#starving artist Toronto

[silverfoxlou]

Why Pop’s Biggest Stars Are Staying Put for Long Residencies

New York Times

Extended runs in one venue, once associated with legacy acts, have become popular with stars including Harry Styles and BTS, lowering bills and building hype as touring costs rise.

TLDR; saves the artist money

(full article under the cut)

On Saturday, Harry Styles will take the stage at Madison Square Garden as part of the tour for his chart-topping new album, “Harry’s House.”

Then, next Sunday, he will play the Garden again. Next Monday, too. And another 12 times through Sept. 21. At the Kia Forum in Inglewood, Calif., Styles will perform another 15 times in October and November. The entire North American leg of the singer’s latest tour, which opened in Toronto this week, consists of 42 shows in just five cities.

Styles’s tour is the most prominent example of a bubbling trend of concert residencies: extended runs by artists in a limited number of cities and venues. In a rebounding touring market, with concert-starved audiences buying tickets in record numbers — and at higher prices than ever — these bookings are deliberate choices by prominent artists to reduce their time on the road and set up shop in far fewer places than they could on a traditional tour.

Besides Styles’s, high-profile residencies have been completed recently by the K-pop phenom BTS and the Mexican rock band Maná, which has booked 12 dates since March at the Forum, the group’s only performances in the United States all year. In Las Vegas, the place that arguably birthed the residency format, Adele will begin a 32-date weekend engagement at Caesars Palace in November, and Katy Perry and Miranda Lambert also have dates lined up for the fall.

According to talent agents and industry observers, the reasons include clever branding, the protection of artists and crews in the pandemic and a cold calculation of financial efficiencies. More concerts in fewer cities means fewer trucks on the road and lower bills all around.

Those financial advantages are key at a time when gas prices are high and the concert world must deal with the same supply-chain shortages that have hit other businesses, said Ray Waddell, who covered the touring business for decades for Billboard magazine and now runs the media and conferences division of the Oak View Group, which operates sports and entertainment venues around the world.

“The math is challenging right now,” Waddell said. “It costs way more to tour, more to produce the shows for everybody, more for labor. At the same time, inflation is going to impact discretionary income and force fans to make choices. That’s bad calculus.”

For artists like Adele, Harry Styles and BTS, whose vast fan bases seem to have unquenchable demand, asking fans to come to them — and perhaps incur travel expenses of their own — may not be a great risk. But this model does not translate well below the superstar level, agents say.

Of course, extended bookings are nothing new. Bruce Springsteen played Giants Stadium 10 times in the summer of in 2003. Prince played 21 shows around Los Angeles in 2011, most at the Forum. But the pandemic may have led to a critical mass.

For artists and venues, touring has had a much-needed return to full capacity this year. According to Pollstar, a trade publication that follows the concert industry, gross ticket sales for the top 100 tours in North America reached $1.7 billion for the first six months of 2022, up 9 percent from the same period in 2019. Live Nation, the global concert giant that owns Ticketmaster, recently reported that the company had already sold 100 million tickets for the full year, more than in 2019. Still, the tightening of the wider economy has many in the industry worried about the rest of the year.

On the road, and in venues packed with unmasked fans, the threat of Covid-19 still lingers, leading to occasional postponements and cancellations. A residency plan can limit the risk of exposure, and also give an artist a temporary break from the rigors of the road. In one recent Instagram post from a tour stop in Germany, Styles showed himself collapsed in an ice bath. (Styles and his representatives declined to comment for this article.)

The complications of touring in the age of Covid-19 were behind Maná’s decision to limit its U.S. shows to the Forum. Last year, as the group began making its plans for 2022, the rise of the Omicron variant, and the tangle of local health regulations across the country, made a nationwide tour seem daunting.

So they decided to stick to one spot in the Los Angeles area, the group’s biggest worldwide market. The band has already played eight sold-out shows at the Forum, drawing 110,000 fans, and has four more announced through October.

“We just wanted to get out and play, to be with our fans,” said Fher Olvera, Maná’s lead singer. “We thought doing a whole tour would be really challenging, maybe impossible, given all the variables.”

“After everything that’s happened over the last few years,” Olvera added, “the residency is more than a series of concerts for us — it’s a celebration of life.”

The origins of the contemporary concert residency go back to Celine Dion’s decision to set up in Las Vegas in 2003, a time when that city was still seen as a pasture for fading acts.

“It was a very big risk at the time — everybody thought we were fools,” said John Meglen of Concerts West, Dion’s promoter, which is part of the AEG Live empire. “At the time, Vegas was like the end of your career. It was like, ‘Come die with us.’”

But Dion’s two residencies sold about $660 million in tickets to more than 1,100 shows, according to Pollstar. Dion’s engagements, as well as two by Elton John, recalibrated the industry’s approach to Las Vegas, and were followed by residencies there with Garth Brooks, Britney Spears, Jennifer Lopez, Lady Gaga, Drake and many others.

The crucial artist for expanding the residency outside of Las Vegas, however, was Billy Joel. After being named the Garden’s first “music franchise” in late 2013, Joel began playing there monthly in 2014, and, aside from a hiatus during the pandemic, never stopped; his 86th concert in the series was recently announced for Dec. 19.

Through his June show, the Garden residency has sold about $180 million in tickets. If the rest of his concerts there this year sell out — a fair bet, since every other night of the residency has — the cumulative gross will be around $200 million.

“It’s basically the Super Bowl of music events,” said Dennis Arfa, Joel’s longtime booking agent. Joel has said he would continue the engagement “as long as the demand continues,” and there is no sign of that letting up.

For Arfa, the scale of engagements like Joel’s and Dion’s raises a question of nomenclature. Do 15 shows over a few weeks count as a “residency” compared to 86, or to 1,100? If not, then what is it?

“The word residency is kind of undefinable,” Arfa said. “Now everything is a residency. People do four nights and they can call it a residency. It’s a matter of verbiage and perception. I think the accomplishment is more important than the title.”

Whatever these are, they are likely to continue. Omar Al-joulani, Live Nation’s president of touring, said he expected around 30 residency-type engagements in 2023. “That’s including a big Vegas year.”

But talent agents and music executives say that these kinds of events cannot replace full-scale touring as a way to satisfy demand and cultivate audiences. When Styles announced his tour dates, Nathan Hubbard, a longtime ticketing executive who is the former chief executive of Ticketmaster, on Twitter declared the strategy “the future of live.” But in a recent interview, he took a more nuanced view.

“This is not the new touring model,” Hubbard said. “This doesn’t mean nobody’s going to Louisville — indeed, most artists are still going to have to go market to market to hustle it.”

And when a major venue announces its next block booking, what do we call it? Is it a residency, or something else? Arfa, Joel’s agent, pointed to Styles’s dates at the Garden.

“It’s a run,” he said. “It’s a great run.”

[ihearthes]

Why Pop’s Biggest Stars Are Staying Put for Long Residencies

New York Times by Ben Sisario

On Saturday, Harry Styles will take the stage at Madison Square Garden as part of the tour for his chart-topping new album, “Harry’s House.”

Then, next Sunday, he will play the Garden again. Next Monday, too. And another 12 times through Sept. 21. At the Kia Forum in Inglewood, Calif., Styles will perform another 15 times in October and November. The entire North American leg of the singer’s latest tour, which opened in Toronto this week, consists of 42 shows in just five cities.

Styles’s tour is the most prominent example of a bubbling trend of concert residencies: extended runs by artists in a limited number of cities and venues. In a rebounding touring market, with concert-starved audiences buying tickets in record numbers — and at higher prices than ever — these bookings are deliberate choices by prominent artists to reduce their time on the road and set up shop in far fewer places than they could on a traditional tour.

Besides Styles’s, high-profile residencies have been completed recently by the K-pop phenom BTS and the Mexican rock band Maná, which has booked 12 dates since March at the Forum, the group’s only performances in the United States all year. In Las Vegas, the place that arguably birthed the residency format, Adele will begin a 32-date weekend engagement at Caesars Palace in November, and Katy Perry and Miranda Lambert also have dates lined up for the fall.

According to talent agents and industry observers, the reasons include clever branding, the protection of artists and crews in the pandemic and a cold calculation of financial efficiencies. More concerts in fewer cities means fewer trucks on the road and lower bills all around.

Those financial advantages are key at a time when gas prices are high and the concert world must deal with the same supply-chain shortages that have hit other businesses, said Ray Waddell, who covered the touring business for decades for Billboard magazine and now runs the media and conferences division of the Oak View Group, which operates sports and entertainment venues around the world.

“The math is challenging right now,” Waddell said. “It costs way more to tour, more to produce the shows for everybody, more for labor. At the same time, inflation is going to impact discretionary income and force fans to make choices. That’s bad calculus.”

For artists like Adele, Harry Styles and BTS, whose vast fan bases seem to have unquenchable demand, asking fans to come to them — and perhaps incur travel expenses of their own — may not be a great risk. But this model does not translate well below the superstar level, agents say.

Of course, extended bookings are nothing new. Bruce Springsteen played Giants Stadium 10 times in the summer of in 2003. Prince played 21 shows around Los Angeles in 2011, most at the Forum. But the pandemic may have led to a critical mass.

