#I just saw the doc and if one thing really came through is that Louis is an amazing person (to sit and admire what he’s like? yes)

[bonnysis]

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[homo-sex-shoe-whale]

Online shipping, the fetishisation of gay men, and the romanticisation of queer trauma

An essay by me!

Word count: 2.8k

A link to the Google Doc version of this essay.

A big thank you to my friends Nathan @themeerkatnate, Mav @not-mavv , and Duke @dukedark-ness for reading this essay and giving me their thoughts as mlms on the topic. Make sure to check out their blogs and give them a follow!

So I was on a lovely website by the name of Twitter.com yesterday, just scrolling through while having my afternoon cup of coffee, when I saw that viral post of a girl reading a Larry fanfic through a classroom projector. I'm sure most of you have seen it. It's gone viral on Instagram, TikTok, and likely Tumblr too, and if you haven't come across it I'm positive you will soon.

Now, after getting through my initial reaction to that post which was, holy fuck, that's so embarrassing, I had a second reaction of... wait, this ship is still around?

And after I had some thoughts on the incredible permanence of some online ships and the weird obsolescence of others, I did get to thinking of how lots of these popular ships seem to stem from the same types of perceived relationship dynamics and homophobic stereotypes.

These online fandoms often seem to have an obsession with objects of queer trauma, such as having to hide a relationship, lying about sexuality for self-preservation, and even social rejection. So, after some opinions from my followers and the great archive that is the internet, I've decided to discuss some of the most popular examples of online shipping and the particular nuances they came with.

NOTE: Out of respect for all these people, I won't be sharing viral images or videos of them in perceived romantic proximity (or even kissing, as is applicable for some examples), but I will be describing certain moments I deem to be relevant. So even if you're unfamiliar with them, you won't be confused as to what I'm talking about.

NOTE 2: Although not all people within these fandoms were/are toxic, this essay is focused on the overall toxicity of the fandoms, and how they are toxic more so as a "hive" than as a group of individuals. When I refer to a fandom I don't mean every person involved in the fandom, but rather the collective impact of the group.

 1. Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson 

This is arguably the most popular example of online shipping. The absolute permanence of this ship, and how its fandom never seems to fully die off even beyond the lifespan of One Direction as it once stood, is downright impressive.  

I'm going to be the first to admit I was never in the loop with this fandom. My childhood best friend was actually a massive Larry shipper and asked me to beta read one of her fics, but that was before I even knew who tf Harry and Louis were! Not because I avoided the fandom or even because I rejected the online shipping, but just by coincidence, I delved into the world of pop punk music right when One Direction began gaining its popularity. I bought my first ever album, Riot by Paramore, in 2011- only a year after One Direction made their X-Factor debut. So, this fandom just bypassed me by a sort of weird coincidence.

But I don't need to be in the loop with this fandom to know the astronomical obsession with these two men, no, these two BOYS, was extremely toxic. In 2010, when One Direction made their debut, Harry Styles was only 16 years old. And Louis Tomlinson wasn't much older at 19! This made the two of them incredibly young when this unprecedented wave of shipping hit the internet, and although that must be traumatising for anyone, I cannot even fathom how overwhelming it must've been for two boys that young.  

I'm 18, almost 19 now, and I cannot begin to imagine how scary it was for the two of them to have their every interaction nitpicked within an inch of its life by thousands upon thousands of people online. I do not know this myself, but from numerous recounts by some of my followers, this massively impacted Harry's and Louis' nondescript relationship in real life, seemingly driving the two previously close friends apart. 

Now, before we move on, there's something we need to talk about. And that is the obsession with the dominance/submission dynamic within the world of gay shipping. 

With almost every popular mlm (an acronym meaning man-loving-man) ship based on real people, it seems that fandoms have a particular fascination with power imbalances in these relationships. You don't even need to look at the insane amount of fanfictions based on BDSM to figure this out. In almost all of the examples I'll be citing today, there is an age gap within the perceived relationship and a person the fandom has seemingly decided to be the top/dominant figure. 

Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson are 3 years apart in age. Although it isn't all that relevant now, an age gap of 3 years when you're in your late teens is a lot more significant. In 2012, for example, when this shipping really started gaining traction, Harry Styles was 18 and Louis Tomlinson was 21. That power imbalance, albeit not that significant, is enough for a fandom to latch on to. We'll see this a lot more in the coming example with Dan and Phil.

 2. Dan Howell and Phil Lester

It's impossible to have a discussion about internet shipping without talking about Dan and Phil.

 Dan Howell and Phil Lester, although being popular YouTubers individually, are arguably one of the internet's most iconic duos. The two creators published their first videos together in 2009, and while their relationship was already a motive of speculation back then, the peak of the "Phan" shipping definitely came in the 2013-2016 era of Tumblr.

Now, I'm going to admit… I was actually on Tumblr when that happened. 

The 2013-2016 period perfectly aligns with my middle school days (I started middle school in 2013 and high school in 2016), and I was not only on Tumblr back then, but I was on Wattpad too! Again, this wasn't a fandom I had much contact with as I had a huge anime phase in middle school and I was on Tumblr posting mainly photography and Soul Eater content more than anything. 

But I did watch some of Dan and Phil's videos! And the occasional "Phan" content did not completely evade me as one of my closest friends in middle school had a fanchat for them. I wasn't involved in the fandom myself but they were actually one of the few English-speaking YouTubers I watched once in a blue moon (back then I watched mainly Brazilian YouTubers). One thing I did in fact notice over the years, around 2014ish perhaps, was that the two of them seemed to grow increasingly "awkward" around each other, in a way that many folks on the internet thought was reminiscent to Markiplier/Jacksepticeye, two YouTubers who also dealt with extraordinary amounts of shipping.

I'm not the only one who thinks this. The change in Dan and Phil's relationship, at least to the outside world, was clear to almost anyone who watched their videos for a while. I cannot blame them at all. The shipping was nuts. Between the countless fan videos, speculative comments, and insurmountable number of fanfics, there's no way the two of them didn't feel the weight of the shipping. The term "demon phannie" made its way into internet vernacular and there it stayed for years. Even Shane Dawson, who was one of the largest creators on the platform at the time, made several videos speculating on the nature of Dan and Phil's relationship and their sexual orientations. 

There was even porn made in which actors with similar appearances to the creators were made to have sex on camera. 

Now, this is actually a rare example where the two people involved in the ship actually came out as gay once the shipping seemed to die down. I'm incredibly happy Dan and Phil both reached a point where they were comfortable being publicly out, but I hate to say I'm shocked this day ever came. If I'd gone through what the two of them did, I don't know if I'd ever trust the internet. 

And again, this ship's fandom definitely had an obsession with the power dynamics they thought existed between the people within the ship. Dan Howell is 4 years younger than Phil Lester, and was only 18 in 2009, when they started making videos together. From my personal understanding, the shipping was often quite focused on this dominant/submissive dynamic especially in discussions from their early relationship. And this is in no way exclusive to Dan and Phil.

This general fascination with the older man/younger man dynamic, in my opinion, plays into the homophobic stereotype that gay men are predators. The idea that gay men usually seek younger men, and somehow "convince" them to engage in homosexual relationships, is popular homophobic rhetoric. The popularisation, exaggeration, and fetishisation of these power imbalances, in age and/or in relationship dynamics, is directly harmful to the mlm community. 

Not only that, but the romanticisation of a "hidden/forbidden relationship" is also detrimental not only to gay men and the mlm community, but to queer people as a whole. Queer people face huge trauma having to hide their relationships; queer attraction is already a societal taboo. And acting like this is good, or even desirable, is harmful to queer people as a whole, regardless of whether or not it's actually applicable to the people being shipped. It normalises this trauma not only to cisgender, heterosexual people, but to impressionable queer youth who grow to believe this type of trauma is to be expected. 

3. Frank Iero and Gerard Way

This is another example where the perceived power imbalances between the two subjects of the shipping were directly exploited online. Now, this ship did precede the others mentioned above. If we're looking at this topic chronologically, this particular ship did come first in the shipping timeline. It's closer to the origin of the shipping extended universe, if you will.

In case you aren't familiar with them, Frank Iero and Gerard Way are both members of the American emo band My Chemical Romance. This ship is the first one here of which I don't recall the full popularity. It really peaked in popularity around the late 2000s, circa 2008. And I don't remember this moment online as in 2008, I was only 6 years old and believe it or not, I wasn't really all that concerned with rumoured homoeroticism as a first grader. 

However, the popularity of this ship did carry over into the 2013-2015 Tumblr shipping boom. The emo fandom (or "bandom" as it was called) involving not only My Chemical Romance but other similar bands such as Fall Out Boy, Panic! At The Disco, and Pierce the Veil, found its hub on Tumblr. 

During this time, I did in fact listen to this style of music, but was focused a lot more on the anime side of Tumblr as mentioned earlier. Of course, I wasn't 13 years old like, "hey, this type of content might be harmful and can inadvertently perpetuate homophobic stereotypes," I just happened to care more about my silly little anime and ended up not getting involved. 

This ship does involve a discussion that the others don't, however. With Frank Iero and Gerard Way, there is quite often a certain sentiment of, "Oh, they brought this upon themselves!" as the two band members very famously kissed during a show in 2007. In my opinion, though, this doesn't really justify all the obsessive shipping. If you look at Green Day, a band often grouped in with MCR as another famous pop punk group, the members don't follow too different of a trajectory. Billie Joe Armstrong has, on numerous occasions, kissed both of his fellow band members onstage- particularly Tré Cool, the drummer. And Billie Joe Armstrong is openly bisexual, which none of the members of MCR seem to be but some, or even all of Billie's bandmates, are too. 

You'd think Green Day would face a lot more shipping as the more persistent onstage homoeroticism and Billie Joe's openness about his sexuality would warrant more "substantiated" speculation. However, Green Day faces nowhere near as much shipping as My Chemical Romance. Why is this? I actually don't know. It might've been because Green Day has been around for over a decade longer and generally has an older fandom, but I really am not that sure. 

 It could also be because of the lower lack of potential for forced relationship dynamics. The members of Green Day are all less than a year apart in age and are even similar in height. However, Frank Iero is 4 years younger than Gerard Way, who is not only the frontman of My Chemical Romance, but also considered to be the group's intellectual and creative "leader". Even beyond that, Gerard Way is quite visibly taller, and the perceived power difference between the two of them definitely did not elude their fans. 

This difference could even be partly due to the lack of a "mystery" with Green Day. There's not as much to speculate as, well… the members of Green Day are already open about their sexual orientations. It might be that shipping in the Green Day fandom has less of a forbidden appeal for most people. 

Of course, I won't just keep repeating myself, but my previous points about forced relationship dynamics still stand.

4. Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch

Better known for their roles in BBC Sherlock as Sherlock and Watson, Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch unfortunately had their roles follow them well into real life. This is the example I know least about, so have these thoughts from a follower by the name of @indubitably-a-goblin, who had the following to say:

"the main issues i had with it were:

a) they were both married at the time, freeman to amanda abbington and cumberbatch to sophie hunter (in which both had children)

b) the main reasoning for it was their chemistry in the many projects they've done together. which is, shockingly, their Whole Job. They're actors! That's what they're supposed to do! if they weren't good at interacting then they wouldn't be good actors! i don't know how people can't understand this.

c) they're real people. we don't know them. we aren't friends with them. we aren't their family members. we have zero right to be pushing this onto them and ruining their friendship by doing so. (this one relates to most of the ships you've mentioned though)

d) healthy friendships between two men are ignored so plainly in most medias and in fandom. its obvious that these two men have a relationship, but that doesn't mean it's a romantic one.

e) its fine to ship their characters, but actors shouldn't be treated as less-than-human or some sort of prop. they're doing a job, and once they are off-screen, they aren't here for your entertainment."

I believe she did a great job of summing it up on her own, and for the sake of avoiding redundancy, I'll leave it at that!

5. Corpse Husband and Sykkuno- an emerging yet subtle example

I am absolutely positive you remember how popular the game Among Us was a couple of months ago. And with the popularity of this game, some of its most prominent content creators became the targets of online shipping- as is the case with YouTubers and streamers Corpse Husband and Sykkuno. 

Although the shipping involving these two creators is nowhere near as strong as it was/is with the examples above, I do think there is once again a reemergence of a common theme here. Whilst Sykkuno is known for his happy-go-lucky, almost "innocent" persona, Corpse Husband is the antithesis of this, known for his much darker and moodier personality. 

Do I even have to mention what the common theme seems to be?

Again, although the popularity of shipping - at least with real people - seems to have died down a bit since the Tumblr shipping boom of the early to mid 2010s, I do believe this example is worth mentioning. Even though the creators are still close, they have in fact expressed discomfort regarding the shipping, and I can only hope the internet as a whole lets their friendship blossom and exist naturally without obsessive speculation. 

My final thoughts

As explored in the essay:

The romanticisation of objects of queer trauma as a part of online shipping normalises queer trauma to both cishet and queer youth. 

Online shipping, especially at a high intensity, can end up negatively impacting the very relationships they pine over. 

The relationship dynamics often forced on mlm ships perpetuate homophobic stereotypes about non-heterosexual men. 

If anyone else has thoughts on this matter, do share! This essay is moreso an opinionated observational piece and isn't meant to be taken as fact but rather just as my thoughts on the matter. I hope it was useful as a reflective piece regardless!

Date of posting: June 16th 2021

[magalidragon]

paris is always a good idea | a Jonerys Drabble

Thank you @youwerenevermine​ for my wonderful birthday gift, I love it so much and I love Paris so much and Jonerys and you for making this for me so I felt inspired and wrote a quick little drabble thing, lol. It’s only the fourth time I’ve written Jonerys in a modern, non-Westeros world, but it was fun!  And I wanna’ go back so much!  Paris, je t’aime!

They met while in university, oddly enough, as fate would have it, on her birthday.

She had been there to study art, for a year abroad, savoring every last second wandering the wide, arched hallways of the Louvre, staring at grand masters for hours on end, burning the vibrant colors and mesmerizing brushstrokes into her memory, wishing she could be as good as them one day.  One day, someone would have her art in their house, and proudly boast they'd gotten it back when she was but a nobody, painting on the streets or in the grassy parks.  

Since it was her birthday, she decided to treat herself, and instead of heading straight to the university to get some time in the studio, she decided to get an ice cream at Berthillon, heading to the Ile-St-Louis instead of to the metro, taking her time to admire, as she often did, the glory of Notre Dame, it’s gargoyles and buttresses.

At the glacier she took her time selecting a flavor, did not even mind paying the exorbitant price and shouldered through tourists taking refuge from a cold rain that had begun to fall. She savored it, the clean water bouncing off her peat coat and the beanie she’d tugged over her silver hair.

She was about to set off, to eat her ice cream and wander into the Marais, perhaps drop down into the Latin Quarter— maybe take a trip to Chanel or Dior or Celine to admire the creations she couldn’t afford— when her ice cream went flying, straight onto the wet sidewalk. Where a mass of pidgins attacked it with gusto.

“Merde! Faites attention!” she shouted, stomping her Doc Marten on the ground in petulant annoyance.

The man who had bumped her because he’d been roughhousing with another friend had been apologetic.  He bought her another and said his name was Robb Stark. He was from Scotland, was on spring break with his buddies, which she didn’t care about. To apologize he invited her for a drink, especially when the worker who she’d told it was her birthday had commented on it again when she got another ice cream.

She figured why not?  He was attractive, sorry, and nice enough so she agreed, although she had commented his French was terrible best to speak English. “You’re English?” he had teased.

“Half and half,” she answered. English father, French mother.

At the comptoir where she suggested they meet, in Montmartre, she brought her roommate Missandei and Missandei’s boyfriend Grey. It was just a drink and they’d leave and go to the dinner Missandei planned to take her to anyway.

Except that’s where she met him.

The dark, brooding figure at the tiny table in the corner, ignoring Robb and Robb’s friend Theon, and a couple others, favoring silence and his drink. He was in all black, barely acknowledging her and slipped out for a smoke when Robb began to shamelessly flirt. She didn’t care about Robb, she cared about him.

Jon.

She exited, saw him lighting a cigarette against a lap post. She flicked her coat collar up and sidled towards him. “Puis-j’en avoir un?”

“Sorry I don’t speak,” he began, and his eyes— black in the orange lamplight glow— flicking to her. He smiled gently “French.”

She smiled and repeated her question in English.  “Can I have one?  A smoke  that is?”

He stuck the cigarette between his pouty, sinful lips, framed with a cropped dark beard, and reached into his coat pocket, removing a pack. She took one delicately and he lit it, cupping his hands around the tip so the wind didn’t blow it out.

A stream of smoke escaped her nostrils when she puffed and she smiled up at him, hoping he got the hint. “Do you like Paris?”

“Not especially.”

“Aw come on,” she teased. She hummed, closing her eyes and taking in the cold night. The electric buzz is people on the street and at the cafes and bars around them. “Paris is always a good idea.”

“Someone famous said that.”

“Audrey Hepburn.”

He sucked on the cigarette and smiled, a tiny one, the curve of his lip sly rather than shy.  “You aren’t in there with the rest of them.”

“Because it’s my birthday and I want to do what I want to do.”  She stubbed the cigarette out on the post and turned, disposing it in the bin by the door.  A quick text to Missandei: I’m going to skip dinner, I think I have a date, she turned and studied him.  “I’m…”

“Dany,” he said. He shrugged, finishing his smoke. “I remember.”  

Her eyes narrowed. “I didn’t think you were listening when Robb introduced me.”

“I was.”  He pulled the tartan scarf around his neck tighter.  He glanced towards Sacré-Cœur, illuminated white in the lights around its base. He smirked at her.  “You going back in?”

She shook her head. “No,” she drawled. She followed his gaze to Sacré-Cœur. “Have you been up there?”

“No.”

“You should. Some of the best views of Paris.”

He chuckled, voice tight. “You should invite Robb.”

“I think he might be a third wheel.”

It took him a second, the gears in his mind turning, understanding what she was saying. He cocked his head. His black curls were in a mess around his face. A few scattered rain drops landed on them, and he shook it free like a dog. Or a wolf, she thought, noting the animal embroidered on the edge of his scarf.

He narrowed his eyes again. “I told you I don’t really like Paris.”

“Why?”

“It’s loud. Busy. Dirty.”

She laughed. “Every city is like that but in Paris it’s different.”

“Why?”

Her bravado got the better of her and she stepped towards him, linking her arm through his. If he didn’t get it now, he was a stupid fool who deserved it when she kicked him into the gutter. “Because,” she murmured, rising to her toes, trying to gaze as directly as she could into his eyes, which she now saw were actually gray. His breathing quickened. “You’re with me.”

The wolf got the point with that comment. He allowed her to keep her arm around his and lead him towards the cathedral.  They spoke of nothing and anything on the long walk through Montmartre to the highest point in the city.  

He was in Paris for a research trip.  He was studying medieval weapons and was going out to Bayeux to study some relics. His cousin Robb and friends came along for the free trip.  They spoke about being starving artists in their field-- her literally an artist as it were.  They talked about Paris-- how much he disliked it, how much she adored it.  The top of Sacre-Coeur might have changed his mind, but he pretended he still didn’t get the appeal, so she dragged him back down to the streets, to her favorite all-night boulangerie, into the metro and across town to the Eiffel Tower, spinning in circles on the Champs du Mars.  They ran across the Pont-de-la-Concorde and across the Tullieries.  They wandered down the Seine, smoked cigarettes in the doorsteps of old buildings in the Latin Quarter, and drank cheap wine in one of the tourist-cafes near the Jardin du Luxembourg.  

They meandered back through the streets, the city oddly quiet, the rain stopping, and she brought him to her garret studio in the Bastille, up the six flights of stairs to the top of the building, where she shed her coat and boots adn scratched her fat cat Drogon’s ears, leading him to the wrought-iron bars in one of the four windows she had, pushing the window open and crawling out, up onto the roof where she wanted to show him something.  

“Look,” she directed, when he climbed up next to her-- less gracefully-- pointing to the lit-up Eiffel Tower.  

He cursed under his breath.  “It’s gorgeous.”

“It’s my favorite place in Paris.  The rent is steep, but it’s worth it for this.”  She chuckled.  “And it has the best view.”

He whispered.  “Yes, it does.”  

And to her surprise, since she didn’t realize the time, the tower began to twinkle, the 20,000 lights across its metal beams flickering and she glanced sideways; he wasn’t watching the tower, but her face.  She arched her brows.  “You know, the lights twinkle for five minutes every hour, on the hour.”  She smiled and shrugged, whispering.  “It’s a sign that you’re supposed to return to Paris.”

Instead of saying anything, like how silly that was, he leaned in and cupped her face in his wide palm, callused and warm, bringing her face to meet his, kissing gently, in the twinkly glow of the lights.  He pulled back a moment later, breathing, “I think I like Paris.  And you’er right...this place has the best view.”  His eyes were wide on hers, focused.  She chuckled, nodding in agreement, and pulled him back to her for another kiss.

That night she savored every moment with him, as they pulled each other’s clothes off slowly, kissing and touching, every smooth curve and muscle of each other, each hard ridge and plane of his strong, muscular body or her soft, lean one.  He touched her and kissed her and stroked her in ways she’d never experienced, bringing her to heights she’d only dreamed about.  It was intense, the lights behind her closed eyelids when she came, over and over, gripping his shoulders, hair, the bedframe behind her.  He rose up and over her, in and out, their bodies moving as one, thrusting and arching.  

She didn’t know if she’d see him again; if this was a one-time, romantic Parisian adventure, but in the morning when she woke, she found him coming back inside from getting pastries and coffees, the faintest scent of cigarettes and her toothpaste on his lips when he kissed her good morning.  

They exchanged their information, vowing to speak daily, and he would see her when he got back from Bayeux.  She couldn’t believe when he did call and he kept his word.  “When you lie, words lose their meaning,” he’d explained, obviously reading her surprise.  

And when her year ended in Paris, she found herself in London, back at university, dreaming of their magical time there, even when they made time for each other, going back and forth from London to Edinburgh; and he from Edinburgh to Paris during the last couple of months of her year there.  

They made it a priority; every single year they spent time in Paris, like they were students again, on that magical night.  

They grew older, no longer needing to find the cheapest drinks and cigarettes, or staying in studio garrets, eventually able to experience some of the best hotels and restaurants the city had to offer, as he sold books and became a well-known author and professor, and her dream of becoming a famous artist came true, when sure enough, someone bought one of her paintings on the side of the Seine, someone who happened to be an art dealer in New York.  

