#but I don’t lump myself with them because that’s untrue for me and I don’t want to encroach on those spaces

[desertdweller]

It’s very interesting how people will label based on their perception of you.

[softnoblecyno]

Bad Reputation (pt. 4)

part 1, part 2, part 3, and finally part 4 (you are here!)

Jaskier/Eskel, ~1.4k, rated T, no warnings

i wrote this for the @thewitcherbog fic train event! my partners are @kueble, @professorjaskier, and @wolf-and-bard! this fic is so wonderful, i loved reading and writing it! thank you so much for reading, i hope you enjoy!

here on ao3

—

“Let me go!” Jaskier yells and squirms, trying to peel Eskel’s arms off his waist. “He deserves it!” Eskel doesn’t budge. He carries Jaskier away from the commotion and gossiping, taking them to a bench on the edge of the Great Hall where there’s less people. Despite how excitedly all of the guests had rushed to watch Jaskier’s fight up close, they now give Eskel a wide berth. They stare at the two friends with wide eyes, their attention split between a witcher they are fearful and curious of, and an apparently revered professor currently held off the ground in the witcher’s arms. Eskel can feel each and every one of the guest’s gazes like needles poking into his skin.

Behind them, Eskel can hear the man that Jaskier jumped raving, “Some professor he is! What if Julian attacked a student like that?” Eskel’s gut churns uncomfortably. Jaskier came here to upkeep his standing with the university and show he’s a good influence. Instead, because of Eskel, he looks… rash. Violent. Why does he care so much about what that man was saying? Turmoil swirls in Eskel’s chest. His grip around Jaskier tightens.

“Eskel! Put me down!” Jaskier shouts again and slaps at Eskel’s arms. He doesn’t hit very hard— Eskel knows he could try harder to get away, or actually hurt him. But he doesn’t. The show of trust would usually make Eskel bashful. Now it makes him… uneasy.

“No.”

People are staring still. Eskel’s shoulders crawl up to his ears. Jaskier struggles for a moment longer and then goes limp, a whine leaving his lips. They reach the bench and Eskel sets Jaskier down before sitting next to him. He glances at Jaskier, chest tight, but Jaskier doesn’t meet his eyes. He’s glaring daggers at the man he attacked, even all the way across the hall.

“Jaskier.”

His friend still doesn’t look at him. 

“I mean, who does Valdo think he is?” Jaskier huffs, unprompted. His usually soft cornflower blue eyes are hardened with rage. Eskel’s heart twists in his chest. “He doesn’t know anything about me, or— or Geralt, and he doesn’t know fuck all about you!” Jaskier stands, rash and twitchy; Eskel lurches forward to catch him, but Jaskier doesn’t rush back to fight. He only paces. It’s more stalking than pacing, back and forth like a caged tiger. His gaze switches between Valdo and the horizon, agitated and erratic. Eskel has never seen Jaskier like this.

“Why would you do that?” Eskel asks, voice tight.

Jaskier finally turns to him, his face stuck in a scowl. “Because! Valdo was saying all these- these resolutely untrue things—”

Eskel cuts him off, shaking his head. “I heard what he said. Why would you attack him? You’re never that aggressive.”

“You’ve never been around me when he’s the topic of conversation, clearly,” Jaskier snorts. “Agh, he just— he always riles me up. It’s like I can’t control myself whenever he’s brought up, and today he was there in person and-”

“Jaskier.” Eskel levels the bard with a serious look, conflicted. “You told me that you’re here to keep up appearances, but you just threw yourself at a man. Why the fuck would you do that?”

Despite the circumstances, Jaskier’s expression softens. Eskel’s heart flutters in his chest. “Isn’t it obvious?” He’s still trying to work out what Jaskier means by that when Jaskier grabs his hand. “I just… Valdo implied that I was only with you because Geralt isn’t here, and then he called you ugly— a blatant lie— and I… I…”

“You attacked him because he pointed out my scars?” Eskel’s scratching at them before he fully realizes he’s doing it.

Jaskier smiles at him fondly. “I hit him because he insulted my close friend, and you don’t deserve that.” Eskel shies away from Jaskier’s gaze, his cheeks warming.

“It’s my fault, then,” Eskel drops Jaskier’s hand, not meeting his eyes. “That your reputation was sullied.”

“What?” Jaskier reels back, then hurriedly sits beside Eskel on the bench. “No, Eskel, of course it’s not your fault—”

Eskel’s thoughts race. His gaze drifts up to the party, and watches the guests dance on the floor, carefree… He stands abruptly, spinning to face Jaskier with a smile. “Let me make it up to you,” he says, offering a hand to Jaskier. A blush rises high on his cheeks, but he fights through it, meeting Jaskier’s gaze unwaveringly. “May I have this dance, Jaskier?”

Jaskier’s eyes go wide. Even through the noise Eskel can hear his heart beat faster.

“To mend your reputation,” Eskel backtracks, forcing down any awkwardness he feels. “Some skillful dancing should impress the university, sway them back in your favor.”

Jaskier seems to break out of whatever stupor he had fallen into. His lips split into a wide grin. He takes Eskel’s hand and stands, fingers sliding into Eskel’s palm.

“Why, of course,” Jaskier purrs playfully. “I could never refuse you.” He leans in close and whispers his next words to Eskel like they’re a secret. “Although, to be honest, I couldn’t care less about my reputation.”

Eskel turns his cheek and doesn’t notice he’s scratching his scars again until Jaskier stops him, his hand curling around Eskel’s wrist. He guides Eskel’s hand to his lips, kissing it gently. Eskel can’t find anything to say, gaze locked on Jaskier’s.

“Come on,” Jaskier says, meeting Eskel’s eyes again with a warm smile. Eskel can’t do anything but nod.

As Jaskier leads them back into the crowd, Eskel becomes stressed. Strangers’ gazes burn into him again. He’s about to tell Jaskier to forget it, to sit down and get the attention off of him but Jaskier stops and faces Eskel. The bard tugs him close with one hand around the back of his neck, pressing them together so that Eskel can feel Jaskier’s chest rise and fall with each breath. Eskel can’t hide the way his breath hitches with the proximity.

“Relax.” Jaskier’s breath washes over Eskel’s skin as he tucks his face into the witcher’s shoulder. “Dancing is supposed to be fun.” He squeezes lightly at Eskel’s hip, rubbing his thumb back and forth.

For a long moment Eskel is frozen in Jaskier’s arms. Then Jaskier starts to hum along with the band, his voice lilting and familiar. Eskel melts, allowing Jaskier to sway them back and forth to the leisurely beat.

They stay together, perfect, for two songs. Jaskier tenses up, then, imperceptible to anyone but a witcher; Eskel is about to ask him what’s wrong when—

“I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable,” Jaskier murmurs, tucked into Eskel’s neck. “I wasn’t trying to. I meant to…” He fumbles over his words, then settles on, “I wanted to protect you, is all.”

Jaskier’s serious demeanor and the way he’s speaking carefully does something strange to Eskel. He doesn’t understand what there is for Jaskier to protect him from, but it obviously matters to Jaskier. Eskel drops his cheek against the top of Jaskier’s head, ignoring the continuing flutter in his chest. He knows what it means, and now isn’t the time for it. There will never be a time for it.

Jaskier goes quiet and loose against Eskel at the contact. Eskel closes his eyes, feeling off-balance. You can’t have this, he reminds himself. “I know,” He says, and he means it.

Eskel expects Jaskier to stay close, but instead he pulls back, tucking a hand behind Eskel’s ear and tilting him so their gazes meet. Eskel’s heart rabbits uncomfortably fast, but he doesn’t dare look away from Jaskier. “I’ll always protect you, Eskel.”

A lump rises in Eskel’s throat. You can’t have this. You don’t get to have this. “I’m a witcher, Jask.” He leans into Jaskier’s hand and as it slides to cup his jaw, and can’t stop his gaze from flicking to Jaskier’s lips. “I don’t need protection.”

“Not from monsters,” Jaskier concedes. Eskel’s eyebrows furrow, but he doesn’t interrupt. “But if I can protect you from rude comments, or— or from any sort of discomfort at all, I will. I will always want you to be happy and safe.”

The world stands still.

That sounds… significant. He can’t pin down exactly why until his eyes wander to Jaskier’s necklace, resting against his chest. The cobalt glass reminds Eskel of how he feels about Jaskier; he brings Jaskier gifts because Jaskier is always on his mind. Always. He wonders what memories the necklace brings to Jaskier’s mind— will it remind him about his reputation being ruined? Or about risking it to make sure Eskel felt… safe.

Eskel’s gaze widens. He realizes, suddenly, that Jaskier might care about him the same way he cares about Jaskier. Why else would he risk so much, or say these things? And if Jaskier feels the same way, then…

Eskel wraps his arm around his waist and captures Jaskier’s lips in his own. 

Jaskier makes a high, surprised note in the back of his throat, and lifts onto the balls of his feet, pushing into the kiss. He hums, pleased, and deepens the kiss.

Jaskier surrounds him, and all Eskel can sense is love.

thank you for reading!!

[storiesforallfandoms]

secrets ~ machine gun kelly

word count: 2467

request?: yes

“Colson & reader are dating in secret & one day at a party, she sees him dancing with a few girls. She approaches them & asks Colson what time he wants them to head home & he acts like he doesn’t know her and basically treats her like a groupie. She storms off & he immediately feels guilty, chasing her but by the time he gets out the door she’s gone. She turns her phone off for the night & when she turns it back in the next morning, she sees that Colson has announced their relationship publicly!”

description: in which he takes pretending not to be dating her too far and risks their relationship

pairing: machine gun kelly x female!reader

warnings: swearing, angst

masterlist

I never had a problem with keeping mine and Colson’s relationship a secret. I understood the concerns he had with how his fans would react and what kind of messages I might start receiving from them. I had seen the harassing messages his fans had sent his rumored girlfriends, I couldn’t imagine how they’d react when they got a confirmation that he really was in a relationship.

However, I did have a problem with groupies still trying to flirt with him due to them know knowing that he was taken.

Even though we weren’t public about our relationship, Colson still took me to parties or to clubs with him, we just acted more friendly than romantic in public. Going to these parties and the clubs gave me a front row seat to see how girls reacted when he was around. It was always some girl wearing a dress so short and so low cut that she may as well be wearing nothing at all, wearing dark makeup and bright red lipstick to bring everyone’s attention to her lips, and she’d already be half shitfaced and ready to fuck the first thing that moved, in this case Colson, mainly because he was famous.

Most of the time, Colson would turn them down, no matter how hard they pleaded with him. He’d always say he wasn’t into random hookups, which everyone thought was untrue since he had been all about hookups in the early years of his career, but sometimes it was enough to get the girls off of him.

That is, until Dom’s party.

Dom, aka Yungblud, decided to throw a party just because. There was no reasoning for it, he just wanted to get his friends together and have a good time. Colson went, of course because he and Dom were best friends, and invited me to go with him, which I did. Shortly after we arrived at the party, I lost track of Colson. I wasn’t too concerned, I trusted him to not do anything stupid. However, being at a party where the only people I knew were the host and my boyfriend made me a little awkward, so I wished he were still by my side.

“(Y/N)!” I heard a familiar British accent exclaim and I almost sighed with relief when I saw Dom’s smiling face come into view.

He pushed through the crowd of people in front of him and came to stand next to me, throwing his arm around my shoulder. “Hello love, you enjoying yourself?”

“Enjoying myself enough,” I responded with a shrug. “I lost Colson so I’m a little awkward.”

“Oh! I saw him not too long ago,” Dom said. He pointed in the direction of the large crowd ahead of us. “He was over there somewhere talking to someone.”

“Very helpful Dom,” I teased. “But thanks, I’ll try looking for him again.”

“If you can’t find him, I’ll be around to keep you company.”

I smiled and thanked him again before going on another search for Colson. I awkwardly pushed my way through the crowd of people, apologizing when anyone shot me a dirty look, in an attempt to find him. When I finally came to another clearing, I found Colson, but was horrified to see that he wasn’t alone. He was dancing with two girls, and by dancing I mean they were so close to basically just dry humping.

I wasn’t sure what to do or what to say. I wasn’t sure if it was just supposed to be harmless dancing and the girls were getting too close, or if they had been close the whole time. All I knew was that I was not enjoying what I was seeing, and I was certainly not going to let it keep happening.

I approached the group and called Colson’s name over the music. At first, he didn’t respond. I thought it was because he couldn’t hear me, so I called again, which drew the attention of the girls he was talking to, but not him.

“Um, Kells,” one said, “I think this...girl wants to speak to you.”

They both looked at me with so much disdain, as if I was the dirt they walked on. In that moment, I wished I could just melt into the floor and stop existing.

Colson turned to look at me, but for a moment it looked as though he didn’t recognize me. I pulled my attention away from the girls and tried to sound confident. “I’m...I’m not feeling the best. Can you take me home?”

The girls turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow. I could see they were prepared to walk away from him at the prospect of him being there with another girl, which made me appreciate them just a little more.

But when Colson responded, I felt my heart drop to my stomach.

“Do I know you?”

Both girls looked at me with glares, easily believing that I was some random girl that was trying to go home with Colson, which is exactly what they were.

“You’re not funny,” I told him. “I’m serious, I’m not feeling great. If you’ve had a few to drink I can drive us, I just want to go home.”

“Listen honey, I don’t go home with just anyone,” Colson responded. “I’m not into groupies. Go try with someone else, I heard the host of the party is pretty famous too.”

I felt my heart shatter as the girls around him laughed. I felt a lump forming in my throat, but quickly turned before any of them could see me cry. I pushed through the crowd again, this time less apologetically, until I found the front door. The minute I opened it, the brisk night air hit me, and I began to cry. I sat down on the front steps and sobbed by myself.

How could he do this to me? We had been together for nearly two years, he had always seemed so committed to our relationship and he always treated me like a queen. Was all of that an act? Was he just trying to get something out of the normal girl that he met one day nearly two years ago?

“(Y/N)? What’s wrong?”

I looked up to see Dom at the door, looking down at me with concern. I didn’t want to relive what had just happened, so I meekly asked him, “Can you call me a taxi? I don’t want to stay here anymore.”

He didn’t question why I had asked him to call a taxi instead of getting Colson. He just nodded and went back into the house. I stood and began to walk down his driveway until I got to the end to wait for the cab. Part of me wanted to go back inside and give Colson a piece of my mind, or to text him and tell him we were over, but the other part of me wasn’t ready to give up this relationship, even if it was officially hard to trust him.

Not too long after, a cab pulled up in front of Dom’s house. Before getting in, I looked over my shoulder at the house where my boyfriend was undoubtedly still grinding up against two bimbos and acting as though I didn’t exist. I sighed, trying to contain more tears from falling, before getting into the cab.

We were a short distance from my apartment when my phone began to ring. I looked down to see Colson’s name and picture lighting up my phone. I ignored the call and shoved my phone under my leg. Seconds later, it began to ring again. Yet again, it was Colson.

I repeated the process of ignoring his calls about four times before I stopped receiving the calls, but then he started to text me.

“(Y/N)? where are you? Dom says you asked him to call you a cab”

“please answer my calls baby”

“i’m so sorry. what i did was wrong. i have no explanation other than i’m a complete idiot”

“i’m sorry”

“please let me know you’re okay”

“i love you”

After some time, I had to turn my phone off. Reading his messages sickened me. He didn’t care about me, he didn’t love me, he wasn’t sorry. He was sorry he got caught. It all made sense now why he didn’t want to be public with our relationship, he wanted to hook up with groupies when I wasn’t around.

“Someone’s popular,” the taxi driver commented as I shut off my phone.

I shook my head. “It’s just one very persistent person.”

“Whoever it is must really want to get in touch with you.”

