It’s been amazing,” Brooke smiles, and Vanessa’s heart lights up in affirmation. She turns to look at Brooke and she’s already smiling at her. “Obviously it’s been tiring at times, I think I’ve had a combined total of about 10 hours of sleep this week-”

Vanessa snorts, laughs at how dramatic Brooke’s being.

“-but I wouldn’t change it. I’ve learned so much, and V’s such a good teacher. I really struck it lucky with her.”

The production team let out an “aww”, and Vanessa tries to bite back a grin and fails. Brooke’s arm goes from the headboard to rest around her shoulders and Vanessa is scared to move in case she scares her away like a butterfly.

“Now speaking of- Vanessa,” Cheryl’s face breaks into a smile as she turns to her, and Vanessa’s stomach flutters a little with nerves. “You obviously felt you struck it lucky with Brooke too, let’s remind everyone of your reaction to getting paired with her.”

Vanessa lets out a wail of protest and buries her face in her hands as the clip of their pairing is played, and she can hear Brooke creasing with laughter beside her. Her embarrassment is rewarded with Brooke squeezing her shoulder in reassurance, and Vanessa supposes it’s sort of worth it. The clip comes to an end and, as Vanessa takes her hands away from her face, she knows she’s blushing hard.

“Now, you were…I think you were a bit happy?” Cheryl teases sarcastically. Vanessa playfully glares at her, and Brooke squeezes her shoulder again. “Are you still as overjoyed with having Brooke as a partner now you’ve started to rehearse with her?”

“Aw, I’m still as happy as I was on launch night. Honestly,” Vanessa smiles at Cheryl, turns and smiles at Brooke too because she can’t help it. “She just makes it so easy because- she doesn’t stop smiling, so rehearsals are fun, and she is just the hardest-working girl…that even a word? Hardest-working…most hardworking..I don’t know, but she’s it, you know?”

Her praise is rewarded by Brooke dropping her hand down to her waist, and Vanessa’s heart gives a judder. It’s not like she’s not used to Brooke’s hands on her, but the context is different, and it throws her off ever so slightly in the best possible way.

“I think what’s nice is- I’ve wanted to be on this show for so long and it’s V’s first year with a partner, so we’re kind of doing this whole journey together, and it’s special,” Brooke smiles, and Vanessa nods in agreement, as if the movement of her head will stop the blood rushing to her cheeks in a blush.

“It is nice! Because I suppose, Brooke, you ain’t gotta compare yourself to anyone because there’s not been any partners before you,” Cheryl adds with a shrug. Vanessa smiles at her words and nods, turns to Brooke as she speaks.

“Yeah. You’re my favourite.”

Brooke’s eyes have a twinkle in them as she smiles back at her. “Aw, thanks.”

The interaction is so quick that Cheryl’s already on to her next question before she can pick up on it. “Now, Vanessa, you chose a quickstep for week one, why was that?”

Vanessa sighs a little as she thinks about it. She doesn’t want to come across too cocky, come out with because my girl’s the best and I knew she could do it in her sleep with her eyes shut, so she instead tries to come across as humble as she can. “I think because- it’s a fast dance, and it’s good to go right in at the deep end on your first week. I can see Brooke Lynn’s potential, and I know what she’s capable of, so we just sort of went for it and she’s coped so well. She’s thrived.”

“Not survived, but thrived! I love it!,” Cheryl laughs along with her. “Now, this pairing, I have heard…through the grapevine…this is a bit of a linguistically challenged pairing, am I right?”

Vanessa blinks at her. “What’s that even mean?”

Brooke howls with laughter beside her and Cheryl does the same opposite, and Vanessa pouts. She doesn’t like to look dumb, and the wounded part of her wants to remind them both that she’s the only one out of the three of them that speaks more than one language, but she lets it drop when Brooke explains it to her softly. “Like…words and stuff.”

“Oh right! Yeah, so Brooke’s got lil words for all the steps we’re doin’.”

“It just helps me remember the timing!” Brooke laughs, her turn to feel embarrassed as she covers her face with her hands.

“Yeah, so we go, like…step, hop, beans-on-toast!” Vanessa explains. Cheryl’s looking at Brooke as if she has two heads.

“What is beans on toast?!” she exclaims. Brooke shakes her head, gives Vanessa a look of admonishment.

“It’s just a little phrase, and it goes with the timing of the steps of the dance, and it helps me remember them…I won’t do it on the night, you won’t hear me say it!” Brooke laughs. She’s got the slightest hint of a blush hitting her cheeks, and part of Vanessa feels warm with the fact that the stage lights are too bright to pick up on it and it’s like a secret only she knows.

“Well, Vanessa, there’s also a revelation I’ve heard today that I’m a little bit shocked by…” Cheryl begins, and Vanessa feels nervous, as if Cheryl’s about to rip the butterflies out of her stomach and show them to Brooke as some sort of proof of any embarrassing little feelings she’s got for her. “…you’re a Strictly pro that can’t actually say the name of one of the dance moves?”

“Oh my God,” Vanessa lets out a groan. She knows instantly what Cheryl is referring to, and Brooke’s hand is wrenched from its position on her waist as she claps her hands with mirth.

“Can you say it now?” Brooke teases, and Vanessa rolls her eyes at her.