It was their city, where they met, and where they could remember.  

After they married, about fifteen years after that fateful birthday, they visited again, and spun together on the Pont-Neuf, kissing and murmuring how they loved each other and always would, and he took her back to the tiny studio garret, which was now theirs, and sat on the rooftop and watched the Eiffel Tower sparkle.  

“Paris is always a good idea,” she murmured, head in the crook of his neck, her back to his front, wrapped in a warm blanket, and his arms tight around her middle.  She tilted her face up to his, sated, and still hopelessly in love with him.  “Take me to Paris, Jon.”

He nuzzled his nose into her cheek, whispering.  “You are Paris, Dany.”

As it was the city where they’d met, fallen in love, and found true happiness, she grinned, because that was his way of saying how much he loved her.  She brushed her lips over his, sighing, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”  

And they kissed, as the Eiffel Tower lit up, and she curled up into him, falling asleep in the city of love and lights.

[agustdakasuga]

Between The Bloodshed | Chapter 5

 Genre: Mafia!AU, Angst, Romance, Fluff

Pairing: OT7 x Reader

Characters: Doctor!Reader, Gangster!Namjoon, Gangster!Seokjin, Gangster!Yoongi, Gangster!Hoseok, Gangster!Jimin, Gangster!Taehyung, Gangster!Jungkook

Summary: Being a freelance doctor, this was just supposed to be any other job, helping a private client and taking care of him through his recovery. But you were not expecting to get caught in something so much darker that would change your life entirely.

The boys decided to try and do something ‘normal’ to take your mind off whatever happened. All they can hope is to silently convince you to stay with them and not leave. 

Warning: This story is fictional and has nothing to do with real life events or the actual members of BTS. It may contain depictions of violence, blood shed/ gore and mentions of abuse. Please read at your own discretion.

After that whole fiasco, you were sent to your room to rest. Instead of sleeping, you laid sprawled out on the ground, turning ever so often to watch Kookie hop around, wiggling his nose at you. 

“Kookie.” You called. The rabbit’s ears twitched slightly, maybe a signal that it was listening to you, even if it wasn’t facing you. 

“What’s going to happen to you if I leave?” You groaned. If you left the family, you could only laugh at what kind of ‘bunny-sitting’ arrangement you would have with Jungkook. Maybe you have him on weekdays while Jungkook has him on weekends or the opposite. 

“(y/n)?” 

“Hey, Hoseok.” You lifted a hand. 

“Are you... okay?” Hoseok tilted his head as he bent down slightly. You gave him a thumbs up, making him chuckle. 

“I’m going out to run some errands with the maknaes. Would you like to come along? Just to get some fresh air or something.” Hoseok invited with a hum. You thought about it. 

“Give me 10 minutes.” You said. 

“Take as long as you need. We’ll be at the foyer.” Hoseok laughed and closed the door. You pushed yourself to stand up. The first thing you did was put Kookie in his cage and make sure he had everything he needed while you were away. After that, you went to wash your face and change into some outing clothes, a sweater with a skater skirt and white Doc Martens.

“I always feel underdressed when you guys dress all fancy.” You sighed as you came down. 

“You’re fine.” Jungkook patted your shoulder. Jimin nodded in agreement, reaching out to pat your head. The 5 of you headed out. They all decided to drive their own cars this time. 

“Wanna ride with me?” Jimin asked as he put his sunglasses on. (Imagine 2019 Grammys Jimin)

“If you treasure your life, don’t.” Taehyung said from behind you. Jimin glared at his best friend, kicking his shin. 

“Kookie would want you to sit with me.” Jungkook nudged your side. Now you were the one glaring at him, knowing that he was only using Kookie to try and trick you into riding in his car. Hoseok scoffed with a roll of his eyes. You decided to sit in Taehyung’s car. 

“Uhh...” He blinked in shock. 

“Tough luck, fellas.” Taehyung shrugged as he jogged over to the driver’s side, slipping in. You were already belted in, typing away on your phone. Taehyung clicked his tongue, putting his seatbelt on. 

“Ready?” 

“As I’ll ever be.” You replied. Taehyung raised his eyebrows, starting the engine. It roared to life. 

“What errands we running?” You asked. 

“We’ve got some stuff to pick up at the mall. Yoongi hyung wanted us to grab some groceries for a barbecue dinner.” He informed, not taking his eyes off the road. You nodded with a soft hum. Another revving engine made you turn your head out the window. Jimin was on your left and Jungkook was on your right, both purposefully revving their engines as a challenge. 

“Hang on.” Taehyung mumbled. Your hands could only grip your seatbelt as Jimin gave Taehyung a teasing wave, his car inching forward. Jungkook straight up gave the finger. 

“It’s a race they want.” Taehyung gripped the steering wheel. The car lurched forward, revving loudly. 

“This is how dumb people die.” You scowled. 

“Live a little.” Taehyung smirked. That was when you realised that Hoseok wasn’t involved in this little race. Maybe he was the only mature one to not participate in such dangerous-

“No one is crazy enough to challenge Hobi hyung. It only leads to humiliation.” Taehyung replied, as if he heard your thoughts out loud. 

“We’re here.” Taehyung pulled into the parking lot. 

“Rematch!” Jungkook growled as he came out. Taehyung stuck his tongue out at the youngest. Jimin rolled his eyes, slinging an arm around your shoulders to leave the two. Hoseok was already there, waiting.

“Took you long enough.” He scoffed. 

“Told you.” Taehyung whispered as he walked past you. You shook your head before following them. This wasn’t some ordinary mall, it was a higher end mall with only luxury item shops. You’ve only been here twice, with your parents. The first place you visited was the Gucci store. 

“Good afternoon, sirs and madam.” The staff bowed deeply as the manager stepped out to greet the 4 boys. You blinked, standing there quietly. The entire store had been cleared out. 

“Please, take your time to peruse while I prepare your items.” The manager bowed as he disappeared. Jimin and Taehyung headed to the shelf. 

“You look lost.” Jungkook snickered. 

“When Hoseok said you guys were running errands, I wasn’t exactly picturing this.” You shrugged, sitting down on one of the armchairs. Jungkook sat in the other chair next to yours, typing away on his phone. 

“Mr Kim, Mr Jung.” The manager came back. Taehyung and Hoseok went to the counter to inspect their items while Jungkook continued to sit with you and Jimin browsed the shelves, carrying the different bags. He looked at himself in the mirror. Jimin was good looking no matter what he carried. He seemed conflicted on which bag to buy. 

“We can come back for it later, hyung.” Jungkook yawned. Hoseok and Taehyung handed their cards to the manager and it was time to move on. 

“Did you guys bring me on this errand run just to prove that you have money?” You raised an eyebrow with crossed arms when you arrived outside a Louis Vuitton store. 

“That wasn’t our intention, (y/n).” Hoseok said, frowning slightly. 

“I’m kidding, Hobi.” You chuckled. 

“Hobi?” 

“Oh... my bad. Taehyung was calling you that while talking to me and it just came out.” You rubbed the back of your neck as you walked in through the double doors of the store with him. 

“No, I like it. Call me Hobi.” He grinned. You laughed but nodded your head. Once again, the store had been cleared out for the group. The staff treated the boys like they were royalty, offering champagne, an assortment of sweets and escorting them to the private viewing room. 

“Ring this up for me.” Jungkook handed the manager a duffel bag that he spotted on the way to the room. The manager, with gloved hands, received it with a bow. 

“I’ve never seen anyone shop like this.” You commented. 

“Don’t you always work with rich clients?” Jimin asked as the 5 of you took your seats.

“Yeah but they’re mostly really old and bedridden or kids that don’t know their right foot from their left.” You face palmed. The boys laughed, all of them sipping their champagne, except for Taehyung who opted for some fancy tea instead. You watched as they had their own items, disappearing into the changing rooms to try them on. 

“Excuse me?” Someone tapped your shoulder. You turned around to see one of the female store clerks. 

“Can I ask who you are? The 7 members have been coming here for a while and this is the first time I see someone with them.” She asked. You frowned slightly, giving her a weird look. 

“Does it matter... who I am?” You tilted your head. 

“I mean, you obviously don’t look to be on the same level as them... So I was just wondering.” 

“Well, you’re right, I’m not on the same level as them. I’m actually above them.” You smiled innocently. She blinked at you before stifling a laugh, as if you cracked a joke. 

“Are you just an employee?” She giggled. 

“She’s right, you know? She actually has the power to kill us if she wanted to.” Someone slung their arm around your shoulders. The girl’s eyes widened as she came face to face with Jimin. But this time, instead of a smile, Jimin had a stoic look on his face. The girl grew flustered.

“If I killed you, I wouldn’t get paid. So I rather continue just baby sitting all of you.” You rolled your eyes. Jimin threw his head back in laughter. 

“I...I...” The girl stuttered. 

“Manager-nim, I thought we had a rule that if you wanted us to keep coming back here, no one else is to talk to us except you. ” Jimin turned to the manager with a raised eyebrow. 

“Is your staff that naive to think that Dr. (y/l/n) is not part of the family when she literally walked in with us?” Jimin chuckled. The manager’s eyes widened. 

“I’m so very sorry, Mr Park!” He gave a deep bow. 

“It’s not me that you should be apologising to.” Jimin said. The manager turned to you and bowed deeply, pushing his staff’s head down to bow to you as well. You gave Jimin a side glance. 

“Doc!” You heard Jungkook call you and turned to leave Jimin with the manager. As you left, you saw Jimin whisper something into the manager’s ear. But you shook your head, not wanting to be any more involved in that. Jungkook saw you and waved, showing you his outfit. It was a very nice denim jacket with the LV logos on it. 

“It’s nice.” You nodded. 

“Just... nice?” Jungkook scrunched his nose. You shrugged. 

“Wow, tough crowd, Kook.” Hoseok chuckled at the maknae, adjusting his blazer as he stared at himself in the mirror. Jungkook scowled at the elder’s comment but pouted at you. 

“You look handsome, Jungkook.” You coaxed. Finally, he smiled in triumph and headed back into the changing room. 

“Anything caught your eye yet?” Taehyung asked as he stepped out, his new clothes folded neatly over his arm. You shook your head, never being one to enjoy shopping in high end shops. You were fine with middle range clothes.

“Have you guys ever thrift shopped?” You thought out loud. 

“Of course! We weren’t always rich, you know?” Jimin chuckled. You facepalmed, obviously not getting your message across to them. After they paid for their things, you followed them out. The employee from before was no where in sight. 

“I promise nothing like that will ever happen again, Mr Park.” The manager gave another deep bow to the boys as he walked you out. 

“I’ll hold you to that.” Jimin smiled as he put his sunglasses on. For some reason, Jimin’s words had an air of sinister to it, sending a shiver down your spine. You cast him a glance. 

“Hmm?” He tilted his head. 

“Nothing.” You shook your head and continued walking with them. 

“We’re almost done. This is the last store.” Jungkook stretched his arms. Balenciaga. He walked in and just like the first two, the staff all bowed, only the manager speaking to the boys while the others didn’t even dare to meet their eye. You sat with Taehyung, watching him play games on his phone while the others did their thing. 

“When are we going grocery shopping?” You asked. 

“Excited, are we?” Taehyung chuckled, not looking up from his phone screen. His tongue stuck out from the corner of his lip in concentration. 

“No, I just wanna get this done. You guys are super boring. I’d rather stare at the wall than continue to do this for the rest of the day.” You rolled your eyes. You heard a small gasp from behind you. 

“Did you hear what she just said to Mr Kim?” 

“You surprise people outside the family too.” Taehyung commented, a hint that he heard the employees behind you. 

“You’re just ordinary people. I don’t give special treatment out, no matter what societal or financial status.” You crossed your arms with a scoff. 

“That’s why we like you.” He chuckled. You saw Jungkook bringing 3 boxes of shoes to the cashier counter. He leaned against the marble counter as the manager grabbed his other items from the back room. Jungkook met eyes with you, winking flirtatiously. You shook your head, turning away. 

RINGGGGGG

“I told you guys to be back by 5!” 

“Hyung, we’re almost done. After this, we’re heading to the grocery store.” Hoseok sighed. You snickered, hearing the angry Yoongi on the other line. 

“You guys are never on time! I should have sent someone else to go get the ingredients instead of you.”

“Alright, alright. Calm down, hyung. We’ll be quick, I promise. I’ll even buy you your favourite lamb skewers, okay?” Hoseok coaxed. Yoongi just seemed to hang up on him.

“We needa go, guys. Yoongi hyung is not pleased that we’re late.” Hoseok informed the 3 younger ones. You all rushed out of there, throwing the shopping into the cars and speeding to the nearest supermarket. You split up into 2 teams to try and get as many things as possible, in the fastest time. Jungkook and Jimin followed you to the meat counter. 

“Can we get lamb skewers too?” Jimin ordered. Jungkook stacked the beef and prawns in the cart. 

“This is a lot of food.” 

“Don’t worry, we’ll finish it.” Jungkook waved you off. After Jimin got a few trays of lamb skewers, you got some ramen and rice to eat with the meat. Hoseok and Taehyung got the drinks, some tools for grilling and vegetables. 

“Ice cream?” Jungkook offered. You nodded, taking one as you all paid. While waiting for the cashier to scan everything, you opened your ice cream. 

“Do you have a girlfriend? You’re very good looking.” The cashier asked Jimin, who was waiting to pay. 

“I do.” Jimin nodded without hesitation, pointing to you, who’s back was turned to him. The cashier nodded awkwardly, turning to Jungkook instead, who was innocently eating his ice cream as he picked up some of the bagged items at the end of the cashier. 

“My wife would not like you staring at me.” Jungkook said cooly. Following Jungkook’s stare, the cashier saw his eyes on you, who was trying your best to ignore an overly animated Taehyung.

“You two keep staring. If you needed help, you could just ask.” You walked over. 

“Nope, we’re good. Enjoy your ice cream.” Jungkook patted your head while you glared at him. Jimin snickered, paying for the groceries. 

“Don’t make her angry, Kook.” Jimin chided. The cashier’s eyes widened as she looked at you and the boys. Jimin grew annoyed, snapping his fingers at her. She jumped, quickly swiping Jimin’s card and handing over the receipt. 

“Let’s not waste more time.” Taehyung said. As the cars approached the mansion, the boys had the staff waiting for them. 

“Get everything out and bring them to our rooms.” The boys said. The staff bowed, bringing things in. You were going to help them but Jin came out, escorting you back into the house with his hands on your shoulders. Yoongi was in the backyard, barking orders at Namjoon, who was trying to set up the grill for the food. 

“Don’t be too hard on him, Yoongles.” You teased with a shake of your head. 

“You guys are late.” Yoongi hissed. 

“Not my fault. I was merely a follower.” You shrugged and yet, watched in amusement as Yoongi just stood there, continuing to get frustrated with Namjoon until Jin stepped in. 

“Aren’t you going to wash up?” Namjoon asked. 

“In a little bit. This is way too amusing to miss.” You giggled to yourself. Namjoon chuckled along, patting your head softly. 

“Well, I’m going to see how the younger ones are doing.” Namjoon said and left. You decided to head in as well, going to your room to change into something more comfortable. You took Kookie with out, feeding him and taking him down to the backyard with you. 

“Leave us.” You heard Taehyung say to someone. 

“But sir-”

“Didn’t you hear what we said? You have a lot of nerve even coming here after what happened. If I find him before you do, it’ll not only be his death.” Taehyung barked and there was a scurrying of footsteps. 

“(y/n)?” Someone called and you jumped, immediately acting like you had just walked over. 

“Sorry, had to feed Kookie.” You explained as you forced your best smile. Taehyung looked over at you, giving you a small smile. 

“I’m hungry!” He stretched his arms. The others were already outside, helping to grill the meats and set up the rest of the things. You placed Kookie on the grass. 

“Jungkook, go cook the ramen.” Namjoon said. You followed Jungkook to help, even if he refused. As you cooked ramen with Jungkook, the staff left the kitchen immediately, keeping their heads down. You chopped some spring onions for Jungkook as he started opening all the ramen packs. When you were down, you hopped onto the counter to sit. 

“Does it still hurt?” Jungkook asked. You tilted your head in confusion. 

“Your wrist.” He clarified with a clear of his throat, the tips of his ears turning red in embarrassment. 

“It’s fine, it’ll heal in a few days.” You shrugged. Jungkook opened his mouth to say something when your phone rang, cutting the conversation short. You excused yourself to answer the phone. 

“Mum... You know that I- Oh, hey dad. Yes, I know. Okay.” Jungkook heard you sigh as you spoke on the phone. 

“This Friday? Well, you know I’m working. I’ll have to ask them for a night off... Yes. But if I go, promise no setting me up with one of your colleagues’ sons again, that goes for you too, mum.” You tried to sound like you were joking but you were serious. 

“I’ll see you on Friday then.” You hummed and hung up. 

“Sorry about that.” You said as Jungkook turned around to stir the ramen. He shook his head, putting the lid on the pot and turning the flame off. 

“Let’s bring this out.” He instructed. You grabbed the portable gas stove and walked out to the backyard with Jungkook. The others were seated, except Jin and Hoseok, who were still cooking. 

“Ramen!” Jimin cheered as you placed the stove down. Jungkook placed the pot over it. 

“Let’s eat.” Hoseok placed the plates of meat down. 

“Drink?” Namjoon offered you a beer. You nodded, taking the opened amber bottle from him. This dinner felt strangely domestic. Every other dinner was prepared and served by the staff of the house in that professional, stuffy dining room. Now, the staff were not around and everything was prepared and cooked by your bunch.

“Let’s eat.” Jin said and everything dug in. You made your lettuce wraps with meat dipped in sauce and kimchi. 

“The beef is good.” You said, putting a wrap on your plate. Yoongi wordlessly placed a few places of beef onto your plate for you before continuing to eat his own food. 

“Aww, thank you Yoongles.” You placed a hand over your chest. He rolled his eyes. The rest of the evening was spent under the night sky, just like having a normal dinner with your not so normal clients. 

~~

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[diwatera]

LGBTQ+ Movies I Watched Recently (Part 2)

Happiest Season (2020) dir. Clea DuVall

Short Summary: Abby plans on proposing to Harper when they visit Harper’s family for the holidays. Her plans get derailed when she learns that Harper hasn’t come out to her family yet.

Why you should watch it: Not gonna lie, Mackenzie Davis drew me to this movie; I’ve been in love with her ever since San Junipero came out. Add Kristen Stewart, Aubrey Plaza and Dan Levy to the mix and I’m sold. If you want a sapphic romance with a happy ending, this one’s for you. 

Été 85 (2020) dir.  François Ozon

Short Summary: Alexis recounts his six-week love affair with David during the summer of ‘85. 

Why you should watch it: If you love 80s aesthetic and music, you definitely should watch this. The movie made me nostalgic of that decade and I wasn’t even alive back then! It’s a whirlwind summer romance reminiscent of Call Me by Your Name but with a more devastating twist.

Getting Go: The Go Doc Project (2013) dir. Cory James Krueckeberg

Short Summary: An obsessed college boy pursues his internet crush through the pretext of making a documentary about him.

Why you should watch it: The script and the acting are the one-two punch of this film. The writing is incredibly genuine, and both of the actors’ performances made the lines feel even more natural. I’m not the biggest fan of mockumentary-style films, but this one felt like it was a recording of my own life. Hyper-obsessive college grad with a Tumblr blog? Might as well have called out half the population of this damn site.

Pihalla (2017) dir. Nils-Erik Ekblom

Short Summary: Miku and Elias find themselves, and each other, during a summer in the Finnish countryside.

Why you should watch it: I’m a sucker for gays in the countryside™ and although this one is not quite up there with God’s Own Country and Call Me by Your Name, it still makes for a good watch. Miku as a character and his relationship with his parents was chaotic and fun. His relationship with Elias felt really natural and dreamy. 

You, Me and Him (2017) dir. Daisy Aitkens

Short Summary: Olivia, a mature responsible lawyer, wants to have a baby, but her girlfriend Alex isn’t ready for the responsibility. Things get even more complicated when their flirty neighbour, John, joins the picture. 

Why you should watch it: It is one of the most feel-good lesbian romcoms I have seen in a while. But I warn you, there are some dark parts that can really sneak up on you. Yeah, it’s hilarious, but damn it made me ugly cry, too. Oh, and if you want to see David Tennant as an alpha male douchebag, here’s your chance. (CW: **spoiler alert** p̶r̶e̶g̶n̶a̶n̶c̶y̶ ̶l̶o̶s̶s̶ )

Giant Little Ones (2018) dir. Keith Behrman 

Short Summary: Franky and Ballas have been best friends since childhood, both on the swimming team, both incredibly popular. But after an incident during Franky’s birthday, they quickly fall apart and Franky falls from grace.

Why you should watch it: I think the film captures just how tumultuous coming-of-age stories are. Franky is going through his own journey of self-identity, and I’m happy that the movie didn’t rush in with labels. The conversation Franky has with his dad at the end also hits hard.  (CW: physical assault, allusions to sexual assault)

Our Love Story (2016) dir. HyunJu Lee

Short Summary: A fine arts student meets an attractive bartender, and the two women begin an intimate relationship.

Why you should watch it: It’s a very intimate love story that isn’t rushed or dragged out for too long. We definitely see Yoon-Jo and Ji-Soo’s relationship bloom from start to end, but it’s not mind-numbingly boring to watch. Raw and unembellished, I definitely recommend this to anyone looking for a realistic portrayal of wlw romance.

Die Mitte der Welt (2016) dir. Jakob M. Erwa

Short Summary: The film follows Phil and his relationship with his family, his best friend, and a newcomer at his school, Nicholas.

Why you should watch it: This is technically a second watch for me, and I’m glad I rewatched it, because I was able to catch some glaring red flags that I missed the first time. I love this movie in spite of all the heartache it caused me. The story, especially the deal with Phil’s family, struck a chord in me. And the shots! Visually stunning as well! 

Les Amours Imaginaires (2010) dir. Xavier Dolan

Short Summary: Marie and Francis’ friendship is put to the test when a beautiful boy called Nicolas comes between them. 

Why you should watch it: Watch it for the visuals -- the colors, the costumes, the cast. Seriously, the actors included here may as well be kept in the Louvre: Xavier Dolan, Neils Schneider, Monia Chokri, hell, even a cameo from Louis Garrel! Dolan said it himself that this is a shallow film, but it’s worth the watch just to see Neils Schneider wearing heart-shaped glasses.