I shoved my phone in my pocket and looked up at my driver through the mirror. “Yeah, but I don’t want to get in touch with him.”

~~~~~~

Surprisingly, it wasn’t hard to sleep that night. I figured I’d be up all night crying, or being angry, or both. I thought I’d cave and turn on my phone again to respond to Colson, but to combat that I left my phone in a cupboard in the kitchen so I couldn’t easily access it.

Luckily, it didn’t take too long for me to get to sleep once I returned home. I put my head down on my pillow and in seconds flat I was out like a light. It was a better sleep than I was expecting, but I still woke up feeling exhausted, emotionally.

Instinctively, I reached for my bedside table to grab my phone. I was confused to find it wasn’t there before remembering I had left it in the kitchen. I groaned, not wanting to get out of bed, but finally managed to pull myself up long enough to trudge to the kitchen for my phone and return to bed.

Upon turning it on, I found I had more notifications than I would’ve ever expected. Some of them were texts from Colson, still apologizing and trying to reach me, some were texts from Dom asking if I was okay and saying that if I needed him to give him a call. But a majority of the notifications were from Twitter and Instagram, and they were all from accounts that I didn’t recognize, but they all had one thing in common; they were Machine Gun Kelly fan accounts.

I was confused on why I was being flooded with notifications until I saw one from Instagram saying that Colson had tagged me in a post. When I opened the app, I came to find that he has posted multiple pictures of the two of us that he had on his phone, along with a long caption.

“I have something that I have to admit to you all. I’m sorry I’ve kept this a secret for so long, but the secrets have resulted in me hurting someone I love very much, and I want to make this right somehow. Everyone, meet (Y/N), she’s my girlfriend and has been for the past almost two years. She’s not famous, which is part of the reason I wanted to keep her a secret. The last thing I wanted was for her life to change so drastically because she’s dating me. I don’t want her to be hounded by fans or paparazzi while she’s trying to live her day to day life, but we both know that’s one of the risks of dating a celebrity. The other reason I didn’t want to come out about this publicly is because I was afraid of the messages she’d receive from my fans. I’m not completely ignorant to the messages that my female friends have received after dating rumors have started, and I knew that these messages would intensify when I actually confirmed that (Y/N) and I are dating, but I also know that that is something neither one of us can stop. I am asking anyone reading this, that if you are my real fan, please do not send harassing messages to (Y/N). I love her, and because of that you should too. Anyone who does send messages will be blocked by both of us. I won’t go into details about how I hurt her, but I will say that I did something incredibly stupid and broke her heart. This is my attempt at an apology, and I hope that, if she reads it, she will accept it. (Y/N), if you’re reading this, I’m so sorry. I love you more than anything in this world and that will never change. I hope you can forgive me for what I did.”

My eyes were filling with tears yet again. As I went to scroll and read the comments, I accidentally liked the post. Near seconds later, my phone began to ring, Colson’s picture filling my screen. This time, I answered.

“Hello?”

“(Y/N), baby, I’m so sorry,” he said immediately. “I was a complete idiot, I’m so sorry for what I did."

“I know you’re sorry,” I told him. “But I just...I have to know why you did it. Why did you pretend I was a groupie in front of those girls?”

“I have no explanation other than I was drunk,” he responded. “Which I know isn’t a good explanation, but it’s the truth. I was drinking a little too much a little too fast, and these girls approached me and asked me to dance, so I said yes, with no intentions of it being more than an innocent dance. But then I started to feel more drunk, and they started to get closer to me, and I just...I just wanted to dance with these pretty girls. I was so drunk, I could barley fathom that you were the one that came asking to go home. I didn’t realize until Dom came over and told me that he had called a cab for you, and by then you were already gone. I fucked up royally, (Y/N), can you forgive me?”

I sighed. “I can forgive you, but I hope you know you have to build back up my trust in you. You can’t just post a super sappy Instagram post announcing our relationship and apologize and everything goes back to normal.”

“I know that. I just wanted you to know how much you mean to me, and how sorry I am for everything.”

“Stop saying sorry, it doesn’t sound like a word anymore,” I teased. “I’m still in bed, do you wanna come over for snuggles?”

“More than anything. I’ll pick up some breakfast on the way over.”

I smiled. “Now you’re speaking my language Baker.”

I heard him chuckle and couldn’t help but laugh as well. “I’ll see you soon baby. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

[ficsnroses]

To Be His - John Wick x Reader

summary : you’ve noticed your boyfriend John doesn’t treat himself, forgets to care for himself, and often wears solely muted colours. You want to change that; so you pick out a few special pieces of clothing for him. 

warnings : mega fluff, slight angst. john being incredibly wholesome:)

words : 2.6k. 

notes : this was requested by a lovely anon. i’m so sorry I just released it now, 2 months later. I got busy with those prompt fics, I apologize. regardless, I really hope you like it, I really adore how this turned out! as always, please do leave a comment, anon or not, it means a lot. >flashback indicated in italics<

“John, honey?” You call out, peeking out the sliding glass backdoor of your shared home. Between crisp white walls and fresh fragrant flowers revitalized to the kitchen table, John had recently been working on cleaning up your back yard; trimming large green bushes and getting to work plowing a home garden for you.

A few evenings prior, as John and you laid in bed together during a nightly snuggle session, you’d expressed your fondness for gardening and planting flowers; the beauty of them, the simplicity, the colour. Of course, being the most wonderful boyfriend, John had been certain, headstrong that he’d build you one as soon as he could.

“John, baby, it’s alright.” You’d giggled, feeling his full, abrasive beard brush a nuzzle into the satin dip of your neck. Velvet and suave, his voice rings a deep buzz to your skin, bulky arms drawing your body closer into his warm chest. “No, I’ll make you a space in the garden, one of those raised bed ones you like.” He beams, warm, contagious.

John’s smile was your favourite delight in the entire world; his sincerity, his dark mahogany gaze and the way it’d earl into your soul, as if searching for nothing but you, always.

There’s something special in him; a soft water that runs through his veins. Even behind the raging forest fire of his past,

       your John,

is as smooth,

       as soft, fresh running water.

He mimics a rose, surrounded by speckled, bristly thorns of what he’d been forced into former to meeting you; prior to falling hopelessly in love with you. Although John still hurts, still bleeds dark wounds of gauging memories; he has you. He now has you, to hold his hand, to be there.

And though you understand certain scares never heal, you will always,

hold his hand.

And although you love flowers, the simplicity, the beauty, the colours; you love him more. And flowers, he deserves.

Colours, he deserves.

“I’m gonna make you a garden, sweetheart.” He whispers, soothing small, mild kisses to your fingers. “Hell, I’ll build you a castle to go with it.” Chuckling, his stockier fingers lace with yours, a delicate kiss daubed to your palm, afore it rests to his chest. “Because you, sweetheart, deserve it. You deserve to see colour every morning out our window.” He’d finished, holding you close.

“Hi baby,” John waves a glove draped hand your way, genuine smile full on his rosy lips. To his left, Dog sits, matted gray head rested to his tiny opaque paws in a drowsy snooze. Dog loves John immense, he’d always find his way to be near his favourite friend. With a thin coat of afternoon blaze sweat stippled to his forehead, John’s white Henley shirt hosts selective patches of brown smeared dirt, and you roll your eyes to a stippled grin coating your cheeks.

Of all the shirt he could’ve worn, John had opted for his one white shirt to fix yard work in.

Trudging along the evergreen grass, he peels a dirty glove off his left hand; chocolate eyes a beautiful dew in the afternoon sun. The clouds behind him paint in gorgeous cotton pillows, flowed along the ocean blue sky with a calm, nirvanic breeze.

In moments as these, you remember how simple happiness really is;

being with your dream, on a dreamy day. “How was shopping?” He wonders, finding your lips in a sweet kiss, climbing the porch steps to where you’re stood. Discarded to the floor below, his gloves fall with a gentle pat on the porch, John’s heavy palms proximately finding the refuge of your waist. “Did you find anything you like?” Pondered, his question finds a smile crippled to your lips, your own orbs glossing over the soft dips of his brazen features. With your arms finding shelter loomed to his neck, you twirl the lonesome ends of his dark brunette locks in your petite fingers, smiling, leaning closer into him, as much as space would allow.

“I did.” You chortle, crimples of his white shirt grazed to your index as you point a lone finger to his chest. “You’ve ruined this shirt.” You frown, leaving a soft kiss dotted to his chest, just above his broad pec. John waivers off, covering the silky skin of your hand on his chest, with his own relaxed over it. “That’s alright, I have more.” Assuring, his lips dot a small kiss to your forehead. “What did you get for yourself?”

“Actually…” Your smile twists into something a little more playful, pink stained lips rouged to a simper when his brows knit in quiet, warm confusion. “I want you to come with me.” Cupped to his cheek, you smile tenderly. “I want to show you something.” The highlights of your cheekbones glow in the daylight, and John’s heartstrings sing to the sight; seeing you happy, was all he’d ever wanted.

“Lead the way.” John chuckles, allowing your frame to go first when you take his hand, guiding his larger, towering figure inside the transparent sliding glass door, Dog trotting not far along behind on his dainty paws, with a goofy smile plastered to his lovable mutt face.

“Alright…” You voice, a stray piece of hair tucked behind the curve of your ear. “I actually didn’t get much for myself…” Shuffling around a plethora of bags, you grin when the one in question finds your eye. Steady, you place the bag to the edge your shared bed, sincerely gazing John’s way as your hands clasp affront you. “Baby before I start, I just want to say that this isn’t me trying to say anything other than I love you, okay?”

With his toned armed crossed and features twisting to a ponder, John’s eyebrows raise ever so slight, a spec of his mocha strands dwindling just near his eye in an attentive mien. Pausing quick for a gather of thoughts, slow, your hands move, gestures explanatory to his wonder. “John, I’ve known you for a while now. And I know that you, are the greatest man I know.” You explain, confidence thick on your honey tone. “Baby, you’re a miracle, to be what you are, coming from where you did.” Eyes locked to his, you stand sure he perceives just how genuine; sincere you’re truly being. Not a word off your lips falls false, not a syllable falls untrue.

“Which is why it hurts me when you treat yourself less than.” Frowned, your lips turn crisp to a soft gloom, moving forward to take his hand, tugging him down to a seat on the silk duvet. “Baby, you paint me red everyday. You make me believe the world is yellow, and the sky is pink.” You babble, awestruck in love drunk blush to the way John makes every day feel as if a wonder; paints each day as a mural on a crisp new canvas, solely for your eyes to drink.

Finally, taking hold of his heavier hand in yours, you lock eyes with him, sighing in content gratification. “When I look into our wardrobe, I see your side covered in simple greys, blacks and whites. You have your everyday shirts, like this Henley.” Giggling, you scratch gently to his bicep, offering a kiss to his broad shoulder. “And you have your suits, which are all just black and white, and plain. Plain blue jeans, and a leather jacket or two.” You explain, sure not to come off as if you don’t like his style, or the way he dresses.

You adore the way John presents himself. You only wish he’d open up a little more, treat himself once in a while.

“John, you’ve never treated yourself. You never ask for more, or splurge. And I just….” You bite your lip, sighing. “To me, you deserve it. You deserve so much, baby. I want to see you have colour, I want you to have nice things and allow yourself to enjoy new, good things.” You enlighten, reaching into the bag to pull out the first piece.

“I saw some stuff today and I thought maybe you’d like it. Just a couple of pieces, because you deserve it, John.” Cupping his cheek, your spare hand squeezes a softer firm to his. “You treat me like I’m the only girl in the world. And I want you to feel the same.”

John’s expression stills unreadable, lips taut in a thin line as he watches you pull out the first piece of navy blue fabric. To the material, small, tiny white polka dots speckle the fine fabric in a subtle, yet fashionable splendour. A white dress shirt, with tiny black dots pairs with it as well.

“These are the first two,” You begin, displaying. “I’ve noticed your dress shirts are always plain white. I thought these would look really cute on you.” You smile, fingers brushed over the fabric as you perceive his expression. John’s features still prove illegible; stoic. Squeezing his palm with a heaviness to your chest, you swallow tight before asking aloud. “John? Honey? If you don’t like them, it’s alright. I love you in your plain white dress shirts, I really do.” You offer, thumb softly stroking the skin of his upper hand. “I won’t be upset if you don’t want to wear them, okay love? I just thought-” Sudden, John’s shallow baritone interjects your reason, tone soft, heavy.

“You…you got things, for me?” He asks, eyes locked to the chic textile below.

“Yeah.” You smile, head nodding to a gentle move, gaze love drunk to his gentleness. “Are these alright?” You wonder, cautious. Still for a moment, John ultimately nods, swallowing a thick lump fixed inside his gravelly throat. His heart warms; his heart yelps.

In decades of life, no one, not a single entity, had ever got him something.

No one had ever brought him anything remotely resembling good; remotely resembling anything other than ghastly, dreadful sin. Sin forced off his reluctant hands.

Before you, no one had shown him care, admiration, love; no one had shown him

colour.

Voice thick with warmth, John offers a gentle smile your way. “I love them. Thank you.” He appreciates, gaze downcast as he sulks the moment in. Without much practice in saying thank you, John feels a wave of awkwardness cast to his sore limbs.

Before you, he’d never been given the opportunity to say thank you.

“I have two more things!” You chuckle, biting your lip as you set aside the previous drapery. Carefully, your hands draw out a dusty pink blazer; a piece full of colour, yet beautifully masculine. “Alright, this one’s a bit risky,” You giggle, holding the material out in front for both your eyes to see. “But I think you’d look incredibly handsome in it. What do you think?”

“Very cool.” John chuckles, hand brushing to the sleeve. “Looks perfect for a brunch.” He smiles, heartfelt your way. “Thank you, sweetheart.” He allows off his lips again, getting used to the way it sounded off his tongue. John’s nerves tingle with gratitude, so much so, he has trouble expressing it. Not a soul had touched him this way before; no one had ever shown John they care.

You introduced something to John that he feared he’d never receive.

       human connection,

someone to truly care. A lifetime spent looking out for himself alone, a lonesome John sinks in the feeling of true, complete, warmth. The warmth of having someone to look out for him. Someone who wants to look out for him.

As he gazes you, beside him, ecstatic to the brim to offer him something good; he wonders. He muses, he reminisces.

~That perhaps, your heart, and his, are old friends. Long lost soul searchers; that perhaps in a lifetime before, some part of him loved you, and you him.

It couldn’t be sweeter than this,

It wouldn’t get sweeter than you.

      Here he is, living, despite it all. Happy, despite it all. You make him

so

happy.

So happy, he falls in love with you each day. Over and over, remembering the semblance of hope he’d received; the woman who makes the stars fall to their knees each night, warms him in her love everyday. And he looks at her with the same love, his heart whispers to hers; there is no home like you.

To a smooth daisy tone, flowers fall from your lips, love laces each word. “Alright, the last piece is this.” You giggle, hands fishing a floral tie from the bag, hopeful orbs wishful he’d like it. “It’s a bit bold, but you know I love flowers.” You smile, holding the fabric to your lover’s chest. He stares into your eyes, his own grown softer; two smooth pools of delicate honey. And he smiles, and smiles, and smiles some more. To the mere sight of his entire world, so smitten. To the thought of someone so beautiful, so pure, existing in the same time as him, someone so precious, being given to him.

And he thinks back to a time younger, when the ghost of him longed for something more; longed to be liberated. He wishes he may tell the shell of a man back then, that it would turn out alright in the end.

that rain, will make the flowers grow.

“I think it’s beautiful.” John replies, deep voice gentle, laced with care. “You love it, so I do too.” Tie placed to the side, you sigh in relief, chuckling with a phew to your forehead. John’s eyes droop, fallen cast to the space between your bodies below. His muscles tense, before a relax of ease washes over his wordless features, mind thick with words fallen short of the honey you’d made, dripping from his soul. When words fall short, he hopes, he prays you’ll understand, just what you mean to him.

How much you mean to him.

“Y/N,” He whispers, calm to a quiet low, the silken skin of your hand taken in his rougher, callous ones. He holds tight, he holds tender. His fingers lace, and his heart pours. His heart embeds, embroiders a beautiful haze to channel to his love. “Thank you, so much.” Sincerely, he voices. “It might not seem like much to you, but to me, it’s more than I’ve ever had.” Out the window, he shakes his head, smiling. “It was always you, everything I went through,” John seldom opens up about his past, rarely references the grey that paints his former. “It was all meant to lead me to you.”

Cupping his cheek with your spare hand, you smile. You offer him a sincere, adoring gaze. “I love you, Y/N. I love you a lot.” He speaks, bundling your smaller hands, softer in his. You grip tighter, feel harder. You feel the pain coursing in his veins when you hold him, you feel the hope that runs in his blood.

“I love you too, Jonathan. And I’ll never forget.

       And…” Your tone lingers, a suggestive, nervous bite to your rosy stained lip bitten tense. “I bought another thing for you, actually…” You whisper, trialing, gaze locked to his lips. With one hand looming around his neck, your other draws into the bag below, pulling out a glimpse of a beautifully lace embroidered piece, of sultry, expensive lingerie; a black, skimpy luxery you knew John would adore to see on you. His eyes gaze to the lace, and he grins a cheeky smile, knowing whiskey orbs drunk to the thought of seeing you in something so beautiful, soon.

“How about, I show it to you later tonight?” You whisper against his lips, to the feel of his hands smoothing over your hips. “I’d like that,” John replies, a delicate kiss pecked to your neck. “I’d like that a lot.”

Time moves slower when you’re this close to him, love envelopes.

You could do anything,

be anything in the world; yet all you dream; all you want;

        is to be his.

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

The things you picked out for Johnny boy:)

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

Taglist posted separately, ask to be added or removed!

[swiftlymoniquesblog]

Safe House- Tom Felton x Reader: Chapter 2

A/N: Hello friends! I’m so sorry I haven’t updated anything in so long; life has been CRAZY! But guess what? Yours truly just finished up all her training at the Police Academy so I am now fully a 9-1-1 dispatcher (or 0-0-0 for my Australian friends or 9-9-9 for my UK friends!) In our spare time between calls, as long as we’re still available to take calls, we can do pretty much whatever we want so I hope that means I can still write and update! Unfortunately, I do have to work on Christmas Day this year but I’m still excited for the day! 

I hope everyone has a safe and happy holiday and I hope 2021 will be 1000000 times better than 2020! And don’t worry, this isn’t the last holiday update I have up my sleeve! ;)

Xxx M

Warnings: FLUFF, pining, longing, Tom being super adorable! 

Word Count: 4,500

Previous Chapter| Holiday Masterlist| Masterlist of all Masterlists

Even though you believed you were going to be in some serious trouble when you got back to work, you were glad you stepped into that car. You were Tom's assistant and he requested your help in a task, so you weren’t really breaking any rules, right? And Tom said you were still working and that he would clear all this up with Mr. Harrington, so why were you still nervous? Was it because you left the property of your place of work still in the clock? Or was it because you were sitting with a rather attractive man inside his car and trusting that he wouldn’t try anything weird, like kidnapping you? Whatever the reason may be, you couldn’t ignore the feeling that you seemed to be taking a ‘leap of Faith’ with going with Tom, yet it all felt right. The subtle sound of Christmas music came from the car's radio and the heat from the vents provided a warming feeling deep within you. It surprised you to know that he had chosen to play Christmas music because you assumed with his schedule, holidays weren’t as important anymore. However, that proved to be untrue as a certain sparkle appeared in his eyes when he pulled into a parking spot, he jumped out of the car and rushed over to your side to help you out.

“Come on love, we have a lot to do if we want to make that tree look less sad!” He exclaims and tugs on your arm, much like a child would do with a parent. You laughed at the tall man, who beamed with a bright smile on his lips, as you struggled to keep up.

“What should we get first?!” He says, enthusiastically to you.

“Maybe more ornaments?” You suggest and his excitement only grows.

“Yes! And then we should get garland to wrap around the ornaments! And the presents!” He bounces on his toes, ever so slightly, but you notice it and think to yourself, how can a 33-year-old be this excited?

You follow him over to a section of the hobby store that was entirely dedicated to Christmas. Shelves were lined with garland, ornaments, lights, light-up statues, everything you could think of to make the holiday one to remember. Both you and Tom began pulling things off the shelves, anything to make his hotel room look more festive for his guests. A part of you wished you were able to be there to enjoy some of these decorations but you knew you were just ‘the help’ so you kept that thought to yourself. When your shopping cart was fully loaded to the rim, you decided to check out. Reaching into your purse for your wallet, you pulled out some cash but Tom put his hand out, indicating you to stop.

“Oh, don’t be silly love, I got this. This is my hotel room we’re decorating and this was my idea, so I’ll pay for it,” He says.

“Yeah, but it is my place of work so it’s only fair I pitch in,” you fight back but it proves to be useless when the total rings up and he already had a credit card inserted into the bottom of the reader.

“Maybe next time,” he shoots you a wink, causing your cheeks to redden before he slips the card out of the reader and back into his wallet. You help grab the bags and load them back into the cart as you head back out to the car. The drive back to the resort was quiet, aside from small talk, which was rather pleasant. Speaking with Tom in a quiet setting was beautiful and calming, something a lot of people don’t get to enjoy if you weren’t in his inner circle. A part of you was felt like any other fan, excited about being in an intimate setting with him, but the other part of you knew you were just doing your job. Gathering the bags in your hands, you follow Tom back into the hotel and into the elevator, where you two were forced to stand nearly squished against each other, thanks to a large number of guests flocking to the car before the doors shut. You felt your cheeks heat up at the close proximity you were to Tom but kept your lips sealed and your thoughts to yourself before the doors opened to the penthouse; everyone else left you sooner.