“Girl, you know I can’t!” she whines, prepares herself to try and say the offending word. “Sash-ay?”

“No!” Brooke laughs, the twinkle in her eye almost blinding.

“Sash-ay?” Vanessa hears herself, and shakes her head. “No, wait, I already said it like that.”

“It’s not like a sachet of sauce,” Cheryl supplies unhelpfully. Vanessa raises her eyebrows at her. She tries again.

“Chassé,” she finally comes out with, and a roar of satisfaction erupts from the crew behind the cameras. She laughs as she protests her lack of pronunciation. “Leave me alone, I got two languages to try an’ speak in!”

“And you can’t say chassé in either of them,” Brooke teases, sticking her tongue out at her. Vanessa finds it hard to rip her eyes away from her partner as Cheryl speaks again.

“Well, you two, you’ve been a joy to have with us today, good luck for Saturday night-”

“Thank you!”

“- Brooke and Vanessa, everybody!”

A cheer goes up from the crew, and Vanessa can’t help but giggle at the silliness that was the end of their interview. As Cheryl introduces another section of the show, Vanessa feels Brooke slip her hand into her own, squeezing it once. Vanessa squeezes back, and Brooke meets her eyes in a calm smile. It’s Friday evening, they’re off to rehearse as soon as this is over, and then it will be Saturday and their first live show as a couple. Vanessa is the best kind of nervous, and she finds herself shutting her eyes for a second as if to check she’s not dreaming.

Another squeeze of her hand from Brooke Lynn brings her back to earth with a bump, but she doesn’t mind.

[froggheadd]

I just saw a local BMC production and it was so good

Jeremy is sooooo tall, oh my god. He genuinely looked like WPC, I was amazed. He was wearing an x-men snapback so when he said “Like X-men” He guestured really wildly to his hat. His voice kept cracking when he was singing but it WORKED! It was as close to seeing wpc as Jeremy as I’ll ever get.

Christine was adorable, she had big curly brown hair in pigtails and her first outfit was a flowly long pink dress/shirt with unicorn rainbow leggings and white converse. Then she switched to a rainbow stripped sweater with a yellow overall skirt, and then for the voices in my head she has a white short sleeved shirt with a long yellow dress over it. Her backpack was reversible sequins and had buttons all along the straps.

They went for a red scheme for the squip and he had red contacts in!!! 

During two player game, Jeremy and Michael had matching mario luigi remotes

Speaking of Michael, he’s SO MUCH shorter than Jeremy and he has ultimate curly hair but cut like how you'd imagine Michael’s hair looking. His hoodie is the weird teal purple squiggle that’s on cups a lot. He genuinely looked like he was 15 or 16 but I talked to my friend in the cast and he’s actually 21??? He looks like a baby. His mitb was s o g o o d I was about to cry...my friend I was with did cry. 

Michael’s pac man tattoo was a fucking tramp stamp

when Mr. Heere came in during two player game like "IS THAT A GIRL" Michael did a lil smile with squinty eyes and a lil wave 

BROOKE IS ADORABLE AND I ADORE HER!! Her hair was half up half down in space buns, and there were lil pink bows on the buns. She was wearing a pink, yellow, and white fuzzy stripped sweater crop top? With a pale pink overall skirt, and her shoes were half see through if that makes sense? With pink fuzzy socks.

The "girls shirt" that Jeremy picks up during The Squip Song pt 1. was a jean jacket with studs ALL OVER. jfc Jeremy you mess.

During the Squip song pt 2 when Brooke left she said ‘au revoir’ bc she thought jere dated Madeline who's french

During the scenes in upgrade with Jeremy and Brooke, starting when Jeremy starting crying, they had dramatic movie music playing and what sounded like rain. Very Notebook-y. The ensemble was on stage with some boxes set up like bleachers, in 3d glasses eating popcorn like the whole thing was a movie

The squip was always kinda followed about by a group of four girls in red lip stick, red heels, clout glasses, and white dresses and i love all of them. By Pitiful Children tho they’re dressed in all red dresses with hoods? That’s coming back to the Squip’s color scheme being red. HE WAS WEARING AIR PODS HOW COULD I ALMOST FORGET!!! HE HAD FUCKIN AIR PODS IN!!!

A GUY THAT ID KINDA BE INTO!!! Everyone came out in renaissance outfits and were ball dancing around Jere and Christine. They were kinda dancing like that one scene in pride and prejudice where everyones in white dresses

They had basically a giant lazy susan on stage? Think the spinning stage in hamilton except it was above the floor. There was a hole in it the squip popped out of it??? I think it mightve been for More Than Survive Reprise??

When the Squip tucked Jeremy in, he held up a blanket that had a giant picture of Spock on it

Jeremy dressed up as Spock for Halloween (good riddance to the spandex cyborg costume!)

In the dance battle Jake only did Fortnite dances

During Do You Wanna Hang the Squip said “SEX! The final frontier” while doing the hand thing. 

Michael was dressed as Darth Vader. His entrance was cued by the star wars music and Darth Vader breathing. 

When Jake breaks in through the window the whole thing went to slow motion, with Jeremy dodging punches and running past Brooke. It was a really funny addition.