Closet Monster (2015)  dir. Stephen Dunn

Short Summary: A creative and driven teenager is desperate to escape his hometown and the haunting memories of his turbulent childhood.

Why you should watch it: Right off the bat, I am going to say that this film is dark. I tried watching it back in college but tapped out within the first ten minutes because something traumatic happens. Then I tried again about a week ago, finished it this time. It’s actually a very moving film. It’s violent and gory in some parts, but also ridiculous and wholesome in other parts. IT HAS A TALKING HAMSTER NAMED BUFFY! BUFFY WAS THE STAR OF THIS MOVIE FOR ME. (CW: gay bashing/sexual assault)

Straight Up (2020) dir. James Sweeney

Short Summary: Todd and Rory are intellectual soul mates. He might be gay but she might not care.

Why you should watch it: The dialogue in this film is undeniably sharp and witty. Loved the fast-paced back and forth between the two main characters as they discuss relationships, sex, gender, and more. James Sweeney and Katie Findlay’s chemistry just pulled you into the screen. It was funny, it was sweet, it was heartwrenching, it was great! (CW: allusions to sexual assault)

Latter Days (2003) dir. C. Jay Cox

Short Summary: A promiscuous gay party animal falls for a young Mormon missionary, leading to crisis, cliché, and catastrophe.

Why you should watch it: I saw this in santiagonex’s top 20 LGBTQ+ films with happy endings, and I honestly thought it was gonna be a feel-good watch. Instead, I got a rollercoaster melodrama filled with early 2000s gay culture, religious guilt, buttcheeks, and Joseph Gordon-Levitt. Needless to say, I got more than I bargained for. (CW: self-harm, conversion therapy)

The Old Guard (2020) dir. Gina Prince-Blythewood

Short Summary:  A covert team of immortal mercenaries are suddenly exposed and must now fight to keep their identity a secret just as an unexpected new member is discovered.

Why you should watch it: Okay, I was debating whether I should include this here, because it’s not necessarily an LGBTQ+ film as much as it is an action film with queer characters. I decided to include it, because JESUS! I have never seen such respectful and well-written representation of queer characters and relationships. Joe and Nicky are the most unproblematic couple in history. PERIOD. Pray for sequels, everyone. This is the kind of representation we deserve in mainstream media. 

. . .

Click here for more LGBTQ+ film recs

[scabopolis]

Omg congrats on 600 followers! Honestly any fake dating with Jonah x Amy would be amazing, although I love number 44 and/or 48 on your Google Docs <333

This is my first Jonah x Amy fic and I offer two caveats: 1) I’m still not sure if there is a particular vibe people who read for this pairing preferring, so...here we are, and 2) I have only made it through 4x12 of Superstore but am pretty familiar w/ what happens the rest of the series. 

Prompt: “You know we’re not actually dating, so why did you propose to me in front of my family?” / “I’m sorry, I panicked.” --- Title: the scene of the complication Fandom: Superstore Pairing: Jonah/Amy Other Characters: My crippling insecurity writing for a new fandom, sleep soft mornings, dumbs being dumb (but, like in a cute way) Additional Tags: friends to lovers (or idiots to friends to lovers??), fake dating shenanigans, alternative universe where Amy’s HS pregnancy test was negative and she and Jonah met in college Word Count: ~2,100 ---

It started with a chance meeting ten years ago, and somehow it’s brought Amy Sosa here: awake in her childhood room with Jonah Simms beside her, sleeping off upwards of half a dozen tequila shots. Maybe she shouldn’t be surprised. She knew that day they met in the lecture hall that Jonah was a person who would make her life exceedingly more complicated. 

And ten years later, here they are, practically leaving complicated behind in the rear view mirror. 

(“What are two hopes and one fear you have for your first lecture on your first day of college?” the guy sitting to her right asks. 

Amy doesn’t answer at first but this stranger just waits for her, all blinking, bright eyes and freshman eagerness. It’s barely morning. Is this her life now? 

“Hope one,” she says, holding up a finger, “that I’d sit next to someone quiet. Hope two,” she holds up another, “that no one would talk to me before I managed to find coffee.” She holds up a third finger. “And this moment right here is what I feared.” 

For some reason, her shortness delights him. His smile is open and affectionate, and he nods in appreciation. 

“Noted.” 

And Amy fully intends to never speak to this wide-eyed panda boy ever again, but then their General Psychology professor informs the class that the person they’re sitting next to will be their assignment partner for the semester. 

The next lecture her partner – his name is Jonah, she learns – brings her a cup of coffee and doesn’t speak a word until she takes a long sip. 

Complicated.)

Jonah snuffles in his sleep, his eyelids fluttering slightly. His hair is doing that thing it does when he’s hot or drunk or has run a hand through it too many times, where a single lock of hair hangs in the middle of his forehead. Amy resists the very real urge to brush it away. Because, yeah, she has those kinds of thoughts a lot and they also make things complicated. They’re friends. Maybe even best-friends, but definitely not ‘tenderly brush a lock of your hair away’ friends. 

Do those kinds of friends even exist? 

Jonah stirs again, and now that it’s clear he’s actually waking up, Amy reaches for her phone and opens Candy Crush. The last thing she needs is to get caught staring at him like some weird stalker.

“Oh, god,” he groans, his voice scratchy. He stretches out with another groan, his foot bumping against Amy’s as he does. Rather than move away, he kind of just rests it there on top of hers. And this is something she is all too familiar with. Drunk and/or hungover Jonah is yet another complication. More accurately, his propensity to cuddle indiscriminately is a very real complication. 

“I need—” Amy reaches for the glass of water on her night stand and hands it to Jonah, stopping him mid-thought. “Do you have—?” She hands him two ibuprofen. “Thank you,” he says. 

“You’re welcome.” She looks back at her phone. 

Jonah swallows the two pills and drinks the entire glass of water, and then lays back down, curling slightly into Amy’s side.  

“I made so many mistakes last night,” he says.

“I’m aware. As are your 80 Instagram followers.” 

“I liveblogged it?” 

“And tagged everything with the hashtag ‘best noche ever.’” He groans again and turns his face into Amy’s side. She sets her phone back on the nightstand. “What got into you?” 

“Your dad is intimidating.” 

“My dad?” 

“Yes. Your dad. And then he and your brother kept pouring me shots—” 

“I knew this had Eric’s fingerprints all over it.” 

“Well, it was kind of my fault, too.” 

She frowns. “What do you mean?” Jonah doesn’t answer and Amy kicks him under the covers. He looks up at her. His eyes are red-rimmed but also so sleepy and soft. Complicated. “Jonah.” 

“They kept asking me questions. About you and me. And I was so worried I’d say something wrong, I kept taking shots to avoid answering.”

“You could have found me.” 

“I know, but—” he trails off. 

“But what?”

“I want them to like me.” 

“Oh, Jonah.” She gives in and brushes the lock of hair off his forehead, and he looks up at her. “They’ve known you for 10 years. They’re never going to like you.” 

“Thanks, I feel so much better.” 

“I do have one more question.” 

“Okay.”

“You know we’re not actually dating. Right?” 

He closes his eyes and nods. “No. Yeah. I know.” 

“So why did you propose to me in front of my family?” 

“I panicked.”

“Panicked?” 

“Your dad asked what my intentions were, and there were just so many shots. 

“And that’s why you shouted ‘I intend to marry her!’?” 

Jonah flips the comforter over his head. “I just got wrapped up in it all.” His words are muffled from under the comforter.

She’s glad for the moment of respite, with Jonah unable to see her. If Amy didn’t want things to careen so off track, she probably shouldn’t have agreed to let him come to her dad’s retirement party as her fake boyfriend. 

(“I don’t see what the problem is,” Jonah says, spooning more cashew chicken onto his plate. “You don’t still have feelings for Adam, do you?” 

“No. No. God no,” she says. “Absolutely not.” 

“Alright. I’m clear on the no.” 

“It’s just the last time I saw him— Well, you know.” 

“I recall, yes.” 

And he does. Jonah knows all about Amy’s high school boyfriend. The one she liked but never quite loved. The one she broke up with when the pregnancy test came back negative. The one she slept with again the summer after their senior year of college. 

(An event that occurred in no small part because Jonah was dating Mindy and the two of them were talking about moving in together. Maybe moving to the west coast together and Amy realized there was a very real possibility she was going to be left behind. 

Jonah doesn’t know that part of the story.) 

Adam is also the guy who thought having sex in her childhood bedroom meant Amy wanted to get back together. He’s the guy bringing his very beautiful fiancée to her dad’s retirement party. Because he’s also somehow the guy who still helps her dad with home improvement projects. And Amy is just Amy – the one who doesn’t visit St. Louis enough, and is using her very expensive liberal arts degree to work as a survey researcher for Cloud9, meaning she’s basically paid to manipulate shoppers. 

And, not that it should matter, but she’s also very single. Has been for a while now. 

She mostly blames the man stealing chow mein from her plate for that. She blocks Jonah’s chopsticks with hers, and a piece of cabbage goes flying. 

“Stop that,” she says. 

“You’re not eating it.” 

“I’m too annoyed to eat.” 

“If you only ate when you weren’t annoyed you’d starve.” 

“I hate you.” 

She pushes the chow mein around her plate. God, when she thinks about it, this really is Jonah’s fault. If she could just find a way to get over this stupid, dumb, little crush that has creeped up – without her permission, mind you! – then maybe she could actually—

“I could do it,” Jonah says, interrupting her thought spiral. 

“Do what?” 

“Go with you to your dad’s retirement party. Be your fake boyfriend.” 

“You think that’s a good idea?”

“I think it’s a great idea. Besides, I am very close to getting your dad to like me.” 

“He’ll never like you.” 

“It’s not that I didn’t like the painting—” 

“—How would this even work?” she asks, cutting him off. 

“I don’t know,” he says. “I think we act like we normally do, but maybe you can hold my hand and be nice to me.” 

“Eww.” 

Jonah smiles around a large bite of cashew chicken. She really needs to stop hanging out with him so much – he’s become immune to her insults. It’s rude. 

And him as her fake boyfriend is a terrible idea. Truly awful. If Amy is looking to get over her crush and make things between her and Jonah less complicated, there are better ways to do it. 

Except. 

Except she kind of wants to. 

“Okay. Let’s do it,” she says. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yes,” she says decisively. “But if you try and kiss me, I’ll cut your lips off.” 

“That seems like a proportionate response.”)

“So, to be clear, I told you kissing wasn’t allowed, and you thought that left proposals on the table?” 

He groans again from under the comforter. It’s a little sad and a lot pathetic. Poor guy. 

She pats the comforter in the area of what she hopes is his shoulder. As annoyed as she is at having to untangle these threads, it’s not his fault. Not really. She knows her family is relentless. Amy slides down and flips the comforter over her head as well. 

Jonah rolls over onto his side to face her. Amy does the same. 

“It was better than Adam’s proposal.”

“Adam proposed?” 

Amy nods. “Ish. If I remember correctly he said, ‘I’ll marry you if I have to.’”

“Yikes.” 

“Right?” It’s cozy under this blanket. Intimate even. “You did say some nice things. Even if they came out kind of slurred.” 

“Amy—”

“Sexy, huh?” 

“I really didn’t mean to shout that to all of your dad’s—”

“Because it’s not true?” 

“No!” Jonah winces and Amy isn’t sure if it’s ‘I have a hangover’ induced or ‘I am revealing too much’ induced. “It’s true. Of course it’s true. You are very, you know.” 

“Sexy on a completely objective level? Or, are you saying that you, yourself, Jonah Simms, think I’m sexy?” Jonah goes completely still. Amy isn’t even sure he’s breathing. It’s entirely uncharacteristic and a little unnerving. She pokes his cheek. “Are you blushing?”

“Big time, yeah.” 

That does enough to break the tension under their blanket enclave, both of them laughing, at first awkwardly and then more genuine. Once they stop to catch their breath, Amy notices they’ve shifted closer together. 

This would be the perfect moment to flee from the scene of the complication. But the complications don’t seem so terrible at this specific moment. She blames that lock of hair of his.

“How long have you held this opinion?” Jonah frowns at Amy’s question. “Regarding my sexiness?” she clarifies. 

“Amy—”

“What?” 

“What are you doing?” 

“I just want to—”

“Really? You really want to have this conversation?” 

Jonah stresses the ‘you’ and Amy knows why he does. There isn’t a topic or feeling that is off-limits to Jonah – he’d happily discuss every feeling he’s ever had. It’s her. It’s always her. 

Their faces are so close they’re practically sharing the same pillow. It takes no effort at all for Amy to close the distance between them, lightly brushing her lips against his. As quick as it began it’s over, and even in the dim light under the comforter, Amy can see Jonah’s eyes blown wide. She’s sure she looks just as shocked and she’s the one who did it.  

“You said if I kissed you you’d cut off my lips.”

“Which is why I kissed you.”

“Oh,” he nods. “Makes sense.” Jonah taps out a slow but erratic rhythm against the side of his leg. She just knows he’s trying to stop himself from verbalizing every single thought in his head. “To be clear, was that a friendship kiss, or—” 

So Amy kisses him again. This time Jonah recovers quickly from his shock, winding a hand into her hair, his palm cupping the back of her head. It’s just unbelievably good. 

“Okay,” Jonah says, his voice unsteady as he pulls away. “That answers that.” He traces her jaw with his thumb. “Any chance we could do it some more?” 

Amy rolls onto her back, putting some distance between them. “I don’t think so.” 

“Wait. What?” 

“Your breath is awful.” 

Jonah breathes into his hand and sniffs it to confirm. “What if I brush my teeth?” 

Amy sighs, long and exasperated. “I suppose that would be—”

Jonah is out of the bed in seconds, scrambling for his overnight bag, and Amy presses her lips together to hide her smile. From the way Jonah smiles, soft and delighted as he backs out of the room, she isn’t fooling anyone. 

So far past the point of complicated, she thinks, her heart still racing. But then again, maybe complications that make her feel like this are okay.

[terrainofheartfelt]

not a snippet, but i want to hear you talk about your milo verse! were there scenes you knew you wanted to include? a scene that came around organically while writing? any parts you’re especially proud of? i just love it and wanna hear commentary on it - nads 🥰💕

Fic writer commentary ask game

Awww yay tysm for asking 💕

The Dair & Milo concept I first made a note of in the docs was a Life as We Know It kind of plot…of married Dair dealing with the sudden feath of Georgina and whoops, Dan’s been Milo’s designated guardian this entire goddamn time, but I never really found and angle into actually writing the thing, and I think it’s because the trio had Milo coming in as the third person of the family, and finding an angle in with Blair being that third just came more easily. And the au as it turned out just ticked a lot of boxes on the Liz Wish Fulfillment List. Primarily of Dan keeping Milo and growing into his full dilf potential.

But the Dair arc unfolding as it did in canon could really only happen because Dan was not caring for a baby, and letting s4 be the point of divergence opened up the perfect opportunity for Blair to go away and come back again bc of Louis. (Bc I think without Dan being such an indelible part of her life, Blair probably would have made a real attempt at that relationship, chip wiskers whomst?)

I knew that I wanted to have the Blair & Jenny and Blair & Vanessa conversations in the universe, it just felt important to do, especially with this kind of canon divergence, with enough time and space for those apologies and effort to make amends to feel genuine. The comedy bit of Vanessa walking in on Blair is something I had been holding onto for a while before it appeared in the fic, I originally outlined it in the fall chapter, then that one got too big, so I shifted it to winter, and then had to split the events of winter in half for length anyway, but in the end it felt better there, because that line Blair says

“Look,” Blair tries, “you didn’t really know Lily before she got back together with Rufus, but I’ve known her...as long as you’ve known Dan. Possibly longer. I was at weddings two-through-five, I saw the endless revolving door of men in Serena and Eric’s lives. I’m pretty sure in fifth grade, Serena spent more nights at my house than she did her own because Lily was always off traveling with her new boyfriend of the month. I know - I’ve seen what that instability does, so I wouldn’t be here, with Dan, with Milo, if I didn’t think it was going to be permanent.”

I wanted that to be in there, so having it chronologically come after the conversations Blair has with the Humphrey boys felt like a good, natural progression.

I knew how I wanted the first fic somewhere you feel free to end from the very beginning, most of the last two chapters were written before anything else, along with the first meeting in the art gallery, and the bit where Blair makes Dan laugh himself sick because she accidentally forgot that he had a kid. The scene watching Sabrina on the couch…yeah. I always knew I wanted to take it there bc you know…the VOWS

sidebar: I do have notes for both Dan and Blair’s wedding vows…which are different bc I already put Thee Vows in that chapter but…yeah. Rilke and Auden are involved. Blair cries and then calls her groom a bastard for winning the coin toss and saying his first. ANYWAY

The hospital scene being the emotional climax was also planned from the beginning, that conversation between Dan and Blair in the hospital hallway came to me so fast and was like the second or third thing I committed to the google doc. And it sat untouched for a long time UNTIL on one of my silly little pandemic walks I was listening to the Wailin Jennys cover of “Wildflowers” and my brain went !!! and the scene of Dan singing to Milo just smacked me upside the head. It was one of those things where I replayed it in my head over and over until I could get to where I could write it down.

Sidebar: other lullabies/oldies Dan definitely sang to Milo when he was a baby: Songbird, Little Green, American Pie, Tenth Avenue Freeze Out, Light My Fire, Suedehead, April, Mr. Tambourine Man, and basically anything off of the Beatles 1 album

I remember the playground scene in chapter 5 clicked in pretty fast, it was a scene I’d thought of while sitting at work and then writing on the train ride home.

Also, since so much of the courtship took place around art exhibitions and Columbia classes, I was actually very nervous about accurately reflecting Blair and Dan’s artistic tastes, plus what Dan would be interested/feel comfortable showing Milo (but I think given his own artistic rock n roll upbringing he’d be pretty open about everything), and what classes Blair and Dan would be taking. (Lowkey was also worried about my art historian readership 😘 catching me out) I did a deep dive into a pdf of a Columbia course catalog and made a list of courses from there, the different sections of poetry seminars were def a thing, as was the musicology class on Radiohead Dair take together their first semester as a ~couple~ And, by nature of my job, lots and lots of fine arts books pass theough my hands, and I started taking pictures of artists and book covers I thought I could use. That’s how I ended up learning a little about Hilma af Klint, so I named Alison Humphrey’s cat after her, bc, idk, that just seemed like something she would do. Dan’s pretentiousness…he comes by it honestly.

What else can I tell you? I love this universe so much can you tell? Ummmm my agenda for Milo to be this tiny fashion enthusiast I think comes through. Call it a combination of Jenny & Lily & Serena’s influence, and by the time Blair comes on the scene the kid doesn’t stand a chance. Pedicures being their ritual was one the first things I plugged into the sequel fic. And once Blair takes off at W, I see him loving to pal around the office. (The image is Lindsay Lohan and her mom at that photoshoot in The Parent Trap)

Also, the Dair baby that is imminent in the last fic…it’s a boy. Milo loses that bet with his Uncle Nate. I have this image of Blair being like “a boy? I don’t know how to raise a boy!” And Dan patiently but still a little confused pointing out that she’s been successfully parenting a boy for a while. I’d write the fic, but I have absolutely no idea what to name that kid.

[number-1-kuaidul-fanboy]

Punch Out Mansion AU

Thought I’d elaborate a little bit on my Punch Out AU where all the WVBA boxers live in a mansion together by giving some background on the characters, like their cliques and lives outside of boxing and other random tidbits I felt like adding. This was all just for fun and is admittedly biased toward/against certain characters, so take it with a grain of salt.

Glass Joe

-Along with boxing, Joe is a photographer.

-Only tried boxing out on a dare and was horrible at it. But he kept trying, insisting he could get at least a few wins. The WVBA liked him so much that when he did get his one win, he was given a place in the minor circuit and is essentially a rite of passage for new challengers.

-No one can really bring themselves to be mean to Joe.

-Sandman learns French from Joe so he can shit talk Little Mac in front of him. Joe also learns English from Sandman and can speak it decently, though he has a noticeable accent.

-His closest friends are Von Kaiser, Sandman, and Little Mac.

-Favourite food is baguettes. (I think that was a little obvious)

-Dog person, pretty social and outgoing.

-Dang good at cooking and baking. Always makes food for the others.

Von Kaiser

-Boxing was Kaiser’s main gig for a while but he’s now out of his prime. He used to be a great boxer in his thirties and was even the champion of the major circuit for a while. However, old age and increased cowardice made him lose more and more until he was only able to defeat Glass Joe to keep his position in the minor circuit.

-Everyone calls him “sir,” some mockingly and others sincerely.

-His english is passable, but he gets certain phrases/words wrong sometimes. Everyone tries to be polite about correcting him.

-Cat person.

-He and Joe are best friends, meaning Kaiser also hangs around Sandman and Mac.

-Plays video games just because the ‘kids’ wanted him to do it. His favourite is NES Mario.

-A bit of a dad to the group, being the oldest.

Disco Kid

-Also started boxing because someone dared him and stuck with it because he wanted the exposure for his disco dancing career. Out of all of them, he is the newest to boxing. (Apart from Little Mac, of course)

-Often wears leotards.

-Dances around the house with headphones on a lazy day.

-He and Don Flamenco are best friends and often play Just Dance (their favourite game) competitively.

-They both also hang out with Great Tiger. (Cuz they’re divas)

-Disco Kid is also a famous TikToker.

-He and Don worked together to make:  “I want a hippopotamus for Christmas.” Where they basically make fun of King Hippo.

-Dog Person

-Can’t cook at all.

King Hippo

-Nobody knows his real name so they just call him “Hippo.”

-Favourite food is all.

-Doc Louis shares some chocolate bars with him.

-King Hippo’s son, Prince Potamus took over the throne “temporarily” when King Hippo left for boxing. Now that it’s been a year, people are questioning whether he will ever return to his home island.

-He can’t hold a controller, much less play video games. However, he does wreck everyone at Swordplay in Wii Sports Resort. Nobody can figure out how, but they can’t manage to beat him.

-Just eats everything raw without preparing it.

Piston Hondo

-Does martial arts professionally like Karate and Boxing and shit. He is also new to boxing, and was offered directly by a WVBA person after they saw one of his martial arts demonstrations. Hondo accepted and did some training before starting his boxing career. He fights anyone who challenges him, which is why he hasn’t passed his position, he hasn’t had a chance to challenge anyone himself.