For artists and venues, touring has had a much-needed return to full capacity this year. According to Pollstar, a trade publication that follows the concert industry, gross ticket sales for the top 100 tours in North America reached $1.7 billion for the first six months of 2022, up 9 percent from the same period in 2019. Live Nation, the global concert giant that owns Ticketmaster, recently reported that the company had already sold 100 million tickets for the full year, more than in 2019. Still, the tightening of the wider economy has many in the industry worried about the rest of the year.

On the road, and in venues packed with unmasked fans, the threat of Covid-19 still lingers, leading to occasional postponements and cancellations. A residency plan can limit the risk of exposure, and also give an artist a temporary break from the rigors of the road. In one recent Instagram post from a tour stop in Germany, Styles showed himself collapsed in an ice bath. (Styles and his representatives declined to comment for this article.)

The complications of touring in the age of Covid-19 were behind Maná’s decision to limit its U.S. shows to the Forum. Last year, as the group began making its plans for 2022, the rise of the Omicron variant, and the tangle of local health regulations across the country, made a nationwide tour seem daunting.

So they decided to stick to one spot in the Los Angeles area, the group’s biggest worldwide market. The band has already played eight sold-out shows at the Forum, drawing 110,000 fans, and has four more announced through October.

“We just wanted to get out and play, to be with our fans,” said Fher Olvera, Maná’s lead singer. “We thought doing a whole tour would be really challenging, maybe impossible, given all the variables.”

“After everything that’s happened over the last few years,” Olvera added, “the residency is more than a series of concerts for us — it’s a celebration of life.”

The origins of the contemporary concert residency go back to Celine Dion’s decision to set up in Las Vegas in 2003, a time when that city was still seen as a pasture for fading acts.

“It was a very big risk at the time — everybody thought we were fools,” said John Meglen of Concerts West, Dion’s promoter, which is part of the AEG Live empire. “At the time, Vegas was like the end of your career. It was like, ‘Come die with us.’”

But Dion’s two residencies sold about $660 million in tickets to more than 1,100 shows, according to Pollstar. Dion’s engagements, as well as two by Elton John, recalibrated the industry’s approach to Las Vegas, and were followed by residencies there with Garth Brooks, Britney Spears, Jennifer Lopez, Lady Gaga, Drake and many others.

The crucial artist for expanding the residency outside of Las Vegas, however, was Billy Joel. After being named the Garden’s first “music franchise” in late 2013, Joel began playing there monthly in 2014, and, aside from a hiatus during the pandemic, never stopped; his 86th concert in the series was recently announced for Dec. 19.

Through his June show, the Garden residency has sold about $180 million in tickets. If the rest of his concerts there this year sell out — a fair bet, since every other night of the residency has — the cumulative gross will be around $200 million.

“It’s basically the Super Bowl of music events,” said Dennis Arfa, Joel’s longtime booking agent. Joel has said he would continue the engagement “as long as the demand continues,” and there is no sign of that letting up.

For Arfa, the scale of engagements like Joel’s and Dion’s raises a question of nomenclature. Do 15 shows over a few weeks count as a “residency” compared to 86, or to 1,100? If not, then what is it?

“The word residency is kind of undefinable,” Arfa said. “Now everything is a residency. People do four nights and they can call it a residency. It’s a matter of verbiage and perception. I think the accomplishment is more important than the title.”

Whatever these are, they are likely to continue. Omar Al-joulani, Live Nation’s president of touring, said he expected around 30 residency-type engagements in 2023. “That’s including a big Vegas year.”

But talent agents and music executives say that these kinds of events cannot replace full-scale touring as a way to satisfy demand and cultivate audiences. When Styles announced his tour dates, Nathan Hubbard, a longtime ticketing executive who is the former chief executive of Ticketmaster, on Twitter declared the strategy “the future of live.” But in a recent interview, he took a more nuanced view.

“This is not the new touring model,” Hubbard said. “This doesn’t mean nobody’s going to Louisville — indeed, most artists are still going to have to go market to market to hustle it.”

And when a major venue announces its next block booking, what do we call it? Is it a residency, or something else? Arfa, Joel’s agent, pointed to Styles’s dates at the Garden.

“It’s a run,” he said. “It’s a great run.”

[thoughtswithsophie]

revealing: too much of me 

Society continuously reminds me how big my body is or how big it once was. How well I fill up my skinny boyfriend's sweatshirt that I took from his closet, it's cute that I thought it would fit. Or how much my fat is disturbing my neighbours on the plane when I swear, I'm contorting myself to only take up the space of my seat, but how dare I have only reserved one seat. Society will constantly bet on how long it will take me to gain all the weight I've lost or how greedy I am when they hear my stomach growl without knowing it's been 8 days since I ate my last apple. 

I constantly have to pay attention to how solid the chairs are in classrooms and conference rooms. I need to make sure that I sit near the door that is hopefully in the back, because God forbid I have to pee during class; I wouldn't want to interrupt everyone with my fat body. And gym class, she won the most flexible contest? She was probably lying. Did you see how fat she is? A therapist seems like a promising career for her, not too much physical activity. I'm sure she was bullied, so she can relate. Oh, a sex therapist? A sexologist? Wow, she is pretty for a fat girl. I've heard fat women are freaky. Poor girl is deprived. She can't get her own man, so she has to get a career in sexuality. It goes on and on and on… even our closest friends can behave as though these struggles are personal, not social (Dark & Aphramor, 2022). Fat phobia is so deeply entrenched in society that its perpetuation is normalized and even hoped for. You wouldn't want to dare embrace your fat body because you would be glorifying obesity. The shame of these comments and embedded hatred of fat bodies in society has lingering effects and are amplified based on the amount of non-conforming identities one holds, whether it'd be race or gender presentation. Fat bodies are categorized in limiting boxes that restrict behavioural norms of what we can and cannot accomplish. 

Not only is fatness dictating what one can do as a hobby or career, but so does race. White supremacy refuses to associate blackness with success. Lizzo, a successful fat black woman, is constantly bashed for her size and criticized as over the top. She is hyper-sexualized – as society does with black women. While most oppressed groups and white women experience a lack of inclusion due to size, class, disability, etc., comments of hate towards Lizzo majorly come from white men or boys. This could represent their fear of losing power and giving a platform to a fat black woman, which expresses fear of blackness and fatness. It is their tactic to repress in hopes of eliminating. 

Let’s look at Rachel Wiley’s piece, For Fat Girls Who Considered Starvation When Bulimia Wasn’t Enough (2015). She had dreamed of being a ballerina but constantly saw her body as too fat to accomplish this. Whether it had been said to her by her mother or society, Wiley purged herself in hopes of one day being small enough to become a dancer. This notion of needing to be a specific size to be entitled to roles such as dancers is socially constructed to keep fat bodies from getting positive attention. One's body size must remain thin, or else it isn't deserving to accomplish powerful things. Later, when she was told her perfect teeth – the only thing her mother said was perfect about her – would be damaged from purging, she starved herself as she had to find other ways to reach her goals. This very well-written piece portrays how eating disorders are normalized for fat bodies. It also demonstrates how fatphobia wishes to harm and inflict pain upon our bodies. It rather see us suffer than live in a society where bigger bodies are appreciated. 

Relationships with female members of my family have always been unhealthy and hard to maintain. In the previous post, I talked about my grandmother's wish to pay me for my weight loss. This was not a single event but rather my entire life. I know my time in Toronto has been successful when I get "complimented" on how my face looks skinnier when I return home. I, amongst many other fat girls, have very surfaced level relationships with thin parents. This expectation and admiration of slim bodies carry a lot of shame. Let's look at Khloé Kardashian; she comes from a very successful tight nit family. I am not saying she has a surfaced level relationship with her entourage, but they seem to focus immensely on body image, which correlates with a thin normative ideal. She was bigger than her sisters and was bullied for her body. She got plastic surgery to lose weight, and people still attacked her image, saying she didn't look like herself anymore.

These narratives damage fat women's sense of self; we are dammed if we do and dammed if we don’t. Our entire existence feels like it doesn't belong to us as we spend our life changing our body for our acceptance – a shell that contains our spirit but fails to be recognized as something temporary. 

Lucy Aphramor (2022) explains that she was educated as a dietician and found that it normalizes fatphobia as well as body shaming (p. 4). These structures idolize a white skinny and pure culture, alienating and assimilating anything outside their ideals. Body shaming culture is built on medical systems that evaluate the worth of bodies, also creating eating disorders. I remember I was 9 years old when I had my first appointment with a dietitian. A tall skinny blonde woman shamed me for having 3 meals a day with snacks in between. I absolutely adored salads, but she refused to believe me because the narrative says fat girls don't eat healthily. As the weeks and appointments added up, I developed an eating disorder, though I didn't know that was what was happening at the time. Either dissociating from my body and binging because if I disconnected, the shame wasn’t as painful, or not eating for days. I often didn't eat until my homework was done, and even then, I counted every calorie. This idea that women need to have a small frame as it is part of the feminine ideal bleeds into all areas of social resources. I have never experienced healthcare where my body size was not used to explain the pain and discomfort I was feeling during my visits. I have endured severe illnesses due to physical abuse and trauma but have been told to lose 10 pounds, and I would feel better every time I entered the emergency room and doctors’ offices. 