The Squip’s final costume was hilarious he had shoulder pads that came out like 6 inches. Hold on I cant even describe it lemme draw it. Ah yes. The look of pure evil.

Mr Heere was as much of a nerd as Jeremy. All of his interactions were delivered like he was trying to make dad jokes until his fight with Jeremy. That whole scene was amazing, all of the joking faded away and he was really trying to find out what was wrong with Jere. Amazing.

In the pants song when Michael sang "when you love somebody" all the lights turned pink. So.....

Mr. Heere and Michael starting doing lil karate moves together. We love a power duo.

People being "squipped" was them putting on clout glasses

OH! There wasnt a Mr. Reyes!! It was Mrs. Reyes and she reminded me of Ms. Darbus from hsm so 10/10

The fight during the play with Jere and Michael was staged like mortal combat fight? It was really cool, I loved it.

When Mr Heere came on during the hospital scene with a tie and pants on, the tie had a lava lamp on it (like I said. Huge nerd)

When Michael said “Im sure someone would be lucky to have you” he patted him on the back and Rich SQUEAKED! Then Mr. Heere came in and patted Rich’s shoulder and he squeaked again. Poor boy.

Rich was leaving the stage and he fell right next to my seat. When he came back his chin was bleeding :( 

I talked to the guy who played the Squip after and he said he saw us and he almost started laughing while singing

[interrogatormentors]

Event Seven: Freezer Burn

Sleep came in fits and starts for the trainees, but they all snatched what little they could as their training continued. Despite this, they all spent the scant hour of free time the instructors allotted them in different ways. Zesaim studied, scouring books whose origins she refused to reveal for interrogation techniques. Rosmer baked in beakers, often coercing Sollux into using his psionics as a heat source. Ophlia worked out, Trisia ever by her side. Sollux himself dozed as he idly explored the limitations of his tablet, poking holes in the security to try and get his nose out for some news. Ualona often joined him, his maroon text a constant in the chat channels.

- actualizedClairvoyant [AC] has begun trolling twinArmageddons [TA]!-

AC: any progress on protecting a c-| |-annel? AC: avoiding mics is cool and all but w-| |-at if t-| |-ey are monitoring everyt-| |-ing we type? TA: no progre22 TA: they’re reportiing all thii2 2hiit two the empiire and the drone2ll be here iin liike two hour2 AC: D: TA: who do you fuckiing take me for ii’ve coded liike fiive proxiie2 iin the la2t ten miinute2 alone. AC: -| |-ell yeah! AC: so can you send me t-| |-at new installment of sunspots and starship -| |-eresy you found on the net t-| |-en because i kind of need somet-| |-ing to take my mind off tomorrow’s private training AC: i -| |-eard its gonna be some INTENSE friggin quizzes TA: god ii don’t want two enable you gettiing your globe2 off two helmiing porn you know that riight. AC: i mean AC: w-| |-en you put it t-| |-at way… TA: w/e iidgaf

-twinArmaggedons [TA] has sent file [kiinkyba2tard.xml]!-

TA: porn ii2n’t trea2on anyway we don’t need protected channel2 for that. TA: 2o who’2 goiing two be your traiiner tomorrow niight?? AC: that pozoia guy that oversees the p-| |-ysical training :[ AC: im freaking out!! -| |-es going to eat me alive! AC: w-| |-at about you? TA: rapard. AC: O-| |- S-| |-IT TA: w/e TA: he doe2n’t 2care me.

The next night when the morning alarms went off, however, Sollux hesitated as he squinted at his schedule for the day.

Sollux Captor: Report at Training Block A13 - Rapard - Dress Code: Swimwear

“Swimwear?” Zesaim’s puzzled voice came from her bunk just as Sollux read the words on his own schedule, and he looked over. “What happened to quizzes?”

“I don’t see how having a personal trainer’s going to help us swim better,” Sollux said, sitting up on the platform. “God, I don’t give a shit if I have to chase a wader through open sea, I’m drowning regardless.” He ducked, just in time to avoid a pillow getting thrown at him by Mercuo at terminal velocity. The seadweller glared at him from his bunk.

“You’ll need the fucking practice if you don’t want me to drown you,” Mercuo said, climbing down from his own bunk.

Sollux snorted, flicking Mercuo’s fin once with his psionics before stripping down. They filtered out to their assigned blocks after that, and it seemed the coolbloods didn’t receive any alteration to their dress codes for the day. Sollux found walking alone to a lesson disconcerting, and the halls seemed so much chillier and ominously dark without someone at his side. The faint fizzle of the lights above him served as the only background sound apart from the faint paps of his own bare feet on the metal tile.

He stopped in front of block A13 after a few minutes, looking up at the door. The metal seemed thick and reinforced, and a card reader sat adjacent to the heavy handle. A hand reached past Sollux, sliding a card into the reader and causing Sollux to jump. He hadn’t heard Rapard coming. “Quit flinching, helmbait,” Rapard said, hauling the door open. The door hissed, steam rushing out of the dark block in a billowing cloud. Sollux took a step, paused, and then moved forward only after Rapard shot him an unimpressed look.