-He speaks very slowly in English in order to get all the words right. It is slow, but proper.

-Pretty much everyone from Major Circuit and onward arm wrestle with Little Mac. Hondo tries to regulate the arm wrestles the best he can. (It needs to be a fair fight!)

-Favourite food is sushi. (I think this is kinda canon, but whatever)

-Piston Hondo and Little Mac train together. Their morning jog is outrunning the bullet train.

-Hondo and Doc Louis are the “dads” of the group and are the most responsible.

-Everyone kind of respects him, even the higher ranks.

-He’s not really a gamer, but he likes Ace Attorney.

-Almost exclusively cooks food from his home country, going off of recipes from his childhood.

Bear Hugger

-Apart from boxing, he is a lumberjack.

-He challenged everyone in the minor circuit and won, but couldn’t defeat Hippo. So he just decided to challenge the first major circuit person, who at the time wasn’t Hondo because Hondo only has one loss.

-Loves camping but none of the others ever want to go. (Aran Ryan might go to prank him.)

-He keeps his squirrel as a pet. One of the others has to take care of it while he’s out. (Hondo or Doc usually offer)

-Favourite food is maple syrup. (Also kinda canon)

-He’s pretty chill with everyone and content to go with the flow most of the time.

-Mobile gamer. He’s really dedicated to PvZ in particular.

-Probably arm wrestles Mac from time to time.

-The only one to really get along with Bald Bull all that well.

-Wakes up early to make pancakes for everyone.

Great Tiger

-He is a street magician, probably. Maybe a professional magician with like a show. I don’t know how this stuff works.

-Probably seduced the ref to get so many decision wins.

-He beat everyone up to Don and was literally about to challenge him for the championship when Little Mac came along. (We can all agree that Great Tiger is much more difficult than Don Flamenco, right?)

-Either didn’t beat King Hippo and did the same thing Bear Hugger did or did beat him and didn’t take the belt because it was “beneath him.”

-Total douche with his clones. He’ll do things like tickle Little Mac to win an arm wrestle. (Hondo and Doc try to stop him but can’t)

-Total prankster.

-Uses magic literally all the time even when he doesn’t need to.

-He surprisingly knows a good amount of English. He still forgets words/phrases and enunciates certain things oddly but he can carry a solid conversation in English.

-Switches to Hindi to trash talk the others, particularly Little Mac. (Even if he’s grown to secretly respect the persistent kid)

-Hangs out around Don and Disco and will help them prank people for TikToks. They will also game together.

-Favourite food is pakora. (It’s an indian dessert. If you’ve never tried it, it’s delicious)

-Same as Hondo, in which he just knows how to cook foods from his country. Uses his clones to do every little task in order to cook. (Ex: Will have one stirring something, one at the rice maker, and another at the stove)

-Eats insanely spicy foods. (Will sometimes eat chili powder right out of the shaker)

Don Flamenco

-His full name is Juan Eduardo Flamenco Ramirez. He was nicknamed “Don” by his friends growing up and stuck with it for his boxing name. He used “Flamenco” as the second half of his name because it was pretty.

-He is canonically a bullfighter and boxer. That’s all you really need.

-Don climbed the ranks like Mac did. He originally kept the minor circuit belt for a while but decided he wanted something more impressive. He challenged Von Kaiser for the major circuit belt and won.

-Also probably seduced the ref if we’re being honest.

-Loves dancing and expensive dates.

-His best friends are Disco Kid and Great Tiger. He nicknamed Disco Kid “Niño de Disco” and Great Tiger “Gran Tigre.”

-He is pretty much bilingual, and has little trouble switching between English and Spanish. He will switch to spanish to tease Little Mac, though it’s pretty harmless in comparison to some of the others.

-He’s only emo in the ring and sometimes around Little Mac. “It’s not a phase, Mac.”

-Dog person.

-Favourite food is churros. (A spanish dessert. Also delicious.)

-He’s really not a gamer and will only play Just Dance with Disco Kid.

-He punched Bald Bull through the roof for a TikTok. Completely unrelated to that, there is a “natural skylight” in Don’s room.

-Challenges Little Mac to arm wrestles whenever he’s bored. Apart from Hondo, he’s probably the least “cheaty” out of them.

-An excellent cook. Because he loves to impress the ladies.

Aran Ryan

-Actually used his real name for boxing. The absolute madman.

-Apart from Boxing, Aran is a telemarketer. He also scams people on the streets as a side hustle.

-He started on the World circuit, the absolute madman, and Soda Pop was the first boxer he met. Aran Ryan can’t manage to beat him or any of the others though and picked on the lower ranks to work up a record. His “number 5” rank is technically unofficial.

-Wastes a lot of money on alcohol.

-Eats nothing but potatoes.

-He and Soda Popinski are best friends. I could see him and Great Tiger either being friends or rivals.

-Doesn’t get along with many of the others. Bald Bull especially is his enemy.

-Learned Russian to communicate with Soda. Likewise, Soda learned more English to communicate with Aran.

-Tries to use two hands while arm wrestling Mac. Doc or Hondo try to get him to knock that shit off.

-Dog person

-He loves gaming and will hack literally any game he can get his hands on. Newer Super Mario Bros Wii is his favourite game.

-Is banned from the kitchen.

Soda Popinski

-Works at a bar selling drinks.

-He’s been boxing for a long time. Held one of the circuit championships at some point but lost it. His other loss was against Sadman.

-He and Aran Ryan are drinking buddies. (Yeah sure it’s soda. It’s spiked with vodka or steroids. You can’t fool me.)

-He’s not much of a gamer, but often gets pulled into playing Aran Ryan’s hacked games with him.

-Always drinks the entire supply of soda. If anyone else wants soda, they have to hide it in one of their rooms.

-Chugs an entire can of steroid soda before arm wrestling Mac.

-“Favourite food? Uh, soda! That is a food, right?” -him at some point

-Understands English well, but has trouble speaking it himself.

-Mostly keeps to himself oddly enough.

-Doesn’t cook. Pretends to not know english when someone asks him to.

Bald Bull

-Apart from boxing, he’s a professional bodybuilder.

-Just kinda challenged people randomly and somehow won most of the time. His losses (pre Mac) were against Macho Man, Sandman, and twice against Doc Louis.

-Is laid back unless the paparazzi come around or someone does something to piss him off. Then he goes beserk. Like the time Don used him to make a “natural skylight” for a TikTok.

-Probably started the arm wrestling tradition against Little Mac, but no one is really sure.

-He and Doc Louis insult each other constantly. Aran and him are also bitter enemies.

-Talks shit about everyone in Turkish.

-Speaks in very broken english and usually hides out in his room.

-He is most chill around Bear Hugger, his closest friend.

-The others normally don’t let him touch a video game controller. However, he did beat King Hippo at Swordplay, shocking everyone.

-Can probably cook just fine but was preemptively banned from the kitchen so no one is really sure.

SMM

-His real name is Chadrick, like the asshole he is.

-A Hollywood actor for sure.

-Was the champion for a while until Sandman kicked his ass. He didn’t take any of the other belts because it was “beneath him.”

-Buys all the skins and battle passes in Fortnite. Also buys a ton of other useless rich person shit.

-Doesn’t live in the mansion but will visit every now and then during parties and shit.

-Eats nothing but In-n-Out. (Thanks Tumblr, for conflating these two in my mind)

-Is totally lying about his age.

Mr. Sandman

-His real name is Michael. People often make the comparison between him and Mike Tyson.

-He looked up to Mike Tyson as a kid.

-He is 100% devoted to boxing. Before boxing however, he worked in retail, which would explain his utter rage with the world.

-Didn’t take the minor or major belts because it was beneath him.

-Extremely competitive with Little Mac.

-“LITTLE MAC YOU ATE MY FUCKING LEFTOVERS THIS CALLS FOR A REMATCH!” -Sandman, all the time

-Also arm wrestles him a lot and challenges him at Minecraft, the favourite game of the two of them. He has a Minecraft world that he’s used for six years on Survival with all these crazy builds.

-Fairly chill when not boxing or competing with Mac.

-Good friends with Glass Joe and admires the persistent little guy despite his lack of skill in boxing.

Doc Louis

-Was the champion before Macho Man. Climbed the ranks like Mac did, and gave up his belts after retiring. Sandman was probably the final straw.

-Fought Bald Bull back in the day, and often won. They’re still rivals now.

-Favourite food is chocolate. (Literally canon, but whatever)

-The ultimate dad of the group.

-Gives them all advice, but clearly picks his favourites (Little Mac).

-All the older fighters get a little nervous when they see him eating chocolate. (You know what I mean if you’ve played Doc Louis’s Punch Out)

-Plays games with the others when they need an extra player.

-Loves cooking and does it all the time, often for some of the others too.

-He’s retired so he doesn’t “officially” live at the mansion. However, the couch has become his designated spot and the table beside it is where he puts his bag of chocolate bars.

[new-sandrafilter]

Timothée Chalamet and Eileen Atkins Interview - British Vogue May 2020

“Maybe your knuckles weren’t bleeding, but there was ice,” Timothée Chalamet tells Dame Eileen Atkins. He is recounting, with no small amount of awe, how he first came to hear of the legendary 85-year-old actor with whom he is about to appear at The Old Vic. It transpires that Oscar Isaac, Chalamet’s co-star in the upcoming blockbuster Dune, was at the receiving end of Atkins’ fist in Ridley Scott’s Robin Hood (all in the name of acting, of course). Chalamet was duly impressed.

“I gave him the worst time of his life,” says Atkins, bristling at the memory, before merrily launching into several candid, very dame-like stories from her time on set – “That was a nightmare movie. A nightmare.”

It is a Saturday afternoon in late February, and the two actors – one a titan of British theatre with an eight-decade career; the other, Hollywood’s most in-demand young leading man, with an insatiable Instagram following – have just finished being photographed together for Vogue. Chalamet, 24, in louche, low-slung denim and a white T-shirt, has folded his Bambi limbs into a chair next to Atkins, whose hawkish frame, in a navy jumper and jeans, belies her 85 years.

“Do you like being called Tim or Timothée or what?” Atkins asks in her warm but brisk RP, all trace of her Tottenham upbringing erased.

“Whatever works,” he replies in a bright American accent, that shock of chestnut hair falling into his eyes. “Anything.”

“So you won’t object to ‘darling’? I call everyone darling. I’m told I mustn’t say it these days.” He assures her he is fine with it: “It’s a rite of passage, being called darling by Dame Eileen Atkins.”

“You always, always, have to put the dame in, otherwise you can’t address me,” she jokes.

It’s good the two are getting all this sorted now. A couple of days after our interview they will begin rehearsals for a seven-week run of Amy Herzog’s play 4000 Miles, in which they star as a grandmother and grandson, each quietly dealing with their own grief. Chalamet takes on the role of Leo Joseph-Connell, a somewhat lost 21-year-old who experiences a tragedy while on a 4,000-mile-long cycle ride with his best friend. Atkins plays Vera Joseph, his widowed 91-year-old grandmother, upon whose Manhattan doorstep Leo unexpectedly arrives in the middle of the night, unsure of where else to go. What follows is a wonderful, and wonderfully witty, study in human relationships, a portrait of two generations with decades between them trying to make sense of the world.

Its stars, who’ve met twice previously, in New York last year, are still very much getting to know each other – and are confident in the appeal. “There are things like this play – hoping I don’t butcher it – where you can just sit back and go, ‘Oh, this is a delicious meal,’” says Chalamet. Atkins agrees. “I have a phrase in mind that I shouldn’t really say because it’s going to sound terrible in print.” Which is? “I find it a dear little play, a really dear little play. I think it should be very moving. But who knows? We might f**k it up.”

It’s unlikely. Atkins has been a regular on The Old Vic’s stage since the 1960s, going toe-to-toe with greats from Laurence Olivier to Alec Guinness, and fellow dames (and close friends) Maggie Smith and Judi Dench. Chalamet, meanwhile, is a relative novice, with only two professional plays under his belt. But since his turn as Elio in 2017’s Call Me by Your Name (for which he was Oscar-nominated), his celluloid rise has been meteoric. Roles in Lady Bird, Little Women, The King and Wes Anderson’s upcoming The French Dispatch have not only earned him the slightly fraught badge of “heart-throb”, but proved him to be among the most captivating actors of his generation.

He says he couldn’t resist the opportunity to come to the capital. “There was something exciting about doing a play that feels very New York in London,” Chalamet explains of taking on the part. He’s a diehard theatre fan, too, revealing he saw the six-and-a-half-hour epic The Inheritance – twice. “There are films like The Dark Knight or Punch-Drunk Love or Parasite that can give you a special feeling. But nothing will be like seeing Death of a Salesman on Broadway with Philip Seymour Hoffman or A Raisin in the Sun with Denzel Washington.”

Herzog’s writing particularly spoke to him. “Leo’s in a stasis that was very appealing to me,” he continues. “We find our crisis in moments of stasis, but there’s an irony to it when you’re young, because the law of the land would have you think that to be young is to be having fun, to be coming into your own. But as everyone at this age who’s going through it knows, it’s often a shitshow.”

It’s safe to say that, in casting terms, director Matthew Warchus, also artistic director of The Old Vic, has hit the jackpot. He first took the play to Atkins three years ago, but it was only towards the end of 2019 that Chalamet came on board. When it was announced, in December, that Hollywood’s heir apparent to Leonardo DiCaprio would be making his London stage debut, the news was met with a level of hysteria not usually associated with the 202-year-old theatre’s crowd.

“Oh, my friends have told me who the audience is,” Atkins chimes in when I ask who they think will be coming to see the show. “It’s 40 per cent girls who want to go to bed with Timothée, it’s 40 per cent men who want to go to bed with Timothée, and it’s 20 per cent my old faithfuls.” Is Chalamet prepared for the onslaught? “I think it will be 100 per cent Eileen’s faithfuls,” he demurs.

On the surface, they can seem quite the odd couple. Chalamet, raised in Manhattan by an American dancer-turned-realtor mother and French father, an in-house editor at the United Nations, may be living a breathless, nomadic movie-star life but there’s an iron core of Gen Z earnestness there. He arrives on set with minimal fuss, even deciding to wear the clothes he came in for one shot, before knocking out some push-ups, politely ordering an omelette and generally being divinely well-mannered.

He turns on the star power for the camera, though, and I can confirm it’s as dazzling up close as it is on the red carpet, where he has, famously, casually redrawn the rules for male dressing. From that Louis Vuitton sparkly bib at the 2018 Golden Globes, to a dove-grey satin Haider Ackermann tux at Venice last year, he’s a true fashion darling. Then, of course, there’s his dating life – from Lourdes Ciccone Leon to Lily-Rose Depp – that remains an endless source of fascination to millions worldwide. (All this, it must be said, is of significantly less interest to Dame Eileen.)

Atkins started dance lessons aged three, shortly before the start of the Second World War. By 12, she was performing professionally in pantomime, not far from where she grew up in north London, the youngest daughter in a working-class family. A fast-established theatre star, wider fame didn’t find her until late in life. Despite memorable turns in Upstairs, Downstairs and Gosford Park, it was the 2000 television hits Cranford and Doc Martin, when she was in her early seventies, that finally made her a household name. Today, she lives alone in west London, since her second husband, the TV and film producer Bill Shepherd, died in 2016. She has often spoken of being happily childless, and has zero time for razzmatazz.

And yet, despite their differences, the pair appear perfectly matched. They already have their grandmother-grandson dynamic down pat. Atkins does a fine line in mischievous eyebrow-raising, and at one point recites a limerick that is, honestly, so rude it almost makes her co-star blush. Chalamet, meanwhile, is politeness personified, still trying to work out his thoughts on various subjects, less inclined to give so much of himself away. There is a physical likeness, too, in their delicate features and fine bone structure. They share a naturally melancholic look, one that melts away when they laugh.

Their upcoming play, which premiered to rapturous reviews Off-Broadway in 2011, “about a block” from Chalamet’s high school, LaGuardia, could have been written for them. “Other than not being American, I’m very like the old woman,” says Atkins of the Pulitzer-shortlisted play. “I can’t be bothered to learn the internet.” If there’s one thing she won’t tolerate in rehearsals, it’s people on their phones. That’s the only thing that will “piss me off ”, she says, brusquely.

Ah, phones. Are they really the symbol of generational disconnect? “It’s easy to point to these things,” Chalamet says, tapping his phone on the table, “as the cause or the symptom, but I think my generation is a guinea pig generation of sorts. We’re figuring out the pros and cons and limits of technology.”

Equally, Atkins is keen to distance herself from some of the criticism levelled at her age group. “There’s a saying isn’t there: if you’re not very left wing when you’re young, you’re heartless. And if you’re not very right wing when you’re old, you’re foolish. I’m not political, but I’m not with this government I can assure you – and I’m not with Brexit. I wanted to wear a sweater saying ‘I did not vote Brexit’, because it was all old people who did. Not me, not me,” she snaps. “I went on the march.”

Both are in agreement that intergenerational friendships are too rare these days. “So. Important,” Chalamet says, hitting the table between each word. “There is so much to learn from people who have walked the path of life. That’s why I’m so looking forward to these next couple of months.”

Atkins is thoughtful on the matter. “I don’t miss the fact I don’t have children, but I do envy my friends who have grandchildren,” she says. “About five or six years ago I met a couple of young people – they are just about 30 this year – and, do you know, we go out together. And people immediately say to me, ‘Are these your grandchildren?’ And I say, ‘No.’ And they say, ‘Your godchildren?’ And I say, ‘No, they’re just friends.’ Everybody thinks there is something weird about all three of us. They just don’t get it. But the boy makes me laugh more than anybody and the girl is enchanting. I have more fun with them than I do with almost anybody else.”

I remind Atkins about her description of today’s youth as being overly serious. “I do call them the New Puritans, yes,” she says, before motioning to her young co-star. “He probably drinks like a fish.”

Chalamet, currently single, is remaining tight-lipped about plans for his new London life, and how many late-night manoeuvres in Soho or Peckham it may involve. “I’ve got friends here, which is nice. But I’m here for this – to be terrified at The Old Vic.”

Before we leave, there is a final thing to clear up – Atkins’ aforementioned limerick. “Do you know about the Colin Farrell situation?” Eileen asks Timothée. No, comes his reply. “Better get it over with now because someone will tell you,” she says, proceeding to explain how, when she was “69, about to be 70” and filming Ask the Dust with a 27-year-old Farrell, “he made a pass at me. He came to my hotel room. He was enchanting. I let him chat for two hours, thoroughly enjoying it, but no not that. He was very cross I didn’t.”

But then, she explains guiltily, she later told the story during “some stupid TV show” (Loose Women), where despite her best efforts at keeping Farrell’s identity secret, the internet did its thing and news got out. An apology to Farrell was required. “So I left a limerick on Colin’s phone…” she says. She clears her throat: “There once was a **** of a dame…” she begins, in her imitable theatrical timbre, before reeling off one of the filthiest rhymes I’ve ever heard.

There is a moment of stunned laughter. “Wow, that’s sincerely amazing,” comes Chalamet’s response, as Atkins finishes the verse. He gives her a solemn oath: “I promise I won’t hit on you.”

4000 Miles is at The Old Vic, SE1, from 6 April

[sunflowersunshinevol6]

And I Love Her

Harry Styles x OFC

Warnings: drinking, mentions of substance abuse

A/N: I have a lot of fics I'm working on at the moment. I have so many ideas I just can't keep them in my head. I hope you guys enjoy this one. Please let me know, the feedback is always appreciated. Much love to you all

  The summer of '92 in Seatle Washington was like some weird fever dream. Nirvana was hot, everyone smelled like teen spirit and the dirtier you were, the sexier. We partied all night, slept all day, didn't give a fuck about the man and smoked all the pot we could get our hands on. I crashed on friend's couches or slept under the stars when it was nice. The freedom of having nothing to tie me down was intoxicating and I ate that shit up. So when my best friend Anna asked me to go out with her to see some bands at a local bar, I didn't hesitate.

    It was a shitty little bar. But I guess it was supposed to be. It was the 'aesthetic' of the day.

     My best friend Anna tugged me along behind her. The music was loud, the makeshift stage upfront holding a band that looked like they were plastered and played just about as well. The singer crooning into the mic about losing someone they loved and how life was a bitch. Didn't we all know it too.

    Anna pulled me to a booth, out of the way of the small crowd that had crammed into the bar to hear this band play. People thrashing and head banging, twisting their bodies and writhing to the music. Red lights set an ominous glow, the smell of booze and weed filling my nostrils.

    I slid into the booth beside her, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. She ordered two shots from the waitress that came by while I fiddled with my lighter.

    "I thought Shannon and Reggie were meeting us here." I said loudly in her ear. Christ you could barely hear anything over the dude screaming on stage. I rubbed my temples, a slight headache forming.

    "They are. But they had to work. Said they'd walk over after....not everyone can live off of painting and commissions." I rolled my eyes. I was a visual artists. I did a lot of abstract and weird art. You'd be surprised by all the people that are willing to buy the craziest shit. There's a lot of weirdos like me out there.

    The waitress came back with our shots and I downed mine immediately, ordering a beer behind it. Anna sipped hers, don't ask me why, she always did shit like that. I was getting ready to say something to her about the band playing when I saw him. He came in through the front door and my eyes immediately landed on him.

   He had long curly hair that looked as though it hadn't been brushed or washed in weeks. He wore a baggy plain black shirt, ripped blue Jean's and what looked like jet black Doc Martens. A green flannel draped over his shoulders and sunglasses draped on his head. If I had a type, he was it.

He was with a group of people. Anna was talking in my ear but I couldn't hear her, entranced by this good looking man who was now making his way towards our booth.

"You look like a prince." I smirked as he walked by, stubbing out my cigarette. The boy stopped, turning to look me up and down. A wicked grin spreading across his face.

"Would a prince do this?" He grabbed me by my forearms, pulling me to the ground and flipping me onto my back. The floor was soaked in beer, my dress instantly wet as I squirmed beneath the boy above me. He grinned triumphantly as we rolled around, wrestling against each other.

"Stay down." He commanded, pressing my wrists into the floor. I smirked up at him, shaking my head.

"Never." He licked his lips.

"You're a fighter....I like that." His accent was thick. His words rolling off his tongue like poetry as he spoke. It had to be English. His voice was low and deep, his words slow, enunciating every word.

"You have no idea." He stared at me for a moment, eyes leaving my face, trailing down to my chest, I squirmed again only to have his grip on me tighten before his eyes snapped back up to mine.