I want to speak of a part in Rheonna Nicole’s The Fat Girl (2016):

"Mama afraid her mini-me will be larger than life, so she make her play basketball

Scared she would fail 

Too late she already scoring triple-doubles

Black

Overweight

And female."

She relays the hardships that fat women experience in a normalized fat-phobic society while speaking as a Black woman also experiencing racism. Her mother was terribly afraid of her daughter's size, forcing her to play basketball which white supremacy labels as a black male sport as they hold labels of being wild and untameable. This is a stunning comparison to Black fatness as animalistic, feeding into dominant racist tropes about Black women and their dehumanization. I have briefly discussed the fetishization of fat bodies in a previous post, but Nicole (2016) speaks of her increased fetishization because she is Black. Colonial notions of Black female bodies oversexualize them while saying they are sexual deviants. She speaks to how her mother's lack of appreciation towards her body and fear of fatness represents her inherent failure as she represents 3 incredibly oppressed identities in society. 

I include blackness in this blog post, as Black cultures have helped me appreciate my body. As I mentioned in my first post, moving to Toronto was a cultural shock for me as a fat woman. This was the first time I had experienced life surrounded by people from different cultures, and the first time I realized my presence in classes, musical events, and art shows was appreciated. I was expected to show up as myself, a French, Queer, Fat, musically inclined woman – for the first time in my life, I had experienced acceptance of all these identities I represented. Again, recognizing I hold significant privilege for being white, this acceptance meant a lot after coming from a small, oppressive, conservative town. Despite their constant exclusion from society as the colonial ideology ignores all fat bodies, especially Black women’s bodies. They so kindly accepted me as they understood what it meant to be bigger, have curves and be sexualized in a patriarchal, fat-phobic society. Although Black men could still fetishize my fat white body, they appreciated me and saw me beyond the limits of my curves. I speak of these unique experiences as they have allowed me to immerse myself in an excluded culture; cultural dissociation made me feel more at home.

I want to bring in Annette Schlichter’s Do Voices Matter? (2011) in this conversation. A society that excludes us from employment avenues and opportunities, hobbies, medical resources, and accessibility also holds an expectation of how we should physically behave and carry ourselves as fat women. Fatness is associated with laziness, an unmanaged body, and a lack of elegance. Our voice matters on an extreme end as we are taking up too much space. We have to avoid being ‘too’ loud, but we can’t be 'too' quiet either because then we're seen as insecure, and when this happens, comments are made about our bodies and how much better we would feel if we only lost 10 pounds. Our voice should be assertive, so people take us seriously, as society fails to see fat women as responsible and ambitious. So, must be assertive but can’t be too assertive because then we’re a fat woman taking up too much space AND being a bitch or a bully: "Who does she think she is? She's fat; she should look at herself first before giving me attitude." Which involve stereotypes of the angry fat black woman, the sassy black woman with attitude, or the loud manly fat body of colour. As a fat white woman, I recognize that my race gives me the privilege, so I don't have to suffer racism. Not only do we have to adjust how we react to or perform our identity around people because our existence makes society uncomfortable, but we are forced to contort ourselves into boxes that don't feel familiar to us.

I want to be surrounded by people who understand and respect my experiences and existence. I want to be honoured as both fat AND beautiful, not beautiful for a fat person, nice for a fat person, quiet for a fat person, or in shape for a fat person. I learned that I showed up differently once I was no longer ashamed of myself. With the help of other beautiful, strong, independent, loving, intelligent, capable fat women, I have allowed myself to love my body as I strive to make patriarchal, white supremacist, fat-phobic, colonial systems uncomfortable with my presence. Us fat women need to unite in love and use our powerful voices, regardless of preconceived notions, to dismantle oppressive systems. I live to dismantle these structures by embracing my beautiful queer, fat, femme identity. 

Here are beautiful beings that show how fatness and femininity can be embodied in everyday life. From unapologetically being themselves and 'calling out' fatphobic, racist, and sexist comments to speaking and sharing their musical/artistic talents, embracing their interracial relationship publicly, and making content promoting fat power and confidence. 

Jess Kelley @Therealmrskelley 

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A post shared by Jess (@therealmrskelley)

Vanessa Duchelle @Tresduchelle

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A post shared by DUCHELLE (@tresduchelle)

Simone Mariposa @simonemariposa

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A post shared by Simone 🌺🌻👑🦋 (@simonemariposa)

Dani DMC @Itsdanimc

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A post shared by 𝑫𝑨𝑵𝑰 𝑫𝑴𝑪 (@itsdanidmc)

References

Button Poetry. (2015, Nov 30). Rachel Wiley – For Fat Girls Who Considered Starvation When Bulimia Wasn’t Enough [Video]. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jw_NRdAdlio

DMC, D. [@itsdanidmc]. (2021, October 1). The woman who does not require validation from anyone is the most feared individual on the planet. ITS ME. IM HER. [Instagram photograph]. Retrieved from https://www.instagram.com/p/CUf9BNUvbj-/?utm_source=ig_embed&ig_rid=d3049c31-bd43-49e2-af08-fd25ce555a99

Dark, K., Aphramor, L. (2022). Fat Politics as a Constituent of Intersecting Intimacies. In Fat Studies: An Interdisciplinary Journal of Body Weight and Society, 11(3). DOI: https://doi.org/10.1080/21604851.2022.2045789

Duchelle, V. [@tresduchelle]. (2022, October 20). En plus d’avoir des nouveaux vêtements, comme cette chemise, @boutiques.clairefrance a aussi un nouveau compte Tik Tok (@boutiquesclairefrance) et le 24 octobre prochain, il y aura un tirage d’une carte-cadeau de 100$ parmi leurs abonné.es!! Perds pas de temps, abonne-toi. [Instagram Photograph]. Retrieved from https://www.instagram.com/p/Cj6faDarNGh/?utm_source=ig_embed&ig_rid=c6537e84-1efc-4eed-9d36-0fb69ec7aef4

Kelley, J. [@therealmrskelley]. (2021, October 6). Ok I need y’all to freak out about these dresses with me. This Target haul turned out so much better than I expected it to!! Which piece is your favorite?! [Instagram photograph]. Retrieved from https://www.instagram.com/p/CUsiJkXFedd/

Mariposa, S. [@simonemariposa]. (2021, November 2). The South is just too good to me. Spring 2022, I’ll be an ATL shawty for good [Instagram photograph]. Retrieved from https://www.instagram.com/p/CVy4_TIpnOH/?utm_source=ig_embed&ig_rid=ee042d21-241a-49e9-ac85-3eb95f7a7413

Schlichter, A. (2011). Do Voices Matter? Vocality, Materiality, Gender Performativity. In Body & Society, 17(1), 31-52. https://doi.org/10.1177/1357034X10394669 

Spencer, C. (2021, Aug 17). Music Star Lizzo Breaks Down Over Racist and Fat-Shaming Slurs. The Hill, Changing America.

Poetry Slam Inc. (2016, July 7). Women of the World Poetry Slam 2016 – Rheonna Nicole “The Fat Girl” [Video]. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8RUt6-_hBpg

[greatdarkwonder]

AHI: Live At Jammin’ Java

On this #Thanksgiving we're thankful for all the artists we've been fortunate to see live, the most recent of whom is AHI, who gave a stellar performance Jammin' Java on Thursday - read about it here.

Back in early 2021, Toronto-based indie folk-soul artist and 2-time JUNO nominee AHI announced a small run of US headlining shows – his first solo venture south of the Canadian border after several successful US tours supporting notable names such as Patty Griffin, Lauren Daigle, and (most recently) Mandy Moore. Having been starved of live music opportunities as the global pandemic ran amok,…

[larrydemontreal]

I had waffles and coffee taken out from there yesterday, perfect for today's weather 😋 # coffee #starving #artist #Markham #GTA #Toronto (at Starving Artist) https://www.instagram.com/p/CPbE11kBDA_/?utm_medium=tumblr

[lifewithgracie]

Starving Artist!!

I came here for my best friends birthday! It’s been pretty popular in Toronto, and they opened up more locations in the GTA so I just HAD to bring her. This place was really aesthetically pleasing! The food was great and so was the environment. We had the waffle benny, and the breakfast benny. My friend really liked the potato waffles, while I preferred the regular waffles. I’m a person who likes to separate my salty from sweet, so keeping the waffles and the sweetness all together was my fave. I did not like the sweet taste on my potato waffles. the potato waffles btw are basically kind of like potato lahkas. was VERY good, would highly recommend trying this place.