The cold had given Sollux pause, an almost physical wall of frigid air that only intensified as the door behind him closed with a heavy thud. For a brief moment only the natural illumination from Sollux’s own eyes cast any sort of light, before a single, dim bulb on the ceiling flicked on. It didn’t really help. A metal chair stood fixed in the middle of the room, and Sollux felt a prickle of fear skitter up his spine as he spotted manacles on the armrests and near the legs. “What kind of quiz--”

“Emotional endurance is the topic today,” Rapard said. He gestured towards the chair, one eyebrow arching up. “I don’t have all night, recruit.”

Sollux gritted his teeth, glancing from the chair to the door and back again. Rapard stood between him and the door, and somehow he doubted he could overpower a fully matured seadweller in such a cold environment. Sollux’s own limbs felt stiff, and his teeth already chattered. He had his pride, but he also had an ounce of self-preservation in his bones. He sat down in the chair, jerking away too slow to avoid the manacles snapping shut around his wrists and ankles.

“I get the physical training, I get the mediculler shit, but what the fuck is up? Sir,” he added at the expression on Rapard’s face.

“How slow do I have to speak to drill something through your pan, recruit?” Rapard said, starting to pace, a shark circling through icy waters. “Welcome to emotional conditioning. The goal today is to learn control. The moment you emote, your quarry loses faith in your resolve to hurt them.” Rapard stopped off to Sollux’s left, shifting his weight from left to right before settling back on his heels. His expression remained as blank as ever. “This also serves as a practical demonstration of your schoolfeeding. Recap what you learned about temperature moderation and interrogation, grublet.”

Sollux took a breath, trying to settle the sparks already settling around his hornbeds that had triggered out of anxiety. “Temperature. Short-term temperature shifts out of habitable zones can lower reaction time and inhibitions. Long-term it can influence the immune system and wear a troll down.”

Rapard snorted, reaching into the breast pocket of his uniform and pulling out a small remote. He pressed a button, and fans lining the walls kicked on with a furious intensity. Sollux yelped, turning his face away from the sudden blast of cold air smacking against his face. “Temperature drop, two degrees,” Rapard said. “Watch those sparks-- I can read you like a fucking book. Get it together.” He started pacing again, and Sollux tried to resist the urge to follow his movements with his head. “What temperatures can the average lowblood withstand?”

“Average?” Sollux worried his lower lip with his teeth, scrambling to answer ahead of Rapard’s impatience. “Hypothermia takes place at an internal temperature of 97 degrees, and we can survive with an external temperature of 140 with enough water.”

The fans whirred again, and Sollux gritted his teeth. “Watch those ears,” Rapard said. “In the interrogatormentors, your emotions are a weakness. If you can’t turn them off like the husktop you are, then what use are you? You can’t be caught at the mercy of your own instincts.” He shook his head, still pacing in a wide circle around Sollux. “What will affect a lowblood’s internal temperature more, cold air or water?”

Sollux faltered, looking up to the fans. Well, that seemed like the proper answer right there. He couldn’t think straight, really, his thoughts coming to him in sluggish waves as he shivered in his bonds. A red light blinked in the corner of the room, a camera watching this entire affair. What did they even need this footage for? “Cold air,” he said finally.

Rapard hummed. “Interesting answer,” he said. “This isn’t about the immediate effect, this is a matter of thermodynamics.” An odd click came from above Sollux, and he looked up just in time for a set of freshly revealed nozzles protruding from the ceiling to unleash a deluge of icy water. Sollux sputtered, gasping and choking against the spray. The water left him a shuddering mess, each breath an agony stabbing into his lungs.

“I gffkfk- got it,” he said, coughing hard. “Cold. Cold’ssss good.” His lisp had worsened due to the chattering of his teeth, and he found himself biting his tongue more than once. “Fuck. Fuck.”

The fans came to life again, and Sollux screwed his eyes shut. “You’re cursing out of an emotional response,” Rapard said. Sollux felt cold hands grasp his jaw, and he peeled his eyes open to meet the seadweller’s own. “Turn off your emotions, brat.”

Sollux took a breath as Rapard released him, schooling his response back. He tried focusing inwards, fixating on the thought of warmth, of his bunk and fresh food and summer nights. Turn it off, turn it off, turn the emotions off, think of something else. His expressioned slackened, smoothing out into an expressionless mask despite the way his muscles spasmed due to the cold.

The quizzing continued from there, and Sollux did his best to answer each question thrown at him. The temperature kept dropping despite his efforts, until he felt icicles gathering in his nose and his eyes felt swollen from how much tears streamed down his cheeks from the cold. The lesson continued even after Sollux started hacking blood onto his legs and the floor, his entire body quaking. He couldn’t hear his own voice. He didn’t even know what he said in response to Rapard’s questions, and he knew at least half of his answers were unintelligible. He couldnt even begin to imagine what warmth felt like anymore.

Eventually Rapard looked at his watch and hit another button, and the manacles around Sollux’s limbs popped open. Sollux couldn’t have moved if he tried, and it took careful prying and warm water to loosen him from his quite literal frozen position in the chair. Sollux struggled to remain conscious as Rapard swung him over his shoulder, gasping as they emerged into the relative heat of the outside corridors.