“Thanks a lot (y/n) for helping me with this. I don’t think I could’ve done it all alone plus it’s more fun to decorate with some company,” Tom says, as he sits the last ornament on the tree. He takes a few steps away from the tree, to take in the glorious sight before him, with you coming to stand beside him.

“It’s my pleasure and this tree looks so much better now,” you comment.

“I think it is because of you, my dear. You are the one who picked out the ornaments so you made this tree this beautiful. Beautiful people tend to make everything around them beautiful too; makes sense if you ask me,” he says, smiling softly at you, eyes glistening in the lights from the tree. His bluish-grey eyes turned another color as they reflected the lights, making him that much more attractive and leaving you in a trance of sorts. It felt like a scene from a movie; no sound, no movement, just you and him staring into one another’s eyes, until being saved by a ringing phone. He swallowed and slowly backed away from you before saying,

“I should probably get that.”

You couldn’t help but frown at his departure but you had to shake the sadness away; you still had a job to do. Looking to the bedroom, you saw him pace back and forth, obviously anxious about something, so you figured that you should go. Finding a scrap piece of paper, you scribbled on it before placing it on the coffee table in the center of the room and grabbing your belongings, leaving the room without him noticing. What am I doing? I work for the guy! How could I be so stupid as to think someone like him would be remotely interested in someone like me? I’m just a hotel worker; not even a fucking manager! You scold yourself as you sliver to the elevator and ride back down to the lobby, where about a dozen or so guests were waiting to check-in. Wishing you had your old job back, you stop to watch the guests wait to check-in, excitement and wonder coming from their faces. The children were why you chose this job. The look of their little faces was the purest form of innocence that you hoped they never lost sight of, but you knew that most of them would lose that wonder as they grew older. The magic of Christmas always fled from the youngest and truest believers as time went on and it hurt your heart. Why couldn’t Christmas be as magical for adults as it was for kids? Sure, the belief of someone flying over the world and delivering presents to every child in one night was gone, but what about the feeling? The excitement you would feel seeing the tree go up or the lights outside? How about all the traditions? When did that all go away and why did it have to?

----------------------֍------------------------------------

Tom’s POV

“Sorry about that, (y/n) that was just…” I let my thoughts trail off as I notice the emptiness of the hotel room and the piece of paper folded in half on the coffee table. I go to pick it up, feeling my heart race in my chest as I read;

Tom,

Thank you for today. I had a really nice time and I’m glad you’re happy with your room now. I forgot I…. had a prior engagement I said I would be at so I had to leave; hope that’s alright. I’ll be back first thing tomorrow morning with some breakfast and you can give me a rundown on all your plans for the day. I am so sorry incredibly sorry.

Have a goodnight,

Y/N

I swallowed a lump that had appeared in my throat and crumbled up the paper. So that was it? She only saw today as a requirement for her work? Is that how she saw me? Just as her boss or something? Because she was certainly more to me than just a hotel worker or an assistant; I thought she could tell. Why couldn’t she have just come and talk to me if she had a problem? Did I say something that offended her? Did she not trust me? These questions and more haunted my subconscious as I sigh and get myself ready for bed. I turn off all the lights in the living room before going to brush my teeth. I take out my phone and open my photo gallery, quickly finding the photo of (y/n) I snuck. She looked absolutely beautiful as she was holding a light display, the colors and glitter from the decoration reflecting onto her face. It just slightly illuminated her delicate features and I remember I had sucked in a breath of air, as she had taken all of mine out of my lungs. I smile to myself as I thought back to that moment and now? She’s gone and I can’t imagine why. I decided just to go to bed and I figured I would come up with a solution to getting (y/n) back sooner.

The next morning, I woke up rather early to get ready for my friends. Daniel had called me last night before (y/n) and I…well whatever almost happened with us, is irrelevant now. Finally, after being stuck in Denver for 24 hours, he had called to tell me that he and everyone else were on their way to the resort. Somehow, the former “Golden Trio,” as they were infamously known as, all had no plans and were able to fly out to Colorado for Christmas. Now, we all knew how risky this trip might go, with all of us together around who knows how many fans are staying at the resort, but we hadn’t been together in nearly 20 years. I was glad to be having some of my friends with me again. Because when you work on a project with the same people, every year for 10 years, you gain friends for life.

“Tom, good to see ya, mate!” Daniel said, when I opened the door after hearing a knock on the door.

“Hey guys, glad you all could make it! So sorry to hear about such a delay, though!” I try to sympathize with my friends but I’m sure it fell on deaf ears because they shared a similar look of annoyance as if to say, “like you have any idea what we’ve just been through.”

“Well, it was certainly a nice, warm, welcome to the State of Colorado,” Emma said, sarcasm dripping off her tone of voice.

I smile sadly, trying to avoid further awkwardness, hugging the girl as I feel her sigh, tension dissipating from her muscles.

“Wow Tom, this place is so well decorated! Did you do this by yourself?” Rupert asked as he took in the festive environment of my room.

“Oh no, of course not. I’m not good at decorating at all! I had some help,” I say, smiling at the not-so-distant memory of decorating with (y/n).

“Wait, you hired someone?” Emma asked.

“Not exactly. The resort sent me a…personal assistant of sorts,” I try to explain to the three actors who just had blank expressions on their faces.

“Why would the resort send you an assistant?” Daniel asked.

“I’m not sure, she said it was because the resort wanted to offer their services 24/7,” I explain what reason (y/n) had given me.

“Who’s she?” Rupert asks a light of cheeky demeanor glistened in his eyes.

“Oh (y/n), my assistant,” I say, a grin showing itself on my lips.

“Wow, (y/n) what a beautiful name! She must be really special,” Emma said.

“She is and I’ve only known her for 48 hours. She’s supposed to be coming back today to help out but, now I’m not sure if she’s going to,” I frown, really not sure what was going to happen with (y/n).

I wasn’t quite sure what I felt for (y/n) but I knew I wanted to get to know her better and I wanted to make sure she knew she could trust me. Just then, there was a knock on the door. My heart drops, hoping it was her.

“Good morning, Mr. Felton. I’m here for whatever you need me to help you with,” (y/n) greeted me when I opened the door. What was she saying? I told her she could call me Tom; where is this Mr. Felton crap coming from. Oh, her note. Maybe this is what she was talking about. Maybe she thought she needed to stay professional whenever she was around me; was that why she left suddenly?

“Good morning, Miss (y/l/n). Yes, please come in,” I say, standing to the side so she could come in the room.

“Thank you, well I brought some coffee and a selection of our best food for breakfast from our…” She suddenly stopped talking and she seemed to be frozen in place.

“(y/n) are you alright?” I say, standing closer to her. She was looking directly at the “Golden Trio” that was currently sitting in the living room, chatting away. They all stopped and looked up at her, and smiled at her.

“Hello, you must be (y/n) Tom’s told us all about you,” Emma says, standing from the couch where she sat with Daniel, to shake (y/n)’s hand.

She still seemed to be in some sort of trance until she saw Emma’s hand extended to her.

“Oh yes, sorry, I got a lot on my mind. It’s really nice to meet you, Miss Watson,” (y/n) kept up with the politeness.

“Oh please, call me Emma. Makes me feel so old hearing my last name first,” She says as we all chuckled.

“Well Emma, this is an honor. I am a rather a big fan of your work,” (y/n) complimented.

“Oh, thank you, that’s so sweet,” Emma says, seemingly still not believing she’s as talented as people make her up to be. Sure, she knew she was a talented actress, but she was always humble about it, ever since we were kids. One of the many things people tend to love about her.

“Hey now, you never said you were a fan of mine!” I try joking with my assistant, her cheeks turning red as she avoided my eyes set on her.

“You didn’t ask,” she said, before greeting Daniel and Rupert and telling them how much of a fan of theirs she is.

“Hold on, is this like a Harry Potter reunion?” (y/n) asked, finally letting her guard down a bit.

We all starting laughing as the resort worker just stared at us.

“You can say that,” Rupert said.

“Wow, this is, how long has it been since the four of you have been together for more than just a day” (y/n) asked.

“A good twenty years. We’ve seen each other since then obviously, but in more than just passing than really spending time together. After the eighth movie wrapped up, we all went our separate ways. And considering I was getting into some trouble with fans back home, I decided to get away from all the craziness and I wanted to invite some friends to spend some time with me, so I wouldn’t be alone, you know?” I say, giving the whole background story so (y/n) could fully understand why I was here and why the “Golden Trio” was here, too.

I could tell, just by looking at her, that she was trying hard not to freak out; she really is a big fan, then. It was rather adorable if you ask me. She was biting the corner of her bottom lip, quite harshly too, and her eyes would bounce between the three actors around the fireplace.

“Well, the Harrington Ski Resort is thrilled to have all four of you here, but why did you make the reservation for ten?” (y/n) questions me.

“Well, we have teams of security so they all their own rooms, and then I have a few more friends coming tomorrow so I wanted to make sure everyone had their own space,” I explain.

“Alright, so what plans do you have for today, Mr. Felton?” (y/n) asks and I’ve about had enough of her formalities.

“Um about that, may I speak to you in private please?” I ask and she nods timidly.

“If you all would give us a minute, help yourselves to some food,” (y/n) says, just as a waiter came in the room with carts of food for everyone to share.

“What’s going on, Mr. Felton?” (y/n) said, when I shut the doors to the bedroom.

“First of all, please, just call me Tom. Second, I read your note last night; what was that about?” I go straight to the point.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Tom.”

“Oh, I think you do (y/n). Yesterday was amazing; I haven’t had that much in so long and we seemed to have been getting on really well. And then we have…well I’m not sure what exactly happened in front of the fireplace but I wouldn’t mind that happening again. But then you just up and leave? And leave a note with a lack of proper explanation. Did I push you into something you weren’t comfortable with? Did I offend you somehow? If I did something wrong, please tell me, so we can try and work it out,” I say, almost pleading with her.

“No, it’s not that,” she says, pacing on the opposite side of the room than me.

“Then what is it? Do you not trust me? Are you uncomfortable being around me?”

“No, it’s not any of that!” She says, a little more frustrated than before.

“Then what?!” I say, just as she had.

“I can’t tell you,” she says, avoiding looking or getting close to me.

“And why not? I don’t understand why you left so suddenly last night or why you can’t even look at me right now,” I say, hearing my voice crack as I grew more desperate for an answer.

“Because how I feel about you right now, is going to get me in trouble. I felt something last night by the fireplace and I can’t allow myself to continue to feel like that. I am your assistant and while I’m here, that’s all I can be. I don’t know what I felt but I know it’s dangerous and I know I can’t keep feeling like that as long as I work for you. Mr. Harrington would surely fire me if he ever found out and I really need this job because I want to become something more than what I am right now. Do you understand?”

Wow, I definitely didn’t expect her to say that now. But she felt something between us last night too? And that’s why she left! She was scared of what she felt at the fireplace last night. I don’t blame her; I felt it too. But she needs to know she can allow herself to feel things.

“Look (y/n) I’m so glad you said something. I felt something last night too and it scared me too. I don’t know what that was either but I liked it and I want to feel that again. As for your job, I know this is so important to you, so I won’t do anything that would jeopardize whatever plans you have for this job; I promise. But, may I suggest something?” I ask and wait for her approval. She simply nodded.

“How about we don’t tell anyone about…whatever we may from this? I want to explore whatever last night was, but only if you want to of course. I think we should start off as friends, a little more intimate than just boss/coworker but I want to really get to know you before we decide to take anything further. Although, I don’t believe we’re going to learn anything about the other that won’t make us want to go further with a friendship, but just in case. How’s that sound?” I reason with her, nervous about how she was going to react. I figured with her confession of some feelings for me, she must agree with my idea.

“I think that sounds perfect, Tom,” she says, smiling up at me. I mirror her expression, finding a smile of my own.

“Would it be weird if I just hugged right now?” I ask, still unsure what to do with this, new information.

“Of course,” she says, slowly moving closer to me until she stood just inches from me. She craned her neck to look up at me. I slowly move closer to her, my arms making their way around her waist. She stood on her toes to grow a few inches higher so she could wrap her arms around my neck. I sighed, content with the feeling of her in my arms. She smelled like peppermint; it reminded me of a candy cane. Her skin was so soft and her hair was sprawled across my face but it didn’t matter. We stayed like that for a while, just staying close to one another and enjoying the warmth from the other until we felt completely content. Pulling away from one another, I smiled at her, her face showing the same happiness as mine had before she spoke up.

“I have a question and you can say no if you want.”

“You haven’t even asked it yet,” I say to her as she nervously wraps some of her hair behind her ear.

“Right, okay, well I wanted to see if maybe since Daniel and Emma and Rupert are here, could we watch some Harry Potter? I know it’s been a long time since any of you have seen the films, but I have so many questions to ask,” she says, pulling on her bottom lip.

“Well, I would love to answer all your questions but we’ll have to ask the others if they’re up for it,” I say fondly to her.

“Oh, wait, work. Do, do you need me to do anything for you?”

“What I need you to do is watch the Philosopher’s Stone with me and my friends,” I grin at her.

“As long as they say it’s okay,” she adds.

“Oh, I’m sure they won’t say no to you, much like I can’t seem to,” I admit, rubbing the back of my neck.

Her cheeks tinted pink, just a bit, but I caught it before it disappeared.

“What about work?” She asks.

“Well, I’ll talk to Mr. Harrington and tell him some chores I need someone else to do for me. I’ll make sure you won’t get in any trouble,” I say to the girl, who’s eyes just light up. I guess I was starting to make an impression on her.

“That would be amazing, Tom, thank you,” she says, coming to me for a second hug. It wasn’t as long as the first one but it meant just as much. They have just been hugs but for me and (y/n) it was our way of expressing our feelings for each other; it was perfect.

We walk back into the main living area where we see the “Golden Trio” deep in a conversation about what the last twenty years have been like.

“Hi guys,” Emma says, looking over to me and (y/n).

“Hi, so (y/n) here has something she would like to ask you guys,” I say, looking to my right to the girl who somehow grew more nervous than I’ve ever seen her.

“Sure sweetheart, what’s on your mind?” Daniel asked, bringing all the attention to (y/n).

“Well, I know you all are probably annoyed with all the questions you’ve gotten over the years about Harry Potter, but I was wondering if you all wouldn’t mind if we watched the first movie together? I have a lot of my own questions I would love to have answers too but if you guys don’t want to go down memory lane again, I completely understand,” (y/n) asks, rather quickly, but I think she still got her point across.

“You’re right, I don’t think any of us have seen those movies in such a long time, and yes, we do get kind of tired of all the questions. We still get asked questions about the film series, even after all these years. However, any friend of Tom’s is a friend of ours, and if you really want to ask questions as we go through the film, then I don’t see what harm that’ll do. It might be embarrassing for us to see ourselves twenty years younger than we are right now, but it might still be fun,” Daniel said, grinning at the other members of the Wizarding World around him.

(y/n) just squeals a bit in excitement and it surprised all of us. “Sorry, I’m just really excited to finally be able to ask all the questions that I’ve had for so many years,”

“Hey, it’s okay. And hell, it’ll be wild seeing ourselves so young. I bet we can still say a lot of the spells too,” Rupert added.

“Oh man, that was going to be one of my questions,” (y/n) said, frowning, before Rupert shot her a quick apology.

“Does someone have the films with them right now?” Emma asks.

“I do,” I say, walking over to the entertainment center that sat under the television.

“You travel with them, don’t you?” (y/n) teased.

“Of course, I do! You never know when you’re going to need to see these!” I say, proud of the work and character I did in those films. It launched a career for all of us and opened so many doors for so many other films or shows. We owe all our credit to our success as actors to those films and if it wasn’t for them, I don’t know what we would be doing now. I couldn’t speak for the others, but I was happy with being able to go back and watch the work we did for so many years, especially having so many people joining the fandom nearly 10 years after the last film was released. I will forever hold Draco in my heart and be grateful that people still respond to him, even in negative ways. I always laugh and apologize when people say they hate him and his attitude because he is the exact opposite of me and I still hope people stick around to know the real me.

Tags: @tloveswriting @angelinathebook @lunalovecroft @hobby27​ @slutforfics​ @thinkinghardhardlythinking​ @to-my-beloved-fandoms-2​

[pa-panda-heroes]

Hey! Not sure if my previous request sent so I’m going to send it again, sorry. Can you do a scenario where Tomura, Tamaki, and Hawks have a s/o with thick thighs who often gets embarrassed about how big they are? And the guys just lay on their thighs and it’s super fluffy? You can obviously ignore this if you want

It did don’t worry, I understand tumblr can be a pain sometimes! Ah, i feel like i may have deviated from the specifics of your request, i’m sorry >< hope you enjoy nonetheless ^^” Also it’s pretty long so i put it under a read more :>

Tomura, Tamaki, and Hawks with a s/o with thick thighs who often gets embarrassed about them scenarios!

Tomura:

It was hard to complain - or say anything, really - when you could see the tall, thin-legged woman in the video game Tomura played while you sat idly to his left on the sofa. Almost as if through instinct you brought the blanket that sat wrapped at his back over your legs. You’d thrown it over him earlier, and after some time he’d shrugged it off as if he got too hot. Yet there he was, looking for all the world offended and downright robbed as you took the blanket.

“What’d you do that for?” he asked, clearly pouting at you for robbing him of such cuddly, fuzzy warmth. Apparently. It was getting late, and sleepiness coated his voice.

“I’m... cold.”

Tomura made a face - one that clearly called you a liar, before he actually did so. “Liar.”

You knew better than to lie to him, he’d coax it out of you somehow. “It’s just... y’know, my legs. They’re big...” Your voice was meek and tiny.

“So? Mine are bony.” He shrugged away.

You couldn’t help but giggle at the genuine confusion in his voice. It was cute in his own way, and he admitted to being bony so unabashedly you didn’t know how else to react. He gave a huff you couldn’t quite translate and tossed his controller onto the coffee table, then switching off the TV and literally plopping his head into your lap while he lay on his side. You thought about protesting, but you knew how childish and bratty he could be when you denied him comfort.

Forefinger rubbing circles on your thigh, Tomura dug his face into your legs like a cat begging for rubs, his hand then gently grabbing the thigh furthest from it.  “Don’t be embarrassed around me. I like them,” he said plainly into your skin, though you knew he meant it. “This would be really uncomfortable for both of us if they were small, right?”

“W-well...” Getting the lump in your throat unstuck proved quite a feat, your cheeks and ears feeling like they’d been set aflame. You didn’t let him touch your thighs often, as it was just too... much, so for him to rest his head on them and caress them, it was unexpected. But pleasant and sweet nonetheless. You couldn’t help but brush his hair away from his face, and in doing so revealed serenely closed eyes and a sleepy pout that made your lips curl upward.

“Quite staring, it’s rude,” you hear him jut, before he moves his face to hide the fresh redness of his almost sickly-pale skin, and you stifle a giggle. A few moments of serene silence pass before he’s shifting to glance up at you again, eyes honest and ever-so-innocent somehow. “Hey, I like this. Don’t hide from me anymore, alright? I don’t care about something like that. I want to do this more often.” It’s not like he could tell you not to he embarrassed in general. But he at least didn’t want you embarrassed around him. Tomura brought a hand up to your cheek to gently glide along your cheek with three of this fingers. The touch was so gentle and sweet, it was almost like he was afraid you were made of glass and would shatter.

He turned on his side to adjust his legs across the sofa and settled in, and while you knew he couldn’t see it, you nodded a little. “Okay.”

“Stay with me forever,” you hear him mumble into your thigh. It was his own way of saying “I love you,” you’re well aware of that.

“I love you, Tomura.”

Oftentimes Tomura liked to fake being asleep, just for you to lavish him bu touching his hair - and you played into it anyway, happy to give - not that he didn’t appreciate your affection while he was awake. But this time, as you watched his breathing fall into a slow rhythm and quiet down, he fell asleep for real.

Tamaki:

Tamaki was no stranger to embarrassment himself, so he knew all too well what you felt. Maybe not exactly, but the whole “I need to hide from prying eyes or I’ll combust” shtick? Yeah, he had that down pat. Embarrassment, for Tamaki, is clearly no stranger. Neither is your embarrassment.

So when the two of you are out on your unexpectedly unison day off and you suddenly go silent, staring at the stick-statured women enjoying the cafe like the two of you, it’s hard not to notice. Most aren’t dressed in tight clothing as per Japan’s norm, but there are a few who wore long pants that seemed to elongate - and slim - their legs.

Tamaki’s first clue is when you shift in your seat and adjust your clothing. The second is when you seem to shrink into your seat while someone passes by. The third is when he asks you a question and you don’t hear enough of it to respond. He finds himself adjusting in his seat as he leans over a little. “Y/n, are you okay? You’re uncomfortable.”

“I-I’m sorry, can we leave and go home?” you sputter bashfully, while there is a hint of guilt in your voice, he knows it. For once you’re the one stuttering, not him. He leaves the appropriate yen notes and a few coins on the table, and the two of you leave to walk home. It’s evening by now, people on the streets sparce and the sky vibrant oranges and yellows. You walk hand in hand, arms swinging. The way the glow from sunset illuminated his face is gorgeous, and you almost wish you could take a picture when you get home, regretting that you didn’t as you plop onto the couch in the silence of your living room.