Waffle Benny: 2 mini waffles topped with poached eggs, caramelized bacon & hollandaise sauce. Garnished with chives. $13.00

Breakfast Benny: 2 potato waffles topped with poached eggs & caramelized bacon. Garnished with chives. $14.00 

Rating: 7.5/10 

- Food was good

- Service was a little slow

- CASH ONLY 

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

Look, Night Vale, I fucking love you guys and I have for many years. I’ve never seen your shows live, though I’d love to see one if I ever got the chance, and I’ve paid to download all the live shows that you’ve put online for a price. Shows I could have easily pirated, by the way. Once you put the video of a live show out there for money, someone else will put it online for free. But I paid for them all because I know that money goes actually does go straight to the relatively independent artists who do need the money (not that I think the Night Vale people are starving artists, but they’re not incredibly rich the way lots of other people are at their level of fame, and they rely on the money from those live shows). So I like you guys, I support you guys, I deeply respect you guys. I absolutely understand you taking a couple of minutes at the beginning of a podcast I’m listening to to advertise your upcoming tour. You’ve been without the income from in-person shows for two years now. Advertise away. I would never begrudge you that.

Having said that, as much as I don’t mind you advertising your tour on your podcast, would you please stop saying you’re touring the US and Canada when you mean the US and Toronto? Toronto is almost the US. If you want to call it a “US and Canada” tour, you have to at minimum hit Toronto and Montreal. I don’t live in Montreal, or in Toronto for that matter. I just think Montreal should be the bar for saying you’ve included Canada. If you get one city past Toronto, you can call it a “US and Canada tour”.

Okay, very specific and personal gripe over. I’m glad the Night Vale people are touring again. They’ve built an incredible franchise and deserve to be compensated for that. But my brother in Christ, “US and Canada” is not the same as “US and Toronto”.

[delcat177]

Calling in a favor

A friend, a cool artist and game developer based in Toronto, is putting together a MEGA RAD semi-annual horror anthology! Check the flash:

Cover art by Trevor Henderson

Rejoice with us, beings of meat!

OUR PRE-ORDERS ARE NOW OPEN.

PARADOX GHOST PRESS PRESENTS THE FIRST ISSUE OF BLEED ERROR, a deeply unsettling collection of short stories, flash fiction, and poetry about the bleed error of the universe printing outside the margins of reality. With cover art by Trevor Henderson and housing some of the most profound love letters to the uncanny, this glossy-covered, semi-annual collection is something you should let yourself be gently cursed by. You won’t regret it, we’re fairly sure.

PREORDER NOW!

We cannot stress how important pre-orders are to us as a small company that refuses to publish via major POD websites. This is our first issue, which also means we need a projected number of copies to print. Please don’t let us fall into the fathomless abyss of failure where our bones will be gnawed to dust by foes unseen. Please, please support us by purchasing early, and you avail a special discount! It would mean the world (and other shrouded, sinister worlds) to us.

And yes, we are still soliciting flesh – er, submissions! You can read more on the guidelines HERE.

SUBMISSIONS CLOSE MARCH 1st, 2022.

Source is the pre-order and submission page. Does your work fit any of the following?

We’re looking for short stories, flash fiction, and poetry that runs the gamut of everything from absurdist horror to bizarre science-fiction to unsettling dark fantasy. We love the uncanny; what we look for is the telling drop in your stomach when you absently look up at the skies and there are far more constellations than you’d remembered, brighter and closer and in configurations you don’t quite recall. We want stories about the bleed error of the universe printing outside the margins of reality. We are interested in stories with LGBTQ2S+ and diverse leads, especially with narratives that are not confined to tragedy tropes.

I know it does, because I know you (I’ve read your creepypasta, too)--if you’re a talent, and you don’t have a place for it to call home, why not consider getting in on the ground floor of something amazing? There’s almost a month left before submissions are closed, you can consider it a challenge!

Why is this calling in a favor? Why, I’m glad you asked!

It so happens this producer is one of my own, dare I say our own--a bona fide and quality-controlled member of the Don’t Starve fandom. Now, I know I am speaking from personal bias when I say that the DS fanbase is an overwhelmingly warm and talented community, but I as sure do not speak from personal bias when saying that as a whole, we god damn adore some quality uncanny horror. We are given to gas lights and goblins, be they in the literal, figurative, or far-flung future alternate universe form, and we want to see them thrive.

That’s why I am asking you, here, today, to open up your hearts (and if applicable, your wallets) and show a little consideration for the one of us that could be any, and rises to this honorable goal with heart in hands, breathless with anticipation and clutched viciously by the shadows of anxiety as numbers are crunched and dreams are made. I believe us to be capable of not just propping enough pre-orders to sell, but in making Bleed Error something we will be proud to have even the slightest hand in. I believe us to be the artists, the writers, the magic bean buyers who can propel something great to greatness. We can set that on its trajectory, and we can do it one reblog at a time.

And, anyway, you know...some of you guys like me too, and I’m not in it or anything, but...Zampano was good to me during what you know have been some difficult months, and that kind of character is, I think, worth rewarding.

IT COULD BE THE NEXT CEMETERY DANCE COME ON Y’ALL

This is an unsolicited advertisement, or unvertisement. It is done without solitication (or knowledge) of the creator. I just wanna see this cool as hell project get off the ground. Thank you!

[darling-i-read-it]

Five More Minutes

Will Graham x reader

Word Count: 900

Warnings: bad days

Author’s Note: its been a tough panic attack day. Needed some will. Because i love will. (Edit: I wrote this like a month ago so I’m okay today!)

Summary: The reader has a bad day and Will comforts her

Genre: angst at the beginning but all around fluff

Song: krystal by matt maltese 

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director 

(not my gif)

Will looked at you quietly like you were about to break. You were such a fragile little thing, quiet and kind to everyone that you met. He loved you like you were the only thing he had ever been allowed to love which made him fiercely protective over you.

Anything that ever laid a hand on you was in his view. He wasn’t overbearing, not that you knew, but he also knew that sometimes you needed to be protected. Just like some days he needed you to protect him. It was simply factual and a reason your relationship worked as well as it did.

But now you looked distraught and like your soul was being ripped from your body. You wished you could just leave at that moment and Will had no idea why. It made him sick to his stomach.

“Darling?” he whispered and walked over to where you sat on the bed. You were on the edge of it, your head not even resting on the pillow as it usually would have been if you were anywhere near the bed. You looked up at him and wiped your eyes.

“Long day. Don’t worry about it.” 

Will pushed aside anything that could have made him not focus on you and sat beside you. The dogs even picked up on your mood as they crowded around you.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered. You shook your head.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” He let out a soft sigh and nodded. He knew that feeling and he didn’t want to push it but he did want you to feel better. He put his arm around your shoulder and you put your head on his.

“Alright,” he muttered. “We’ll just sit.”

He made you feel better almost immediately. You kicked up your feet and he grabbed them, putting them over his lap and then helping you so that you were sitting on him. You buried your face in his neck and he held you like he would never let you go.

You were quiet for a long time and he was okay with that. As much as he wanted to fight whoever made you feel this way he more than anything just wanted to hold you. And that is what he did. 

“Will?” you whispered after a long while. He nodded, brushing your hair and getting the knots out.

“Yeah?” his voice was barely audible.

“I love you so much,” you told him. He let out a sigh of relief that you seemed to be doing a little bit better. Whatever was bothering you wouldn’t pass that quickly but the idea was that he would be able to get you distracted. It was looking like he succeeded.

“I love you too darling,” he whispered. You lifted your head off of his shoulder and looked into his blue eyes. A hand was brought up to his cheek where you rubbed his face softly as you examined him with artist eyes.

“You’re so handsome,” you whispered. He smiled a little bit at that. If your distraction happened to be his face he wasn’t going to complain about that.

“Thank you.” He brushed a piece of hair out of your face. “And you are gorgeous,” he promised. You smiled shyly. 

“Thank you.” 

“Do you want to talk about what was bothering you or should we just keep sitting here?” You shrugged, clasping your hands around his neck once again. 

“Are you hungry? Did you eat at work?” 

“I could eat but I’m not starving.”

“Do you wanna go out to eat?” 

“You wanna go out?”

You nodded. 

“I want a fresh start to the day.” He nodded and thought about the places that the two of you could go for a moment. There wasn’t anything for miles but once you got into town there was the basics.

“What are you in the mood for?”

“Whatever you’re in the mood for.” He scoffed and shook his head.

“That’s a cop out.” 

“No it’s strategic. Come on.”

“We could go to the steakhouse in town?” You nodded quickly, your smile returning which warmed his heart.

“They have really good desserts.” He nodded and then looked down at you, still sitting on him.

“If you wanna go we do have to get up,” he told you carefully. You shook your head.

“I don’t wanna get up.”

“But I can’t drive anywhere with you on my lap. I think the local police department would consider that distracted driving.”

“I’ll pay them off.”

“The workers at the steakhouse might think we’re on our honeymoon.” You scoffed.

“In Toronto?” He shrugged.

“Sure. Some people have different tastes than you, don’t bash that.” You nodded, smiling gently before putting your head back on his shoulder.

“Five more minutes,” you said, your voice back to the whisper. He nodded and went back to drawing circles in your back.

“Five more minutes.”