Rapard deposited Sollux into a communal block, into a flock of suffering recruits. To the left side of the room, where Sollux tumbled onto the ground, lowbloods clustered around each other in bundles of blankets, heated mats underneath them. To the right, highbloods all seemed intent on drowning themselves in ice baths. Sollux couldn’t bring himself to move, and remained face down until he felt a blanket settling around his shoulders.

“Hey, Sparkles,” said a weak voice above him. Sollux looked up to see Trisia, her face flushed a brilliant teal and her dreadlocks hanging limply around her cheeks. “You look like shit.”

Sollux let out a ragged laugh, fingers curling around the edges of the blanket. “You do too. Did they stick you guys into an oven?”

He heard shuffling behind him then, and a sniffle. “I want to die,” Ualona said, voice very small. “They didn’t warn us it’d be like this. We’re the interrogatormentors, not- Why are they torturing us?”

The door opened again, revealing a petite purple with a massive collar of spikes framing the back of her head like a matured daywalker. She pushed a stumbling Ophlia into the room, tittering and wiping a little smear of purple from the corner of her own mouth before shutting the door. Sollux caught a glimpse of the back of her neck then, which revealed that the spikes were indeed protruding from her skin in a uniform circles of daywalker bruises along her spine. When Ophlia lifted her head, Sollux saw her ear was bleeding. Sollux swore, shivering. “This place is fucked.”

Trisia got up again, and Sollux heard her murmuring to Ophlia before supporting her up to an ice bath. Ualona scooted closer, and Sollux saw an ominous darkness to his nose and the edges of his fingers. “What did Rapard promise you?” he said.

Sollux tried to think of what Ualona meant, but nothing came to him. He only shrugged, his cheek pressed up against the floor. “Nothing. But I'm not waiting to find out what you're talking about,” he said. “Let the others know.” He closed his eyes. “We’re getting out of here.”

[ritingsandwramblings]

Sunshine Part 1 (Ben Platt x Reader)

Prompt: requested by @just-another-imagine-writer : “Ben Platt/Reader in which reader is super anxious (generalized anxiety) and he tries to help as best as he can and tells her about how brave they are/how Evan would have handled his anxiety (since the reader heavily depends on Evan Hansen’s character as well as Ben himself) *screaming internally bc I don’t like asking off anon but I’m pretty sure you could write this way better than I coULD!!!*”

IM SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG FUCK

Gender neutral Reader btw!!

Warnings: anxiety, anxiousness, spoiler to the first lines of the show ig,

This is two parts bc I felt like this was too long to add a part about Ben helping the reader by saying what Evan would do. 💕💕

I said I while ago I wasn’t gonna write anymore cast member fics bc I didn’t feel like I could know them well enough to get their personality perfectly accurate but here you go it’s an exception bc this prompt is so cute and I feel like I can get Ben pretty accurate after being a ben platt stan™ for like 5 years now lmao. Also I’m so flattered that you think I could write this so good tysm!!!!

Honestly I did so much research for this I didn’t wanna fuck up the GAD (generalized anxiety disorder) parts and not describe them well because I didn’t want to not make it serious enough or just get it wrong bc GAD exposure (or any mental illness exposure) is so important to some people and if I’m gonna contribute to that exposure I’m not gonna get the info wrong!!! Source credits is Wikipedia tho tbh I read the entire wiki article on GAD. Also I tried to include Reader helping Ben too since Ben has anxiety as well so!!! Cute fluff of such a healthy helpful relationship!!!

Nickname (and title) credit to @chelykat451-blog Tysm!!!!

•••••

You had cried the first time you went to see Bens show. It was a clear memory for you, going to the Music Box Theatre much earlier than when the show was set to start. It was the opening night for their move to Broadway, so the street leading up to the theatre was crowded with cameras, fans, and interviewers all dying to get a glimpse of the cast. Ben brought you with him early, hoping that the rest of the cast and crew wouldn’t be mad about him bringing you backstage. You could hear the crowds from down the street, and your increasingly clammy hand began to unconsciously tighten around Bens. He looked at you, knowing your feelings of anxiety reciprocated his own and feeling sympathy. Pulling the hood of your jacket tight, you and Ben walked fast towards the stage door, you on the inside closest to the building, him on the outside waving to fans and smiling to a few before he got to the door, letting you two in.

Once inside the door you let out a shaky breath you didn’t know you were holding, closing your eyes and leaning against a wall, letting your head fall back against it. Ben hesitantly grabbed your shoulders, almost pulling away when you jumped at the contact. You leaned into his chest though, not letting him pull away just yet. He wrapped his arms around you and kissed the top of your head.

“Hey, you were so brave, okay, Sunshine?” He said, using his nickname for you, a reference to your large love for the Beatles song Here Comes The Sun, “I’m so proud of you, you did it! Go Y/N!” Ben whispered into your hair, kissing your head again as you giggled into his chest. Pulling away slowly, he looked into your eyes and gave you a reassuring smile, before taking your hand in his and leading you up the stairs to his dressing room, where you stayed while he got ready for the show. You sat on the couch in his room after stripping off your coat and watched while he prepared. It was mesmerizing watching him put on his costume and get his hair and makeup done. He was so dedicated and focused and you couldn’t be more proud of him. When it reached seven they opened the doors for the nights audience to enter, the rush of the pushing crowd getting louder as more people filed into the theatre. You rubbed your right thumb against the palm of your left hand nervously, bouncing your leg as you knew eventually you’d have to go to your seat and you were sure something would go wrong somehow. Ben noticed your anxiety and walked over, kneeling in front of you on the floor, resting his chin on your knee that wasn’t bouncing, his hands resting on your waist.