"Sassy one aren't you." He let me go, getting off of me and helping me to my feet. "Sorry about that love...I really couldn't resist." His shirt was wet with beer, his hair matted and pressed against his cheek and neck. "I hope you stick around for the rest of the show."

"You playin'?" I asked. He shrugged.

"Could be....gonna have to stick around to find out." He reached out, wrapping a hand around my wrist and pulling me towards him again. "If you do decide to stay, meet me in the hallway after the set yeah? Wanna see just how much of a fighter you are." He winked at me before letting go, leaving me breathless and blushing.

What in the fuck?

"Tabbi, you know who that is?" Anna asked me with wide eyes. I shrugged, climbing back into the booth, my dress soaked and reeking of the spilt beer that had lathered the floor. "That's Harry Styles."

"Okay?" I said, glancing up to see him conversing with the band setting up on stage. "Is that a big deal or something?" she looked at me like she couldn't believe I didnt know who he was. it was annoying really.

"He's in the band about to play. One direction and...." she leaned forward across the table, trying to whisper now. "He's just....there's a lot of rumors about him. I'd steer clear if I were you." I wasn't impressed. I thought maybe she wanted him and was jealous of our little flirtatious action a minute ago. I rolled my eyes.

"Come off it Anna. It was just a little harmless flirting. Nothing more...."

Anna didn't say anything else, our attention turning to the stage as the soundcheck was coming to an end. Girls screamed endlessly as Harry stepped forward, guitar slung around his shoulder, a confident smirk on his face.

They opened with a number called 'Little Black Dress.' Wasn't really my style but I listened, observing the band as they played. The short, lanky bassist, covered in tattoos, the drummer with the arrow tattoos on his arm, he was cute too. The blonde one playing guitar alongside the boy I had wrestled-Harry.

And boy did he know what he was doing. Once the song ended and they started 'Stockholm Syndrome' his movements became so sexual. He stroked the mic stand with his fingers, loosely twisting his wrist up and down it, grinding against it, licking his lips, winking and sending kisses into the crowd. The men seemed to love it almost as much as the women.

"Hey guys!" Reggie and Shannon showed halfway through the set. I waved half heartedly, still intrigued by the boy commanding the stage. The music wasn't my favorite. But damn if he wasn't a great performer.

"She was wrestling with Harry Styles." I heard Anna telling them what had happened. Reggie called my name but I ignored him in favor of the band. I wasn't going to explain myself. I hated judging people based off of what other people told me about them. I'd rather find out for myself.

I decided not to meet him after the show. It was true, I was attracted to him. But he was going to have to work for it.

We were standing outside, huddled in our group, smoking and talking about the music when I felt an arm snake it's way around my waist.

"Left me in the hallway. Tsk. Tsk. What a tease." My stomach flipped and I gasped as his fingers slid just beneath my t shirt, just enough to trace over the waistband of my Jean's. I turned to see Harry, his pupils were blown, the green of his eyes only slightly noticable, giving his eyes a soft glow. I smirked, leaning in close, eyes darting to his lips before looking him in the eye.

"Don't you know? It's all about the chase." He chuckled, running his hand through his hair. His fingers glinting with the rings on them when they caught the streetlight.

"The thing is...I don't chase baby." He looked me up and down again, sighing heavily, as though he were bored. "You'll come to me when you're ready for me."

"Harry-" I gasped, a blonde girl shoving me back as she threw herself at Harry, kissing him hard on the lips. I rolled my eyes in disgust, trying to ignore the pounding of my heart and the disappointment in my stomach.

"Hey," I turned to see the bassist, the other one with a shit ton of tattoos. He smiled at me, holding his hand out. "I'm Louis. Sorry about Camille. That's Harry's girl."

"No worries. I'm just glad I didn't hit the pavement." He chuckled.

"Can I bum one?" He asked, watching as I pulled out my cigarettes. I held the pack out to him, he took two, stuck them in his mouth and lit them at the same time. 

"Neat party trick." I teased. He shrugged.

"Nicotine addiction. You know."

"Lou." Harry's voice was low, his tone darker as he shouted at his bandmate. Camille had her arms wrapped around his shoulders, he had one hand wrapped around her waist. "We gotta go. Get a move on yeah?" Louis smiled at me sympathetically, pulling a crumbled piece of paper from his pocket.

"My number....I'm havin' a party at my place in a couple days. You should come through. I like meetin' new people. Be cool to hang." I check out of the corner of my eye and see Harry watching me closely, nostrils flaring as I stick the piece of paper in my bra, giving Louis my most seductive smile. Harry wasn't going to win me over. Not that easily. Like I said I like the chase.

"Cool. Maybe we'll swing by."

"Tommo." Harry said louder, a warning beneath his tone. Louis shook my hand again.

"By the way," he asked, before letting go, "what's your name?"

"Tabbi. It's Tabbi." He smiled, bringing my knuckles to his lips and kissing them gently, his lips were soft and he was sweet.

"See ya later Tabbi." I looked, just in time to see Harry look me over once more, licking his lips before walking away with his bandmate and his girl. I kept hoping in a small way that maybe he'd look back.

He didn't.

[scrunchyharry]

RIP WIP: if you see this post, respond with a snippet of a fic you (sadly) won’t be completing.

So, this inspired me to go through my google drive and unearth this fic that I’ll most likely never finish. I haven’t touched it since March 2014, so, you know. I might as well have not written it myself.

meet this 1950s, Oxbridge, shy librarian worker meets bad boy AU that almost was. the title of this google doc was “kill your darlings - library sexcapades”, so you can see where my mind was. I was in library school, I’d just gone to see Kill Your Darlings in theatres, it was so predictable, really. reading through it earlier, I realize that I used many of the underlying ideas I had for this fic in fondre ton absence, which I first started only two months after I abandoned this one (and I only posted it in 2019, I know.)

I abandoned it because, if I remember correctly, it was only my second ever historical AU (the first one wasn’t in this fandom, it’s a glee fic, if you bully me enough I can provide a link) and I really, really struggled with it, not only with keeping it free of anachronisms, but also relevant to 1950s British culture rather than American culture, which I am more familiar with as a Canadian. I vividly remember panicking when I couldn’t figure out if Brits went bowling in the 1950s, or even now???? we had different problems in ye olde days before the pandemic, hm?

now, of course, I’ve come to love the pain of researching historical AUs, it’s literally the only thing I’ll write, but 6 years ago was a different story. also, I’m not in grad school anymore, so I have more free time. this helped a lot with fleshing out my fics, this whole “no longer being in university” thing (that I say while being 5 years out of university and now only posting a single fic per year).

anyway. enough from me. here’s the fic. it’s 6500 words long and stops abruptly.

Lying awake in his bed, Harry listened to the steady pitter-patter of the rain hitting the windowpane, the yellow streetlamp outside his dormitory room’s window casting distorted shadows on the floorboards as it filtered through the water running down the glass and the sheer curtains. On the other side of the room, Niall was fast asleep, his breathing regular and slightly wheezing from the cold he’d caught playing football out in the rain the day before. Every six or seven inhale, he’d snore loudly, rousing Harry from the half-sleep he had managed to slip into. Staring at the ceiling, Harry was trying to tell the shadows of the bare tree branches from the cracks in the off-white plaster. The room smelled dank like the rest of the building, the wood creaking and beads of water oozing from the walls from the rain that had been plaguing them for close to a week.

Harry turned on his side, wincing as his joints ached in the cold, humid air of the room, Niall’s congested nose asking for the window to be left ajar, which only let more humidity in. His bedsheets were moist and stuck to his skin in a way that made him feel queasy and promised to rob him of sleep for the entire night.

From somewhere down the hall came a peal of laughter, the sound piercing through the still night air and drifting to Harry’s ears. The sound was almost comforting, breaking through the oppressing bubble of his insomnia to remind him that he was not stranded, or alone. There were other people alive, other people asleep in the rooms next and above and below his, and the sun would rise even if it was behind grey clouds, and not being able to sleep was not the end of the world, no matter how it felt as he lay in his bed, restless and exhausted. 

He reached for his alarm clock, the bells quietly chiming as he moved it, and he frowned when he saw that it was half past three. He had to be up in four hours, hours which he knew he wouldn’t sleep. With a final sigh and a resentful glance at the sprawled shape of Niall, Harry rolled out of bed and grabbed his dressing gown, a plaid atrocity his sister had given him as a joke two Christmases past. 

The hallway was quiet as he made his way down to the creaking staircase, holding on to the railings as he went down so his slippers didn’t skid on the polished wood. He nodded at the night guardian reading a library copy of A Christmas Carol, his feet up on the desk by the double, windowed entrance doors.

“I’ve still got two more days to read this, haven’t I?” the man asked, lowering the book to squint at Harry in the dimness of the hallway.

“Three, sir,” Harry replied, hands deep in the pockets of his robe and shoulders slumped forward as a shiver ran through him. He could smell the fireplace burning from the common room and yearned to reach it soon. 

“Greg, give Harold a break, will you? He’s not working right now,” Zayn said, appearing out of the dark hallway and stopping by Harry’s side. “It’s already tedious enough to watch you read a Christmas novel in November, don’t make it worse on us by bothering poor Harry here about his job in the middle of the night.”

With a wink to Harry, Zayn dropped a pack of cigarettes on the guardian’s desk before walking past him again, back where he had come from, a quick nod inviting Harry along. He followed and closed thankful eyes as he crossed the common room’s threshold and was met by a wall of warm, dry air.

“Liam’s nicked logs from the hall across campus,” Zayn explained as he slouched in an armchair by the fire.

“Bless him,” Harry said, sitting opposite Zayn, close to the hearth. He extended his feet and let the flames warm them, feeling as if every crackle eased his weariness from the past few days.

September had been a neverending blur of mixers and social events to try and make friends as quickly as possible before it was too late and you were relegated to the ranks of social outcast. By the time October rolled by, Harry had managed to be late in all of his classes and had found himself locked in the library even when he did not have to work, his entire universe reduced to the dusty smell of books and ushed voices whispering about classnotes and midterms. On most nights he had to stay up well into the early hours, the grey light of dusk filtering through his foggy mind like through dirty glass as he tried to read three novels at once. Now that midterms were over, he had hoped he might be able to sleep while he counted down the days until finals, but he had managed to well and truly mess up his sleep rhythm. 

“No offence, mate, but you look like shit,” Zayn commented after a while, startling Harry out of his most-welcomed doze. 

Rubbing his eyes, Harry let out a small laugh. “Can’t sleep.”

“I know a guy--”

“No, thanks,” Harry cut him, not unkindly. 

Zayn always knew a guy, who knew a guy, whose brother could get you whatever you needed. He himself took nothing, keeping a record as straight as his ridiculously white teeth; scholarship kid, they said. Harry knew better than that, because he was one himself and had never seen Zayn at any of the disastrous mixers the financial aid office tried to organize. Besides, scholarship students were expected to work on campus, which Zayn did not do. He always seemed to be drifting from place to place, black hair carefully styled so that a swirl appeared to carelessly fall on his forehead and jacket nonchalantly hanging off his shoulder like something out of a magazine, without a care in the world. Harry figured it was the sort of attitude you had to adopt when you had a name like Zayn Malik. Not that Harry gave a damn about any of that, but, to put it mildly, it was not because people were quick to point a finger at Germany for what they had let happen that they were willing to face their own ignorance. In short: people whispered, and all of this despite the thick Northern accent that surprised the wits out of Harry the first time he heard it come out of Zayn’s mouth.

“It’s not healthy, though, is it? You should go see a nurse or something about it, you can die from sleep deprivation.”

Blinking slowly, Harry stared at his oldest friend on campus silently for a moment. “I hope you never make it into medical school, you’re going to be a shit doctor. ‘You can die from sleep deprivation,’ you tell the insomniac at four in the morning.” With a long sigh, Harry shook his head. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

Zayn laughed. “Don’t worry, mate, I’ve heard worse. Have you met Louis?”

Harry rolled his eyes at Zayn. “Yes,” he replied despite knowing that this was a rhetorical question. “I know Louis.”

He shifted in his seat. Mentions of Louis had the pesky side-effect of making Harry’s stomach churn uncomfortably. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging slightly at the curls as he yawned. He watched as Zayn light a cigarette and shook his head when offered one, instead pulling his legs up on the chair and curling up in it, arms wrapped around his knees. 

“Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m still up at this hour?” Zayn asked after discarding his cigarette in a nearby ashtray.

Tearing his eyes from the fireplace, Harry blinked slowly at him. “Do you want to tell me?”

Flashing him a wicked grin, Zayn winked. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

Harry rolled his eyes again. “I should have seen this one coming.”

“But you didn’t and that’s why we love you, Harold.” Zayn stretched and got up, picking his jacket off the back of the armchair and shrugging it on. “With this, I’m off to bed.” With a pat to Harry’s head, he headed out of the room.

“Goodnight!” Harry called after him before turning back to the fire, resting his chin on his knees with a sigh.

Harry considered following after Zayn for a moment, but the thought of his cold room made him wince. Instead, he carefully placed more wood into the hearth and pulled the armchair closer. He wrapped his dressing gown tighter around himself and then closed his eyes, turning his face to the warmth with a smile as his thoughts drifted through his memories.

The first time he had seen Louis did not technically count as the first time he had met him. His first glimpse of him had been a fleeting one: a knock at the door of his room and the flash of a crooked grin before a sharp voice called Niall out and the door slammed shut. It had been a whirlwind of sights and sounds, there and gone in a matter of seconds, and promptly discarded as one of Niall’s many boisterous friends.

The first time he met Louis, on the other hand, had made a much stronger impression. Harry had been working the counter at the library, alternating between reading a novel he kept hidden under the desk and staring off into space, eyes on the specks of dust as they drifted through the sunbeams pouring in from the tall windows. It had started with a gust of autumn wind sweeping into the room as someone threw opened the heavy oaken doors, causing the occupants of the library to look around in disgruntled curiosity. Harry himself had found himself craning his neck to try and see who was the utter idiot who was entering a library like it was a barn.

Louis had come running at top speed, muddy wingtips squeaking and skidding on the linoleum and his opened jacket flying behind him. He braced himself on a table as he took a sharp turn to the left and headed towards the counter, vaulting it and crouching down before Harry could stop him. He had stared down at him silently, blinking slowly, until the boy had pulled him down by the front of his shirt so he would kneel next to him.

“You can’t stay here,” Harry had said lamely, feeling ashamed of the yelp he had let out as he looked at the red-faced, breathless boy still holding his shirt in his fist.

“Hi, I’m Louis,” the boy had said, letting go of his shirt to extend his hand for Harry to shake.

“You can’t stay here,” Harry had repeated, ignoring his hand. “And I’m Harry.”

“I know,” Louis had replied, smirking. “So, I may or may not have dressed the statue outside the principal’s office in a dress. And I may or may not be currently running away from the school security.” He had paused to look up at Harry with big, pleading eyes. “My life depends on you, Harry. Please, hide me.”

“You--what? Why would you do that?”

Louis had squinted at him, an amused smile playing on his lips. “For fun?”

“Well, you can’t stay here, we--”

Louis had shut him up with a hand over his mouth. “Please, Harold. I’ll owe you one.”

“No, I mean, there’s--” Harry had mumbled against his hand, eyes darting to the top of the heads of the guardians he could see coming closer to the counter.

“Harry Styles, I am begging you, please let me hide here.”

Prying Louis’ hand away, Harry had rolled his eyes. “Shut up and listen to me, there are two guards coming over here right now, you need to run.” He wouldn’t be able to tell what took him, but had he found himself adding, in a quick whisper, “I’ll distract them. Go.”

Louis had grabbed Harry’s face to plant a loud, wet kiss on his cheek before repeating in a rush that he owed Harry his life and running back the way he had come.

A month had gone by since their meeting and Harry still winced with embarrassment when he thought back to it. He had looked like a proper fool in front of Louis, who, it turned out, was friends with all of his friends. He always turned up, no matter what they were doing or where they were going, teasing and joking and mocking, always constantly there in Harry’s peripheral vision. He was a third year, the rumour was that he had the lowest average in the history of the university (which made no sense, considering he still managed to pass his classes; besides, Harry had checked in old yearbooks during a quiet afternoon in the library and had found that a certain Lionel Hearst allegedly had the lowest average back in 1931--chances were that each year had their own Lionel Hearst, and the class of 1954 had elected Louis Tomlinson as theirs), and he was quite possibly the most annoying person Harry had ever met.

And there was another problem, a massive one that was threatening to destroy Harry’s sanity: he was gorgeous. Not your inoffensive “I can recognize that, objectively, Humphrey Bogart and James Dean are attractive males”, which Harry could very easily and comfortably live with. No, Louis was the kind of gorgeous that had poisoned Harry’s mind until it was all his twisted mind could conjure whenever he had what a psychology textbook he found in Liam’s room had called ‘nocturnal emissions’. 

When combined, Louis’ irritating personality and Harry’s inability to get him out of his head were a dangerous mix. One that he never missed an opportunity to use, because on a misguided evening, Harry had made the mistake to go out with Niall and had tragically confessed, over his fourth pint, that he was having unbecoming thoughts about Louis. The news had obviously rapidly travelled all the way to Louis’ ears and now it seemed he had made it his mission to make sure Harry never lived his shameful infatuation down.

Not to mention that, well, he was a boy infatuated with another boy. The same psychology textbook had told him that what he was had a name, and that it was diagnosable, and thus curable, but Liam had walked back in before Harry could read exactly what they meant by ‘aversion therapy’. He hadn’t dared ask Liam, not while Louis was sprawled on his bed, smoking with slow drags and slower exhales, winking at Harry whenever their eyes met. 

Louis had asked what Harry was reading and he had mumbled something about insomnia (which had been his first goal, mind you) and a wicked grin had appeared on Louis’ face.

“You were reading about paraphilias, weren’t you, you naughty boy? Which one was your favourite? I’m quite fond of homosexuality myself.”

Zayn had thrown a wrinkled jacket at Louis at that, saving Harry the embarrassment of having to reply by saying through a laugh: “The shit that comes out of your mouth is astounding.”

“It’s not shit! What’s it classified under, again? Payne, help me out.”

Reciting dully, as if he was used to the question - and Harry suspected he was - Liam had rolled his eyes. “Sexual deviations are under personality disorders of the sociopathic subtype.”

“Thanks, mate. I didn’t understand half the words in there, but I like the ring of ‘sociopathic’, don’t you? It makes it sound so dangerous, so ‘I will kill you in your sleep and then shag your corpse’.”

“Someone’s won the roommate lottery,” Niall had said, earning himself a slap upside the head from Liam. 

This particular exchange, and more specifically the image of Louis talking about sexual deviations while lying on a bed like some sort of caricature of a French painting, was running through Harry’s sleep deprived mind as he hurried to his morning class under the cold drizzle that had replaced the rain. He had managed to get a couple of hours of sleep, but had woken up when the fire was out and the room had turned frigid. Going back to his room, he had collapsed on his bed, only to hear his alarm clock ringing what felt like three minutes later. And now, as he hurried up to the fourth floor on the slippery stairs, he realized with a groan he had forgotten to do the assigned readings for the class.

He took his usual seat near the centre of the lecture hall, unpacking his notebook and fiddling with his pen to keep his mind busy and, more importantly, awake. A three hour lecture on Shakespeare was the last thing he needed at the moment, his eyes unable to focus on the board for more than a handful of seconds before they closed heavily, his entire body jerking back as he drifted to sleep and started to fall forward.

The door opened loudly and Harry didn’t have to look to know who had just entered. He always banged doors opened, making his entrance known as if his presence itself wasn’t enough to get him noticed.

“Harold!” Louis’ voice echoed around the half-empty hall, off the wood-panelled walls and the high, off-white ceiling. He was holding a notebook in his hand, the poor thing in tatters like most of what Louis owned. The usual swirl of hair was falling on his forehead, disheveled in a way that felt more genuine than Zayn’s calculated styling, with the sides ruffled and looking mostly unkempt.

Harry waved at him, shifting in his seat as he watched Louis climb the steps up to where he was sitting and make his way to the empty chair next to Harry. He rubbed his eye and braced himself for the tornado of Louis’ personality.

“Hi, Louis,” he said once Louis was settled. “How are you?”

“I’m brilliant. My day’s always off to such a good start when I get to see you first thing in the morning.” He patted Harry’s knee, a smirk on his lips. Harry swallowed around his dry throat. “You, on the other hand, look terrible.”

“Insomnia,” Harry replied with a shrug, stifling a yawn with his hand. “Nothing new.”

“Yeah, I see that, the bags under your eyes are terrifying.” 

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but then forgot to close it as Louis reached up and stroked a thumb under Harry’s eye, lightly touching the paper thin skin. He could wax lyrical about how soft Louis’ skin turned out to be, or how unexpected the touch was, but neither of those things would be right. The fact of the matter was that being touched, stroked, petted or any other synonym describing fond, affectionate physical contact were common when Louis was concerned. That did not mean that Harry was used to it, and he found himself freezing under Louis’ careful finger, his words dying in his throat. 

“It looks like you’ve got shiners,” Louis said, voice quiet and soft. “You have to take better care of yourself, Haz, or else someone will have to do it for you.”

Louis’ fingers were still lightly brushing his cheek, close to his ear, as his thumb moved back and forth, barely touching his skin, and Harry absolutely could not let out any sound resembling modern languages. Instead, he nodded, remembered to close his mouth, and cleared his throat to try and speak. All of his efforts were ruined when Louis patted his cheek and moved back, slipping lower in his seat and winking at Harry when their knees bumped.

Harry blinked to realize that the hall had filled while Louis was busy making him forget English. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket for his glasses and slipped them on, not missing the pleased noise Louis let out next to him. He glanced at him, frowning.

“Love the glasses, Harold.”

“Me too. They help me see.”

Harry did not particularly consider himself a religious man. He went to church when it mattered and tried not to do unto others what he would not want done unto him, but for the most part, he never really had God at the back of his mind whenever he did something. And yet, as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wondered what he had done to anger God. His eyes widened and he felt a blush blooming on his cheeks, his skin burning with the shame and embarrassment of his reply. They help me see, way to state the obvious, Styles. Louis was obviously flirting and the only thing he could come up with was bloody “they help me see.”

Louis let out a bark of laughter, pushing his knee against Harry’s. “Good for you, mate. You wouldn’t want to strain those pretty eyes of yours.”