[wherevermyway]

we’re professional. (2/??) // minbin // 18+

❄ part of yuki’s favourites! ❄

we’re professional. chapter two: concealed series navigation: [desktop] [mobile]

pairing: lee minho x seo changbin rating: explicit! 18+ warnings/tags: slow burn, angst, eventual sexual content, age difference, art student changbin, artist minho, fake dating AU. chapter warnings: heavy angst, implied masturbation, alcohol word count: 10,141 also on AO3

originally posted: 21 december 2020

series summary: Lee Minho, or Minho: The Heartless, is a famous artist, which comes with an annoying entourage of paparazzi that are very invested in his life.

Two years ago, a piece at UBC's annual student's exhibit catches Minho's eye: "arranged: in black", a series of greyscale paintings crafted by sophomore Seo Changbin. Minho talks with Changbin at length for hours, then offers to help him financially if they pretend to date for a while, so Minho can please the press. Naturally, a walking exhibit of the "starving artist" stereotype, Changbin accepts the offer wholeheartedly.

There are no strings attached: Changbin can leave at any time. Hell, Minho doesn't even ask him for sex in exchange for the money, just companionship and occasional skinship. Changbin knows that Minho is emotionally damaged from several bad relationships in the past, so to have someone pay him just for providing them company is nice. Sure, he could go off and date someone and work on settling down, but he just doesn't want to. Minho is too interesting, too valuable.

Eventually, something's gotta give. When it does, it could potentially damage their relationship and careers forever.

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction! any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are  interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do  not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of  the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable,  please stop reading now.

chapter summary: Two nights: one containing a lie, the other containing a truth. Both end up changing Changbin's life, but is it for the better?

There were two nights that changed Seo Changbin’s life forever, both involving his best friend, Seungmin. The first night that changed his life was the night of his sophomore showcase.

It was the night where Seungmin lied.

“‘arranged: in black’ is a stupid name for this set, isn’t it?” Changbin stood in front of the bright white wall, his posture slightly askew. He stared at four small square canvases with a silhouette painted in varying shades of black and white oils, trying to convey the varying degrees of grey he felt his life was consumed in. The canvases tilted to the left, he tilted to the right.

Something didn’t fit: was it the art, or the artist?

A young, neon pink-haired man behind him loudly snapped his gum right in Changbin’s ear and hummed loudly as he stared at the paintings. “Sounds pretentious.”

“Oh,” Changbin raised his eyebrows and gave the man a cocky look. “Yeah, and a self portrait painted in watered down red wine with the name ‘Dead Energy’ isn’t pretentious? Come on, Seungmin.”

Seungmin shrugged, turning back around to adjust the aforementioned painting on the wall behind him. “You asked for my opinion, dude.”

Changbin took a step towards his paintings, making the most minute adjustments to how they were situated against the wall. “No, I asked you if it was a stupid name. Not for you to give me your terrible opinion.”

“Okay,” Seungmin drawled out, as if he were about to prove a point, “then, fine, it’s a horrible name and I think you should change it.” To anyone that didn’t know the dynamic between Seungmin and Changbin, the banter may have come off harsh, but this was what worked best for them.

“Well,” Changbin rolled his eyes at his friend as he laughed. “I think your opinion sucks and I’m in too deep to go and fix my placards.”

In all honesty, Changbin had been looking for an excuse to change the name of his set. Seungmin’s reassurance, while masqueraded as an insult, helped give him the small amount of encouragement he needed to believe in the project, name and all.

Later that night, Changbin was aimlessly chatting with Seungmin when two well-dressed men walked past them. One was a blond that dressed in a simple black suit set, similar to the art professors: stylistically flat, but professional. Deliberately plain, so as not to distract from the art on display.

The other, however, caught Changbin’s eye. His aura was distracting Changbin from his conversation. The man, perhaps in his late twenties or early thirties, had dressed like he was a piece on display: everything placed on him was deliberate and purposeful. He was wearing a graphite turtleneck, a single earring that had a shiny silver safety pin and chain dangling from his earlobe, and a rose gold necklace adorned with a skirt-shaped onyx that nestled into the middle of his clavicle. He even wore fake, half-rimmed black glasses. Everything about him screamed out-of-place, yet oddly intriguing and untouchable.

“Wait a sec, Chan,” the intricately decorated man paused, taking a step back as he found himself unable to tear his eyes off of Changbin’s paintings. The strange man approached the canvases, and it made Changbin start to sweat. The way that the brunette pored over his work was different than the way his classmates or professors looked at it.

This strange man was analyzing his work, not just staring beyond it.

“Oh no,” Seungmin muttered, his expression dropping as he watched the two strange men hover in Changbin’s area.

“What?” Changbin nervously rubbed his thumbs into his palms and tried to stay composed. “Why did you say ‘oh no’? Seungmin, dude, what?”

The pink haired man stood in awe and shook his head. “You’re fucked, man,” he turned away, trying to get Changbin to stop staring. “Dude, I think that’s The Heartless.”

The black-haired man squinted in confusion. “‘The Heartless’? What the hell are you talking about? What does that have to do with me?”

Seungmin rolled his eyes with a heavy sigh. He leaned in, trying to make it less obvious that they were staring. “He’s brutal, that’s all I know. He’s a famous artist that’s got a lot of power in every gallery in Vancouver, owns all of the galleries in Victoria, helps manage several in Montréal and Toronto…” His voice tapered off as the both watched the two strange men observe Changbin’s paintings. “He’s really harsh on artists, even those that have work in his galleries. You’re fucked.”

“Shut up,” Changbin grumbled under his breath, digging his elbow into Seungmin’s rib cage. If it were anyone less intriguing, Changbin would never have let his body move on its own, drawn to the stranger like a magnet. Once he had gotten back into his own area, he lost all confidence he had somehow mustered up, the fancy brunette turning around at the sound of footsteps.

“Can I help you?” The brunette’s voice was cold, arrogant. Fitting, based on his appearance.

Changbin froze, trying to stutter out some sort of introduction. He could practically feel Seungmin cringing from a few metres away.

“Oh,” the mysterious man pointed over his shoulder, “you created these, didn’t you?”

It felt like all of the air in the gallery had been sucked through a vacuum. Everything was dreadfully silent. Changbin could only meekly nod twice, swallowing hard as he tried not to show panic on his face.

“Figures. The aura just kind of… fits.” The man turned back around, bringing his index finger between his teeth as he pondered.

The blond man next to the stranger smirked, eyeing the paintings, then the brunette. “You’re not really going to—“

A hand came in between the brunette and the blond, as the well-dressed man haphazardly drew his fingers out towards his compatriot. “Hush.” His gaze on the paintings remained unbroken as his eyes fluttered around each of the four small canvases. “Tell me,” he cleared his throat, looking at the placard stuck up next to the bottom right canvas, “Changbin, why did you pick the name ‘arranged: in black’ for this set?”

Changbin had a habit of being a bit too brash when he was nervous, almost as if it were a coping strategy for stressful situations. “Do you want the fake answer or the real one?”

The blond sucked some air in through his teeth, deliberately looking away from the situation, biting back a smirk.

The brunette with the fake glasses raised an eyebrow, then slowly turned his head to make eye contact with the student, his gaze intimidating and strong, like a criminal investigator. “So, you have two reasons. Interesting.” He licked his bottom lip, then folded his arms across his chest. “I want the boring answer first, then the fun answer. If I can guess the true answer, then I’ll surprise you.”

Despite the fact that Changbin was terrified, he managed to shake his nerves out as he folded his arms, mirroring the strange man in front of him. “The boring answer is that I liked the way it looked on the placards.” The stranger cocked his head to the side, clearly unimpressed with that response.

“The interesting answer is,” Changbin looked past the brunette as he casually walked over to his canvases, adjusting them to be neat and orderly again. “It’s how I arrange myself to best fit the way I blend in during any situation at hand.” He turns his torso a bit towards the brunette, but does not move closer, afraid that the stranger would smell his vulnerability and tear into him like a vulture. “How much white do I need to make my black match the graphite shade of your turtleneck, how much black I need to blend together with white to make the sterling silver shade of your safety pin earring. How much I need to arrange myself to conform. Hence, 'arranged: in black'.”

There is a very long, drawn out pause. The stranger chews on his index finger as he studies Changbin’s face, pondering something, but hiding his true expression. Seungmin takes a step forward, but quickly rescinds it as Changbin looks up at him and squints.

“Cat eyes.” The brunette says with a devious grin.

Changbin makes contact with the stranger again, cocking his head to the side in confusion. “Cat eyes?” He repeats, slowly and carefully.

The stranger takes a step forward and offers his hand out. “My name is Minho, from the Lee Family. I run a few galleries across Canada, but Vancouver and its eclectic artists refuse to relinquish me from its talons.” His face falls for a moment, then he offers a soft, albeit somewhat fake smile. “I want to buy these paintings from you. The character, the brutal honesty behind them is something I don’t see in many people, much less undergraduate artists.”

“Holy shit.” Changbin can hear Seungmin’s quiet interjection from afar. He looks down to Minho’s thin, bony hand, then accepts it without thinking.