“You’re you,” he says, and you quirk a brow at him. Tamaki’s eyes are drifted off to the side, but there’s a strength within them and his tone. “You’re y/n. It doesn’t matter to me what you look like. As long as you’re still here, I-I’m happy.”

“T-Tamaki...” You’re quite shocked by how suddenly he brings this up, and how gingerly yet... firmly? You’re unsure if that’s the proper word. He’s not a nervous mess as he says it. It’s clear that he’s been waiting to say this, possibly afraid of your reaction - or because he’s just not confrontational that way.

Tamaki scratches the back of his head, slightly slouching over. “I know what other people may think bothers you. I feel that way about myself. Wh-what matters is what you think of yourself.” He finally looks back at you, and while you can tell he wants nothing more than to shove his forehead against the nearest wall, he doesn’t - for you. His hand rests on your thigh nearest to him, and gently rubs a line up and down it. “I care about you, and I want you to, also.”

“Maybe we can work on thinking better of ourselves together,” you say shyly, smile cracking your lips wide open.

He nods shyly and squeezes your thigh. Tamaki leans over and pecks the crown of your head, then quickly pulling away out of embarrassment. You grin and decide to do the same, save for planting a kiss to his jawline repeatedly, and he lets out a noise. Tamaki’s face reddens deeply and he covers it with his free hand bashfully before dropping into your lap and hiding his face into your thighs.

“Aaaah...”

Your fingers wander into his hair and you rub his scalp, receiving a jolt from him before he relaxed to your touch and you giggle.

Hawks:

Being the lover of the number two hero of Japan brought ita fair share of fun and love - and with it occasionally came grief. The public eye was constantly all over the both of you, some hoping to find some scandal while others just wanted to nose in on your daily lives together. Ah, and who could forget the entire, ridiculously long article written on what brand of shampoo you use. That itself didn’t piss you off; if anything, it was sad for them and funny and entertaining for you. What was aggravating was the fact that they were wrong!

Not aggravating, though, was the article written on your figure. It was insulting and almost inhumanely cruel. The comments were worse. But you were trying not to think about it on Keigo’s one day off since the last blue moon (seriously, did they not understand he was human, too?!). You wanted to be as cheery and bright for him as he always is for you, but there was no such thing as hiding something from him.

“What’s gotcha down, babes?” he chirps, sitting next to you on his couch with a drink in his left hand while his right was occupied with rubbing and resting on your thigh. “Did that last movie bum you out? Sorry, didn’t realise it was gonna be sad like that.”

“No, it was great!” You shake your head vehemently, ensuring he knows you weren’t unhappy with his cinematical choice. Lying to him was literally no option; those wonderful, beautiful feathers of his ensured that by letting him hear your heartbeat. “Always having the public fixated on my appearance and habits is frustrating, is all.”

Keigo downs likely half of the coffee he’d grabbed in one swig before nodding knowingly. It’s set atop the end table to be put aside. Then, he leans back on the sofa next to you, trying his best to accommodate his wings and you. “Yeah, I get that. It does take time getting used to,” he says, before making a face. He must’ve been reminiscing on times where something was said about him - or you - publicly that was hurtful or untrue. “You just have to learn to let it roll off your back. It’s probably not much help, but that’s what I did.” It’s not like he had much choice, but you don’t say that.

“You’re right, I guess.” You shrug. That just doesn’t make it any easier to think about, so you can’t help but pout sadly a little. You’ll just have to work with that mindset from now on.

“Hey, c’mon!” he beams with a toothy grin, leaning into your face until there’s a hand’s width between you. “I’m worth it, though! Right?”

You cross your arms and close your eyes with a cheeky smirk. “Hmm, no comment, Mister Reporter, sir!” you joke. Teasing him was always a treat when you felt down.

Keigo pouts immediately at your response, yet you know he appreciates the humour when he whines aloud. You crack open an eye at him, but both eyes are quick to jolt open when you see that impish grin that he only donned when-

“Guess I’ll just have’ta tickle it outta you, eh, chickadee?”

“Oh, no-!”

Before you could even finish that he tackles you into the couch, fingers working their way up your tummy and around your legs to torture your nerves. You laugh and cry at the same time, being so enveloped in it that you can’t find a way to fight back against him. You’re laughing so hard it’s almost hard to breathe when he uses his feathers to his advantage by increasing the area of his tickle-assault.

“W-worth it!” You giggle out, writhing underneath him.

“Me, or the joke?”

“B-bo- heheheh, both!”

[eryiscrye]

34 for the prompts?

#34-Meeting at a Masquerade Ball

So... I uh... took liberties with the definition of short and therefore... I have put most of it under a cut. It IS shorter than a typical The Ties That Bind chapter though, so it’s still counts! I hope you enjoy 🥰 It’s also a high school AU!

When Brienne caught sight of the notices, taped onto every available locker and wall, her better judgment flew out the window and instead was replaced with the sweet stories of every single romantic fairy tale she had ever loved. It was a chance, possibly her only chance, and Brienne Tarth was going to do her best to take it. 

She didn’t have a mother or any sisters to help her find a dress, or really any friends who would help her do so either, Catelyn having graduated and gone to Winterfell University the year before, but luckily the women at the small dress boutique down by her father’s dock took pity on her and had time enough to spend hours looking for something, anything, that would give her the best chance she had at not being recognized. Because that was what it came down to. She simply couldn’t be recognized at King’s Landing High’s bi-annual ball or else it would all be over. 

She remembered the first and only other time she had attended… tried to attend one of the dances, Ronnet Connington throwing blood red roses at her feet in front of everyone before they had even entered the hall. She never wanted to feel like that again.

There were no girls at her school that were as tall as she was, but if the dress was floor length all around, she could pretend she was stumbling around in six inch stiletto heels. Her body was broad and boxy, but with the right bodice and skirt, maybe she could give the illusion that she was averagely sized and somewhat curvy. And if all else failed, at least KLH’s balls typically took place in terribly lit halls. She had once been callously told that all women were the same in the dark, but for once she hoped it were true.

Brienne smoothed her hand over the beautiful silver mask she had bought. It looked better in person than it did online and that only cemented her ideation that this was meant to be. A masquerade ball, how lucky was she that KLH’s student committee would decide upon that theme for the last ball of her high school days. The mask wouldn’t cover her entire face, but it would cover everything identifiable and unseemly about her: her nose, her lips, the giant scar on her cheek. The mask would even cover up the majority of the dirty smatterings that were her freckles, a thick layer of foundation taking care of the rest.

It would be enough. It had to be enough.

-///-///-///-

Like with every other ball since Jaime had bashed Ronnet’s teeth out of his head for humiliating her in front of everyone, he pestered her about attending this one too. They had known each other since they were kids, but that first high school dance had been the first time that he had seemed to take any real notice of her. Brienne learned the hard way that once Jaime Lannister took notice, he never didn’t again.

Well, ‘the hard way’ was putting it unkindly. He had been annoying at first, his penchant for popping up out of nowhere and incessantly teasing her grating, but eventually, when literal push had come to literal shove, he had proven to be her most loyal and closest friend. The scars on his right hand and the one on her cheek would probably bind them for life.

So it felt horrible lying to him. “I’m not going,” she said not looking up from her notes, knowing that he would instantly see the deception in her eyes.

Jaime flopped on the table beside her to try and shoot his big, puppy eyes straight into her soul. She turned ever so slightly away so that he couldn’t land a direct hit. “Come on Brienne, it’s the last one before we head off to university.”

“Good riddance.”

Jaime scowled and folded his arms beneath his head. His fists clenched, “Don’t tell me this still has to do with Connington.”

Brienne’s silence and the stiffening of her jaw was all the answer he needed.

Jaime practically growled, “Forget what that fucking useless lump of trash did. The bastard isn’t worth it. Come with me to the ball.”

For a moment Brienne imaged that he meant as his date, but he didn’t. He never did. And she needed to get her silly hopes under control before they moved in together at Riverrun University. “No, Jaime.”

“Then what will we be doing that night?”

“I’ll be helping my dad at the docks,” she lied, and hoped her father remembered to corroborate her story when Jaime inevitably pestered him, “You’ll be enjoying yourself at the dance.” At least she hoped.

Jaime frowned and poked her arm, “I’m not going to enjoy myself if you aren’t there.”

What he said was kind, although it was a blatantly untrue. “You’ve enjoyed yourself fine enough every other ball I haven’t attended.”

“I haven’t.”

“Then why do you still go?”

Jaime stayed silent.

Brienne thought so.

-///-///-///-

Jaime angrily pulled on his stupid tuxedo jacket. He had been so sure that he would be able to convince Brienne to go to at least one dance in all their high school years together, but not once had he succeeded. Even begging Selwyn to cajole her into going to this last one hadn’t worked, and Brienne’s father had simply chuckled all through out the phone call as though what Jaime had to say was the funniest thing he had ever heard. Even imploring him to give her the night off so that Jaime could at least spend it with her hadn’t touched Selwyn’s usually big, beating heart, and the man had simply told Jaime to just ‘go to the damn ball, son’. Unhelpful, everyone was being unbelievably unhelpful.

“You’re creasing everything,” Cersei said as she slid between him and the mirror with his bow tie, folded handkerchief, and cufflinks in hand, “It won’t do to look like a slob.”

“I don’t care.”

Cersei rolled her eyes so hard that it was a wonder they didn’t fall out of their sockets. “Why don’t you just tell her how you feel?” She smoothed out his outfit with several sharp tugs and stuffed the handkerchief into his suit pocket.

Jaime pursed his lips. 

One of Cersei’s eyebrows lifted in a perfect arch as she threw the tie around his still popped collar and began to tie it with deft hands, “Have you tried the simple but straight forward, ‘I love you’?”

Jaime’s lips pursed even more. No matter how many times he had tried, Brienne had always added ‘but only as a friend’ to his blatant statement or airily laughed it off as though he would say it to just anyone.

“My god,” Cersei muttered, “She’s as thick as she is stubborn.”

“Cersei…” Jaime hissed in warning.

She pulled the bow taught, flipped down his collar, and patted his chest, “Not an insult. Wouldn’t want you to do to me what you did to the soccer team. Does she even know?” Cersei moved on to doing up his cuffs. His twin sister always had a knack for making him feel like an overgrown child.

“No,” Jaime muttered. The moment he had heard of the bet, he had put everyone involved in their place. No one in the world deserved to have that happen to them, much less sweet, softhearted Brienne.

“Do you think she’s going to finally show up this time?” Cersei asked, a smirk curling on her lips, “Give you a chance to finally sweep her off her feet.”

“Fuck off.”

“Because if you’re going to be in a mood all night, again, I’m not associating myself with you any further,” she straightened out both his sleeves, took a step back and nodded. 

Jaime frowned. He hadn’t told anyone. He had definitely not told his sister, but still she knew that the only reason he still attended these damn balls was on the off chance that Brienne would decide to show up last minute and he could finally, finally, show her how he felt. It was stupid, but he loved those fairy tales too and hoped that maybe if he told her he loved her at a damn ball, she would finally fucking believe him. But knowing that there was no chance Brienne was going to be coming at all tonight… well… what was even the point?

Cersei sighed as she picked up the mask he had chosen for the night, “Blue really isn’t your colour.”

“I resent that.”

She set the mask down, “And you’re an idiot.” Cersei swept out of the room.

-///-///-///-

Brienne entered the hall, her nerves making her stumble at the threshold, even in her flats. At least she didn’t have to fake wearing stiletto heels. 

As she had hoped, the whole place was lit quite poorly with splashes of purple and blue light mainly hitting and reflecting off the walls and spotlights only scattered here and there. Music reverberated through the air, overpowering the din of mingled conversation. The songs being played were a mix of pop melodies that were easy to dance to and waltz’s that carried the theme of the night. People were dancing everywhere, scattered among the conversations and tables filled with food and drink, rather than just on the dance floor, and it made the entire event feel somewhat surreal.

Some of the students she could identify quickly even with their masks on, Cersei Lannister’s shining golden ringlets and signature blood red lipstick making her prominent among the population, but most of the rest were like strangers in a crowd. She hoped she looked like a stranger too. 

Cersei’s hair standing out so much in the dim lights of the hall gave her hope that it wouldn’t be so hard to find the one person she wanted to find. She just wanted to have one dance with him before the stroke of midnight came and they would live the rest of their lives out as the best of friends. It would hurt to see him date and bring back to their apartment girls he would assuredly meet and fall in love with in university, but at least she would always have tonight. That was, if she could find him.

It took her nearly an hour and unlike where she thought he would be, surrounded by guys and girls, laughing and enjoying the night under one of the glowing spotlights, she found him alone, standing in the shadows. 

Nervously, she moved towards him. At her approach he instinctively seemed to recoil, and Brienne swallowed uneasily. Did he recognize her? Was he waiting for someone? She thought that he would have been happy to see a friend even if he did recognize her. Well there was only one way to find out. 

“Um excuse me,” she murmured, her voice muffled and altered by her mask, “Would you like to dance?”

Jaime huffed, “Sorry, I’m no—” and then he turned towards her and seemed surprised that he had to look up, “I…” His eyes met hers, then sparked and glowed. “I would.”

Brienne couldn’t help but smile, her disguise had worked.

-///-///-///-

He had nearly bailed last minute, thinking that it would be better to just mope on the couch and text Brienne constantly until she just angrily called him. Then, maybe, he could at least lure her into chatting with him all through the night. 

His little brother was the only reason he hadn’t though. Cersei wouldn’t lift a finger to protect him and Jaime knew that high school was liable to try and hurt him as much as it had hurt Brienne. Teenagers were ruthless, but especially so on the night of KLH’s bi-annual balls.  

About five minutes after they had arrived though, his protective instincts were all deemed pointless. Unlike Brienne, Tyrion had a penchant for making friends, even if they were minorly unsavory ones, and he was off doing whatever he had planned to do. Jaime leaned against the wall, enjoying the slight anonymity his mask gave him even if he wasn’t enjoying anything else. At least he didn’t have to spend the whole night turning down dances from every girl who only saw the Lannister heir or his handsome looks. 

About an hour after arriving, Jaime considered going home, changing into something comfortable and joining Brienne at the docks despite her and her father’s protestations. If there was no chance that she was coming, he would have much rather spent the night with her, trying desperately to tell her, again, how he felt. It was silly, he knew. He would have a million more chances, but it almost seemed wrong to move in with her before making his feelings utterly clear. If she didn’t feel the same way, wouldn’t his pining just one bedroom away bother her?

He heard the swish of skirts before he saw them and prepared himself to reject the girl. There was only one person he had wanted to dance with tonight. 

“Um excuse me.” She sounded so nervous and so familiar. His heart beat loudly in his chest and he looked away. He already felt bad for rejecting her outright, but there was just no other way. “Would you like to dance?”

Jaime sighed, “Sorry, I’m no—“ and then he turned to look her in the face as he dismissed her and found that he had to tilt his chin up to meet her eyes. Her eyes. “I…” Brienne’s eyes. Oh god. Brienne was here! Brienne was asking him to dance. He scrambled for the only answer, “I would!”

Her eyes sparkled in a way that told him she was smiling, even though he couldn’t see the majority of her face and he wondered why it was she had chosen such a ridiculous mask. It hid all of the unique and precious features of her: her nose, her lips, her cheek.

Jaime’s eyes narrowed as he reached his unscarred hand up to brush against the only section of exposed skin. “Come on, then,” he managed to say as he pulled her out of the shadows and into a little stream of light. When he looked at her again, he realized that it hadn’t just been a trick of the darkness, she had covered all her darling freckles under a heavy layer of make up. Jaime swallowed as he beheld her. Did she think…? No. Impossible.

She looked nervous now, under the light, “Maybe we should dance over there,” she said, and pointed at the shadows. 

Oh gods, she did. “No,” Jaime said with force, “Here suits me fine.” He took her hand and pulled her in, wrapping his arm around her waist.

Brienne gasped at his touch and he wondered if she was blushing. He couldn’t tell. And he hated it. 

As they danced, Jaime wondered if he should tell her he knew who she was. It was obvious that she thought she had to hide herself from him, but he just couldn’t, for the life of him, fathom why. But as she tightened her grip on him and they leaned closer and closer as one song ended and another began, he found that he cared less and less so long as she was in his arms. 

He nuzzled the hair at her temple and she sighed happily. He decided that instant, and without hesitation, that she had to know he knew it was her. “Brienne,” he murmured into her ear, and held her tighter as she jerked in his arms. 

“How did you…?”

“Did you really think I could ever mistake you for someone else?” Jaime asked.

Brienne quivered, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—“

“I only said yes because I knew it was you.”

He let her draw away from him just enough so that they could see each other’s faces. “What?” she asked, softly, “Why?” her voice even more tender.

Jaime smiled at her, then lifted and span her mask so that instead of covering her face, it shielded them from the rest of the world. He was relieved to see that she hadn’t covered the rest of her freckles. His scarred hand went to brush her scarred cheek. “I’ve been waiting for you.” He leaned and kissed her.

[justjimedits]

elandrialore

This reblog is not actually directed at jimtremor because I don’t give a shit about them and have had them blocked for a while. I’m only reblogging because their post absolutely encapsulates every conversation I have ever had with a “liberal” racist, including the ones where I was the “liberal” racist.

1. “I wasn’t biased”

This is factually untrue, always. Every single person has biases, there’s no way around it. Biases aren’t inherently bad, they’re how we make sense of our experiences. However, if you do not know the ways in which you are biased it is easy to believe that your opinion is based on impartial fact. Do the work to figure out what your unconscious biases are so that when you get into situations where they might be hindering your ability to see the facts as they are you can take a step back and reevaluate. I found this to be an interesting place to start:

https://implicit.harvard.edu/implicit/selectatestv3.html

2. Me! A racist!

There’s this implication in the U.S. specifically that racism is a finite thing: you either are a racist or you aren’t. Racism is bad and if you did or said something racist (and specifically meant it as racist) then you are a racist and are morally repugnant. If you did or said something against racism then you are clearly not a racist and should never be labeled as such. If you are labeled as such it’s clearly a personal attack on your character and you should fight back.

Except, here’s the thing. All of that is bullshit. If you grew up in the U.S. you grew up racist. In hundreds of different ways every day you are exposed to it and you internalize these beliefs. It is not easy to unlearn all those beliefs. It takes work, and there is no end to that work. Being anti-racist is not a noun, it can only ever be a verb. It is an active process because passivity only helps maintain the status quo, which is riddled with racist policies and systems.

People who have black friends/lovers can still be racist. People who have learned to enjoy people from all cultures can still be racist. People who teach their mother not to say racist things can still be racist. I can say this with absolute confidence because I have literally done all of those things and yet sometimes I am still racist. It doesn’t matter that I don’t mean to be and that I don’t want to be. I still am sometimes and all I can do is apologize and learn from it.

3. “How easy is it to shut up a white person [by telling them their behavior is racist]. It’ll shut people up quickly, make them apologize.”

Based on over twenty years in fandom, both my own experiences and reading about the experiences of people of color around me, this is 100% blatantly false. Overwhelmingly white people in fandom will do exactly what jimtremor did and will both play the victim and then go on the attack for years and years. It’s obviously not just a fandom trait either, this is absolutely a white people thing in all areas of life when they are confronted with their racism. People have written books about it.

4. “It wrecks the possibility of discussion.”

Also false. If someone says you’re being racist, look at what you did/said. Try to remove those unconscious biases and re-examine. If you still can’t see what they mean then tell them the work you put in and ask them for more information. People like to pretend that “accusations” of racism shut down conversations, but mostly it’s because the person being accused isn’t putting in the effort to understand. If you actually put in some effort, conversations will open up.

5. “Others found me, they assured me it was okay to have my own opinions…they made me feel welcome…”

This absolutely reads like one of those articles on how white supremacists recruit online. Like, straight up.

And while it’s comforting to be around people whose opinions align with your own, I think it is the responsibility of white people to seek out those uncomfortable books/discussions/documentaries about race. Like, for real, discussions about race should 100% not be based around the comfort of white people. If you’re only looking for comfort in discussions about race then you are doing yourself and your community a disservice.