The professor walking in and setting up his papers behind the lectern saved Harry from having to answer. Harry kept his eyes trained on the front of the class for the first hour of the lecture, pointedly ignoring Louis’ constant shifting and squirming around in his seat. Liam often asked if he had ants in his pants, which usually prompted Louis to let out a vulgar joke about what he did have in his pants. It was better if Harry ignored him, then. He was already struggling to keep up with the deadpan droning of their professor, he didn’t need to think about the way Louis’ thigh brushed against his every time he moved. 

The lightbulb closest to the door kept flickering, the rhythm varying from every other second to one every two or three minutes, and Harry found himself captivated by it. The ventilation buzzed in the background, a low metallic rumble pushing moist air into the suffocating hall. A strand of hair had escaped from his comb-over, falling into his eyes and curling from the humidity. He blew on it, watching it rise and fall and repeating the motion over and over again, until Louis elbowed him.

Harry turned to him, bracing himself for a witty remark that would turn him into a blubbering mess, but instead he was met with Louis’ profile, face set and serious as he had his hand raised in the air. Squinting, Harry turned to their professor in time to see him calling on Louis, who lifted his eyebrows, once, before an amused smile curled up his lips.

“Sir, there is something that has been bothering me since I read through the assigned pages last night. See, I can’t quite figure out what Shakespeare meant when he had Aufidius say: ‘Let me twine mine arms about that body, where against my grained ash an hundred times hath broke and scarr’d the moon with splinters,’ and then later when he adds: ‘but that I see thee here, thou noble thing! more dances my rapt heart than when I first my wedded mistress saw bestride my threshold.’”

Louis glanced up from the copy of Coriolanus opened in front of him, several lines underlined in blue ink, to give Harry a wink before looking back down and continuing.

“And when he writes: ‘thou hast beat me out twelve several times, and I have nightly since dreamt of encounters ‘twixt thyself and me; we have been down together in my sleep, unbuckling helms, fisting each other’s throat, and waked half dead with nothing,’ what I don’t understand, sir, is that it sounds to me like Aufidius is courting Marcius, doesn’t it? All this talk of,” Louis glanced down again, “nightly dreams of what sounds to me like some sort of wrestling? All of this leads me to think that there is a certain passion to Marcius and Aufidius’ relationship that you haven’t talked about, yet.”

Louis sat back in his seat, the line of his shoulders disagreeing with the look of candid innocence he had schooled his face into. The entire hall seemed to be waiting with baited breath for their professor’s response, the poor man looking terrified and offended and minuscule in his bulky tweed jacket. His lip quivered, making his grey, toothbrush moustache dance, and he narrowed his eyes at Louis.

“Ignoring Mr Tomlinson’s depraved mind, let’s have a short break. Class will resume in ten minutes.”

Chatter rose around them and Louis shook his head, a look of annoyed resignation on his face.

“I knew he’d do that. I bloody knew it. They’re always too stuck up to address the blatant homoeroticism of the material they assign us.”

Homoeroticism. The word rang in Harry’s ears, filling up his skull and flushing out everything else, leaving him with images of--with images of things he’d rather not put a name on. Of Louis’ lips as they curled into his trademark smirk, of Louis’ spread thighs as he lay on one of their beds, reading out loud from whichever book he had found on the bedside table, of Louis’ eyes and the way they had to always seek Harry’s, but also of older memories. Memories of swimming in a lake with his older cousin as a child and watching the drops of water running down his chest and shimmer in the sun. Locker room memories, a seemingly endless number of them, all strung one after the other in his mind like a neverending series of discomfort and shame as he caught glimpses of changing bodies. Memories of feeling wrong and twisted, an abomination that would bring shame to his family if he said anything.

There was a word for all this, a simple word which Louis uttered like it didn’t carry the weight of the world with it. A word which didn’t sound as ominous as the others did. That word wouldn’t be in Liam’s textbook. That word evoked ideas of art in Harry’s mind, not of therapy.

“Harold? Are you all right? I’ve lost you, here, haven’t I? Wake up, Styles, you’re not in your bed. I understand that it can be confusing for you right now because we all know you see me in your dreams, but--”

“That word you used,” Harry said, cutting him. He cleared his throat and decided it was better to ignore how accurate Louis’ teasing was.

“Which one? You’ll notice I speak quite a lot, so you’ll have to be a bit more specific than that.”

Lowering his voice, Harry leaned in. “Homoeroticism.”

“What about it?”

“It was the first time I heard it. I didn’t know it existed.”

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about.” Louis patted his thigh with a pout. “But don’t worry, I can teach you. I owe you one, remember?”

Harry let out a strangled noise and looked away so he would not have to see Louis’ smirk.

Harry spent the rest of the lecture in a haze, his mind preoccupied with what he tried so hard to ignore during the first half: Louis’ elbow brushing against his on the armrest, their knees bumping when he moved, the sound of his breathing, regular and deep, the way he tapped his pen against his notebook, the muscles in his forearm shifting as he took notes. By the time his torture was over, he realized with horror that he had not listened to a single word of the entire second half of the lecture and he bit his lip. 

“And they say I’m the worst student this school has ever seen,” Louis commented after seeing the blank page that Harry failed to hide.

“I couldn’t concentrate,” Harry explained as he packed his bag hastily and followed Louis to leave the lecture hall.

“You can borrow my notes, don’t worry.” Once out of the hall, Louis turned to walk backwards, eyes on Harry. “Why, though? Why was Harold Styles, scholarship student, not paying attention in class? Thinking about boys, maybe?”

Without thinking about it, Harry lurched forward to put his hand over Louis’ mouth. “Shut up,” he hissed.

Unfazed, Louis lowered Harry’s hand with his, his expression softening. “So, you were? This is an interesting turn of events.” Looking up at Harry, he frowned. “Oh, you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared.” At the sight of Louis raising his eyebrow in disbelief, Harry licked his lips. “I’m terrified.” He glanced around, feeling like all eyes were on the pair of them as they stood in the middle of the hallway and blocked the traffic.

Louis nodded and took Harry’s elbow, dragging him along and out of the building. Outside, pale rays of sunlight were peeking through the clouds and the air felt light for the first time in days. Harry tried to avoid the puddles covering the cobblestones while Louis kept pulling him along, mindful of keeping his socks dry even as an outrageously flirtatious man he barely knew was taking him somewhere unknown.

“Do you have work today?” Louis asked over his shoulder as they crossed the campus towards their dormitory.

“No. Where are we going?”

“My dorm.”

Harry stopped abruptly, causing Louis to stumble forward before he caught himself and turned. “Why?”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to molest you.” Letting go of Harry’s arm, he stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I just thought you’d prefer to talk about your innermost secrets in private. Assuming you want to talk about it?”

Harry looked down at Louis for a moment, unsure of what to do next. Louis held his gaze, eyes wide and earnest, almost begging for Harry’s trust. Gnawing at his lip, Harry breathed in sharply and nodded, making the jump, stepping off the edge of the metaphorical cliff and choosing to trust Louis.

A small smile appeared on Louis’ lips, more subdued than what Harry was used to see, and it warmed up the bottom of his stomach in a way that was not unpleasant.

“Very well. Let us be on our way, then.” 

A sense of dread descended upon Harry as they neared Louis’ room. His nerves were setting in, sparking up, exploding in bright flashes of what felt a lot like terror at the prospect of the conversation he was about to have and of its ramifications. Thinking it was one thing, admitting that he was thinking it was another, but voicing it was in the realm of impossibilities. The door shut behind them with a quiet click and then they were alone, shielded. Louis sat backwards on his desk chair and motioned for Harry to sit on his bed before he folded his arms and raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Harry, tell me. How long have you known?” His voice was quiet and soft, so unlike Louis’ usual loud squawks that it eased Harry’s nervousness, if only partially. 

Harry found that he could not look at Louis’ face and he let his gaze drift to the wall behind him, hung with pennants in the colours of Liam’s favourite teams. He brought a hand up to scrape his teeth against the knuckle of a finger, a nervous habit he’d been trying to get rid off for years. He could feel Louis’ steady gaze on him and he swallowed thickly, breathing out.

“I don’t know.” He forced his eyes back on Louis, briefly, to see him frowning. “How long have you known?”

“That I’m gay?” Harry winced at the word and it made Louis smirk. “Summer 1943, there was this bloke billeted at a neighbour’s house. He’d pop by to play with my sisters and I some times and I’d seen him almost every day for months, but that one particular day, he helped my mother with gardening and took off his shirt because of the heat. It changed my life.” He chuckled and scratched his cheek. “I was twelve. I spent the entire day in my bedroom, watching him from the window, absolutely confused about what was happening. I thought I was ill.”

“What’d you do?”

Louis shrugged. “I masturbated, obviously. That was a first. What a day.”

Heat spread on Harry’s face, bright red spots blooming on his cheeks at the words, and he muttered a scandalized ‘oh, my god’ that made Louis laugh. 

“Have you never?” Louis asked, giving Harry a curious smile. “Have you really never touched yourself?”

Putting a hand over his eyes, Harry groaned. “Of course, I have, but I don’t talk about it with everyone,” he blurted out, ashamed.

“Why not? You have to stop listening to your minister, kid. It’s perfectly normal, everyone does it.”

Harry shook his head and wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers. He could not remember having ever been as uncomfortable as he was in that instant. His nerves were raw and he felt too hot and too cold at the same time, safe and cloistered at once in the cramped dorm room. Looking at Louis, he found him observing him with a steady expression. Harry appreciated that he was not pushing for answers despite his obvious curiosity. He didn’t feel pressured to answer, but the possibility was there, hanging in the still, humid air between them. It was his choice to seize it and, with a shaky sigh, he did.

“I’ve always had, hum, suspicions that I wasn’t normal. I can’t--” he waved his hands around, “--put words on it, or tell you about specific incidents, but I’ve been having doubts since grammar school.”

“You’re normal.” There was an unexpected fire behind Louis’ words that made Harry frown.

“You can’t be serious. You heard Liam the other day, we’re sociopaths.”

Louis rolled his eyes, digging in his pockets for a cigarette. He placed it between his lips and cracked a match to light it, eyes on Harry through the rising smoke. “Do you feel like a sociopath?”

Harry shrugged. “Not particularly.”

Blowing smoke, Louis raised his eyebrows. “There you go. You’re not. Simple as that. Admitting a bloke needs to have his hands tied above his hands to be able to come, would you say he’s a sociopath?” When Harry shook his head, Louis continued. “But that’s still a paraphilia, ergo he’s mental. We’re not perverts, we just love differently. That’s how I see it, anyway.”

Harry licked his lips and nodded, transfixed by Louis’ verve. “And they say you’re the worst student of your year.”

Louis laughed, sharp and clear, smoke coming out of his nostrils. “I’ve had a bad freshman year and the reputation, sadly, stuck with me. Of course, I’m not a scholarship kid, so I don’t compare.” He winked a Harry.

“How do you know so many things about me? We’ve rarely spoken.”

Louis laughed again, but the sound was softer, more intimate, in an odd way. “Well...” He rubbed the back of his neck, discarding the butt of his cigarette in a dirty ashtray on his bedside table. “I asked around. You helped me a lot when you befriended Zayn.”

Harry shifted on the bed to rest his back against the wall, kicking his shoes off quickly to pull his knees up against his chest. “Why?”

Louis’ eyes widened, almost comically, before he shrugged. “Curiosity. You looked interesting.”

[mydearsaddiary]

Speakeasy Tonight fanfic Neil Season 3 Chapter 9- First, do no harm

This is PART 2, here’s part 1: https://mydearsaddiary.tumblr.com/post/627009658293485568/little-curiosity-notes-hey-guys-were-on-chapter

Mostly me, Vince and Donovan fired and fought against the goons. I couldn’t see where Uncle Charlie was, but I could see Cliff and Julius punching some of Adler’s fellas.

In the chaos, I distanced myself from my peers and found myself facing Mayor Adler himself. He pointed his gun at me, and I reciprocated doing the same right back to him. Time was once more still. Weird the things you notice in these moments, sounds of the water played in my ears, the smell of the docks filled my senses. It was a place that was more dangerous than, anyone else who wasn’t part of the mean and crude underworld of the city, would imagine. Trades of alcohol were common, more than one gang fight had happened there. It created and decimated many competitors. Transportation really seemed like a façade.

Now, my future was about to be decided in the same place. In this unlikely face-off between a pregnant mob boss lady and the Mayor of Chicago, a strong tall man who was supposed to be the epitome of righteousness, but instead was worse than any vermin this city possessed

-Well, Miss Granger. Seems like we’re both where we both knew we would eventually end up. Right to killing each other- A sinister smile took over his face

-No. You didn’t know- I replied, glaring at him- You thought you could lock me away forever, and that I’d never escape. Your mistake- I took a few steps towards him- Was thinking I could be tamed easily.

-I never thought that- He said in an angry tone, uncontrolled. The usual smile on his face was gone along with his composure- You’ll learn along with the others that I always win, no matter what

-You’re wrong again- I said- Bailey, Louis, Vera, and now you. I’ll teach you what happens when you try to mess with me or my family.

He was about to pull the trigger, and then an even taller figure ran into him, tackling him to the ground. Both men were now engaged in a fight, trying to overpower one another.

-Neil!-I exclaimed. But soon realized I needed to finish this. I ran to them trying to grab his gun, but with them fighting it was hard.

Adler pushed me away, punched Neil on his nose making it bleed, and got his gun. He then got up, pointing it right at the Doc.

-Don’t you dare!-I pointed my gun at him from the floor- Back away!

It was surprising to me that I could feel Neil wasn’t scared. It made me wander why that was, but at the moment I was too preoccupied with saving his life

-That’s always been your weakness, hasn’t it? You made up a band of brothers in your speakeasy and now none of them are replaceable! I never have that problem

-That’s the truth, Adler. Hired guns means you lose one and another one can quickly take it’s place, no feelings involved- I gripped my revolver tighter- However, when things get tough, none of them will be there to protect you

He took a look around. All of his goons were either defeated or had fled. Vince and Donovan pointed their guns at him, and Cliff held his baseball bat. Julius was by Uncle Charlie, who himself looked stronger than I had ever seen him with a gun in his hand also aimed at the mayor.

-Time you backed away from my niece, Adler.

His expression turned darker. He turned his focus back to me- Oh, I hate you, Ice Box Flapper. I always win.

My heart sank. I knew in that moment that he was about to pull the trigger on Neil. He was the one that kept me going through every problem the Ice Box has ever encountered since I arrived. I suddenly remembered every single vivid detail of the time we spent together.

How rude and condescending Doc Dresner first was, how he took care of me when I fainted, how he slowly softened up his hard edge, let me into his dark and cynical world. How he was the first to say “I love you”.

The possibility of all that being gone with just a single movement from the mayor overtook me in a way that made me lose my mind. In that moment I knew I could shoot someone

So I pulled my trigger before he had a chance to pull his

Right in the middle of his eyebrows a dark circle formed and started to bleed down his nose. His blank expression was haunted, and his body fell backwards into the massive waters in the dock. It tainted it an angry, cursed red. Soon, he was gone as suddenly as he had appeared in our lives.

Until a few months ago I had never had a gun pointed at me before. A sheltered life like the one I possessed meant I was always looking for danger for my own pleasure. However, this was the kind of danger that gave you adrenaline and made you feel alive, but at the same time made you want to scream, pull all your head off and scream until you can’t anymore. The ambiguity of what I had just done created a fight in my mind. This was the first time I had ever seen someone die and I was the perpetrator.

A silence took over. I guessed nobody really knew how to feel or react. But thankfully it ended when I felt the soft touch of the Doc grabbing my arm. My head then turned and my eyes met his. The blue in them made me dizzy, swooned with love. The grace in this moment was amplified. I felt grief for my own innocence, disgusted and somewhat evil, like I’d lost myself. Looking into his eyes, however, I was found. I was loved and alive. I was as disturbed as I was happy to see him again.

-Are you alright?- He said in a whisper

-Yeah...-I said relieved- Yeah, I’m fine. How are you?

-He...-He ignored the question and his hand travelled slowly to my stomach- He’s...?

I nodded, leaning over to hug him tight- Im sorry- It was all I could say

-Never mind that now- He got up, helping me do the same

-Kiddo- Charlie came our way and embraced me. I hugged the old man back. How I had missed him- You alright?

-I’m copacetic! Grangers are tough!- I gave him a soft smile, then looked at all of them now around us

-Gave us a scare- Vince said. It put my heart at ease to see him alive

-Vince, I thought he killed you, what happened?

-He tried to- He shrugged- Two weeks in the hospital was all he got out of me. Besides, now I can let you know.

I smiled softly at him- Guess I should thank all of you for saving my life.

-Where the credit is due, you saved yourself and us along with it- Neil said

-Besides, don’t thank us, fix the three weeks worth of accounts and numbers at the Ice Box and we’re even

I laughed- Yes, I can’t imagine what a horror they must look, no offense, Unc

-Im just glad you’re fine, kid- He pointed at my stomach- Now, what’s this about?

Neil went pale- I’m taking full responsibility for it Charles.

-Well, you better.- He glared at him, but soon smiled- Well, with the wedding I guess it’s fine, we’ll just have to hurry it up a bit. Besides, I was waiting for some grandnephews!

-Besides, who would have thought?- Vince said- Neil’s gonna be a daddy!

-Back off, Moretti- He gave him his angriest expression- Let’s get out of here- Neil said- I’ll take MC to my infirmary and-

-What should we do about her?-Donovan pointed at a scared Vera- I thought she quit town

Oh yeah, I almost forgot about my temporary roomie-Turns out Adler was keeping her hostage, like he did to me- I walked over to Vera- Here’s what we’ll do. Donovan, say you investigated the mayor, found out Vera was being held against her will. You tried to arrest him but he ran away with his goons. Haven’t been seen since. That should discredit him in every way possible- I sighed- And save Vera’s reputation- I said that part less enthusiastically. It meant she’d still be around again to give us a headache

-Crazy mayor locks down own wife, not seen in Chicago, sound good, lassie. Might get me a promotion

-Then I’ll leave- Vera said- For good. I don’t ever want to see this town again

I looked at her surprised and smiled-Works fine by me, Vera- I went back to Neil’s side- I want a hot shower now!- I said stretching.-Hm...-I wandered a little- I need something to lift my spirits. Party at the Ice Box tonight!

In the back of my mind I tried to lock away the fact that I had just killed a man. I was free, Neil was alive, the Ice Box was safe and all was right in the world. I was letting myself celebrate.

_________

Turns out Neil took me to his infirmary after all. He had me laying down in a new fresh set of clothes. He examined the bump and myself in every way he could. It was sweet, but it was unsettling to see him this nervous

-Come here, Neil- I sat up calling him

-I just need to finish-

-Sit!-I pointed at the chair in front of me

He sighed, but obeyed my harsh tone, and then his eyes stared at me. I grabbed the wet cloth on the table, washing off the dried blood on his face

-You get hurt too, so I’m not the only one who needs to be cared for

-I’m not the one who went AWOL for weeks- I spent a few minutes cleaning his nose, and then he gently touched my hand- MC... When you didn’t come back that night I... Well, let’s just say I wasn’t in one of my best moments. And then I saw him pointing that gun at you today... I swore an oath to do no harm, but I was about to commit murder today if it was necessary.

I squeezed his hand- Well, you didn’t need to- I looked down- Because I did- Tears formed in my eyes. In front of him, it was so easy to open up my heart- I don’t regret it, but-

He held my face, getting closer- Hey... MC. You’re a real bearcat, you know that?

I chuckled- Tough as nails

-Nevertheless, you’re done now, alright? I can’t risk you, the both of you, anymore

-Okay, I mean, I can’t stop running the box, but I’ll take it easy on the evil rascals and guns and all that

-Yeah, well, I’ll be tougher on you this time

-Neil, I- I flinched, any will to fight him on that decision suddenly disappeared- Oh my God...- My eyes widened with surprise

-What?! What’s wrong?

I grabbed him hand, putting it back on my stomach- He’s kicking! Feel it, feel it?!

I took a little while but his expression softened, as much as Neil would let it soften-I feel it.

-Oh, there he goes again!

-I feel it too, right there- And back and forth we went. Nothing else mattered in that moment. He gave the unborn child one of his big smiles. In my heart I was scared he wouldn’t want it, or that he would lose his mind. But all I saw was concern mixed with happiness

In that instant, we had a silent agreement. We would forget all the mistakes of the past and focus on the future. With no words, we promised to be there to protect each other, to love and support one another and raise our baby as best as we could. We’d walk side by side...

... Until death do us part.

______

Thank you for reading this chapter! I’ll see you in the next and final chapter of my fanfic: Speakeasy Tonight Neil Season 3

Next Chapter: I do

[imaginingsoftly]

It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time Pt. 3 - Morgan Rielly

Type: roommates to lovers, Y/N insert shorts

Requested: No

Warnings: mentions of CPS, anxiety, insomnia

(Y/N = Your name, no POV change this chapter. It’s all in Y/N POV)

AN: I was planning on putting out a chapter every week, but I just finished this one and I was pretty excited about it. Enjoy!

It had been almost a week since Morgan had moved in, and they were fine. He spent most of his days training or with the guys, and Y/N was busy with teaching and finishing her Masters. They hadn’t spoken much, other than general greetings or a quick text about picking something up from the store, and Y/N was fine with that. She didn’t know how his search for a more permanent place to stay was going, and honestly she was considering letting him stay for the season if he wanted to. He wasn’t loud, and he was pretty clean. Of course it helped that she wasn’t even sure the guy knew how to turn on a stove, let alone cook anything, so he was pretty much never in the kitchen. He was always coming home with takeout or going to get dinner with the guys. 

Everything would have been great if it wasn’t for her insomnia choosing now to flare it’s ugly head. It had started her junior year of college; as the courses got harder and real life fast approached, Y/N found herself spending more nights than not awake and anxious. The doctor said it was stress-induced, and that it wouldn’t be permanent, and she was right; it would come for two or three weeks and then she was sleeping fine again. It was the weeks where it flared up that day and night blended together and she found herself making increasingly stupid mistakes. Y/N had always assumed that she would leave the insomnia behind in college, but it had followed her and gotten increasingly worse. Like tonight. She was holed up in her room trying to remember how to breathe as the walls felt like they were closing in around her. It had always been like this on the really bad nights, and the only thing that helped her relax was driving. 