Minho’s hand is cold. “Changbin. Seo Changbin, as I’m sure you’ve gathered.” He firmly shakes Minho’s icy hand, then shakes his head. “You seriously want to buy my paintings?”

A wide smile spreads on Minho’s face. “Absolutely.” He pulls out a thin wallet from his back pocket, rifling his fingers around it as he nods at the blond. “Chan, you’ve got a pen, right?”

“Yeah,” the other man reaches inside of his jacket, pulling out a weighty-looking pen. He presents it to the brunette, who accepts it with haste. Minho takes a step towards the wall, pulling a card from his hand, then proceeds to write something on the back of it.

As he turns around, he holds his hand out towards Changbin, card tucked neatly between his index and middle fingers. The younger man takes it, shoving it into his back pocket a bit haphazardly without looking it over. As Changbin fumbles with the card and his pocket, Minho takes a few steps closer, lightly grabbing on to Changbin’s upper arm as he leans into his ear. “Text me in a half hour. We can talk more later.”

As quickly as Changbin registers the words Minho says, the mysterious brunette and blond duo disappear, off beyond a white partition holding up a classmate’s draped canvas. “What the fuck was that?” Seungmin whispers in shock as he approaches Changbin.

“That was Lee Minho,” the black-haired man breathed, a relieved, yet nervous, grin curling up on his face. “He actually wants my paintings. I don’t know why, but I’ll take it as a win.”

As requested, Changbin sends off a text to the number written on the back of Minho’s business card. The young man bites his lip as he moves to tuck his phone into his back pocket, but it vibrates in his hand. “That was fast,” he sighs as he unlocks his phone.

20:46 | Unknown Sender: I’ll be there soon. Alone. 20:46 | Unknown Sender: I’d prefer it if you were alone, too.

Changbin’s heart skipped at the possible intention of Minho’s text message. Should he have shooed Seungmin away, against the younger man’s protests? Probably not, but he figured that it was a public area, and Minho likely wouldn’t do something shady.

Probably.

He aimlessly nibbled at his bottom lip as he stared at some of the mistakes on his paintings, likely imperfections that his mind was hallucinating to keep him busy. Why exactly was such a well-renowned artist interested in such simple paintings, anyways?

“They’re quite lovely,” Minho’s voice crept up, startling Changbin. The brunette didn’t react to Changbin’s visceral response, instead engrossing himself further in the brushstrokes that blended black and white into shades of muted grey.

“You startled me,” Changbin mumbled, regaining his composure. He stared at the same spot that he assumed Minho was looking at, noticing that there was an extra stroke of thin black in a sea of deep grey, somewhere it shouldn’t have been. His brow furrowed in irritation as Minho turned to meet his gaze.

The older man bit back a smile. “You’re looking for every imperfection, aren’t you?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Not really,” Minho turns away from Changbin, folding his arms as he lets his eyes slowly scan every individual canvas. “I just know from personal experience.” He gingerly reaches his lean fingers out to the corner of one of the canvases, causing Changbin to tense in anticipation. “Pouring your soul into something for hours, days — hell, even weeks, for some projects — only to find everything possibly imperfect with it as soon as it’s presented to the public.” Minho delicately nudges the corner up a bit, evening out the canvas so all four looked even.

Changbin unclenches his fists, feeling sweat bead at his brow as he looks at Minho. The older man turns his head slightly, looking down at the black-haired man, scanning his appearance.

“When was the last time you ate something that wasn’t ramen or something frozen? You’re as grey as your silhouettes.”

The question was jarring. Did Changbin really look that unwell? “I mean,” he awkwardly moved to scratch the back of his head. “I usually have leftovers from the kitchen at work every night, so, last night, probably?”

Minho frowned in response. “Here I thought the ‘starving artist’ trope was just an aesthetic you were going for, match the grungy brushstrokes of your painting.” He dug into his pocket and spun on his heel. “Come on, we can discuss this somewhere a little bit more appropriate.”

Changbin knew all of the things he risked following a stranger — a well-known stranger that likely had many connections — away from the UBC campus, away from the same area of town he had been so familiar with for two years. He threw caution to the wind as he stepped into Minho’s black Tesla.

There was an air of relief that washed over Changbin as he watched Minho input directions towards downtown Vancouver. However, that relief turned into nervousness as he really took in the interior of the car. Everything about it screamed everything that Minho was, and Changbin was not: confident, financially stable, mature.

“What about your friend?” Changbin questioned, just to ease a bit of the awkward silence as they left UBC.

The brunette rolled his neck a bit, adjusting his seatbelt. “Chan? He drove here himself. Nearly subzero temperatures and he still wants to ride his stupid fucking motorcycle.” Minho laughed once, then the awkward silence came back with a vengeance.

Something wasn’t adding up, and it caused an uneasy ball of tension to form in Changbin’s stomach. “Why didn’t you tear into my paintings?” The younger man nervously blurted out as they drove down Fourth Avenue, not thinking before he spoke yet again.

Minho smirked as he looked over his shoulder, merging into a different lane. “So,” he chuckled as he turned back around, “I take it you’ve heard the rumours, then?”

“‘Minho, the Heartless”, yeah.” Changbin intertwined his fingers together, staring down at the way he was rubbing his thumb against his hand. “My friend Seungmin told me a bit about you before I approached you. That you’re brutal towards new artists, and even those that have their works on display in your galleries.”

“Figures,” the brunette tutted, rapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “That’s not…” he pauses, squinting a bit as he takes in a breath, “that’s not the real reason I’m labelled as ‘the heartless’, but it plays a key factor into it all.”

Changbin looks up, taking in the side profile of the man, watching the way passing streetlights would highlight his face in a warm shade of orange, contrasting with the harsh blue lights of the car’s displays.

“Rumour has it,” Minho brought his arm up to the door, then rested his head against his fist, “that I’m too cold to everyone. I’m rude to my clients, to my patrons, hell, that I had to have been brutal to my exes, because they never stuck around.” He tries to stifle s scoff into his fist. “Look, Changbin, I’m going to be honest.”

As they neared Granville Island, the warm yellow street lights turned into cold, blueish white LEDs that matched the lights in the car. The ball of tension in Changbin’s stomach expanded, constricting his lungs and causing his chest to tighten.

Minho tilted his head to the side, just enough to peer at Changbin over his false lenses, then back to the road. “I’m not interested in dating. I don’t do…” he pauses, spinning his fingers into an awkward circle to help him find the right word, “relationships in general: professional, personal, I try to avoid it all. Honestly, I just don’t like people.”

Somehow, Changbin was partially relieved, but that somehow left him with more questions.

“I’ve been burned by too many artists in the past, so don’t take it personally. But,” Minho paused and shrugged his shoulders, “your paintings pulled me in, made me want to get to know you just a little more. Maybe have you as a model for a sketch or two, buy that set of yours, help you out financially a bit. Student and mentor.”

“I couldn’t…” Changbin frantically interrupted, but lost his confidence quickly. Taking on too many shifts at the restaurant was killing him. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept for more than three or four hours a night. There was no way he had it in him to turn down such an opportunity, even if it hurt his pride a bit.

Minho smiled as Changbin went silent. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask you for anything weird or sexual. I just have this itching feeling like I’m not giving back to the community that propped me up when I was low. You don’t have to give me an answer tonight or even tomorrow. Let’s just celebrate your talent and get you something that will give you more than just salt and simple carbohydrates.”

They spent their first unofficial date getting to know each other. Minho was 29, had lived in Vancouver for his whole life. He did his first two years of his Bachelor’s of Fine Arts at the University of Toronto, then came back to Vancouver when the vibes of Toronto stopped meshing with him. “It’s a hellhole, really,” Minho kept the prongs of his fork between his teeth as he reminisced. “Clearly, so is Vancouver, but at least Vancouver feels like home.”

Changbin shrugged his shoulders, still a bit tense. He felt like he didn’t fit in at this high-end restaurant. The large plates with small amounts of food distracted him too much, like it was a mockery of how the wealthy always had to over-embellish even the smallest things in their possession.

“You’ve lived here your whole life, right, Changbin?” Minho set his fork down on the tablecloth, then clasped his hands together and rested his chin on the bridge his fingers made. The overhead spotlight illuminated his brown hair, highlighting the undertones of orange and black in certain spots. If Changbin was ever going to be interested in dating again, he would have considered Minho as a potential suitor.

Dating, however, was something Changbin wasn’t sure he’d ever be interested in again. Everyone thought that he and Felix would stay together forever, since that’s what high school sweethearts should do, and Changbin agreed for the longest time. He agreed with the sentiment, until he found one of their classmates in the bed he shared with Felix.

Love was dead, and Changbin believed it should stay that way.

“Vancouver?” He perked up, taking a sip of water from his glass, awkwardly looking away from Minho’s gaze. “Yeah, mostly. Lived in Nanaimo for a couple years until my parents split and my dad moved back here. I missed it too much to stay away.” It was mostly the truth, but that wasn’t relevant. Why bother spilling any more information on someone he barely knew?

“Interesting.” The way that Minho squinted at him, staring him up and down, stayed in Changbin’s mind for too long. There was a methodical, yet mindless way that Minho grazed his teeth against his bottom lip when he listened to Changbin ramble something off. If it really enraptured his attention, he would bring his index finger between his teeth and nod his head a couple of times.