“It is best to challenge ourselves by dragging ourselves before people who intimidate us with their brilliance and constructive criticism.” - Dr. Ibram X. Kendi, How to Be an Antiracist. ------------------------------------------------------------------ My add: Obviously I can’t reblog since I’m blocked and this person I don’t even know doesn’t care that I can’t defend myself. If you go through the trouble of blocking, then don’t bother reblogging their things. 1: In the manner of Scott McCall, I wasn’t biased. I’m not saying I’m not biased in certain things. Like here in the Netherlands a lot of Moroccan youth are problematic and fall to abusive and violent behavior. And I have to remind myself when I think they’re all alike that that’s not the way to think. So yes, I’m aware of certain bias. Again you make assumptions about a person you don’t know and don’t care to know. 2: I’m not American. There are also non Americans on this site. And to assume that everybody is racist, well, to each their own I guess. So we’re all racist and our dislikes stem from racial bias and nothing else. Good to know. I’m sorry that I like a white character, it’s very racist of me. 3: Again, I’m sorry for being white. I mean, all white people are inherently racist and must always prefer POC characters in a fandom above all white characters or their racism is showing. Just like everybody else, I had no say about the color of my skin and I’m sorry that I want to treat all respectfully, that I don’t look at skin color or gender. I will have to acknowledge my racial hate from now on because I’m white. 4: I have asked actually. Since I didn’t understand at all. I was presented with the usual facts you all keep using, which make no sense at all. Scott IS NOT Mexican. Tyler Posey is, know the difference. Melissa’s maiden name is Delgado, that’s not a Mexican name. Google it. But you won’t. And you’ll ignore this part as usual because you dislike facts.  5: Seriously? Now you’re lumping us all in the group of white supremacists? I hope you realize that we actually have POC’s in the Sterek part of Teen Wolf, I don’t think White Power would allow for that? And we all don’t discuss skin tones, we actually don’t discuss that at all. The fact you’re willing to go this far to get your right....well, it says more about you than it does about me. Nor have any of you blinded me with brilliance and certainly not constructive criticisms. 

[written-shenanigans]

PROMPT: THERE’S AN URBAN LEGEND THAT’S BEEN CIRCULATING FOR YEARS ABOUT A TAXI CAB THAT DOESN’T TAKE YOU WHERE YOU WANT TO GO, BUT WHERE YOU NEED TO GO. ONE NIGHT YOU STEP INTO THIS CAB. 

I take a deep breath to clear my head, but it doesn’t help any; nothing will. Well, maybe not nothing. But nothing that I can achieve right now. Maybe some more sleep, some more food, some water, all of which have been particularly absent from my day to day life, not all the way, just touching and going. I really should be taking better care of myself, but I couldn’t find the energy to care even if I tried. 

Her voice has been echoing in my ears, bouncing around in my brain like a ping pong ball gone haywire all day, the same words on repeat, over and over, yet every time they repeat instead of growing used to them the way one blocks out white noise, I react more and more. 

She has always had that effect on me. 

“Will you go on a date with me?” she asks. Her head is laying low, and she’s peering up at me through her stunning lashes. Like looking through a window, but these curtains do nothing to hide the shell-shocking truth, which lay in the form of hope, nervousness, and utter, undeniable affection.

My mouth opens, closes. I internally curse it’s uselessness as heat takes the steady climb up my neck, darting across my cheeks. 

“A date?” I eventually manage, the words so fragile as they dangle in the air between us I worry they might shatter from a meager breath. But the worry is unfounded; she always sucks the air right out of my lungs whenever she merely exists in my proximity. And, as evidence goes to show, I have the same effect on her. 

She smiles, and it’s small but brilliant in all its shy, shining glory, like a diamond that glitters when the light hits it just right. 

I feel my chest constrict, and resist the urge to place a hand over it. I don’t need to. My heart is beating so loud in my ears that it’s undeniable that it's there, just as it's undeniable that it won’t stop; not while she’s there, anyway. 

“Yeah,” she murmurs, “a date,” 

She inches forward, ever closer, like I am something worth getting close to, like if I don’t agree to what we both know that I want, she would intervene for both our sakes. I admire her courage, and I admire the confidence because most days I don’t even know how to fight for myself. 

Yes, I want to say, Of course. I’d love to go out to coffee with you. But what comes out instead is a shattered, broken, “Why?” 

She doesn’t look surprised, but that doesn’t mean her expression is any less pained. “Because I like you,” She says, confident and sure, “I thought I was obvious,” 

I shake my head, trying to get my thoughts in order. It doesn’t work, not in the slightest, because this whole thing makes no sense, “But I- I’m not-” I huff and grab my hair, pulling sharply on the strands, “I’m not good. I’m mean and-” 

She grabs my wrist, looking so sure, and so hopelessly sad, like I’m wrong, like-like I’m tragically beautiful, like I’m a sonnet rather than a fistfight, and I can’t stand it, not one bit, but I can’t look away either. Captivating is what she is, and even though I know what she is going to say I need to see the words fall from her lips anyway. 

“You are enough,” she says fiercely, “You are enough, not to mention more than enough for me,” 

The words barrel through me like a train, fast and brutal and there is nothing I can do to stop them. It’s terrifying how much I like her. And no matter how much I try to hide it, I am nothing but a coward. 

“I . . .” I say, my voice cracking. I pull my wrist away, and her hand stays in the air, twitching like she’s going to reach out again. I stumble back a step before she can, “I need some time.” 

And I turn around, walking away without a final glance. 

I submerge my head in my hands, strong fingers curling and pressing sharply. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

It doesn’t stop the heat in my cheeks. 

I can’t decide whether or not I made the right choice. The impossible dilemma between what we want and what she needs. She had looked so sad, so impossibly heartbroken, that even now glass shards prick and poke at my heart. 

The guilt is new; I always act recklessly, getting burned and scratched, and in the process, hurt other people. This is not new. What’s new is someone seeing past the scars, past the fake uncaring attitude, past the aggression, and seeing someone worth loving. I’m nothing more than a grenade that continues to go off, time and time again, lips bruised, knuckles split, dark eyes; this is an undeniable truth, as clear as the rising sun. I’m unhealthy, I’m bad, I’m terrible, and she’s- 

She’s always been too good, too pure. Her hands thin and nimble, skin soft, voice delicate and high, a symphony that even the dead would pause to listen to.  

This makes her unattainable for someone like me, even for how much I wish it were untrue. I break everything I touch, and she’s too prone to shatter. She cares too much, too deeply, and I know that I will make a mistake, and I will hurt her. And my hands are accustomed to breaking things, calloused and hard. Not putting them back together again. 

But, she said that I could be gentle, those nights ago. She said that I was- 

-”Like lava cake! All hard and crusty on the outside, but warm and gooey on the inside!” She exclaims, giggling at my unimpressed expression. 

“Are you calling me crusty?” I say, but it holds no heat. Even if it did, that would likely be undermined by the fact that I am cleaning and bandaging her hand; more specifically, a shallow gash she got while trying to cut up some vegetables. 

“I would never!” She says, gasping and clutching at her chest with her uninjured hand. I give an impressive eye roll at that, but focus my attention on wrapping the gauze. It’s comfortably silent for a moment, but she breaks it with a huff. 

“You’re being a little dramatic. It’s just a small cut.” She pouts, and for a moment I’m stuck, completely regretting inviting her here, into my home. 

She had called. She’s been doing that more and more often-she says she wants to get close to me, which doesn’t explain anything- and so I picked up. She had said that her favorite dinner joint had closed early, so she had no food, and since I have no brain-to-mouth-filter when it comes to her, I had blurted that I was making enough for two. 

Which, in hindsight, was truly a ghastly decision. She’s perched up on my counter, ethereal and beautiful in the dim lights of my kitchen. Every part of her practically glows, and my throat goes dry. 

I’m standing in between her legs, and she is much closer than I remember her being. Is she leaning forward? I look up, and am caught, absolutely caught by her gaze; torn between wanting what I can’t have and facing reality. 

I have to look away. I focus my attention on her hand as I find my voice. 

“I told you to let me do the cooking,” I say, and it comes out sharper than I intended due to my frayed nerves. She isn’t put off at all. She knows me far too well, and I worry that the lines between our friendship and . . . whatever it is that is overcoming the both of us, that those lines are becoming more and more blurred with every moment. 

It’s not like I’m helping any. I don’t let anyone into my home, and yet here she is, in all her glowing glory. 

A horrid decision. 

“Was I supposed to do, just let you do all the hard work when you did me a huge favor? That’s not fair!” She protests as I cut the gauze and seal it. My hands move the rest on the counter on either side of her, so I’m framing her legs with my arms. She doesn’t seem to mind in the least, even though I am trying to come across as serious. 

“I told you I didn’t mind,” I say, but it comes out all wrong; too gentle, too caring, too much of everything I was trying to avoid. 

It makes her smile, though. She slowly, oh so slowly, reaches up and frames my face with her hands. The bandage tickles my cheek, but I lean into the touch because the remnants of my self-control were whisked away by the look in her eye. 

“I know,” she whispers, face softening, “but you don’t have to do everything alone, you know? I’m here,”

A lump forms in my throat, one that won’t be swallowed down. I try anyway, and she tracks the motion with her eyes before they meet mine again. We are both leaning, leaning closer, and I should stop, because there is no going back from this, no coming back from her- 

But her eyes are fluttering shut and she really does look like an angel, glowing as her lips part in anticipation, and, well, how could I ever deny her when she looks so hopeful? 

My eyes fall shut, and I lean impossibly closer-

Until a loud whining sound has us jerking back, both of us startling hard. It’s the kettle. It’s shaking at being ignored. I stare at it in disbelief, before a giggle has my eyes drawing back. She’s covering her mouth with her hand as she laughs, and my heart both soars and falls because she is perfect, but the moment is gone. She jumps up to get the kettle, and I force the disappointment down. 

I’m stumbling out into the frigid air before I even realize it. I don’t remember taking the elevator of my building down, but I’m standing in the cold. Shaking my head, I raise my hand to hail a cab. Might as well go to the office to get some more work done; I don’t think I could stand to sit in the quiet of my house any longer. 

A cab slowly comes to a stop in front of me. Rubbing my hands together to fight off the cold seeping into my skin, I slump into the seat. 

“I want to go to-” I start, before cutting myself off, eyes catching on the driver. They don’t turn around, even though I am visibly gaping at their hands clutching the wheel. Which . . . are transparent. 

Now that I think about it, the whole cab comes off as just a tiny bit peculiar. It’s missing the usual musty smell most cabs share, along with the rumbling of an engine, or the hum of the heater, yet the car is warm and comfortable. 

Realization dawns on me. I recall whispers on street corners, of a cab that would take you not where you wanted to go, but where you needed to. My mouth opens and closes. 

Maybe it’s because it’s so late-or early, whatever- and I haven’t slept, maybe it’s because I skipped too many meals in the past days, maybe I am just really losing my mind, 

Or maybe because I always put some weight in these sort of things, because every once in a while a shadow will flit in my peripherals, or because I hear noises that I can’t always explain, because some things are just a little too perfect to be a coincidence,

Whatever the reason, I don’t reach for the door. It would likely prove fruitless anyway. If this cab is here, against all logic and reason, then I might as well see how it plays out. 

Definitely losing it, but I decide that it’s something I can work out later. 

The driver still has not moved an inch, gloved translucent hands perfectly perched on the wheel. I take a deep breath. 

“Alright,” I say, flopping back from my tense state. I reach back and click the buckle into place. “Take me where I need to go,” 

The driver reaches down and puts the car into gear, and then we are off, driving wherever the spirit decides to take us. 

I watch curiously as we make every green light in the congested city, and watch as traffic hardly stops at all. A little bit of that magic that has me smiling just a tiny bit to myself, despite my previous sour mode. 

When we pull up to her apartment building, I am both surprised and not surprised at all, because this is not the place I thought I would be taken, but now that I think about it there is nowhere else on this earth that I could possibly need to be more than this one. 

Still, I hesitate. The driver doesn’t move, but the door pops open nonetheless. I look over at them. They continue staring straight on, but the message is clear. 

I step out of the cab, and, summoning all the courage I have, walk up to the doors. I reach for the handle, before turning back. I’d like to say I turned back because what just happened shouldn’t be possible, and not because of the fear running rampant through my blood. But, no matter the reason, when I turn around the cab is completely gone. 

I huff a tiny, “Of course,” before shoving through the doors. The man at the desk at the lobby recognizes me and gives me a little head nod and a polite smile to match. Any other day, I’d be disoriented by that little sense of permanence, that reminder that I have built something that I didn’t mean to. But, it’s today; there is something I need to do. 

I give a head nod back, or at least I think I do. I couldn’t say, too focused on making it to her apartment. The elevator ride lasts both far too long and not long enough, and before I know it I’m standing at her door. 

I swallow to try and fight off the dryness consuming my throat and mouth; don’t really succeed. 

I knock before I lose my nerve. 

She appears in the door, practically floating. She looks surprised to see me, her mouth falling open into a little “O”. She waits for me to speak. I fight for the words, licking my lips. 

“A coffee shop just opened near my building, and they have the bear claws you like. Maybe we could go sometime?” It’s pretty pathetic as far as apologies and love confessions go, but it’s all I can push past my stubborn mouth. 

Based on the look in her eye, she accepts it wholeheartedly.  More than enough for me, she had said. From the way she’s beaming at me, I can tell she means it. 

“I’d love to,” She says, before pulling me into her arms. 

The taxi didn’t just take me where I needed to go, I realize as my eyes meet hers. It took me home. 

Grinning, I send out a little prayer of thanks in my head, before pressing my lips to hers. 

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Hi!! I’ll be posting some little things I write here from time to time. Thank so much for reading to the end, I hope enjoyed! - Eliza Grace

[thefandomlesbian]

Hi! For the writer ask game : 💊/ 👶/ 💜/ 🔍 Have a great day :)

💜: Top 3 favorite lines: 

I answered this in another ask, but hell, I can always have more than three favorite lines!

Lana flapped her hands in disgust. “Oh my god, it doesn’t matter! I’m old, I’m forgetful, and I shouldn’t have to look at penises in my own home if I don’t want to!” Mary Eunice resumed rubbing Lana’s shoulders, deciding to forgive her for rolling the computer chair over her foot, though she hadn’t apologized for it. “Every time I see a penis, I think it’s the last time I’ll ever have to endure that, but inevitably, I end up seeing another one!” (Twatting the President)

Nora loved the heat Billie Dean gave her. She loved the way Billie Dean touched her. She loved the sound of her voice. She loved the curve of her lips (and as she thought this, she traced those lips with her thumb). She loved the sparkle in her brown eyes, how they turned the color of stale honey when the sunset filtered through the window and caught them just so. These eyes made her understand how once, a lifetime ago, someone had loved her enough to model fixtures after her eyes—when one loved someone like this, their eyes were truly the windows to their soul. She recalled in great detail everything she loved about Billie Dean… But she couldn’t remember why. Her tongue darted out of her mouth and crossed her chapped lips. “Remind me of your name again, Miss?” she whispered, her voice a bare thing. (Chemical-Scented Sheets, collab with @rabexxpaulson)

In the recent memory, Misty lifted her from the bathtub and carried her to the bed, but she couldn’t summon up her magic. It refused to rise to the surface. She strained for it, reached for it like she had once done to draw souls back out from the great beyond. It evaded her. The great mystery of her magic: She could feel it thrumming in her veins with every pulse of her heart, but nothing could bring it up to aid her in a time of need. And what use was a medication stuck in a bottle if she couldn’t administer it to the person in need? What use was she if she couldn’t help Cordelia when she was hurt? Was she doomed to be a useless lump, occupying space and nothing else, cluttering up Cordelia’s life? (My Light Is Coming Home)

💊: What is something you wish you knew before you started writing?:

I started writing seriously with the intention of becoming a novelist when I was seven or eight years old, so I guess if I was talking to that version of myself, I would tell her that her female characters are way more interesting if she doesn’t give them pointless placeholder male love interests. Or maybe I’d just cut to the chase and say, “Hey, dummy, you’re a lesbian and you’re being brainwashed by society to believe women are not complete without men, so your stories should reflect that!” 

Or maybe I’d just keep my mouth shut and hope she does okay without my help. 

👶: Advice for new writers?:

Write a lot, write badly, and don’t be afraid of critique. Writers are not in competition with one another. Another writer’s success is not my failure. Don’t be jealous of other writers, especially in the fandom. And in fandom, don’t get sucked into fandom drama. People may say shitty, untrue, unfair things about you, and those people can spoil your fandom experience if you let them. Don’t let them. 

And in addition, advice for more experienced writers? Build young/new writers. I never would’ve gotten where I am if it weren’t for a lot of really dedicated adults hyping up my shit writing when I was a kid, and I can remember exactly which moments made me feel the best and which ones made me feel the worst in regards to my writing. Because I’ve spent a lot of time being an editor for academic work at school, I know I can have a lot of trouble writing appropriate, constructive criticism instead of just saying, “Well, xyz could be improved.” Pointing out wholly negative aspects of new writers’ work can destroy their motivation to keep writing. Bolster new writers and help them grow. Share their fics. Praise them. If you feel you must offer critique, please be gentle and read the room. Your approval and willingness to build scaffolding with newer writers can really improve their fandom experience. 

🔍: Does anyone in your personal life know you write on Tumblr?

Yes! Lots of people, actually. My mom has the link to my AO3 profile (and I spend my days hoping and praying she never finds my smut). My English teacher from high school knows about my antics, as does my creative writing professor from last year. I shared the news about my nomination of best AHS fanfic writer to my personal Facebook page with friends and family and got a lot of congratulations. I’m done hiding in any kind of closet, and I’m not ashamed to be a fanfiction writer. 

[unfolded73]

How Do We Get Back (15/16) - schitt’s creek ff

Summary: In a literal alternate universe where the Roses escaped financial ruin, David and Patrick struggle with loneliness and a sense that something isn’t right. A chance meeting in New York and a terrible tragedy drive them to question whether the timeline they are on is the right one. Explicit, this chapter 3.6k words.  (ao3)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14

_____________________________________

Chapter 15

David opened his eyes and stared at the stained popcorn ceiling overhead. He sighed and closed his eyes, ready to fall back to sleep, but nagging responsibility kept him from drifting off. He had a lot to do, and not much time left to do it in. Groaning, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

The bed next to his was empty. Giving it a quick glance, he gathered up some clothes and went into the bathroom to shower and get ready for the day.

While the water warmed up, he stared at himself in the mirror, touching the dark circles under his eyes and wincing. He hadn’t been sleeping enough lately: too many worries to get a good night’s sleep. Testing the water, David slipped off his pajamas and got under the inadequate spray.

After so long in this motel, he had his shower routine down to about seven minutes, which his old self would have died to think of. But the hot water was limited, and the weak water pressure wasn’t particularly pleasurable to stand under, and so he’d paired it down to the basics of washing, shampooing, and conditioning. At seven minutes exactly, he turned the water off and groped for his towel.

Face shaven, hair blow dried and styled, daytime moisturizer with sunscreen applied, and clothes on, he stepped out of the bathroom and went over to the door to the adjoining room. He tapped and listened for a ‘come in’ before he entered.

His mother was sitting at the round table in her pajamas, sipping a cup of tea and reading a book. His father was pulling on his suit jacket next to the wig wall.

“Hey, I just wanted to let you know, I should be ready to open the store in just a couple more weeks.”

“Oh, that’s great news! A grand opening!” Johnny said.

“It’s certainly taken long enough; we’ve been waiting with bated breath,” Moira said.

“Okay,” David said in acknowledgement of his mother’s negativity before turning to his father. “I was thinking about a soft launch, actually? Like, Gwyneth soft launched the Goop newsletter and now it’s a thriving lifestyle publication?”

“Who?” Johnny asked as he adjusted the collar of his shirt in the mirror.

“I don’t know, David, that sounds meek!” Moira proclaimed, setting her book down and looking at him. “You’re looking very tired, dear. The bags under your eyes would barely fit in the overhead compartment.”

David huffed, throwing his hands up. “Getting the store ready to open is a lot of work.” And more importantly, he’d been lying awake worrying about all the things he needed to do, and worse, all the things that he probably didn’t know that he needed to do.

“You should probably hire some help, son.” Johnny sat down with his wife at the table and picked up the newspaper.

“I intend to, eventually, but I don’t have the money to pay anyone at this point. Hiring someone means you have to pay them.”

His mother was looking at him pityingly, as if maybe she was wondering if they wouldn’t have all been better off if Christmas World hadn’t changed their mind about moving into the town. In his darker moments, David wondered that too.

“Anyway, I’m thinking I’ll do an exclusive opening for friends and family only. Maybe I’ll offer a discount.”

“On the first day? Sounds a bit defeatist.” His mother shook her head, picking up the book she had been reading and opening it. “Well, David, we’ll be happy to come and support your modest little vigil, if ever the day for it finally arrives.”

“Great. So glad I came in here,” he said, going back to his room and leaning against the closed door, taking a second to wallow in the shaky feeling of inadequacy that his parents were so good at mining, even if it wasn’t intentional. He took some deep breaths, trying to calm himself down.

The outside door to the motel room opened and Alexis came in, dressed in her running clothes.

“I’ve just about had it with Mom and Dad,” David said.

She pulled out her ear buds. “What?”

“I said I’ve just about had it with Mom and Dad.”

“Why?”

“Hey, can you help me at the store today? I have a list of things to do that’s like a mile long and I really don’t know if I can do it all by myself.”

Alexis put on a wincing expression. “I need to study, actually.”

“It’s Saturday morning; you can’t need to study that badly.”

“I have a history test on Monday, David,” she insisted, flipping her ponytail. “But fine, I can help you. I’m not carrying any heavy boxes, though.”

“Ugh, fine.” He watched Alexis as she went over and set her phone and ear buds down on the table between their beds, then pulled her ponytail holder out and shook out her hair. “Are you done in the bathroom? Because I need to shower,” she said, moving over to the closet to pick an outfit.

“Yeah, I’m…” Something was bothering him, like he’d forgotten to tell Alexis something. He felt a sudden, keen worry for her in the pit of his stomach, like when she used to send word to him from a sultan’s palace that she needed a new passport, a wig, and some colored contact lenses.

Alexis turned, a dress on a hanger in one hand. “You’re what?”