Y/N struggled up from her spot on the floor in her room, grabbing her keys and phone with a shaky hand. A trip to the beach. That’s what she needed. She threw on a sweatshirt, her Sox hat, and took a deep breath. Morgan was sitting on the couch watching something, and she tried to sneak past him, to no avail. “Are you going to get food by any chance?”, the giant on her coach asked. Y/N shook her head. “Nah. I’m headed out to the beach.” Morgan paused his movie, turning to face her fully. “The beach? It’s like three hours away.” She smiled slightly, shaking her head. “It’s a little under two, and I need to put my feet in the water. You can come if you’d like,” she said, shocking herself. No one ever came with her on these nighttime beach trips, not even Kat when they lived together. It was her alone time to recharge and just let the ocean air take away all of her problems.

Morgan looked at her face for a moment, almost like he could see the panic she was trying to hide. His eyebrows creased together and his blue eyes met hers searchingly before he stood. Morgan turned off the TV and stepped towards his room, asking, “Am I going to need a jacket?” Y/N nodded. “You might. It can get a little chilly, depending on how strong the wind is. There’s a hurricane off the coast right now, so it might be a little cooler than normal.” He grabbed a sweatshirt from his room quickly along with some shoes, and followed Y/N out the door. Morgan beat her to the door and held it open as she exited, holding out his hand for the keys to lock the door. “Thanks,” she mumbled. He smiled gently at her. “So tell me: what beach are we going to? Do you go there a lot?” He was distracting her, and she knew it. Somehow he knew that she was anxious, and he was trying to help. “We’re going to Wrightsville Beach. It’s about ten minutes from where I went to college, and the beaches are really nice. It’s where I took most of the photos in the apartment.” Morgan hummed in acknowledgment, and they were silent the rest of the trip down to her car. 

Y/N’s black Jeep was new and she was beyond proud of it, five years of incoming car payments and all. It was her first “adult” purchase, after the car her parents had given her had died outside of Philly, halfway home from Boston earlier that summer. She had taken the roof and doors off at the beginning of the summer and refused to put them back on, just out of excitement, and it was perfect for the night air. Morgan smiled when he saw her car, nodding at it. “I wondered who this belonged to. I love Jeeps.” Y/N smiled at him. “Yeah, me too. When my old car died recently, I decided to splurge and get myself the car I really wanted. I figured I’m gonna have it until it dies, so I might as well, right?” She jumped into the driver’s side as she spoke, and didn’t miss the frown Morgan threw at her Bruins lanyard as he handed her keys back to her. 

“So I’ve gotta ask,” he began as she started the car, “why Boston?” Y/N smiled as she backed out of her parking spot. “I was born up there, and it’s where my parents are from. I grew up a fan of Boston sports.” She tossed Morgan her phone as she spoke. “Pick a playlist to listen to.” He scrolled through her Spotify, silent as he looked. “Is Carolina your second team?” Y/N laughed a little. “Actually, I was raised to hate them. My dad still calls you guys the Whalers, and he hated them when they were still in Hartford. I don’t hate them so much now, and they’re fun to watch, but I hate the announcers, so I don’t usually watch the games unless I’m gonna watch them on mute.” 

Morgan snorted at her. “They can’t possibly be that bad.” He clicked on a playlist, scrolling through the songs as she responded. “Trust me. They’re worse than listening to Doc on NBCSN. It’s painful.” Y/N turned onto the highway as she spoke, and it was like a huge weight was lifted off her chest as the wind whipped through her ponytail and pulled some of the hair from under her hat. This was why she drove so much when she couldn’t sleep. The air loosened the tightness in her chest and the driving felt like freedom from all of her problems. 

He finally settled on a playlist, and the opening notes of Silver Springs floated through her speakers. “Good choice,” Y/N said, and Morgan smiled. “Looking at your choice in playlists makes me very curious about you as a person. Who listens to broadway, Louis Armstrong, country, Dropkick Murphys, and movie songs?” Movie songs? “You mean film scores?” you asked confusedly. “I listen to those when I need to really concentrate.” You could feel Morgan looking at you as you focused on the road, and you spared a glance at him as you got onto the exit that would take you to I-40. He didn’t look satisfied. “ I grew up with a diverse music interest. Why? What do you listen to?” Morgan shrugged. “Honestly, most of the time I’m listening to whatever the guys are playing in the locker room. It’s usually some kind of rap or something upbeat, so I like it a little more chill at home.” 

They drove in peaceful silence for most of the ride, only speaking for her to request a song change or for Morgan to ask a random question about Wilmington or crack a joke. It was nice, a pleasant change from her usual drives alone. The drive was fast, mostly due to a general lack of traffic, though that was probably because it was almost one in the morning and most people were in bed or at a bar. About halfway through the drive they switched over to country, and Morgan made her laugh with an exaggerated country accent as he sang along. Listening to a canadian try to imitate a southern accent was almost as bad as listening to a southerner do a Boston accent, and Y/N tried convincing him to never do that again. 

They hit Wilmington suddenly, and Y/N was shocked at how quickly the drive had gone by. She took on the tone of a tour guide as they drove along the familiar WIlmington streets, pointing out places that meant a lot to her during her four years in the town. “I wish we had come a little bit earlier. There’s this taco place I loved that I haven’t had in forever. I used to eat there almost every week. The queso is incredible.” Morgan jumped in before she could say anything else. “I thought you said you were lactose intolerant?” Y/N smiled, taking a deep breath as they drove over the bridge onto Wrightsville Beach. “I am, but Islands is so worth it.” The smell of salty ocean filled the air as they drove past the condos and vacation rentals that made up a majority of that side of the island. 

They hit the tip of the island quickly, and Y/N smiled as she pulled into the parking lot of her favorite beach access. She had barely put the car in park before she was jumping out, shoes left in the floorboard. Morgan caught up with her at the waterline, where her feet were already in the surf and she was taking deep breaths of the ocean air. “You weren’t kidding when you said you like the ocean, eh?” Y/N smiled at him, shaking her head. “This is my go-to escape. There’s nothing quite like the ocean air.” She turned and began walking along the water, the waves hitting halfway up her shins. Morgan followed alongside her, and their shoulders bumped occasionally. “There’s a spot at the very end of the island up here that’s absolutely beautiful. When the tide comes in, it sits about 2 inches deep on this one part of the beach before it just totally drops off. If we get lucky, we might get to see some bioluminescent plankton.” She could see Morgan looking at her confused, so she explained before he could ask. “They’re these things in the water that glow in the dark. It’s wicked cool, and you can only see them at the two tips of the island.” He nodded. 

They made it to the tip of the island after about 20 minutes of walking, and it was one of the most fun beach trips she’d made in a while. It was nice to come alone and enjoy the silence, but she’d forgotten how nice it was to walk and have someone to talk to. Morgan had asked her questions about her life, and her time in Wilmington, and just about everything else. In return, she’d learned a little bit more about him. It was one of the most effortless conversations she could remember having in a long time. 

“So we’re working baseball, and one of my coworkers knows basically nothing. It starts when she says ‘sweep’. We were all like Sam, no! So then, a little while later, she says ‘guys I’m feeling extras today,’” Y/N retold animatedly. “No!” Morgan exclaimed, his eyes lighting up with disbelief. “Yes! And then we go to fourteen innings and lose!” She laughed. “We never let her live that down. We were still telling new hires about it two years later when I graduated. They might still be telling people, honestly.” Morgan laughed as she spoke, listening intently to every word. “So did you like your job?” Y/N nodded. “Yeah. I mean I got paid to do physical labor and watch sports. It was the ideal college job, honestly.” Morgan nodded in agreement. 

Y/N reached into the water with her hand, shaking it quickly to splash the water around. Bits of glowing blue appeared around her hand, and she looked up to see Morgan looking down in amazement. “These are the bioluminescent plankton.” He pulled out his phone quickly, recording the flashing blue surrounding her hand. “Are they harmful?” He asked. “No,” she responded, standing and drying off her hand. “They’re just really cool ocean creatures.” 

They moved up the beach together, out of the surf and into dry sand. Y/N flopped down, laying back to look at the stars. It was dark enough here to see some of the constellations, and she smiled up at them contentedly. Morgan sank down next to her, laying back with his hands behind his head. “This is nice,” he said quietly. “Thanks for letting me join you.” Y/N held out a fist for him to bump. “Thanks for joining me. It’s been fun.” Morgan touched his fist with hers and then draped his arm across his chest. “So I noticed you fist bump a lot. There any reason for that?” 

“I’m a hugger,” Y/N explained, chuckling softly. “I know most people aren’t, so I get the physical contact through fist bumps, which most people don’t mind.” Morgan turned his head from the stars to her face, searching it. “If you need a hug, you just need to ask. I like hugs.” She smiled at him, starting to nod until she felt the sand scratch her cheek. “Thanks, Morgan. I appreciate that.” They stayed like that for a while, alternating between looking at each other and the stars as they talked about nothing until Morgan checked his phone. “It’s almost six am,” he said, sounding surprised. Y/N sat up slightly, squinting at the phone screen he was displaying for her. “Well damn,” she said, standing. “You don’t have morning skate, do you?” Morgan followed suit, dusting off his legs as he responded. “No, we have the day off. We travel to Nashville tomorrow morning.” They began walking back in the direction they came. Two and a half hours. They had laid there and talked for almost two and a half hours. 

“So I’ve been wanting to ask, and feel free to not answer this if it feels too personal, but do you get really anxious like earlier a lot?” Y/N could tell that he didn’t ask out of anything but concern, and it confirmed what she’d already suspected; he’d read her like a book. “Only when I get really stressed out. I have these periods of insomnia that are sometimes marked by enough anxiety that I need to drive to calm down. I usually go for drives around the city, but sometimes I drive out here if it’s really bad.” Morgan stopped her with a hand on her arm, looking into her eyes seriously. “Did I trigger this round? Is having me in your apartment too stressful?” Y/N grabbed his free hand tightly. “No! No, it’s not your fault. I just have a lot going on in my classroom, and I’m almost finished with my Masters. It felt like too much this week, but you’re fine. You definitely aren’t part of the problem.” Morgan looked into her eyes for another few seconds, and was apparently satisfied with whatever he saw there. “Do you want to talk about what’s going on in your classroom?” 

She sighed and began to walk again. “I can’t tell you much, just because it’s about my students, but I’ve had to call CPS a few times already regarding one of my students and they’re basically just ignoring my concerns. If it was a minor issue I wouldn’t be so stressed, but I’m seriously concerned about the safety of this student and I can’t do anything but keep making reports.” Morgan listened intently to everything she said, nodding along. “That sucks, Y/N,” he said, gently throwing an arm across your shoulders. She sunk into the half-hug, allowing him to support some of her weight as they walked along the beach. “I’m hoping they’ll have to respond if I make enough reports, but I’m not holding my breath.” She took a deep breath, and tried to push the issue from her brain for now. That was an issue for Monday. “So since it’s already almost six, do you want to get breakfast at this local coffee chain when they open? They open at six, and they have great coffee and even better breakfast sandwiches.” Morgan nodded, distracted by something on the skyline. The sun was coming up, and the line right along the water was already a brilliant orange.

They walked in silence for a little while, watching the sun slowly rise over the water. Morgan was still quiet when they made it to Port City Java, and he only spoke again when he had taken his first sip of coffee. “How do you do it?” He asked suddenly. Y/N put down her sandwich, lifting an eyebrow at him confusedly. “Do what?” He gestured out into the distance. “Teach kids. Watch them get hurt and only be able to make reports. Hamilton told me about the school that you teach at. How do you teach those kids and know that a lot of them won’t graduate, won’t go to college?” Y/N paused to think about her response before she spoke. “I do it because I look at those kids and I see a lot of hope. They want to learn. A lot of them come to school already behind because they don’t have access to preschool, and the state has already given up on them because they’re in public school, but they still care. They still try unbelievably hard to catch up. My coworkers and I joke that North Carolina hates teachers, but really?” She gestured with her hands, pointing at everything and nothing. “They just hate public education. They put their kids in private and charter schools. They don’t care what happens to the kids in public ed as long as the press doesn’t say anything.” Y/N sighed, shrugging her shoulders. “I love those kids. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, but it kills me to see the system working against them. I know the statistics. I know what will happen to most of them, but I can’t help but hope that I can help at least one of them beat what the stats say.” Morgan stared at her as she finished talking, long enough that she started to feel a little uncomfortable. Finally he reached out a hand, gripping one of hers. “I think you’ve definitely found the right profession.” He smiled at her, and she couldn’t help but smile back.

[ericsonclan]

Peppered With Stupidity

Summary: Mitch tries to show off by eating the world's hottest pepper.

Word Count: 2000

Read on AO3:

Mitch shuffled the bag in his hand as he tried to open the front door. Once he felt the doorknob he tightened his grip and tossed open the door to his apartment. Strolling in he used his leg to kick the door closed before tossing the bag onto the table. The bag fell onto the table with a light thud, causing the contents to bounce and spill out. Deep red peppers rolled out, spinning around on the surface then stopping in place. Even from this distance Mitch could see the bumpy, gnarly texture of the peppers.

Mitch smiled down at the hot peppers, pride swelling within his chest at the sight. It had taken him over three months but he had done it. He had grown the world’s hottest peppers, Carolina reapers, known to have been so hot they burned a hole through someone’s stomach. At least that’s what the rumors said. But that didn’t lessen Mitch’s resolve.

If anything, it strengthened it. Moving into the kitchen, Mitch washed his hands to get any lasting hot pepper oils off his fingers before glancing at his watch. It was nearing 10 AM. Too early to call any of his friends who would give a shit about his accomplishments. Mitch felt his frown deepen as he leaned against the counter. He really wanted to invite someone over to see his great feat, but everyone was busy. It was a school day too which meant Willy was at school.

Damn it, Mitch glared at the peppers. His little brother would lose his mind if he saw Mitch demolish a Carolina Reaper. He could always wait until after school but he had a repair job at noon and then another at two. Which would make it even later until he could flex his heat tolerance. Mitch tilted his head back and let out a long, annoyed groan. This fucking sucks. It’s no fun if there’s no one to watch. Mitch was about to go over and put away the peppers when he heard his doorbell ring. Walking over to the door, he swung it open and was pleasantly surprised to see his girlfriend standing there.

“Good morning, Mitch,” Brody’s gentle smile made Mitch’s heart do a small flip.

“Hey, Brody,” He smiled at her and leaned against the doorway. “What brings you here?”

“Well, my shift doesn’t start till eleven so I figured I’d surprise you and drop by for breakfast.” Brody swayed back and forth, her arms tucked behind her back.

“Sure, sounds awesome,” Mitch kicked himself off the doorway and moved back to let Brody in.

Brody walked in, shutting the door behind her. Mitch walked forward when a sudden thought made him stop in his tracks. His eyes wandered over to the bag of hot peppers that were still sprawled out across the table.

“Brody!” Mitch spun around, surprising his girlfriend.

“What?”

“There’s something I need you to see. Just follow me,” Mitch grabbed her hand and guided her over to a chair at the table. Brody sat down cautiously, her eyes traveling over to the bag.

“What’s so important that I need to see it?”

“I’m gonna eat the world’s hottest pepper,” Mitch cracked his neck and sat down in a chair across from his girlfriend.

Brody’s eyes grew large as she looked between the bag and her boyfriend. “Mitch, I don’t think that’s such a good idea….”

“You’re right, Brody. It’s a fucking great idea!” Mitch grabbed up a pepper and lifted it to his mouth. “I’m gonna prove that I’m not a wimp.”

“Mitch, wait!” Brody’s warning did nothing to stop him though. Mitch took a huge bite at the end of the pepper, a huge smirk on his face as he chewed. It quickly dissolved when the heat started to hit him. It felt like a furnace in his mouth. Every inch of it burned with spicy, hot pain. Mitch’s face twisted in agony, causing Brody to jump up from her spot.

“Mitch! I’ll grab some milk!” Brody slid across the floor and grabbed the fridge’s door handle.

“No!” Mitch shook his head. “This is nothing. I can totally eat this whole thing! I’ll prove that my stomach isn’t shit and won’t crap out and get a hole from eating this!”

Brody slammed the fridge shut. “These peppers burn a hole through your stomach?!”

“That’s what won’t happen,” Mitch took a deep breath and tossed the rest of the pepper in his mouth. His eyes were watering as he slammed his fist on the table. His brow was laden with sweat and he was starting to shake. “That’s one! I bet I can eat way more!”

Mitch reached for another but it was soon smacked out his hand as Brody held the sides of his mouth and forced his mouth open. Twisting off the cap of the milk carton, she tilted it making a waterfall of milk to cascade into Mitch’s mouth. After a little while she stopped, giving her boyfriend a minute to catch his breath. But within seconds it was clear that milk had done nothing. Mitch was now on the ground, covered in milk and clutching his stomach in pain. This was way worse than he thought it would be.

------

It was a quiet day at Ericson’s Diner. Not many customers were showing up around the end of the breakfast hours which was a blessing for Clementine since she was missing one of the waitresses who was supposed to be on her shift. Clementine walked over to the table, handing the customers their boxed leftovers and taking the remaining plate that lay on the corner of the table. She was beginning to worry if something had happened to Brody. She never missed a shift and any time she was sick she always called in or texted one of the owners to let them know she wouldn’t make it.

Clem was so caught up in her thoughts that she almost didn’t notice when Louis walked out of the break room. The couple nearly collided with each other but with their quick reflexes they were able to not cause a mess.

“Whoa! Sorry, Louis.” Clementine flashed an apologetic smile as she pushed back a strand of hair.

“It’s no big deal. Looks like we dodged the true tragedy of sloppy leftovers.” He motioned over to the plate that had belonged to a kid that had less than stellar table manners.

“Yeah,” Clementine smiled up at her boyfriend. “Hey, Brody didn’t say anything about taking a day off or being sick, right?” “No, why?” Louis tilted his head, making his dreadlocks bounce slightly.

“Well, she didn’t show up for her shift today and it’s really unlike her.”

“Huh, that’s weird.” Louis dug his hand in his pocket and rummaged around for his phone. “I’ll give her a quick call.”

Dialing Brody’s number, Louis put the phone to his ear. The slow dial tone played out once, twice, three times before Brody picked it up.

“H-hello?” Brody’s worried voice came through the phone.

“Hey, Bro. You didn’t show up for work today. Just wanted to check if everything was okay.”

“Louis, I… I can’t talk right now. I’m driving to the hospital.”

Those words made Louis’ grip on his phone tighten. “Hospital?” Clementine’s eyes shot up at that word, a look of concern etched deeply on her face.

“Yeah, Mitch was being a dumbass and…. Shit!” A faint car horn could be heard in the background. “I’ll tell you later!” Brody yelled and hung up the phone. Louis and Clementine shared a worried look. They hoped their friends were okay.

-----

Luckily Richmond Memorial Hospital wasn’t a far drive away. Unfortunately for them traffic had been crazy, making the usual short drive much longer. As soon as they got there Brody got Mitch checked into emergency care. Mitch was guided to a small hospital bed to lie down on while he waited for a doctor. Brody sat in a chair beside him, holding his hand.

“You know you’re the biggest idiot, right?’ Brody looked at her boyfriend who was still in quite a bit of pain.

“Hey, I ate the world’s hottest pepper - that’s pretty badass.”

“It was pretty stupid. What if that pepper really did burn a hole in your stomach?” Brody huffed.

“I….” Mitch hissed when pain shot through his stomach anew.

“Mitch!” Brody’s hand on his tightened.

“I’m fine,” Mitch forced a smile. “This is nothing.” Brody was about to comment when a doctor strolled in.

“What seems to be the issue here?’ The doctor looked at Mitch’s clipboard.

“I ate a pepper.” Mitch mumbled.

“The world’s hottest pepper. Like a dumbass.” Brody glared at Mitch who wanted to say something in response but felt it better to stay quiet.

“A Carolina Reaper. Those suckers can cause some real damage.” The doctor glanced over at Brody’s worried expression. “But only if eaten in larger quantities. He should be fine. He’ll just be in pain for a few hours. May have some stomach troubles but with rest and some medicine he’ll be fine.”

Brody let out a sigh of relief, her shoulders relaxing as she smiled up at the doctor. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem. I’ll tell the front desk and they’ll get the prescription for you.” The doctor smiled then left the room, leaving the couple alone.

“See? It was no big deal,” Mitch smiled over at Brody only to be met with another glare.

“That was really stupid of you. You know that, right?”

Mitch searched Brody’s face for a second and saw the worry in her eyes. “Yeah,” His face fell. “I was being a huge dumbass.” He grabbed his stomach when he felt another surge of pain. “When the doc said stomach problems, I sure hope he meant just bad stomach pain. Not - I don’t know - explosive shit.”

“Well, it would be karma if you did get it,” Brody leaned back in her chair with her arms crossed.

“Yeah, yeah.” Mitch frowned. His frown lessened when he felt Brody’s hand grab his.

“I’m just glad you’re okay.” Brody whispered.

“Me too. I’m sorry for making you worry.” Mitch’s tone made it clear he was being genuine.

“You promise you won’t try something like this again?” Brody locked eyes with her boyfriend.

“I promise.”

Brody immediately brightened up at that. Leaning forward, she planted a quick kiss on Mitch’s cheek. Mitch’s face grew hotter and seizing the opportunity he cupped the side of Brody’s face and captured her lips in a kiss. It only lasted for a second though. Brody pulled away, her eyes blinking quickly.

“Mitch, your lips are really hot.”

“Yeah, they are,” Mitch smirked over at his girlfriend.

“No, you had some of the hot pepper’s oil on them.”

Mitch’s eyes grew large. “Oh shit! Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” Brody reassured, even though she was waving her hand in front of her mouth and still blinking rapidly. “I’m gonna make some calls to let the others know you’re okay.” Brody paused when Mitch keeled over with another shot of pain. “I’ll let your work know you can't make it.” With that she stepped out of the room and made a few calls. Mitch looked around the room, already bored with no company. There wasn’t really much to do but wait. It wasn’t long before Brody returned to the room.

“Alright, that’s all done. How about we grab the medicine and head back to your place for a bit?” “Sounds good,” Mitch took a deep breath as he rose to his feet. “I got some Rocky Road ice cream in the fridge, I think.”

“Okay, sounds like a plan,” Brody held Mitch’s hand as they walked to the front desk. The couple walked side by side, discussing what movie to watch when they got there, hoping to make the next few hours fly by as quickly as they could and make the most out of an idiotic decision.