Minho was attractive, not because of his physical features, but because of the way that he drank in the way that Changbin interacted with him. It was one-sided and a bit foolish, but that was the fun of it. He could toy with the idea of it in his head, flirt with the idea of what ifs, with none of the repercussions or demands of an actual relationship.

At the end of the night, when Minho dropped Changbin off at his dorm nearly two hours later, the younger man agreed to see him again the next weekend, where they’d discuss the more technical agreements of their arrangement.

Tonight, however, Changbin would let ideas run through his head, ideas of how Minho’s voice would sound in his ear, how his breath would brush up on his neck, and how his fingers would dance over his body. The black-haired man sighed as he nestled himself in between his sheets, allowing his mind to creatively extrapolate on some details as he hooked his thumbs into his waistband.

Nothing else mattered tonight.

The second night that changed Changbin’s life was the Sunday night after the fake engagement story went live.

It was the night where Seungmin told the truth.

“Look, dude,” Seungmin frowned as he sat on the opposite side of Changbin’s couch. “I wanted to say something a while ago, but I wasn’t sure how to bring it up. I just… I knew. It was obvious. Changbin,” he paused, trying to duck into the bluenette’s line of vision, “you’re in love with Minho. It’s kinda gross, not gonna lie. I haven’t seen you this infatuated over anyone in years. Genuinely thought you were gonna die alone with me or something.”

Changbin brought his knees up to his chest, staring aimlessly at his fingernails, like he could get lost in the sunsets hidden away in his cuticles, anything to avoid actually addressing how he was starting to feel over Minho. He could ignore it, hope that everything would go away, hope that Seungmin was just wrong and overanalyzing.

“Come on, Binnie, it was going to happen eventually,” Seungmin’s voice is quiet, like he was afraid of how Changbin would react. He leaned in, resting a hand on the bluenette’s arm. “Changbin.” The older man sucked his cheek in between his teeth as he pensively looked up at his friend. “This is gonna go one of two ways, probably. You’re either going to keep going through with all of this, say nothing, then end up heartbroken years down the line when he wants nothing to do with you out of the blue. Or…”

“Or?” Changbin tipped his head down, wincing as he looked at the younger man.

Seungmin sighed, shaking his head and closing his eyes. “You can risk it. Tell Minho you care about him, more than you agreed upon initially. See what his reaction is, probably suppress some of the inevitable heartbreak.”

The bluenette stared down at his hands, gaze getting caught in the pinkish groove between two of the diamonds in his new ring. How much distance was there between the gap of ‘friendship’ and ‘lovers’, between ‘casual’ and ‘professional’? “You think it’s a bad idea, don’t you?” He doesn’t look away as he timidly questions Seungmin. The question felt rhetorical as the words left his lips.

Seungmin runs a hand through his auburn hair, then grabs Changbin’s wrist as he softly smiles. “I want you to be happy.”

“So, you definitely think it’s a bad idea,” Changbin laughs as he sinks into the couch.

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Seungmin laughed, playfully slapping Changbin’s arm. “I think it’d be a bad idea if you didn’t tell him. I don’t know him very well, but Minho does seem to genuinely care about you, from the little I’ve seen, especially over the last year.”

Changbin’s lips flutter as he sighs in frustration. “That’s the worst part. I know he cares, but I don’t have any hard evidence of it. It’s all a gut feeling, and the uncertainty of that just makes me queasy.”

“The ring, though,” the younger man grabs the hand Changbin won’t stop staring at. “You really think that someone that didn’t care about you would have put in that much effort and money for something like this? For it to all be a fluke?”

Seungmin had a point. He always did: he knew people well, especially Changbin and people that interacted with him. He was the first to suggest that his ex wasn’t as innocent as he came off as, and he was the first to offer a shoulder to cry on when Changbin eventually got burned.

“Look, you should tell him. Maybe tell him after the engagement party, since that’s already all planned out and, hey, free publicity if it fails, I guess.” Seungmin suggested, then pulled Changbin into an awkward, but much needed, hug. “If he rejects you, I’ll help you get a crab pot and we can throw him overboard somewhere far past Vancouver Island.”

They both laughed hard enough to cause tears to roll down their faces.

“This is why you’re my best friend, Seung. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

Seungmin shrugged his shoulders and scoffed. “You’d be bored, but I would be too.”

Neither Changbin nor Minho sent inane texts to the other throughout the day like they used to. There were a few messages here and there, but an obvious rift had developed between the two of them since the last time they spoke.

It was stupid, really. Changbin shouldn’t have gotten upset over how much Minho had dropped on a real engagement ring for a fake relationship.

“That’s almost as much as my tuition!” The bluenette shrieked when he heard how much the ring was worth. “Five and a half thousand dollars? Minho, what the fuck?”

This was the first time that Minho was upset in front of Changbin, the first time where it felt realistic, like there was a passionate drive behind his anger. “Why are you so obsessed with the cost of this? Aren’t you in this for the money, anyways?”

Changbin shook his head a couple of times, physically taken aback by Minho’s wording. The older man stumbled on his words as he tried to form an apology, but the bluenette pulled away, storming off of the bed. He slipped his button-up shirt on from the day prior and continued shaking his head.

“I didn’t—”

“You didn’t mean it, right?” Changbin scoffed, gathering his things as he made his way to the door. “You didn’t mean to indirectly accuse me of just being a whore, right?”

To some extent, though, it was true. He knew it as the realization sank to the bottom of his heart. There was nothing physical going on between the two of them, just a professional mentorship and financial transactions. There were no budding feelings, especially not when Changbin would wake up to Minho’s soft hands on his shoulders. There were no burning feelings, definitely not when Minho would pull Changbin into a soft, tight embrace as he bid him farewell, lingering a moment too long every time they parted.

Strictly professional, Changbin. He had to keep repeating it in his head.

If he repeated it enough, that meant it was true, right?

He consistently reminded himself over the two weeks that had passed, and it felt like it was working, even with the engagement party coming up on Saturday.

“Strictly professional,” the young man sighed under his breath as he stared at his phone, staring down at the reminder that popped up. Tomorrow was the day where they were going to formally announce their engagement at a party downtown in a high-end restaurant that one of Minho’s friends owned.

11:30 | Minho: I’m sending over one of my drivers tonight for your final fitting. He should be there not long after you’re out of class, around 16:20.

Concise. Very professional, just like Changbin would expect from Minho.

11:32 | sent: I assume you’re going to be busy with another arrangement so I’m not going to see you tonight either, am I?

It was a bit bitchy, Changbin had to admit, but at least it felt somewhat cathartic to send off. A few bubbles popped up on screen as Minho typed a response, but they suddenly cut out and he didn’t respond. The bluenette shrugged, sighing heavily as he locked his phone and shoved it in the droopy front pocket of his sweatshirt.

Strictly professional.

He didn’t get another text message until he was halfway through one of his open studio blocks. Black paint had dripped down from the brush in his hand, splattering down on the floor and onto his Converse as he stared at his phone, somehow narrowly avoiding dropping it to the floor as his jaw dropped.

15:02 | Minho: I just rearranged my schedule to make sure I’d go along with you. Might as well make sure that all of the money I’ll drop on a custom fitting for you highlights all of your features in the ways that they deserve. 15:03 | Minho: I want everyone’s eyes on you. It’s as much your night as mine, and you should feel as handsome as you look. 15:04 | Minho: That’s what they say in the movies, right?

Changbin’s eyelids felt heavy and sticky as he blinked rapidly, fully processing Minho’s texts, running them over in his mind, practically hearing his voice whisper in his ear. All of the anger he had harboured over Minho in the past few days dissipated as he set his paintbrush on the side table next to his wooden frame and canvas. He felt like all of the colour faded from his face as he stared at his phone.

The last text was to ease the tension, a bit of an extinguisher to the fire Minho caused in Changbin’s stomach. He had to know what he was saying and what kind of effect it would have on the younger man, right?

15:08 | sent: All of my features? 15:08 | sent: In what ways do they deserve to be highlighted? You’re the master artist, here after all, so I’d love to hear your opinion.

There was a knot in Changbin’s stomach as he sent off the texts. His pulse was elevated, breaths a bit shallower than normal, and he had to lean up against the metal stool that sat behind him. He stared ahead to the painting he was working on, but he wasn’t looking at it as he brought his thumbnail up to his teeth. Yes, he needed to apologize for how he acted the last time they spoke in person, but that seemed so minute right now.

His phone shook in his hand, vibrating twice. With haste, Changbin brought his phone back up, breaking his line of vision to his canvas. His eyes went wide and he slowly sucked his bottom lip in between his teeth as he read over the words several times.

15:11 | Minho: Love, you know I’m more of a tactile feedback person and not a wordsmith, right? 15:12 | Minho: All the time you’ve been spending working out — it shows. I notice it when you’re laying next to me, snoring away into your pillow. It’s very… distracting. 15:14 | Minho: It’s only fair that I, the very well-respected and influential artist, make sure that all of your hard work is accented well. Hidden, but merely enough shown off to get people to wonder: who is Seo Changbin? How did Lee Minho manage to get such a talented, attractive person to carry on his arm? To call him his own forever?