“It won’t be long, Sunshine, okay? You’ll only be out there for forty-five minutes and then I’ll be onstage, okay? Just forget everyone around you and focus on me.” Ben said, looking up into your nervous eyes. You looked up from your hands and met his eyes, giving him a reassuring close mouthed grin, silently telling him you would be okay and could do this. You stood up, him following, and wrapped your arms around him in a big hug.

“I love you, and I’m so unbelievably proud of you, Benny,” you told him, feeling slightly emotional as you thought of this journey and all that Ben had done, “Now, break an arm!” You said, joking about the cheesy ‘break a leg’ saying and his characters broken arm. He snorted, his nose crinkling as he laughs.

“Thank you. I love you too, you nerd,” He kissed your forehead before you left his warm embrace, leaving his dressing room and going through a series of doors and down many sets of stairs until you got to your seat. It was in the front toe, with the rest of the friends and family of the cast, next to Ben’s parents and siblings. You smiled at his mom as you sat next to her, your seat being on the outside of the row so nobody was on your left side. She talked excitedly to Bens father for the next forty minutes while you continuously rubbed your thumb on your hand.

~~~~~

After the never ending forty minutes wait, the show started. You watched, tearing up at the sight of your boyfriend on stage, on Broadway, the lead in a show. You knew he was fulfilling his dream, and you couldn’t describe the pride you had for him.

“Dear Evan Hansen, today is going to be a good day, because, because all you have to do is just… just be yourself… and also confidence…” Ben began to ramble as his character, the audience and you included giggling at his nervous rambling. Soon enough, Rachel entered the stage as his mom, but your eyes were still glued on Ben. You noticed his anxious behavior and how he began chewing his nails and messing with the hem of his shirt and you geared up once again. You didn’t stop crying even after the show ended, many hours later.

~~~~~

“Oh my god, Benny, that was beautiful!” you say excitedly as you walk down the hallway backstage to meet up with Ben. He was sweaty and has tears staining and snot covering his face, but you didn’t care. You ran up to him and pulled him into a tight hug, still crying hard from the show.

“Thanks, Sunshine! You liked it? Oh I’m so glad you liked it!” Ben said with just as excitement, his nose crinkling in happiness again.

“Liked it? I loved it!” You pulled away and wiped your tears, even though t was pointless as more continued to fall. Even if Ben wasn’t the lead, the show was still amazing and meant a lot to you. It was very emotional for you being able to see representation of a teen with anxiety, since you were diagnosed when you were fifteen and had dealt with generalized anxiety ever since. Ben knew this, and had told you about the show and character when he first landed the part, telling you that he wanted to use some of your ticks and traits to help make Evan more realistic. You agreed, of course, wanting to see a realistic anxiety representative in media.

“You did great, Benny, that was perfect.” You cried, grabbing each side of his face and giving him a kiss. He rested his hands on your tear-stained cheeks as well, kissing back just as passionately as you did to him.

[kidsviral-blog]

I'm Mending My Broken Relationship With Food

New Post has been published on https://kidsviral.info/im-mending-my-broken-relationship-with-food/

I'm Mending My Broken Relationship With Food

After a lifetime struggling with disordered eating, I’m still figuring out how to have a healthy relationship with my body and what I feed it.

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Justine Zwiebel / BuzzFeed

It’s a late night in winter, and I am standing over my gas stove heating a metal spoon. I hold the handle gently in my fingers, carefully rotating the bowl over the tips of the indigo flames as the pale yellow pat of Smart Balance butter inside begins to liquefy. The sleeves of my oversized sweatshirt graze the middle of my palms and I step on the hem of my baggy sweatpants as, slowly, I pull the spoon away. A tiny drop of hot liquid falls on my toes as I tip its contents over the edge of a plain white bowl filled with sugar. I add flour, some milk, a few drops of vanilla, and a handful of chocolate chips. I stir. I taste.

I take the bowl to the couch, balance it precariously on the edge, and lie down on my side, my fingers the only utensil, pinching stray sugary flecks off the velvet dark gray fabric as The Real Housewives of New Jersey blares on the TV. It’s been nearly three years since a therapist told me I’m a disordered eater. Yet, after one personal trainer, over two years of therapy, three juice cleanses, four gym memberships, 20 pounds lost, 30 pounds gained back, and thousands of dollars spent on healthy groceries and high-end cookware, I am 24 years old and spending another night, like so many nights before, eating a bowl of last-minute, mediocre cookie dough alone in my apartment at 11 p.m. And I hate myself for it.

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Justine Zwiebel / BuzzFeed

I’ve been overweight — or bordering on it — nearly my entire life, at least since my family moved to the U.S. when I was 4. When I was a child, a routine fight between my Hungarian mother and me was over how much I ate for dinner. Propping my elbows on our scratched dining table, I’d watch her petite, pale hands hovering above me, ladling spoon upon spoon of rice on my father’s plate. “NO FAIR, DAD GOT THE BIGGER ONE,” I’d cry out when my own would finally land, unable to grasp why a 5-foot-10-inch, 200-plus-pound Nigerian man would need to eat more than I did. Seconds, for me, were a must. Thirds weren’t unusual.