[roseonhissleeve]

yellow // chapter one

Part ONE

The rain was pouring.

It was the kind of rainfall that you felt in your bones— the kind that made you squint to try to make sense of what's two feet in front of you, and suddenly you’ve forgotten what sunlight looks like and what it feels to be dry.

Ollie loved it.

The streaks of color in her dark brown locks radiated through the mist that formed as droplets hit the ground. She sat on a patch of grass, tugging a blade between her fingertips as the raindrops fell upon her— they dripped down from the top of her head to the back of her neck, all the way down her body. Her eyes closed, and she smiled.

The second the rain started, the families and children that were playing in the park ran to find shelter nearby. But Ollie wasn’t like that— she didn’t run. She relished in it. 

It made her think of home, where it barely rained but when it did...god, it was a downpour.

She used to dance in her grandmother’s front porch whenever the rain would start. And she’d always be able to feel it— the humid air would always warn her and let her know that there was a storm coming. She could practically smell it. As soon as it started pouring she would look at her mother, asking for permission. Her mother would smile with a nod, and Ollie knew that she was free. She would dance in the rain for hours on end, twirling and slipping and falling only to get back up again.

If anyone asked her what her favorite childhood memory was, that would be it.

So there she was, sitting in the field of grass in the warm California downpour. 

She sat with her legs criss-crossed as if she was in Kindergarten again— her bright yellow dress was the exact same color as the Doc Martens on her feet, the ones that were scuffed and stained and almost three years old, but she never took them off.

She waited for the rain to end, and it did eventually, as all things must— it fizzled out with one last breath.

Ollie stood and shook her dress, which was now muddy and soaking wet. She picked her hair up into a loose bun and held it in place with the black hair elastic that had a permanent place on her wrist, and just like that, she was good to go.

As she walked towards where she’d parked her car, people started to stare— whether it was because of the rainbow of colors she had in her hair or the careless mud stains on the dress that covered her dripping wet body, she’d never know, nor did she care. She was used to the inquisitive gazes, she was used to people who claimed to care but really just wanted a good story to tell. She lived her life unapologetically, and that’s the way she liked it.

“Hello, beautiful,” she sighed happily as she approached her car: a bright yellow Volkswagen Beetle named Elle. She grabbed her car keys from the pocket in her dress and popped the trunk of the car where she kept her wardrobe— she grabbed the first thing that she saw: a pair of overalls and a bright purple t-shirt to go with it. Satisfied, she closed the trunk and slid into the driver’s seat, sticking the key into the ignition.

She was welcomed by the sounds of Train’s Drops of Jupiter as she slid on her yellow sunglasses, and singing loudly with the music, she began to drive.

*

The bell chimed above the front entrance to Angel’s diner as Ollie swung it open. Wearing a her fresh pair of overalls, she waltzed into the diner with her guitar slung across her back— her gaze fixated on the usual booth that she occupied when she came to Angel’s, and she immediately nabbed a seat at the table, opening a menu with her guitar right beside her.

“Oliviaaaaaa!”

Ollie glanced up from her menu and laid eyes on one of her closest friends— her bright blue eyes were all the welcome she needed after coming home from such a long trip.

"Lou!” Ollie squealed, leaping out of the booth and nearly knocking over a small pitcher of syrup. She beamed, practically running over and leaping into her best friend’s arms— Lou wrapped her arms around Ollie and gave her a squeeze.

“Hey, ugly,” Lou snickered tenderly, swinging Ollie side to side. Ollie released Lou from her grasp and flicked her long (very wet) hair behind her shoulder. She slid into her signature booth, glancing up at Lou who was standing at the end of the table with an "Angel's" apron worn proudly over her chest.

“Don’t tell me you were hanging around in the rain this morning,” Lou asked, handing Ollie a menu, “You’re going to catch a cold.”

“Guilty as charged,” Ollie grinned, reaching across the table to grab it as she practically bounced up and down out of her seat. “Friend, I’ve missed you! How are you? How have you been? How is school?!”

“I’m fine!” Lou chuckled. “Back at school, but I’ve only been there for like a week so I don’t really know what to make of it yet. I have to give a presentation in one of my classes though, which’ll be brutal because— ”

“Stagefright,” they both said simultaneously, Ollie smiling fondly as she nodded her head in understanding.

“We can’t all be performers. Don’t know how you do it." Lou sighed.

"What should I get today?"

“Doesn’t matter what I say, you’re gonna order the opposite,” Lou snorted, shaking her head.

“You’re not wrong,” Ollie replied cheekily.

“Of course I’m not,” Lou said. “Because I, your bestest, longest friend know everything about you.”

“You’re fucking scary, is what you are." Ollie rolled her eyes playfully.

Lou was quite possibly Ollie's favorite woman. Having gone to school for three university degrees and graduated with honors for all of them, Lou had eventually decided that what made her happy was to work at the diner— it had been three years since Ollie met her one night, when she was downing coffees at two in the morning trying to crank out a song. Lou had been a part-time student ever since.

“Where’ve you been this time? Florida? Washington? New York?” Lou grinned as she poured coffee into the mug on the table. "We missed you. What’ll we have? Scrambled eggs with a stack of pancakes and whole wheat toast?”

“I’m in love with you,” Ollie stated, grinning as she handed over her menu.

“So where was it this time?” Lou grinned.

“New York City,” Ollie announced proudly, tearing open not one, not two, but three packets of sugar and dumping the contents into her cup of coffee. “I spent about five days writing and playing and then headed straight back here. Stopped by a few places on the way, of course— I needed to eat and make some gas money. I’m sorry I didn’t call you, I couldn’t spare the change for the payphone.”

“That’s why I give you change every time you leave, dumbass,” Lou snorted, “So I can know you’re living and breathing.”

“Someone needed it more than I did,” Ollie stated simply, drowning her coffee in a river of cream. By the time she was done with it it looked more like milk than anything else, but she drank it happily.

“You need it, Ollie,” Lou sighed, tucking the menu underneath her arm. “You’re broke, you need it.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Ollie smiled reassuringly. “I promise, I’ve got everything I need.

***

Ollie straightened the straps of her overalls as she stepped out of her car, shoving her keys into the depths of her pocket. She was humming some Ed Sheeran as she reached up, tugging the ponytail out of her hair so that her unruly locks came loose. She opened the back door of the car to grab the pale brown guitar that awaited her, slinging it over her shoulder so that it rested across her back.

She skipped across the parking lot and into the establishment, careful not to slam her guitar against any doors. The bar was dimly lit and had an oddly cozy feel to it, like coming back home at the end of a rainy day. It was already packed even though it was barely eight p.m., proof that it was in fact Saturday night.

“What can I get for you, my friend?” The bartender asked her from behind the bar, inviting her to have a seat. She obliged, setting her guitar down against the seat beside hers as she hopped up onto the barstool.

“Just a Coke for me right now, please,” she smiled brightly, propping her elbows up on the counter as she swung her legs lightly.

“A performer, are you?” He smiled, grabbing a cup from behind the counter and filling it up with ice. His hair was a sandy blond color that reminded her of the way the drinks her coffee. His eyes looked brown under the lights of the bar and he was in that awkward handful of people that could easily be either nineteen or twenty-seven. His smile was uneven, like a small child who’s just eaten too much Halloween candy.

“Yessir,” Ollie replied, lowering her hands onto the countertop and tapping her fingers gently to the tune of the music on the speakers.

“You don’t look like the usual people who come play here,” he continued, setting the drink in front of her and leaning against the counter, now committing to a full-fledged conversation.

“What kind of people usually play here?” She chuckled, taking a sip of her drink and crinkling her nose at the bubbles running down her throat.

“People who look cool.” He smirked. Ollie arched a brow slightly as she set her cup down on the counter, leaning into the conversation as she smiled. She looked into his eyes and paused, realizing that he most definitely thought what he was doing could be classified as flirting. He definitely had to be on the younger side of twenty-one. “You look like a quirky mess, like you just stepped out of a hipster sitcom.”

“Maybe I did,” she concluded, leaning back to take another sip of her drink before hopping off of the barstool. She reached to grab her drink with her free hand, speaking to the bartender one more time. “Stop worrying about being so cool, buddy. It isn’t sexy.”

She picked Luna up and carried her over to the far side of the bar without looking back, taking a seat at a table next to the stage as she began to strum quietly.

This was her happy place.

***

“This is all wrong,” Louis groaned, toppling down onto the seat in front of the recording panel.

Liam sighed as he dragged his palm across his face with irritation, leaning against the wall near the corner of the room. The four of them had been having the same dilemmas for about three weeks now— little things, like how the lyrics weren’t meshing or the music didn’t match what they envisioned. He had to admit that when he had received the email asking if the band would want to get back together, he didn’t think it would be this hard.

Harry huffed softly from the couch he was splayed across, his oversized sweatshirt making him seem a lot smaller than he really is. His arm was draped across his face so that his nose was tucked in the crook of his elbow, and his eyes were closed. Niall had his eyes closed as well, gently plucking a melody on the guitar that the four of them had been trying to work on all evening— Louis was staring at the ground, tapping on his knees, his impatience getting the best of him.

“Listen, lads, s’fine, we just need a break,” Liam said, not completely convinced, but trying to stay positive. “Let’s call it for today, and we’ll come back tomorrrow and regroup.”

“Okay,” said Niall, opening his eyes to flash Liam a small, hopeful smile.

“Sounds good,” Harry said from his spot on the couch, barely moving.

Liam lifted a hand in the air with a quick thumbs up before grabbing his phone and wallet off the table in the middle of the room, spinning on his heels to walk out into the hallway.

They’d been tucked away in this recording studio in California for the past few weeks, trying to come together and figure out what their next steps were. It was a small space with only the single booth and not nearly enough room for more than one group to record at once, but it was perfect for them— private, isolated, and not crazy publicized. It was right next door to a dive bar which they constantly told each other they’d one day visit.

The first day they’d reunited, it had been a blast— they spent all day dancing and fooling around in the booth, playing their old favorites and jamming out to some of their solo stuff. They loved being back together, and you could feel it in the room.

But after the initial excitement wore off and it was time to get down to business, they realized that they weren’t used to this anymore— it had been a handful of years since they had to tailor their musical styles to the tastes of three other people, and they were finding it difficult. Lyrics would come together slowly, and they found themselves writing songs that sounded like copies of the old stuff they’d done. They were musically blocked.

The second he walked out onto the street, he was practically drenched. The rain was pouring down onto the sidewalk without remorse, and he shoved his items into the pocket of his sweater as he ran into the first place he saw— the bar above the studio, a bright neon sign flashing on and off.

He walked in and took a seat immediately at a free table near the back of the establishment, a “please seat yourself” sing hanging proudly by the door. He slid up the hood of his sweater and pulled out his phone, glancing around every now and then. The bar was filled with mostly middle-aged adults who had stopped there on their way home from work and errands, no doubt, with the exception of one table near the front of the stage that was occupied by a handful of teenagers.

It smelled of beer and dust and fifty year old cologne, and it all somehow worked— the dim lights had the sole purpose of hiding the slight cracks in the walls, and the brown paint reminded him of a campfire. The place was the manifestation of a shot of whiskey running down your throat— warm, lingering, and unapologetic.

Liam cleared his throat as he settled into his seat, scrolling through his Twitter feed and occasionally liking or replying to a cheeky tweet that he enjoyed. Within twenty minutes he was halfway through his beer, and he was already feeling more optimistic.

She was onstage when he first saw her.

The first thing that caught his attention were the five colors in her hair: pastel purple, blue, pink, orange and green had all been colored into her locks, and he immediately knew she wasn’t afraid of attention. They shone brightly under the stage lights, like fireflies in a pitch black cave.

When Liam saw Ollie, he knew that he had found the missing puzzle piece that he so desperately needed. He didn’t know how to describe it— the moment she got up on that stage and started singing, all that he could watch was her.

She was sitting onstage, guitar in her hand as she plucked the melody. It was effortlessly simple and breathtakingly complex at the same time, and it made all of the tunes that had been running through his head that day seem absolutely amateurish.

And then she sang.

Her voice was different, unlike any of the other voices that were out there— there was a tone to it that reminded him of shooting stars and volcanoes, along with the crackling of a dying ember at the end of a blazing fire. It was quiet and loud, fierce and serendipitous, shy and unapologetic— it was every single melody that he’d ever heard wrapped into one single note that shook him to the core and made him remember why he fell in love with music in the first place.

And she was here, in a dive bar in LA, singing Bob Dylan as effortlessly as a breath of air.

Liam watched her as she performed the rest of her setlist— it was a collection of what he could only assume were her favorite songs as well as a few originals she threw in here and there, every song bringing something different to the table. He had completely forgotten that he was supposed to have gone back home an hour ago.

“Thank you,” her voice resonated through the half-hearted applause of the crowd. It seemed like Liam was the only one who saw the untameable stage presence that there was to this girl— everybody else was more than content to return to their dates (or their drinks) and live their lives.

She flashed one last smile before standing up off of her stool, her guitar still slung across her neck. Liam watched as she knelt down to unhook her guitar from the speaker and walked offstage, straight in the direction of the bar.

He had to speak with her.

When he approached her he noticed a few things about her— she was drinking a glass of water, even though she could get free drinks for performing. She kept her guitar by her side at all times, as if it was a safety net. Her hair was a lot longer offstage than it seemed like when she was onstage, almost reaching her hips and curling at the bottom. It was a bit frizzy from the humidity, but if it bothered her she certainly didn’t show it. She was bent over a notepad, staring at the page and making occasional scribbles in the margins.

When he sat down beside her, she didn’t bother looking up at him at all. And Liam Payne wasn’t a narcissist by any means, but he wasn’t used to not being noticed when he wanted to be. He noticed that there was a necklace dangling from her neck with something that seemed to be engraved upon it, and he leaned forward slightly and squinted to get a closer look.

“You know, if you wanted to get a look at my tits you could at least offer to buy me a drink.”

Liam almost fell out of his chair.

“I, um— sorry, I— it’s not what it…I was trying to get a look at your necklace,” he explained, face bright red with embarrassment.

“I was joking,” she snickered, setting her purple pen down on the notebook and turning to look at him properly.

She looked different up close— her tan skin wasn’t reflected under the harsh stage lights anymore, and it was now a shade of brown, like the color of coffee after you’ve added three creams and three sugars. Her eyes were a dark brown as well, but moreso a shade of dark chocolate, and there was a light scar that sat on her top lip and went about three centimeters upwards.

“Hey, Romeo,” she interrupted his thoughts, waving a hand in his face. “Are you gonna introduce yourself, because you’re getting closer to a level ten stalker by the second.”

“I’m Liam,” he choked out, wondering if he should offer her his hand to shake. Before he could she took it, giving it a soft squeeze as they shook hands.

“I know who you are, I’m just messing with ya. Keeping you down to Earth and all,” she grinned, releasing his hand while simultaneously tucking her pen behind one of her earlobes. “I’m Ollie. Olivia. You wrote a song about me and all— although I think it was Harold who wrote that one, no? It’s a total bop though, I should thank you for that, there was a severe shortage of cool Olivia songs before you guys came along. Iloveyouiloveyouiloveiloveiloveolivia.”

“I’m glad you like it,” he laughed, relaxing a tad once he established that she didn’t think he was there to jump her.

“Love it,” she grinned, her fingers drumming against the countertop. “What brings you to this shithole, Liam?”

“Writer’s block,” he admitted, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. “Songwriter’s block, I guess. I’m stuck. You ever get that?”

“Honey, my entire life is one big shitstorm of a block. But can I tell you something?” Her eyes twinkled.

“What?”

“Writer’s block is just the way that your brain tells you you’ve been doing the same damn thing for way too long,” she confesses, taking a sip of her water afterwards. Liam nodded his head in understanding— yeah, that makes sense he thought to himself, wondering how this woman he met on a whim somehow seemed like she knew the secrets to the universe.

“I like your guitar,” he said.

Ollie had saved up for exactly three years to buy her guitar.

Three years of waiting tables and babysitting up to five kids at a time, three years of tallying up her tips and obsessively checking her banking account to see if she had enough. It was the second guitar she’d ever owned, the first guitar she’d ever bought herself, and the absolute love of her life. It had a bright purple strap that matched the streaks in her hair, and there were stickers on the back of it that Liam couldn’t make out from where he was sitting.

“Thanks,” she grinned. “Her name’s Luna.”

“As in the moon?” He asked, smiling.

“Bingo! Look at you, all cultured with your knowledge of Spanish,” she nodded with approval, playing with the necklace that hung across her chest.

“I don’t know a lot, don’t expect too much of me,” he chuckled, and just like that, they were best friends.

They sat and talked for quite some time— mostly about music, and the performance that she had given that night. Liam praised her endlessly and she accepted gracefully, admitting that it wasn’t her first time on a stage, but he would soon find out all about that.

When last call at the bar rolled around Ollie decided to tap out for the night, and Liam offered to walk her out. She accepted, slinging her guitar in front of her and playing a simple riff as they walked out the front door.

She drove a big yellow punch buggy. It had a few dents in it here and there and one of the handles only opened when you jiggled it first, but it was hers and otherwise in perfect condition.

“Thanks for the talk, and for not trying to get a sneak peek of my boobs again,” she teased, grinning as she opened the back door and slid her guitar inside. Liam caught sight of a few bags in the backseat and several pillows, although he didn’t think much of it at the time.

“Thanks for not pummelling me into the ground like I thought you were going to at first,” he admitted, grinning as he looked down at her. She was only about five foot three, about seven inches shorter than he was.

“Anytime, buggaboo,” she patted his arm, opening her driver door and shutting it behind her immediately. Liam walked up to the window and leaned in to talk to her again, smiling.

“You have any plans for tomorrow?” He asked, hope building up in his chest.

“I could make some time for you,” she grinned. She plucked her purple pen from behind her earlobe and handed it to him, reaching her arm out of the car and turning it upwards. “Gimme your number.”

He almost laughed at how middle school it all was, but he obliged and scribbled his cell number on her arm in her pen, checking it three times to make sure it was the right one before handing it back to her.

“There…talk to you soon, Ollie,” he said, taking a step away from the car.

“See you around, Payno,” she gave him a quick salute before shifting her car into drive, and before he knew it she was speeding off down the road, playing a particularly loud McFly sound at top volume.

She never would have guessed what would become of that night.

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[your-worst-knightmare]

Red: Pt. 5

Paperwork, paperwork, paperwork. I’d burn it all if I could. But if I want to get out of here, it’s necessary. That, and another small thing. Docs want to try a new type of therapy. They said that if it worked, I’d be able to get out of their care much faster. Of course, I said yes. A win-win deal, am I right?

Wrong. I’m not sure if the docs here are so sane themselves. Because therapy is not synonymous with agony. Look it up in the thesaurus. Before Louis brings me to the therapy room, he tells me that this is supposed to be an experiment. They honestly don’t know what it’ll do to me. And since I’m a convicted criminal, I’m the perfect one to test it on. 

Today’s another therapy day. A crossroads day, as the doctors would say. Depending on what happens, this may or may not be the last session. I don’t get my hopes up. Life doesn’t usually give me luck.

I shiver as a faceless doctor pushes me against the chair. Why, is it so damn cold? They attach electrodes to my forehead and I take a deep breath, preparing myself. Last time it was some sort of gas. The time before that was a kind of pill that wouldn’t let me sleep for the next week. I don’t even remember the first session beyond the ringing in my ears. I’m not particularly excited to see what the docs have cooked up this time. 

Studying the back of my hands in an attempt to distract myself, my eyes trail to the angry red blisters on my wrists. Red, like –no, no, think of something else. Anything. I look to the ceiling, searching for something to think about. Stars. Good, Jason, keep going. Stars littering the sky like–

I blink, seeing stars myself. I barely feel the pinprick of the needle. I do feel the gnawing cold. That and a rush of something incomprehensible. Something ice-cold and white-hot assaults my senses and I choke down a yelp. Throwing my head against the back of the chair, I wait for the next wave of this untested drug to hit me. My back goes rigid; I hear laughter. 

Maniac, crazed. His. The waves come in rapid succession now, timing with the blows of the crowbar. I can do nothing but try not to let my discomfort show. Gritting my teeth, I try to keep myself from writhing, much less screaming aloud. 

“Oh, birdie, won’t ‘ya sing me a song?” he asks, lilting, lunatic. Grabbing a fistful of my hair, he yanks my face toward him for his own inspection. I spit a glob of blood in his face. 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, this simply won’t do! But don’t worry, I’ve got a solution. Tell me what hurts more; a or b?” The crowbar falls again and I imagine driving it through his chest.

With every blow, it becomes all I can think about, and eventually, I do.

I wake up shaking. I grip the armrests, wild-eyed. For a second, I don’t know where I am. All I taste is blood, and it’s all I can smell too. It’s only until a hand lands on my shoulder do I focus. My first instinct is to knock the sucker out, but my hands are strapped down, wrists rubbed raw again. Thankfully, it’s only Louis. 

“Louis... what–” I can barely choke out the words.

“Hey, Hoodie, calm down. Lemme help you out here, okay?”

I swallow, nodding slightly. 

“I told all the doctors to get out when you came to, so really, drop the mask.” He carefully loosens the straps holding me to the chair. I would have fallen to the floor the minute he undid them if he didn’t catch me. “Woah, Hoodie, easy there.” He eases me back onto the chair to look me over.

I can only imagine what he sees. I feel horrible and I must look even worse. A kid, half-naked and trembling, barely having enough strength to hold himself upright. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, how does that sound?”

Cheap soap and lukewarm water. Louis offered to help me. I declined. I don’t need more of his pity. I grasp the bar on the wall, not trusting my own legs to hold me. My wrists sting as I wash the blood from them, and I let myself wince. As the blood swirls into the drain, I try not to think about what I just saw, albeit it being a nightmarish memory.  

Dragging myself out of the showers, I find Louis quickly. He helps me to my room. I’m too tired to complain. 

“I got some news,” he says, once I’m finally in my room. “The docs like your results from today. They said you could leave as early as tomorrow if you wanted.”

“What about tonight?” I don’t want to spend another second in this place. Plus, I desperately need some of my supplies. I can almost see the waters of the Lazarus, lapping slowly.

“Don’t you want to rest first?”

I shake my head. I couldn’t sleep if I tried. Staring blankly off into space doesn’t equate to rest. 

“Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Louis?” My voice sounds flat and hoarse and weak. I hate it.  Louis nods expectantly. “ Can you pick up some of my stuff for me?”