David shook himself. “I’m done in the bathroom.” Looking at her face, the sudden urge to cry took hold of him. “I think I might need a hug?”

“Ew, David. I’m sweaty right now,” Alexis said. “What’s wrong with you?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know, I feel…” He couldn’t articulate it. “I think I might just be really lonely,” he said, which didn’t have anything to do with the anxiety about Alexis that had grabbed hold of his throat a minute ago, but it also wasn’t untrue.

Alexis laid her dress on the bed and came over to give him a very hesitant hug, but David overruled her, pulling her into a firmer embrace. “I’m glad you’re my sister,” he said, swallowing against a lump in his throat.

“David, you’re being very needy,” she said, slapping gently at his shoulder until he let her go. “But I’m also glad… that you’re my brother,” she said, pulling away and looking anywhere but at his face. “Okay, if you want my help today, then you have to let me go get ready.”

He watched her until she shut the bathroom door.

~*~

Gwen was late to Jazzagals rehearsal, and so when she arrived and ducked in behind Twyla and next to Ronnie, vocal warm-ups were just ending.

“Now,” Moira Rose said, clapping her hands. She had on a white-and-black vertically striped dress, similarly striped tights, and white shoes with heels so high, Gwen couldn’t imagine how anyone could walk in them without snapping an ankle. “Everyone please get out your sheet music for ‘It’s Raining Men’; I’d like to begin with the bridge today.”

Gwen tapped Twyla on the shoulder. “Do you have a minute to talk after rehearsal?” she whispered.

Twyla winced. “I have to get to my shift after this; can we talk on the way to the café?”

Moira shot them a disparaging glance for whispering during rehearsal, and so Gwen quickly found her place in the music and began to sing.

It had started with dreams, several weeks ago, that she was living out on the street in a strange city. She would wake up shivering, convinced that the cold and damp was sinking into her bones and freezing her from the inside out, only to awake to find herself safe in her warm bed with Bob. Dream after dream, the same — cold winters and rain and homeless shelters or the unforgiving sidewalk for a bed. Then she began to dream that she was chasing after David Rose, of all people — she didn’t think she’d ever exchanged two words with the man in all of the time that the Roses had lived in Schitt’s Creek, and yet he was plaguing her dreams. Either him, or another man that she didn’t recognize.

She’d been documenting the dreams on the message boards from the very start — all of them were encouraged to do that. Dreams could be powerful portents for what was to come, particularly for people who lived at weak points like Gwen did, and a lot of her fellow technopagans had much to say on the reason for these dreams, none of it useful. Until yesterday.

The rehearsal dragged by, Moira’s exacting standards and occasionally thoughtless comments bringing out a few passive aggressive mutterings from Jocelyn. Finally, it ended, and Gwen made the usual pleasantries with her fellow townswomen for a few minutes before hurrying to follow Twyla out the door.

“Sorry to bother you, Twyla, but I wanted to talk to you about your grandmother,” Gwen said.

“Oh yeah?” Twyla flashed her an easy smile. “What about her?”

“The stories around town were that she had powers.” Gwen glanced around to make sure no one was close enough to hear them. “That she understood what Schitt’s Creek is and how to exploit it.”

Twyla looked at her, surprised. “Yeah, there were always stories, but I’m not sure how true any of them are. She certainly believed she had powers to touch other dimensions. Which, I know, sounds crazy.”

“Not so crazy.” They were almost to the café, and Gwen knew she had a limited amount of time with which to speak before she risked being overheard. She put a hand on Twyla’s upper arm and stopped her. “We can’t feel it, but people with powers that greatly exceed my own have confirmed it — there was a huge shift in the timeline a couple of years ago. No one knows why, or how, but they believe that the universe was almost headed down a very dark path and that someone set it right.”

Twlya’s eyes were as big as saucers. “Really?”

Gwen nodded. “Or, almost right. It was a patch job, that was the way my coven— er, someone I know on the internet described it. So some things are still out of place. Some threads were dropped. People have been working to set them right, no matter how trivial they might seem. And now it seems I’ve found another dropped thread.”

“What is it?” Twyla asked in a hushed tone.

“Someone who is supposed to be here in Schitt’s Creek, but isn’t.”

“Who?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Gwen said, not wanting to get into more detail. “When you get off work, can you bring me everything you have that belonged to your grandmother? Letters, diaries, anything like that?”

Twyla nodded. “Of course. I have a box of her stuff, although I don’t remember what’s in it, exactly.”

“Perfect. Go, get to work before you’re late,” Gwen said, indicating the café. “And Twyla? Don’t tell anyone we talked about this.”

Twyla frowned, and then wiped the frown from her face and replaced it with a smile. “No problem, Gwen.”

~*~

“What’s this?” Alexis said, picking up a large white envelope from the counter.

David glanced up. “Oh, it’s got my business license in it. I guess I’m suppose to… display it?” He looked up at the wall behind where the cash register was going to go. “I don’t know, I don’t really have time to think about it.” He went into the back to get another heavy box of hand cream to have Alexis put the labels on for him so that he could focus on setting up the cases where the fresh vegetables were going to go when they were in season.

They worked all day, or David worked all day while Alexis intermittently worked and sampled products that weren’t really samples while David restrained himself from slapping them out of her hands. Stevie stopped by after her shift at the motel, and although her goal in coming by was to drink with him, David managed to press her into service as well, putting bottles of body milk onto the shelves. Alexis took that as her cue to leave, flouncing out the door and heading over to the café.

“Can you drink this?” Stevie asked, holding up one of the bottles.

“It’s liquid moisturizer,” David replied with an eye roll.

“It says milk, though.”

The bell on the door rang again, and David looked up to see Ray Butani coming in.

“David, I looked over your business plan,” he said without any preamble, “and I have some concerns.”

Stevie gave David a questioning look.

“Ray is helping me with some of the business stuff,” David explained.

“For a nominal fee,” Ray said quickly, like he didn’t want any rumors to get around town that he was doing work for anyone for free. “Anyway, David, while I think eventually you’ll have enough money coming in to sustain you, I don’t think you have enough start up money to get you through the first year.”

David’s heart sank. “But I’m not buying the products, I’m selling them on consignment—”

“No, I know that, David, that’s the reason that I’m not coming in here and saying your business is going to fail. Which I would do if you weren’t selling on consignment.” Ray smiled at him, and David recoiled at the Ray’s toothy grin. “But there are still start up costs that you have to deal with while you’re building the business.”

“So where do I get this start up money?” David asked.

“I don’t know!” Ray cooed cheerfully. “But that’s my assessment. I wrote it all up for you,” he said, handing David a folder. “I’ve got to run; I’ve got a date.” Ray turned to leave, and then stooped and picked something up from the floor. “You dropped this,” Ray said, handing David a small card.

“Must have fallen out of one of the boxes,” David said, slipping it in his pocket since he didn’t have a trash can handy.

“See you later!” Before David could say anything else, Ray had gone again.

“Well, fuck,” David said. “My business is going to fail.”

“He specifically said he wasn’t saying it was going to fail,” Stevie said.

“But he also said I needed more start up money, which is basically the same thing,” David set the folder down and shook his hands out, feeling his heart starting to race. “I don’t have more money.”

“Okay, you’re freaking out.” She set her bottle of body milk down and pulled something out of her pocket and held it up. “I found this under the bed in room two this morning, so do you want to take a break and share it with me?”

David winced, looking at the joint in Stevie’s hand. “That’s disgusting. And yes. Yes, I do.”

~*~

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” David murmured, tipping his chair back and letting his head recline to look at the ceiling. The store had a really nice ceiling, but no one was going to look at it, probably. What a waste.

“You do know what you’re doing,” Stevie said from the floor. “You’ve walked me through it a million times.”

“I know what I’m doing with the whole…” He gestured around at the store. “I don’t know what I’m doing with the money.”

Stevie propped herself up on an elbow and held out her hand, snapping her fingers until he handed her the mostly smoked joint. “Well, don’t ask me to help you with that. I don’t do math.”

“You’re useless.”

“And your stained glass back there looks like they have dicks on them,” Stevie said, pointing at the decorative hangings on the back wall.

“That’s why I like them.”

Stevie inhaled a long drag and handed the joint back, lying flat on the floor again. “You need a partner.”

“I should start with a first date, maybe,” David said.

Laughing, Stevie rolled over onto her stomach. “Not that kind of partner, you complete idiot. A business partner.”

“Oh, a business partner. Okay, well where am I going to find that here?” David slid down off of his chair onto the floor next to Stevie. The ceiling really was beautiful. Not like the ceiling at the motel that he’d been staring at for years, water-stained and horribly textured. Maybe he could just sleep here. He could live in the store, amongst his perfectly ordered bottles of facial cleanser and lotions and baggies of tea until they hauled him away for not paying his taxes or not making the lease payments on the store. One of the hundred financial things that he was guaranteed to screw up because his parents hadn’t prepared him for any of this.

Stevie reached over and threaded their fingers together. David was touch-starved, and it felt good to hold his friend’s hand. “I wish I knew. I really want you to succeed at this.”

He snorted. “You get so sincere when you’re high.”

“Take that back.”

They lay there in silence for a while, and then Stevie let go of his hand and reached for his pocket.

“What are you doing?” David asked.

“There’s something falling out of your pocket.” Her hand withdrew, and she was holding a card up to her face. “Who’s Patrick Brewer?”

David was watching the way the sunlight played over the bottles of toner. It was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen. Belatedly, he registered that Stevie had asked him a question. “Who’s what?”

She was clumsily waving the business card in his face now, risking a paper cut on the bridge of his nose, so he snatched the card. “This business card from your pocket. Patrick Brewer. Who’s that?”

“I don’t know, Ray picked this up off the floor earlier. It’s not mine; it must have fallen out of one of the boxes.” He squinted at the business card.

Patrick Brewer, B.B.A. Freelance Business Consultant

“Huh.”

Stevie grabbed the card back. “It’s a card for a business guy.”

“That’s kind of spooky, given what we were just talking about,” David said.

“You should call him!” Stevie said.

“What, and ask him to come work for my failing business?”

She rolled her eyes and struggled up into a sitting position. “No, but it says business consultant. Maybe he’d give you better advice than Ray.”

David didn’t say anything to that, and after a few seconds Stevie shoved on his shoulder and put the business card on his chest. “Call him.”

Closing his eyes, David sighed. “Maybe later.”

“No, I know you — you say ‘later’ but you won’t do it. Call him right now.” Stevie tapped on the card and on his sternum underneath it. “I’m not leaving until you call him.”

With a groan, David sat up, grabbing for the card as it fluttered into his lap and pulling his phone out of his pocket with the other hand. “Fine.” It took longer than it probably should have for him to remember how to dial a number on his phone, and then longer still to squint at the small numbers and type them in correctly, but he finally managed it. He listened to distant ringing, followed by a nice voice saying he’d reached Patrick Brewer and to leave a message. It was a short, no-nonsense message. No frills. Unremarkable. Still, the brief sound of that voice made his heart race.

“Hi David, it’s Patrick,” he said at the beep, and then immediately winced while Stevie laughed silently at him. “I found your card… your business card… in my store, and I was wondering if you… umm… no. I think I called you David, and that’s not your name. I’m David… David Rose, and I own a store that… well, we sell local products and crafts, and I was wondering if you’d be interested in consulting with me. For me. Okay. Ciao.” He pressed the button to end the call. “Ciao. I said ‘Ciao’ to that person.”

“Masterful,” Stevie said, standing up.

“You’re the one who made me call when I was high.” He was staring at his phone again. “I forgot to tell him where the store is. And I didn’t explain it well enough.”

Stevie grabbed her messenger bag and threw it over her shoulder. “Well, better call back and leave another message,” she said as she headed toward the door. “I’m gonna go home and crash. See you tomorrow?”

David waved absently at her, pressing the button to call Patrick Brewer and leave another message.

~*~

“Well?” Twyla said as she put Stevie’s ticket for her takeout on the order wheel.

“It worked. I had to slave over containers of hand cream for a couple of hours and smoke half a joint, but I finally managed to get him to do it,” Stevie said, her head starting to ache as she sobered up. “Now are you going to explain why it was so important that David call that guy? And why I had to be so sneaky about it?”

Twyla gave her a cheerful shrug as she wiped down the counter. “I’m not sure I understand it either, and I’m pretty sure Gwen wouldn’t tell me if I asked. It’s just… important for David. And for Schitt’s Creek. That’s all I know.”

Stevie shook her head. “And they call me the creepy one in this town.”

Chapter 16

[migleefulmoments]

Debunking

We’ve talked about this scene before- the Kurt rant given by Santana. Naya just said she was uncomfortable and she mentioned that Chris was upset.  sugdendingle just posted that Chris “liked” her Tweet where she called out how much she didn’t like it.  She added a second comment that includes: 

sugdendingle

None of the other cast were personally attacked in the ways Chris was and to the extent Chris was. I don’t know what Ryan Murphy’s issues were with Chris but he clearly he had some....I’m talking about real life here. About how Ryan Murphy and his writers used the character of Kurt to personally attack Chris Colfer on a regular basis and it’s clear Chris agrees to some extent as he liked my tweet.

That scene in season six was one of the worst examples but hardly the only one. Chris not being traditionally masculine was like a running joke on that show. As was remarks about his voice, his appearance, his sexuality, how he danced, etc. Yes other characters faced insults but it never got as personal as it did with Chris and it wasn’t as extensive either. The insults to Kurt went on right to the end of the show you can’t say the same for the other characters. It’s just really sad that Chris had to endure a work enivorment like this especially considering he was bullied when he was younger.

Abby adds: 

My opinion. The poor treatment stems from extreme jealousy. For many, many reasons. And of course c’s refusal to do as he’s told.(X)

Debunk #1 

None of the other cast were personally attacked in the ways Chris was and to the extent Chris was. Was Chris harassed by the writers “more than any other character”?  I spent a few minutes looking at Santana’s rants-and Santana seems to be the ranter on Glee. I don’t believe her rants about Chris’s failings is any worse than she she said about Finn’s weight. Rachel or really Lea’s nose being too big had an entire episode-and several comments through the years- and Kurt staged a flashmob at the mall to talk her out of plastic surgery. Sam was called Trouty Mouth as a running joke including a song “Trouty Mouth” sang by Santana. 

“Every time you open your humongous mouth to do an impression or to moisten a enormous stamp for a lazy giant you take on step closer to everyone seeing that you’re actually a dork” (X)

“I just heard the news that Trouty Mouth was back in town. I’ve been keeping a notebook, just in case this day ever came. Welcome back, Lisa Rinna. I’ve missed you so much since your family packed their bags, loaded them in your mouth and skipped town. Can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to enjoy a crisp pickle, but couldn’t find anyone to suck the lid off the jar. I assume you’ve been working as a baby polisher where young mothers place their infants’ heads in your mouth to get back that newborn shine. So glad you’re back. I haven’t seen a smile that big since the acclamation abominable snowman got his teeth pulled by that little gay elf dentist. Love, Santana” (X)

This gets loooonnnngggg so under a cut 

This one she also hit at Tina’s Asian eyes and Rachels nose- though I didn’t include that part. 

Santana: Hold up, could we all just get real here for a second? I hear that Rachel has a bit of a schnoz. I mean I wouldn't know because like Medusa I try to avoid eye contact with her. But can we all just stop lying about how there aren't things we don't want to change about ourselves? I'm sure that Sam has been at the doctor's office and riffled through pamphlets on mouth reductions. I'll bet Artie's thought about getting his legs removed since he's not really using them anyway. And I'm definitely sure Tina has looked into eye de-slanting. Tina: That's extraordinarily racist. Santana: Just keeping it real. Tina: Sorry Santana, I'm a beautiful person. I'm in love with myself and I would never change a thing. Mike: Is that why you're wearing blue contacts today, Tina? [whispers] Self hating Asian. Tina: Not too many Asian sex symbols, Mike. I'm just trying to mirror what I see in magazines. Finn: My dancing kind of bothers me. It almost killed Rachel but I like the way I look. Santana: Oh please. You have weird puffy pyramid nipples. Sam: [tries to look at Finn's nipples] Finn: [slaps Sam's hand away] Santana: They look like they're filled with custard. Or you could dust them off with powdered sugar and pass it off as some sort of dessert. Look, maybe Rachel is fine with having an enormous beak. Maybe she needs it to crack hard seeds. All I'm saying is if you look in the mirror and you don't like what you see, you should change it.”(X)

“I’ve kissed Finn, and can I just say… not worth a buck. I would, however, pay a hundred dollars to jiggle one of his man boobs”. (X)

Santana: “Please stick a sock in it or ship yourself back to Scotland. I’m trying to apologize to Lumps The Clown. I am sorry, Finn. I mean, really, I’m sorry that the New Directions are gonna get crushed by the Troubletones. And I’m also sorry that you have no talent. Sorry that you sing like you’re getting your prostate checked, and you dance like you’ve been asleep for years and someone just woke you up. Have fun riding on Rachel’s coattails for the rest of your life, although, you know what, I would just watch out for her come holiday time if I were him, because if I were her, I’d stick a stent in one of those boobs and let the Finn blubber light the Hanukkah lamp for eight magical nights.” (X)

Santana: “Why is everyone staring at me like I’m Finn and I just won a butter eating contest” (X)

She even hit him during The Quarterback “Okay, I know that Finn had his doubts about God but I am convinced that Squishy Teets is up in heaven right now plopped down next to his new best friend Fat Elvis helping themselves to a picnic of baby back ribs smothered in butterscotch pudding and TaterTot grease so this is for you Hudson” (X)

She also did a combo Finn/Sam rant “Not only am I giving you full visitation rights to the set of rambunctious twins that live on my rig cage, you get the chance to show that pastry bag Finn that he can’t mess with Sam Evans. And not just because you can unlock your humongous jaw and swallow him whole like a python…” (X)

The Kurt rant 

“Kurt I took what you said to heart, and I thought long and hard about it, and it occurred to me that you may have a point. Okay, maybe Brittany and I are too young to get married. I mean, after all, that's why it didn't work out with you and Blaine, right? Or maybe it didn't work out because you're a judgmental little gentrophile with a mouth like a cat's ass. Maybe Blaine got tired of hearing your shrill, self-aggrandizing lecture about how you felt the two of you were at the very apex of the gay rights movement every time you so much as cooked macaroni and cheese together or farted. Maybe Blaine didn't want to be with someone who looks like they just removed their top row of dentures every time they smile or someone who doesn't dress like an extra out of one of Andy Dick's more elaborate wet dreams. Maybe Blaine grew weary of dating a breathier, more feminine Quinn Fabray. Maybe he finally got freaked out about your strange obsession with old people that causes you to skulk around nursing homes like one of those cats that can smell cancer. Maybe he got tired of watching you drape yourself on every piano you happen to pass to entertain exactly no one with, say, some song that Judy Garland choked on her tongue in the middle of or some sassy old Broadway standard made famous by another dead alcoholic crone. Maybe Blaine woke up one day and said, "You know what I don't want to marry a sexless, self-centered baton twirler. Maybe I need someone who knows more than three dance moves: "the finger wag", "the shoulder shimmy" and the one where you pretend to twirl two invisible rainbow-colored ribbons attached to your hips. So, you know what, maybe that's why it didn't work out. Maybe it has nothing to do with me and Brittany. Maybe it's just that you are utterly, utterly intolerable. Maybe that has something to do with it."(X)

Conclusion: Chris was not attacked more than other actors on Glee.  The writers were pretty vicious about the physical characteristics of Rachel’s nose, Finn’s weight and man boobs and Sam’s nose. They also wrote about Damian’s height referring to as Leprechaun. All are very personal attacks about the actor; not the character.  Finn’s boobs were used as fodder for humor after he died so the idea that no other character was humiliated throughout the show is untrue.  

Debunk #2 

I don’t know what Ryan Murphy’s issues were with Chris but he clearly he had some. Ryan didn’t write Santana’s vicious lines-Brad Falchuk did.  I spent enough time researching this and finding late-season interview is hard but earlier interviews show that Ryan really respected Chris and Kurt.

Ryan did an interview with NYT in 2010  Q:Is this story in any way autobiographical or a reflection on your own experiences growing up?

A:It wasn’t really true to my experience at all. But I know so many people that it was true to. It was very true to Chris Colfer’s experience, and working with him for the past year, he would tell me stories. It’s amazing to me — last year when we did the “Glee” tour, every time Chris Colfer came out on that stage for his bows, 100 percent, he got the loudest cheers and applause, from all groups of people. Little girls, parents. A lot of people have embraced him and he’s part of their television-going family, so to see an episode in which he’s physically threatened is very upsetting for people, I think. But it puts a face on it. 

Q: It’s still rare to see gay characters on prime-time network programs, let alone one who is out in the way that Kurt is, and at a young age. Is there ever any pressure on you to tone down the portrayal of that character?

A: No, surprisingly not. Three episodes into the series last year, when we did the “Single Ladies” football number with him, he became an audience favorite and people started to write about that character and Chris Colfer. I think that character is in many ways the most important character on television, particularly for kids. When I was growing up, there was nobody like that. I think that character changes lives. I think that character launches conversation, both good and bad, and that’s a very powerful thing. I’ve done shows where if a character is a little bit controversial, the network and the studio are like, “Could you please tone that down?” They never did that at all with this character, and they were all very supportive of the story line. (X)

“Growing up in Indianapolis, Murphy sang in his church choir and immersed himself in high school musicals. His father was a semi-pro hockey player who was baffled by a son who requested a Vogue subscription when he was 5 years old and performed in his bedroom, holding a hairbrush in front of a mirror. He may not have understood his son, but he accepted him, even when Murphy revealed that he was gay at 15″.