Growing up in a white, affluent neighborhood in Lubbock, Texas, I was the only Anita in a sea of Amandas, Brittanys, and Tiffanys. I was biracial, brown and round, with a puffy ball of hair that sat squarely banded in the middle in my head. The boys called it a “burnt marshmallow” and “tumor.” Isolated and othered, I began using food as a coping mechanism around middle school, when my parents began letting me walk home (across the street) alone. I’d spend the two hours until my mom got off work by myself. My best friends had “boyfriends” in the way suburban preteens can — notes, stuffed animals, dates at the roller rink on school skate night. I had a gallon of Edy’s chocolate chip waiting in the freezer for me each day.

Eventually, my mom realized I was sneaking food and she started hiding sweets in the kitchen in hopes of curbing my steady weight gain. Instead, I became an expert at climbing on countertops, calculating how much I could eat of something before she would notice, and burying wrappers in the trash. Often, I’d throw away the balanced, nutritious lunches she’d pack me — whole wheat wraps and sandwiches, fruits, veggies, hard-boiled eggs — in favor of pizza and curly fries. “You ate your lunch today, right?” she’d ask cautiously, waiting for the “yes” we both knew was a lie. She was careful not to tie my weight to my worth, but rather reminded me constantly that what I was doing wasn’t healthy. Looking back, I can’t blame her, but at the time I felt betrayed. Though I couldn’t articulate it then, taking those foods away from me was taking away the one thing that made me feel like I wasn’t alone. I was already the chubby black girl; I didn’t want to be the chubby black girl on a diet.

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Justine Zwiebel / BuzzFeed

As I grew older, I prided myself on being good. I volunteered. I got straight A’s. I didn’t drink, smoke, have sex, or do drugs. But I ate.

What had begun as a way of burying my insecurities morphed into a way of self-medicating full-blown depression and anxiety. Food was my salve and my secret. By the time I was a high schooler in Arkansas, where we had moved when I was 14, I was regularly driving through the local Chinese restaurant, eating crab rangoon alone in my car in the parking lot of an abandoned strip mall. Overwhelmed by a laundry list of extracurriculars that I hoped would get me into the “right college” — student council, cheerleading, theatre, National Honor Society, Key Club, jazz, tap, ballet — I ate until I was too full to worry. When I was cast in my senior musical, I ran to my car after last bell and sped up the highway to Sonic to buy Cinnasnacks (think mini-cinnamon rolls, but more gross) and a cherry limeade in the half hour before first rehearsal. I realized what was happening wasn’t normal when I thought more about what I’d eat when I got to my friends’ houses than the time I’d spend with them.

At the time, I tried to figure out what was wrong with me the same way I tried to find solutions to all of my problems as a teen: magazines. Yet, in article upon article, all I saw were stock images of thin white girls with whom I seemed to have nothing in common. I was obviously not anorexic. I never could throw up after eating, though god knows I tried, so bulimia was out. And while my habits were definitely in line with bingeing, which wasn’t recognized as its own disorder until 2013, I never felt like I ate quite enough to qualify. I had a tendency to buy a lot of things on impulse, take a few bites, then throw them away. I once read somewhere that Lindsay Lohan poured water on her food after she was full so she’d stop eating; I’d subsequently watched many half-eaten tubs of ice cream swirl down the drain.

I hoped going to my dream college would somehow absolve me of my lack of self-worth and, with that, my eating habits. Instead, I spent much of my freshman and sophomore years at Brown feeling like a fraud and making full use of my unlimited meal plan by stuffing to-go containers and eating alone in my dorm room.

Eventually, I began seeing a therapist, who diagnosed me with dysthymia — a low-grade, chronic form of depression — and generalized anxiety disorder. I also began seeing a personal trainer. By senior year, my body finally felt like it fit my 5-foot-2-inch frame. I spoke in class like what I had to say actually mattered. Instead of ruminating alone and in doubt, I opened up to friends and socialized. I went on spring break in Florida and took pictures in a bikini for the first time ever. I felt more in control of my life than I ever thought I could. I was finally, finally, happy.

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Justine Zwiebel / BuzzFeed

But, despite my progress, there was one hurdle for which I couldn’t shake my anxiety: finding a job. An aspiring journalist, I had carefully checked off all the necessary boxes — writing courses, writing and editing for campus publications, three internships — but was terrified of rejection. So instead, I joined Teach for America after graduating in 2012, rationalizing it as a necessary experience to one day write about social justice issues. After a few months teaching third grade at a charter school north of Providence, I was miserable. Inexperienced and ill-equipped to handle the needs of my students, I began yo-yoing between jars of baby food that I’d eat as meals and cartons of Chinese food and quickly gained back half the weight I’d previously lost.

So, I finally sought out a second therapist who specialized in weight and body issues.