“Having a dad that loves you as a young man is a very powerful thing that you carry into the world,” Murphy said. “Because no matter what you do, in some weird, unconscious way, if you’re a guy, you always try to please your dad. I think it’s a great thing to put on television. You’ve seen the gay character that gets kicked out of the house or is beaten up. You haven’t seen the gay character that is teased a little bit, but wins and triumphs.”

“The scene in which he tells his father was taken verbatim from Murphy's own life. Murphy felt that the scene was "a great thing to put on television", because, while gay characters are often isolated and attacked, audiences have rarely seen an openly gay character who "wins and triumphs". He further explained, "The show is about making you feel good in the end. It's about happy endings and optimism and the power of your personal journey and making you feel that the weird thing about me is the great thing about me. I've done other shows with gay characters, and I will say that in many of those cases, the gay characters didn't have a happy ending. And I thought you know what? Enough."(X)(X)

We also know that Ryan created the role of Kurt specifically for Chris. 

We don’t know what happened with the fall out(s) on set. Chris said he wouldn’t work for Ryan and 

“To this day, I'm devastated by everything that happened with that show." (X)

Other interring things I found:

“Over the course of six seasons of Glee, which petered out earlier this year, there was plenty written about backstage drama, fractured relationships and the death of star Cory Monteith from a drug overdose. All Murphy will offer are his own misgivings about his role on the show. "I was there with them all day long, and then we'd finish work and we'd go out and have fun all night, and I guess in a weird, twisted way, I was trying to relive the childhood I never had," he says. "I thought they wanted a parent, and they didn't. They didn't want me to tell them what to f—ing do. They didn't want me to tell them how to treat each other or what the world was like at the end of the day. I wish I could go back and do that differently with a lot of those actors. Some of them I'm still very close to: Lea Michele, Chord Overstreet, Darren Criss — but there were some that didn't work out well, and I regret that. I guess I just wish I had been able to let them figure it out for themselves."(X)

Conclusion: Ryan is a grown man and didn’t have it out for Chris. He respected Chris and used the Kurt role to tell his story of being a gay boy in small midwest town.   

Debunk #3

The poor treatment stems from extreme jealousy. For many, many reasons. 

Abby has claimed Ryan is jealous of Chris many times over the years-it still isnt’ true.  Ryan is a very successful producer, writer, creator.  I found a few quotes to back that up.  

“It's a peculiar thing to be asked by Murphy, 50, the closest thing the TV industry has to a proven hitmaker, save, perhaps, for Shonda Rhimes. Over the past decade and a half, he's made pop-culture juggernauts out of plastic surgeons on Nip/Tuck, high school misfits on Glee and witches, nuns and nymphomaniacs on American Horror Story. And in that time, he's become a name brand himself, more famous than all but the biggest stars in his sprawling casts. The showrunner, both pop savant and provocateur, has one of the richest eight-figure deals in television and a coterie of loyalists that includes Gwyneth Paltrow(with whom he's about to pitch a musical dramedy), Julia Roberts, Jessica Lange and now Lady Gaga. He's hosted President Obama at his home for a $40,000-a-couple fundraiser, and when he mentions his friends Norman, Barbra and David, he's referring to Lear, Streisand and Geffen.(X)

"There's a limited number of creators in film or TV where if you put the title plus their name — if you say, 'Steven Spielberg's blah blah blah' or 'Marvel's blah blah blah' — you're going to get a different answer than if you don't," Landgraf says, "and Ryan is one of those guys."(X)

Chris is a successful writer and if he is successful in writing and directing the TLOS movie, he could be a power player in Hollywood. But right now- even with his Time 100 award, he isn’t anywhere near Ryan Murphy.  I suppose Ryan could be jealous of something other than Chris’s success but I have seen no evidence of that. 

Conclusion: Nope. 

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine Advent Day 2: “A Real Christmas” (Rated PG13)

Blaine is about to break his neck to make sure that his newly adopted daughter has a real Christmas. But aside from being a doting new parent, Kurt is beginning to think there's something else behind Blaine's sudden obsessive holiday behaviour. (2281 words)

Notes: Written for the Klaine Advent Drabble Challenge Day 2 prompts bury/cinnamon. I stole a little inspiration from two of my fave movies - "Where the Heart Is" and "City Slickers" XD

Read on AO3.

“Explain to me why we’re doing this again,” Kurt asks, fighting against the immense cold and the overwhelming darkness to hide the terror roiling in his stomach at the sight of his husband climbing up what has to be the tallest oak tree he’s ever seen in his life without any protective gear of any kind. Kurt had tried to use his cell phone flashlight to give his husband some light, but it didn’t work, the beam of white light doing little to break through the black. So he opted to save his battery instead, in case of an emergency.

“This is … mmph … Tracy’s first Christmas (grunt), and I (ow … shoot!) want it to be a (Fuck fuck fuck! Splinter!) real Christmas. Nothing artificial. That means a real tree, real mistletoe …”

“Real broken limbs …”

“Have a little faith in me, will you?” Blaine calls down – a bit snappishly, but Kurt attributes that to the wind whipping mercilessly around them. “We may have graduated high school over a decade ago, but I’m still the athlete I was back then, if I do say so myself.”

“True, but even back then you weren’t climbing trees!”

“You don’t know. I had a life outside of you.”

“You do know that it’s completely acceptable to purchase mistletoe,” Kurt says, hoping his voice carries high enough for Blaine to hear. “Nurseries have real mistletoe. Home Depot, Lowe’s, even 7-11. It’s right there at the counter! There’s a 7-11 off the highway. We can swing by, buy a sprig, and go back to our nice, safe, warm home.” Kurt watches Blaine scurry up the trunk like a squirrel when he reaches a bare patch, holding his breath till he finally makes it to the next branch and grabs hold. “I’ll make hot chocolate – real hot chocolate - with real whipped cream and real cinnamon.” Blaine doesn’t answer, and a lump grows in Kurt’s throat. If Blaine can’t hear Kurt, then Kurt might not be able to hear Blaine. What if he gets himself in trouble? What if his foot slips? What if loses a hand hold?

What if he gets attacked by a raccoon?

Then again, what did Blaine expect Kurt to do if any of that did happen!? Kurt doesn’t climb trees! He never has, and now would not be the best time to learn. Plus, if Blaine starts falling down, Kurt climbing up won’t do anyone any good. They should have brought climbing gear. Or a ladder. Or a trampoline!

“I’ll put in some mini marshmallows,” Kurt continues, unwilling to give up. “You---you know they’re your favorites.”

With a lurch, Blaine finally reaches the branch he’s been aiming for. He repositions himself on his stomach and starts shimmying across.

And that’s when Kurt’s heart officially stops beating.

From down below, the branch looks like a sturdy one. But another harder wind blows in an effort to prove Kurt wrong, shaking Blaine until he has to stop and curl around the branch to keep from falling off.

“Blaine!” Kurt yells, jumping up and down, holding out his arms in preparation for that branch to break and his husband to plummet. After sixty long seconds, the wind dies down, and Blaine’s bobbing on the branch stops.

“I’m … I’m alright,” Blaine says, swallowing down his fear loud enough that Kurt hears it. “It’s … it’s only a few feet, and then I’ve got it.”

The mistletoe! The fucking mistletoe! Kurt was so scared for his husband’s life that he almost forgot.

Kurt glares angrily at the insipid ball of vampire fungus Blaine is trying to get, wondering why in the hell it had to be so far off the frickin’ ground! There are plenty of branches within standing reach for that thing to suck the life out of. But no, this particular ball of mistletoe – the perfect ball, in Blaine’s opinion – had to grow twenty flippin’ feet in the air!

“Blaine,” Kurt begins, not above begging if that’s what it takes to get his husband out of that damned tree, “you realize that, at that height, if you fall, we’ll have to bury you under this tree.” Kurt’s being morbid, but he prays that the thought of Blaine’s probable death will make his husband rethink this ludicrous decision. “I won’t even have to dig a hole. The pressure will drive you into the ground.”

“Ha-ha,” Blaine says humorlessly, scooting across the branch to Kurt’s dismay.

“Then I’ll have to bring Tracy here every Christmas,” Kurt adds, his voice rising in both volume and pitch, “to build a little snowman memorial to her father!”

“Kurt …” Blaine’s body sags against the branch, physically and emotionally exhausted. “I’m … I’m sorry. I’m sorry I dragged you out here in the middle of the night, and I’m sorry that I’m up in this stupid tree. But this is important to me. Okay?”

“O-okay.” Kurt nods, though he knows there’s no way Blaine can see, and watches silently as his husband hacks away at the portion of the branch that’s connected to the mistletoe. Blaine starts off with even sawing motions, but eventually degrades into random, angry stabs when the mistletoe won’t break free. He pauses momentarily to wipe the back of his hand across his forehead.

No. Not across his forehead. Across his cheek. Like he might be crying. Kurt can’t see him clearly, but he doesn’t think Blaine is hurt. If he could just get his husband out of that tree, then they could talk about this face to face.

And Kurt could understand.

“Blaine? Sweetheart?” Kurt says, thankful that the wind has quieted down for now. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“No.” Blaine sniffs, returning to his cutting. But he slows down. Then he stops. “Maybe. Yes.”

“Real tree, real mistletoe, real Santa Claus we had to drive two hours in a blizzard to see …” Kurt checks off as he tries to figure this out. Usually Kurt is the one in charge of their holiday schedule, but the second they discovered that Tracy’s adoption had been approved and she would be home with them for Christmas, Blaine asked to take over this once.

Then all of this began.

“Well, he looked the most authentic,” Blaine defends in a wobbly voice.

“Blaine …” The pieces finally line up in Kurt’s head. He walks around the trunk of the tree to try and catch Blaine’s eyes “… are you doing this because … you’re afraid our family isn’t real?”

Blaine stops cutting altogether. He folds his hands underneath his chin, and Kurt knows he’s hit the nail on the head. Kurt had forgotten all about it after it happened, because it was one of those lame, thoughtless remarks people make when they think they’re never wrong. That’s the kind of person Blaine’s grandmother is. Older than old and set in her ways, not willing to entertain for one second that any of her outdated beliefs may contribute to dividing the family she’s cultivated. ‘I’ve always been a far-right conservative’ she’ll say unapologetically with a shrug and a smirk after making an unforgivable declaration in front of her gay grandson and his husband about the need for conversion therapy in middle and high schools, how it’s God’s will, and should be obeyed by all.

‘Because we’re a Christian nation. Says so right in the Constitution.’

It didn’t matter how many credible sources Blaine and Kurt cited to the contrary. There was no making her see reason.

Which is why Blaine and Kurt decided after they met Tracy, before they planned on adopting her, that Blaine’s grandmother would no longer be a part of their lives.

That doesn’t mean she didn’t hear about Tracy through the family grapevine. That doesn’t mean she didn’t have an opinion.

That doesn’t mean her opinion – that it’s a shame Tracy won’t have a real family because her mom doesn’t want to be in the picture; how she’ll be cheated out of the institution that God wants for all of his children – though vile, unnecessary, and untrue, didn’t break Blaine’s heart. Because her opinion isn’t unique. A lot of people in their lives - people who swore to support them no matter what, who wore rainbow flag pins and marched beside them in parades – have that opinion about real families. To some people, a real family means a father and a mother, and that opinion may never change.

But their opinion doesn’t need to affect Kurt and Blaine. As long as they love one another, and for as long as they believe in that love, nothing can touch them.

Except this wind, Kurt thinks as another gust swirls through, nearly pushing him to the ground. But this one’s low. It doesn’t rustle the leaves where Blaine lays.

“Blaine …” Kurt perches up on his toes so his husband can hear him “… we are a real family. You, me, and Tracy are a real family, no matter what anyone else thinks. And no religion or law can change that. You know that, don’t you?”

“I---I know.” Blaine gazes at his husband with melancholy eyes. “And I know that some people will never change. But you think your family will, that they’re going to love you and support you no matter what. We used to spend every Christmas at my grandmother’s house. We spent two weeks out of the summer there. She knits me sweaters for my birthday. She taught me how to bake bread. I thought she’d be that for my children someday. It’s hard remembering who she was while seeing her the way she is now, especially since she was probably always this way.”

“I know, baby. And I think that, in your grandma’s own way, she does still love you. But that doesn’t mean she’s a healthy person to be around.” Kurt sighs when he sees the impact his words have on his husband. He wishes he could hold him, that Blaine wasn’t up a tree while he says this to him. “You have to cut toxic people out of your life, because if you don’t, they’re going to poison you and poison you until you start questioning everything you believe. But you know what’s just as important as the family you have no say in?”

“What?”

“The family you choose. And you have an amazing family, Blaine, filled with people who would do anything for you. And if your biological family doesn’t want to support your decisions or how you live your life, then your chosen family are the people you need to cling to. Those are the people you need to live for!”

Blaine chuckles at Kurt’s emphasis. His husband may be a lot of things, but subtle isn’t one of those. In the end, Blaine has to admit, this probably wasn’t one of his smarter ideas, but he felt like, if he could pull it off, he might have accomplished something. Then the people in his life who don’t agree with him, like his grandmother, would see how far he’s willing to go, how hard he’s willing to work to be the best father he can be, and that might change their minds.

But up in this tree, with nothing but the black void and his husband beneath him, he realizes how shortsighted he was.

He was working too hard to impress the wrong people.

“You’re right,” Blaine says. “I know you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right! So, please! Leave the parasitic fungus where it is and let’s go! Let’s go home and spend the evening with our adorable daughter, with your limbs intact!”

Blaine looks at his husband, then at the mistletoe in front of him. Kurt is right, this is dangerous, but he’s so close. Ludicrous or not, Blaine has to give it a shot.

“Hold on one second …” Blaine says, sawing away at the branch with all his might. “I think I can still do this!”

“Blaine!” Kurt yelps in disbelief. “Blaine Devon Ander-Hummel! Didn’t we just …? Didn’t we decide …? What are you …?” The wind picks up with a vengeance, cutting off the ends of Kurt’s sentences. It works its way up the tree like a cyclone, shaking Blaine so violently, he flails both arms and legs, windmilling before he can clamp back on to his branch. Kurt, desperate to save him but with no idea how, hugs the tree trunk to keep it steady. He can barely watch as Blaine grabs hold of his mistletoe and backs down the tree using only one arm, but he does his best, figuring someone should witness Blaine if he drops like a rock and breaks his neck. Under different circumstances, Kurt might find Blaine barreling down the trunk of tree Tarzan-style sexy, but it’s hard for him to think that way when he’s mentally plotting the fastest route to the closest E.R. But quicker than it took him to climb up, Blaine hops down from the tree, grinning like an idiot and holding his prize aloft. “See?” he pants, his warm breath sending tiny clouds loose into the frigid air. “I t---told you I could do it!”

“Yes, you did.” Kurt peers at his husband in the non-existent light and frowns. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, switches on the light, and takes a closer look. There’s a finality in his expression that Blaine can’t interpret. Kurt sees something on Blaine’s face that makes his frown deepen, and he shakes his head. “But I’m still going to have to take you to a hospital.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I think you’re real allergic to mistletoe.”

[mrbob00]

The Life He Wanted

Steve’s face felt puffy, but he knew soon it would fade, another problem the serum would fix before it could really be a problem. But he didn’t want it to. Is that all that will happen? The tears would dry, his eyes would clear, he’d get up, walk out of the kitchen Tony had once cooked and eaten and washed dishes in, change out of his wrinkly suit and return the stones and then — what? Tony would still be gone. Pepper will still be widowed. Morgan will still be fatherless. The Avengers will still very much be broken parts of a long lost whole.

Not like before either. This is a permanent kind of broken, the kind that you have to get up and learn to live around, like a creaky floorboard. You know it’ll never be fixed, you always avoid stepping on it. Except, some days your foot hits it, and it lets out a horrid sound, and you have to stop and wince, and deal with everyone turning to stare in pity or annoyance. An unmarked barrier you can’t cross anymore.

Reminiscent of a time not so long ago, his heart aches in a glaring lack of Tony, and he knows it’s a pain the serum will not fix. Will never be able to.

Can’t get drunk. He remembers saying it, to another person he lost, about a different person he thought he lost, face puffy and eyes red to make an all too similar picture to the one he’s making now.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

For a second Steve floundered, stuck in a memory that seemed to be coming to life around him, but then he turned and saw Bucky standing in the kitchen doorway behind him. “There was nothing anyone could have done.”

“I know,” Steve replied, his voice cracked a bit from tears and misuse. He cleared his throat in a short grunt. “Doesn’t stop me from wishing I could have done something.” Done it myself. 

Like a lot of things, it goes unsaid, and like a lot of times, Bucky hears it anyway.

“He wouldn’t have wanted that,” he said softly, sitting carefully in the chair next to him. “You know he wanted so much more for you.”

Steve’s eyes burned a little more. Huh, maybe the tears won’t dry like he thought. 

You’ll get there someday.

But if I do, Steve thought miserably, will it be ripped as cruelly and quickly from my grasp as yours was?

“There are things to do,” Steve said instead. “The stones need to go back where they came from before anything.”

“Time travel, huh?” Bucky said, his soft tone a little wondrous. “Who would have thought.”

“Tony,” Steve answered in a heartbeat. A wisp of a smile pulled his lips up for a half second, “We all know Tony thought up everything.”

“What was it like?” Bucky asked instead of answering.

“It was...” Stressful, was the first word to come to Steve’s mind, but of course that might have been the circumstances they were traveling under rather than the traveling itself. There was no time to sit and reflect on the fact that they were literally running through time, too anxious and antsy to get back and fix everything, except...except for one moment, behind the blinds of a window, the only way Steve felt like he got to view anything he wanted. Behind protective glass. “I...saw her. In the 70′s, I think. She looked...” Beautiful, powerful, successful. Like she’d moved on, like Steve had been telling everyone else to for the past five years. 

But had she? A little voice niggled in the back of Steve’s head, Because there was a picture on her desk that says otherwise.

“She looked older,” Steve finished instead, lamely. But anything else he could have said felt either untrue or so true that it stung in a way he wasn’t ready to deal with just yet. 

“So do you,” Bucky replied. “That’s what time does to you, I guess. Not like we can control it or anything.”

Control time? They could. Tony found out how and then gave it to them, to fix everything, to get back what they had lost even though he already had everything. Because Tony was the most selfless person Steve had ever met, and he had wanted something else for Steve. 

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought of it.” Bucky challenged him softly. Steve turned to look at his face for the first time since he’d walked in. He was leaning forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees, his blue eyes full of something intense Steve couldn’t name. “Steve...you deserve a happy ending.”

A lump caught in Steve’s throat. “So I go back to the 40s. What then? Then I’m just a man out of time all over again. Nothing will be the same.”

“You’ve told me before that Peggy is the love of your life. The only thing separating you two was a couple strokes of bad luck and a few decades. Now?We have the technology to control time. Tony did that for you.”

“Tony did it to save the world, to bring back everyone Thanos killed,” Steve snorted. 

“Tony did it because you asked him to.” Bucky shot back firmly. “And you know that.”

Tony may never have been able to grow old with his happy ending, but Tony was the most selfless person Steve had ever known. He would have wanted Steve to be able to. 

This felt like a monumental decision, something that would change Steve’s life forever, but he didn’t really feel any different. He supposed that was because he had known from the second he saw her where he would end up. He supposed Tony might have too. 

He looked up at Bucky, slightly out of focus with the fresh batch of tears welling up in his eyes. Bucky smiled at him, gently, indulgently. This is how Steve would remember him. Lines of experience wearing heavily on his young face, his eyes full of memories that are his own, that no one can take from him, ready to face the rest of his life. 

Bucky would remember Steve how Steve would want him to, wrinkled with years to complicated to try to count, sitting on a park bench at the end of a life he was proud to have lived. 

And every time Steve woke up with Peggy in his arms, he would remember Tony, and how each day he lived was in honor of him, of the life he had wanted 

[finsterhund]

This con is big but not too nice.

I like the accessible washroom of the building

I like how spaced the artist tables are. But geez.

Artists are upset about the crappy wooden tables, people are talking about the artists who got banned for complaining about getting scammed out of their second table.

The artists here are great though. I wish the con cared more about them. Lots of people I know here. Many I already commissioned. I'm not going to get a second commission from someone if I haven't scanned and uploaded the one I got from them previously. Doesn't seem right.

I commissioned an artist who it was their first con, and I have an artist I want to commission online later.

I had to pay extra money for the sky train to refill my card. Would have been nice if the one lording it over us about having a car would actually have helped us today with said car but I think maybe we need to give those poor cyclists a break (okay, maybe I'm being a bit too petty with this now)

The pain medicine keeps me feeling okay. I love cosplaying as Andy again. Maybe in the winter months I'll get new converse so they're not hurting my legs and back. I need them up one size that's a big reason why cosplaying as Andy hurts.

I wish I wasn't so hot I hate sweating. I wish I was healthy and that I could finally finish my cosplay. Someday. I finally get to see a specialist soon. Hoping that puts me on the road to finally having normalcy and a body that at least tries to work properly.

My friend reminded me that we first made my cosplay when I was still ten pounds underweight so the fact that my shorts are tighter on me than usual shouldn't be too unexpected. My back flaring up definitely contributes to it too. I think a big chunk of me thinking I'm an ugly lump is not because of things like diet and more just my body being the unfortunate way it is. Thanks to bad genetics and scar tissue I'm bottom-heavy and no amount of fixing my diet is going to change that. I'm the Danny Devito of Andys. But admittedly the bad situation of July likely made it more noticable. I hate being a thicc boy. I meme about being the designated "fat kid who dies first" but I'm actually sensitive about it.