“The only reason you felt happy your senior year is because you were thin,” she told me during one of our first sessions. It was then when I learned the name for what I’d been struggling with my entire life: disordered eating, in my case chronic enough that it was periodically a full-blown, though unspecified, eating disorder (the distinction between the two is the frequency and severity of patterns). My therapist coaxed me to recognize how my entire identity and self-esteem seemed dependent on what was on my plate at any given moment. She pointed out that even when I had felt my best, I was undercounting calories, considering a couple dozen spears of asparagus or a couple of eggs to be adequate dinners, despite running regular 5Ks at the time. Instead of becoming healthier during college, I had swung from one extreme to the other. Now I was bouncing back and forth between the two.

Yet, as thankful as I was to have a more concrete understanding of what was going on with me, I rejected her theory. After all, I thought, much more had changed that year than just my weight and diet. The real problem was my job. The real problem was Rhode Island. So, I quit and I left. And, like a bad movie on loop, within a few months in New York I was juice cleansing and takeout bingeing, with a job at a fashion magazine where I was thankful for a cubicle so that that no one could see me inhale the finest Midtown’s hot buffet delis had to offer. Then, for a host of reasons, I quit that job after half a year and spent my “funemployment” obsessively looking for another one, watching all of Breaking Bad, and ordering Seamless at midnight.

Pause. Play. Rewind. Repeat.

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Justine Zwiebel / BuzzFeed

I’m now nearing the end of my second year in New York, and by and large my life has begun to stabilize. I’ve moved out of a claustrophobic apartment I shared with roommates when I first got to the city into one of my own, and have both a job and a boyfriend I love. I cook more and, overall, eat much better, often Instagramming the meals I’m most proud to have made.

And yet — two weekends ago, I visited my parents in Arkansas, and it went badly: My boyfriend and I were fighting, the flights were changed because of bad weather. Exhausted, I spent much of my airport layover on the way back to NYC agonizing over what to eat, wanting nothing more than to drown myself in a combo plate at the King Wah Express, yet ultimately settling on a sensible salad from the glaringly obvious sensible salad place (“green to greens…” “earth fresh…”). The canned salmon was too pale, the dressing too much like something out of a Kraft bottle, and I was too aware of being the overweight woman eating a salad. I pushed it over to the side and grabbed my wallet. After another lap around the food court, I was back in front of King Wah Express.

“How much is just a side of lo mein?” I asked the woman behind the counter.

“$4.99.”

It wasn’t a lot, but I was frustrated that I’d already spent $13 on something that was going in the trash. I changed course.

“I’ll take two crab rangoon, please.”

I sat back down and ate them my usual way: crispy corners first, then soft, squishy middle full of filling. As I dribbled duck sauce out of individual packets and wiped grease off my fingers, I wondered, like so many times before, if my eating habits will — can — ever really sustainably change. I pulled up the waistband of my leggings, aware of the strings already unraveling at the seams in the thigh and that I’d just bought them a little over a month ago. Packing for this trip was easy; I am at the heaviest I’ve ever been and most of my clothes didn’t fit anyway.

The last time I ate crab rangoon, it was 2013 and I was still living in Rhode Island. After failing to go to the YMCA that was across the street from my apartment, I had purchased a membership at a discount gym in a small town 10 minutes away because, somehow, that seemed like a better motivator than a building I could literally stare at out of my bedroom window. I can count the number of times I went to that gym on two hands and have few memories of it, but I do remember the Chinese buffet that was in the shopping center next door. I went to it twice: one time to eat inside, in a pleather booth near a couple and their annoying kids, the other to eat takeout, in a red plastic Ikea chair in my kitchen.

I can’t believe I am fucking here. Again. I thought, as I thumbed crumbs off the airport table.

But that was two weeks ago.

I’ve come to realize I eat the same way I hit my snooze button every morning: just a little bit more. Tired when I should feel energized, so empty despite being so full. Food is still the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think about before I go to bed. I still spend much of my time trying to hide just how much I eat it. After nine months in my own place, I’ve yet to buy my own microwave, hoping the lack of ease with which I can heat things will keep me from eating myself out of control. I’ve also yet to find a therapist in the city, an endeavor I’ve embarked on most weeks since I moved here and feel wholly overwhelmed by. However, I’m slowly, finally, acknowledging that my disordered eating — though inextricably intertwined with other issues — is also its own source of unhappiness, rather than a symptom of it.

And now I’m trying a new routine. Today was my fourth day starting my morning curled on my couch, sipping a cup of tea before I reach for the handle of the fridge. Before I leave my apartment, I pack lunch — a proper serving of “pad thai” made with spaghetti squash and shrimp, which I relished making earlier in the week, plus blueberries — in a plastic teal bento box with dorky handles. I feel equal parts embarrassed and ecstatic about carrying it on the subway and into my office, mindful of what my co-workers might think of such a marked departure from the spread of constant, countless snacks I’ve carted to my desk, but knowing after I’ve finished what’s inside, I’ll feel better somehow. This time, I won’t throw it away.

Resources

If you or someone you know is struggling with an eating disorder, here are some organizations that have trained support staff available by phone:

National Association of Anorexia Nervosa and Associated Disorders Helpline: 1-630-577-1330

Binge Eating Disorder Association Helpline: 1-855-855-BEDA

National Eating Disorder Association Helpline: 1-800-931-2237

Read more: http://www.buzzfeed.com/anitabadejo/confessions-of-a-disordered-eater