For how expensive it is to buy a single pass and a falling apart table here, this con has no internet for artists. But that's consistent. Was that way the last few years too. Funny how the cons that cost less and come with the right number of badges and a clean table also have free internet for the artist alley.

To be honest as much as I love all the artists and attendees here and being more likely to be recognized as Andy I really do not like this con.

The art of Andy I got from the first convention attendee artist is very cute. Crisp black and white inks so it'll scan well and I can't wait to share. But no internet!

There's an artist who does custom buttons but they're unlike any buttons I've ever seen. They are wrapped in an acrylic casing instead of punched around a metal piece. I want to get an Andy button from them. That reminds me I haven't scanned any of my custom Andy buttons.

Someone offered the take a photo of me against a banner but I didn't feel good enough. I probably should have taken them up on the offer but I just felt yuck.

The only video game sellers did not have PS1 games which actually angered me lmao.

Sales aren't good I think.

I'm sweating real bad. So glad I got a bath last night and brought my deodorant. Good god. Where's the AC? It's days like these I wish Andy ran around the Darkland barefoot so I could get out of wearing socks. I expell so much heat through my feet and hands I don't want to eat my chocolate snacks I brought for fear they will melt all over my fingers.

I went outside to bring my friend back a coffee (I can do this all by myself because of how close it is hurray!) But as soon as I went back in I started to sweat again.

I found a friend lined up in front of the ATM. We talked. It was nice to see them again. I found another friend elsewhere and also the first friend came around later. Was fun.

WHY DOES NO ONE KNOW HOW TO USE DEODERANT? I WANT TO DIE. I have had to walk behind people who smell like absolute death and it's made me feel really gross. Here I am concerned about a little sweat and there's people who you'd think are UNDEAD because of how the scent of ?????? trails behind them for like ten feet. You can smell when they pass behind you. I want to throw up.

I got some more art. The Andy button I was interested in, found someone else to commission something digital. The Andy button is AMAZING. I LOVE IT SO MUCH. it's hard to clip it closed but it's so cool and it opens so I can scan the art inside.

I got stickers from my friends I wanted to get, and a secret gift for Fishy made by my friend Sam. I intend to make a care box (is that the word?) cuz I know your birthday is coming up this month.

My stickers already got scuffed on my new folder so I'm sad. I hate being a bumbler who bumps things.

There was an artist who drew dogs but I couldn't find them again :(

I think I made a new friend. He is super cool and does panels at vancoufur. His fursona also wears a bandanna.

I feel a lot better about pain medicine. My friend says I could be able to take it every day and I just need to be careful not to take too much. I know people like me run the risk of becoming immune to them and having a sick liver but he says as long as I don't take too many it's fine.

Is this why I'm so miserable all the damn time!?

Legit what if that's the problem?

So I'm feeling pretty good about that. You guys might see a brand new Finsterhund. I'm so excited to have energy and feel comfy again. I was raised with fear mongering of "only using pain medicine when it was worse than usual. Because it'd kill you." But all that is untrue and I've been suffering needlessly this whole time.

So yeah. Now I'm going to start taking them bi daily. As well as the ones to help me sleep.

Genuinely feeling good about this. Andy cosplaying! Pain relief! It's all here! Things finally looking up for lil ol me.

I'm budgeting this con better too. Half of that is because I'm getting lost and can't find artists i wanted to commission again but that's a side effect of my worsening memory. I want to get a small ocarana but I might not be able to afford it by the end. It'd be nice to play Andy's Mission on. That way it won't annoy my friend like a kazoo would. Even though he said my kazoo is fine and he wouldn't have given it to me if it wasn't.

There's more artists I wish I could commission but I'm trying to be careful.

I was very hungry and they had hotdog rollers right outside the con and I really wanted one and they were SIX DOLLARS AND FIFTY CENTS. That's awful. But I got one because I was so hungry. It tasted good at least.

There's an hour and a half left of the day. I don't know what we will do after. I don't want to socialize except with my friends and if I go to bed early I'll be up at 4AM again.

There's now a little under an hour left and I'm tired. Wanting to go back to the hotel room and relax. I'm disappointed in myself for buying the expensive hotdog.

Whisky has been shedding since I brushed him and part of me is all AAAAAAAAAA but the other part is all "this would definitely have been canon."

My friend left his table under my care for the last twenty minutes of the day and I'm kinda anxious. I'm scared that ex roommate "took revenge" on my stuff back at the hotel room. He's never done stuff like that before, but he has threatened to. I also have that sense of emptyness inside that I get sometimes. The one where you just feel bad, no reason to, just emotionally hurt.

[hanzi83]

This may be my last blog

I feel the end is coming near for me. I don’t know where to start because more and more they are suspending me from different platforms for being hateful, when it is clearly something bigger at work. I refuse to believe these social media sites who help let right wing bigoted assholes spew their views with no repercussions, but someone like me who is venting to get it off his chest and defending myself from attacks, where I feel these attacks are coordinated on purpose to fuck with my mind and instill more fear and paranoia. I literally don’t feel like I have anyone on my side, and even if I did have people on my side, I am sure I would just lose my fucking mind and accused them of being against me at some fucking point.

I think the problem lately I have not been able to express myself in my private thoughts and when my notes got deleted I have not felt like putting effort into doing it and normally it is full of wrestling analysis and what conspiracies are happening mostly and I am not even good at doing this anymore because so much thoughts poor into my psyche and I hope that it is somehow recorded by some advancement and is being extracted in some kind of manner and I am already getting bored with writing this because I have nowhere to start, so lately I have wanted to keep up with what is going on so I can have material from what is happening in the social landscape around the world, and then I figure it might be better if I react and retweet other people a lot smarter than me.

I have become a lot more aggressive with my irrational rants, and it feels like people push me to react this way and I feel I have to fight back, so if I do fight back, they can suspend me for telling someone to fuck themselves, or tickling themselves with a razor blade and if I don’t react then they get away with it. I have cried out for people within media establishment would help but I don’t know if they are allowed to do anything or even say anything, especially when it is Howard Stern, as irrelevant as he is in the lexicon of popular culture, I still feel I am being targeted by him. It is not a coincidence that he has gotten Leslee Dart to be his publicist for his book, who also represented Woody Allen, and I could bet money she is behind help censoring the online stuff and pushing back against the negative reaction to his book, not that I know for sure.

He has always had his own followers, who I feel are employed fans who bad mouth others and even bad mouth Stern as well, so it gives off this notion that the right wing contingent of the fan base is against him simply for being a little more liberal about his views, when I feel he is a neoliberal, and even people messaging me on twitter thanking me for being right all along because Alyssa Milano was promoted the book etc. These people are sick, they have dedicated a sub reddit to me, that has to be a sub reddit of another sub reddit which is Howard Stern, and that is done because they used to encourage that on their reddit, but now that I have called it out and put eyes on it, they have since then made another one and the people on the Stern Show reddit are “against” any Hanzi comments and pretend it is me, so now this troll who is obsessed with me, will project his feelings on me, and act like I am the problem.

I have no idea who this dude Gorilla Baconator is, but he will always post my periscopes and misrepresent what I am saying and because these periscopes are deleted afterwards, if someone goes online to look about things about me, they might seen the titles of some of these threads and not see it is being misrepresented. I always upload most of the scopes onto my public facebook page, but lately since I have been off twitter I have been on different periscopes that happen. I have met some cool people, and some people hated me. It is a variety, whether it is religious people wanting to pray for me, some wrestling ones, or women trying to get guys to pay for private shows while I just name drop I was on Stern Show and ask conspiracy questions. I do that because I literally have nothing else interesting about me, and also want to see if the trolls who stalk me, will pop out and I have caught some of them doing that, so I boasted about feeling better going on periscope and meeting new people, the trolls then have to say “Hanzi is stalking black teens” and I get if it was just a joke, but their goal to do this is for me to get in trouble, and because these people are paid to do it and have no soul, they will make me crazy even more.

One screen grab I put out was about them making insinuations that I am trying to pick up underage girls and that an arrest is eminent and even as untrue that is, it puts paranoia that they can control this narrative and I have no one to watch my back. I posted the screen grab on my facebook to show people how fucked up this is, and I like documenting it so people can see what kind of shit they are trying to misrepresent and character assassinate me.

I certainly cannot count on anyone I know because I think all my friendships and relationships have been strained severely with my subtle jabs because of my hatred for not being connected with my city over this Toronto Raptors thing. I have voiced my displeasure, as irrational as it is, and then valid displeasure came out because it was reported the owner of the Raptors wants to take the team to Israel, and anyone pushing back against that, is seen as an anti Semite since they purposely pile lump in criticism of Israel and Zionism in with the white supremacists who hate Jewish people. So this made me not want to root for the team, and it made me not want to care about it.

I couldn’t even go a day without social media where I did not see any footage of celebration, and as much as I think it is cool the Toronto team won a championship, it makes me overwhelmed because I see a lot of Canadian exceptionalism taking place and more and more it is like Toronto is becoming like the United States, and while the hatred for that is overwhelming, the fact that people I know are part of this type of shit it makes me regret even knowing these people, and the media can show a Sikh guy who owns his own car dealership and has gone to every game etc and then say “Hey look Toronto is diverse, we’re not as racist as the US” is horrible, I am happy that we are celebrating people uniting and feeling good about a sports team winning, but I can already see the pretentious cockiness about this and how smug people will become because of all of this and because I have not handled this well, and have been taking jabs at people I presume are in group chats, and people who have used my “fame” to get what they want systemically while I have to suffer and if I even say anything back to them, I really think people will plot to kill me or fuck with me.

People have hinted they sneak into my house and move shit in my house. I don’t know if it is all true, but if people are targeted I could see how they have “regular” people to become agents and do the bidding at the elite’s behest and I feel like they have done it to me and will continue, until they get me offline or until I attempt suicide and they will keep pushing me more and more. If I do a periscope to do air my thoughts out and don’t have any comments on, they will take it personal, if I take my anger out on them because they are adding to my mental stress, they will then carry on to fuck with me over everything.

I don’t think it is a coincidence I got suspended on twitter the week of the championship game, and now on facebook I have been suspended off of, when people are reporting my lives for being “suicidal” when it is clear I am not going to do anything and I can tell it is a plethora of people in my life who do that. It is scary to think that people I know, or people at the top are taking the time to fuck with me like this, and I don’t know what they are capable of and how they could kill me, since people can be bought off for the access in the elite. They will gossip about me constantly in group chats, posting whatever move I make, what I tweet out, what pictures is being put out there or whatever blog I post. I think they even shut down the Hanzi83 sub reddit, because they said they wouldn’t shut it down until the mission was complete. Are they disguising the truth under the guise of shit post, or they actually trying to instill paranoia in me. I would not be surprised because a plethora of whack packers are going down and are sick in the hospital, and it feels like sacrifices could be made, even though they would not officially expose that, and maybe my time is coming since I have to pay for the fame I got, even though I have paid the ultimate price for it, and instead of killing me, they will just imprison me even more mentally. I think the end is near for me unfortunately. This blog will only be seen officially by a couple of hundred people, because I can’t post this on facebook or twitter.

I think they will kill me. My parents are ashamed of me, and why wouldn’t they be? Look at me. I should have never been alive this long, but around my house I can sense this dark energy of silence and it feels like the elite have warned them about something that is going to happen. I could be wrong, but my life has been a fucking waste. I will never be able to trust anyone in my life, and they will never take accountability for anything and I feel people with power in the system will use it to fuck with others and bully them, without making it look obvious. Everyone in the system is corrupt and fucked up. Why would you let me be on this planet, I can never look at these people the same again, they all fucking hate me and sometimes I feel the same way and I never want to feel like that

I need to take a break from the internet and get active again. I have to try, because as much as I loved making new friends on Scope, and actually trying to have a connection on a human level because it is a fresh start for friendship, because I don’t think I will ever have a good rapport with people I already know because of the damage that has culminated and I always hoped I would be at peace with people now because whatever has been creeping on behind the scenes, I thought would be done now. I think I have become such an asshole and political about this Raptors shit, and maybe it is my insecurity of never reaching to do great things because I did not sell my soul, and I kick myself sometimes for not doing it because maybe I need to be praised and cheered on, and then I get back down to earth and just want a revolution to take place. I don’t know if I am going to be sacrificed. I feel people have used me and set me up, because I am going to have to be fucked with and put away in some hospital. I might have to decide to check in and disappear for a bit.

It is funny that I am a joke in my town, but in my fucked up head, I feel I helped get people their connections without even knowing it because of the alleged politicking that existed behind the scenes, and it fucks with me that so much has happened to me behind my back and now I am so hurt emotionally that I have no choice but to vent so I can get out whatever is in my head, but no one sees that. I really don’t mean harm on anyone. I just wish the world would just let me go because I will never fit in with anyone every again. I have angered the brass and their minions are hard at work trying to get rid of me.

Even if my twitter and facebook is restored, I should just get off. I can try deactivating it but time to time I would like to see what is going on in the world in the news since we are at a dangerous times, I feel that way. I just lessen the amount I take in because I am so hell bent to catch up on everything, I don’t have time to want to leave my fucking house. I have to get going and do something. Lately my desire to catch up with anything or even write has lessened but then when I want to go do something active I become worried I will not know things or get references because I still fancy myself a comedian in training, but never actually doing stage time, but still finding ways to creatively vent. I can feel them coming for me, I don’t know if they will further hinder my attempt at a career, and then it could just be that I suck. I don’t fucking know. Even if this is kind of funny, can I use this again? Or did I just waste material and left it open for anyone to just take from me, and I will never get any credit.

I apologize to people I have hurt but keep in mind you have hurt me and I will never get the answers because none of you would ever admit what you are supposed to be accountable for, or at least in my fucked up head, I wish it was not like this but this is all I have, to vent and I just rather act irrational. I should just take a break and work on my notes and at least save them for my own journal, and then gradually bring it out but even when I am typing in my own journal, I don’t think it is actually private because I feel these people are watching me. I am afraid of doing things because whatever I do, I wonder if people are paid agents and always meant to keep tabs on me, and it feels like there is literally no one to talk to about anything and that is why I have been addicted to periscope for the last week because I felt I was seeing all walks of life doing different things, whether it was shit talking, presumed sex workers trying to advertise themselves, debates about prison reform,  Christian women praying for me, it was just fresh of interacting with people, and also me trying to cram it in that I was on the Stern Show because there is literally nothing interesting about me, because of my limited experiences and knowledge, and only way to sound kind of interesting is having discussions of conspiracies and then tying it in that I might be the victim of a conspiracy and having great discussions about it. I am also worried because I would go in scopes where it might come across like women were being forced to do it, or maybe they are legitimate sexy workers, I did not indulge further than just dropping conspiracy talk and asking how old they were. But when I would go on random scopes of musicians or just regular people if they were underage or just barely legal, I would walk out of the conversation pretty quickly. Anyone within my age range I was never going on to these places to get off, and maybe that is because I am medicated so much that I don’t even have a sex drive anymore, so I was really looking for good conversation with people within my age range because I need some mature conversation. It was just good talking to different people, there are a lot black and brown people on there that I gelled with and even being made fun of and busting their balls back. I even got felt like someone important with a couple of people, whether they were just feeding my ego or genuinely interested in my story and the fact that I am kind of known, it felt good and maybe it was one of the best things that happened, because it has made me want to try and get my shit together. I don’t know if these people will come for me, and try to frame me for shit because of how much I have tried to speak up about the world and what my theories are, and they punish people like me for doing things.

I can see the disgust in people’s demeanors around me more and more. I really don’t feel like I fucking belong. I get fucking scared when there are certain things these people admit to and then act like it is for real but they know there is nothing for me to do about it because literally everyone is compromised and since I feel targeted, and it gets scarier when they spread horrible lies about me, and accuse me of being a pedophile when it is not fucking true, and it makes me think since they have my computer hacked and have showcased what they can do, whether it’s moving my keyboard, taking from my actual document on my computer and pasting it on reddit before I even posted it in the blog site I use, or stopping music being played on my device when it is somewhere else, or posting under my name on my public page with my personal account, there is no telling what they have done to my computer and even if I wanted to indulge to see if they did any funny business, what the fuck am I supposed to look up to know if anything shady is on my computer if anything at all. These people really love to mess with me. I might just have to check myself in the hospital, but I will probably get abused there or I will be put through torture or something. I don’t fucking know. I wonder if they want me out of commission it will be so I don’t have to be present for something people in my life can’t hide.

I am going through so many emotions. I need to break from twitter, even if it is restored, as attempting as it is going to be seeing the jokes about OJ getting on twitter and then me complaining how they are beating a dead horse since it is all planned out anyways because they needed to make twitter interesting before it completely becomes nothing, like it is WCW, “You know what will keep people invested with twitter? OJ SIMPSON”  I am already getting sick of the responding with a GIF movement that has taken a light of its own, and then people thinking the GIF chosen is such a genius move.

Anyways I am happy Raptors won but then I am not because it brings joy and I hate that I am not included in it probably. I really don’t know how I fucking feel. I know that putting that out there makes people come bust my balls, even subtly just to try and trigger me. Then if I go off on this shit, then people act like I am the guy who is treating people like shit so then I put people down for their tactics and how they act behind the scenes, and since this “fan base” is not getting paid by me, and maybe they would be a little more supportive if I did like anyone else with a fan base who pay their fans indirectly and do it with perks etc, in my opinion, but I don’t pay these people and they might be paid by other people to harass certain people, they will try to set me up by asking what they can do or what are the orders, even if it is something small. I tell people to act on their own.

Anyways this blog is out of control because I am doing random thoughts because I have not written much in my journal, so I am all over the fucking map, but who cares I am not credible and no one is going to read this, and even if they do, they don’t care. It does hurt that people who are leftist could be part of the group that decides I need to be put out of commission online as well, because some of them don’t seem to want to bring attention to it, and maybe their battles are limited, it is like wrestling, and any decent person would ask “Why aren’t the other good guys helping this dude who seems to being outnumbered with mental abuse as the referee continues to ring  the fucking bell” and it feels like that is what is happening, all the other good guys can’t help or I have been such a fucking asshole, that people don’t think I am worth saving, until the narrative changes then conveniently people will start fucking caring. I realize neoliberals wouldn’t help because we know they don’t care, and the republican types won’t care because they will justify it why I am the bad guy, but people are leftist, I would expect they would at least make mention of it, but even their word is limited, even though they are also speaking out on other evil, so maybe some fat delusional Pakistani in mommy’s basement is not high on their list. No one cares or it feels that way and because of that I will always feel aggressive with my shit talking because I am so hurt by no one seemingly caring and letting all this alleged harassment to go on and make me feel so fucking horrible, that I fucking want to die. When I speak with my case worker, I might have to really ask about going away for a bit. I know that is what you want anyways.