This was breaking the boundaries of their relationship dynamic they came up with initially, but Changbin didn’t care. His toe was in the water, and the promise of its warm embrace was too much to turn away, even if it meant he was potentially selling his soul to the devil, ruining his life for a moment of warmth he hadn’t experienced in years.

15:16 | sent: Oh, so it’s just about arm candy, huh? 15:16 | sent: I’m more interested in why you consider me sleeping as distracting, though. Sounding like a bit of a serial killer. 15:17 | sent: Especially when you say that I’ll be yours forever.

Changbin didn’t bother locking his phone, watching the little text bubbles pop up and disappear several times over, groaning a bit each time that they weren’t followed by an actual message. Less than an hour to go until he was done with this block, and he would see Minho. He would be in his car, able to get close and push the limits of their agreement. A hand on the thigh, which was normal, could slowly creep up and in towards the sensitive skin of Minho’s upper thigh.

He didn’t mean to get distracted, but he couldn’t help letting his mind wander. Minho seemed like the type that would feel his partner up in the back of his car, leave bite marks and imprints from their shoulder, all the way up to the back of their ear. Changbin could practically feel the hairs on the side of his neck stand up in response to what Minho’s warm breath would feel like.

A buzz.

Changbin looked side to side in embarrassment, realizing he was practically having a wet dream out in the middle of his studio. Nervously, he cleared his throat and looked down to his phone as he felt his face warm.

15:20 | Minho: You’re always more than eye candy, I hope you know that. 15:21 | Minho: I can assure you, I am not a serial killer. Sure, that’s what all serial killers say, but when would I have the time for that? Seems like too much labour.

A disgruntled sigh came up from Changbin’s lungs. Naturally, he was looking too far into Minho’s texts, inserting inappropriate context between the words. Perhaps nearly three years without physical attention from another person was having an effect on his body. He thought about responding, but he didn’t have it in him to craft a witty, yet appropriate, response.

As Changbin stood up and awkwardly shuffled his legs around a bit to adjust the distracting erection building between his legs, he checked his phone one last time before reaching out for his paintbrush, but found himself nearly doubled over as he leaned over the side table with a gasp.

15:26 | Minho: Judging by your lack of response, I hope this means you’re being smart and focusing on your studio time, so you’ll ignore this message. 15:27 | Minho: You’re treading water that’s dangerous. I don’t know if you want to dive in and see how deep the water is. Could be cold.

Changbin responded without thinking.

15:28 | sent: I know how to swim. I’m not scared.

His hands were shaking with anticipation as he waited for Minho’s response. There was no way he was going to be able to concentrate on painting, so he gradually started rinsing off his brushes and sorting through his supplies. Every ten seconds or so, Changbin would stare at his phone, waiting for it to light up with another message.

Ten minutes had passed, and he was worried he had fucked up. He had stopped looking at his phone and was, again, staring at his painting. He was just going to leave it up over the weekend, since he would probably just come back to it in the middle of the night on Sunday night, when he normally had a random bout of inspiration hit him.

Unless, of course, the plan of confessing to Minho on Saturday would cause his regular Sunday plans to be pushed back. That would be a worthy sacrifice for his art.

Changbin was about to turn away from his painting when he felt a hand on the small of his back, and a familiar voice creep up into his ear. “I see black is a common theme in your paintings again.”

Minho.

The crafty bastard really showed up early and had the nerve to sneak up on Changbin. Instead of reacting in fright, the younger man leaned into the touch, tilting his head slightly back. “If I recall correctly, you like seeing black in paintings. Greyscale pieces have a history of winning you over.”

“Ah,” Minho sighs, letting his hand slowly move closer and closer to Changbin’s side. “So it’s for me?”

“Engagement present, I think,” Changbin shrugged. “That’s what most couples do, right?”

“Yeah,” Minho whispered, then slowly pulled away from Changbin, “but I don’t think we’re like most couples, hmm?”

Changbin let his eyes flutter shut in frustration. Every two steps forward felt like it was accompanied by one to three steps backward. If he were alone, he would scream into a pillow, but he would just shove it down for now. He turned toward Minho with a fake smile on his face. “So,” he tried to bite back his frustrations, knowing he was coming off as irritated. “Any special reason you showed up early?”

His words sounded innocent enough, but the look on his face fell more along the lines of, ‘perhaps my texts sparked some curiosity?’

Minho’s eyes darted to the side, his lower eyelids squinting up for a split second. “I really didn’t want to be late.” That’s a lie. “Traffic about now can be unpredictable.” Another lie. Inbound downtown traffic was busy on Fridays, but not until after 16:30.

“But you didn’t stay in the car.” Admit you wanted to see me.

“I’ve come up to say hi before.” Minho leaned onto Changbin’s side table, arrogantly running a free hand through his hair. He was posturing, testing Changbin on something, but what?

Changbin took a cautious step forward, seemingly towards his set of paintbrushes on the table, but ready to pivot to Minho at the first sign he was given. He desperately wanted to be bold with his words, but he couldn’t quite get them to come out right. “You left a meeting early to come see me on a day you hadn’t planned to.” He paused, rolling his eyes up to stare down Minho. “It’s been two weeks since you’ve seen me. I think you left and came here because you miss me.”

This would be the part of the movie where they would run off to the grungy public washroom and haphazardly make out with each other, crying over how ignorant and stupid they had been with each other’s feelings. Perhaps Changbin was projecting a bit of his desires into the idea of their movie life, but, regardless, nothing was happening.

“That’s not inaccurate,” Minho shoves away from the counter, his face warming with a reddish tint as he steps away, towards the canvas. He feigns interest as he stares in between the strokes of paint that were slowly coming together to form an image. “I suppose I do miss you. I don’t like waking up without you on a Sunday morning.”

There’s an easy solution to that problem.

“I miss your cups of blonde roast Starbucks on Sunday mornings,” Changbin counters, still too afraid of the words he really wants to say. “You’ve gotten me hooked onto it. I can’t seem to make it the same way you do, and it just doesn’t taste right.”

Minho clears his throat and checks his wristwatch. He sighs, then turns to look at Changbin with a smile. “Are you almost done packing up?” The smile is fake, like he’s hiding something. Again, Minho is hard to read. “I’d like to leave a bit early, beat any traffic into town, yeah?”

They don’t say much as Changbin finishes packing up his supplies. The walk from the studio to the car is without any commentary at all. The driver opens the side door, offering his hand out towards Changbin for his bag of supplies, which he hands off with a bit of a scowl. Minho walks over to the other side of the car, opening the door to his side while the driver is preoccupied helping Changbin.

Within a couple of minutes, they’re going down the usual route down Fourth Avenue again, and Changbin’s scowl grows until he can’t handle the ballooning irritation. He snaps his head over to stare at Minho, shocked to find that the man is already staring at him, albeit a bit distant.

Minho walks his fingers over the empty space between them, then gingerly reaches out to touch Changbin’s arm, softly gripping his forearm. “I’m sorry I’ve been distracted these past two weeks.” His apology feels sincere, albeit stunted. Minho slides his hand down to interlace his fingers in the space between Changbin’s, where everything comes together and feels right. “This whole engagement announcement has been stressful, which I know isn’t an excuse. I should have done better to give you some more attention.”

Changbin leans in a bit closer, perhaps subconsciously being pulled into Minho like a magnet. “It’s alright, Minho, you don’t need to apologize.”

“But I do, love.” Just when Changbin thinks Minho will drop his guard, he turns his head to the side, staring out of the windshield far in front of them. “I just don’t want to fuck this up. Sure, this is a business arrangement, but I value our friendship.”

To anyone else, the word ‘friendship’ probably wouldn’t feel like the way it sounded when a cat scurried across the keys of a piano. It felt discordant, off-key, and wrong. Still, Changbin was tired of trying. He put on a fake smile, then rested his head on Minho’s shoulder, like he always did on their drives into the city. “Our friendship is nice, Minho. There’s nothing else like it.”

“Right,” Minho calmly breathed as he turned his head away, gazing out of the window.

“Well,” the tailor stood upright and smiled up at Changbin, “luckily, I don’t need to make any major alterations. I’ll take in a couple of small things just to accentuate the fit on you, make it look nicer.”

Minho sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees and trying to hide a coy smile. “Thank you.” His gratitude for the tailor was there, but it clearly was not Minho's top priority. Changbin watched Minho take in the sight of him, languidly gliding his gaze up from the floor to the top of Changbin’s blue hair.

The tailor excused himself, humming to himself as he left the room, poring over the notes on his notepad. Changbin arrogantly stuck his hands in his pockets, kicking out one of his legs as he bit his lip. “You look like you wanna eat me, serial killer.”

"Maybe I do," Minho teases as he playfully clacks his teeth together. His expression softened as he stood up, slowly making his way around the small podium that the bluenette stood on top of. “You remind me of an intricately designed wedding cake. So sturdy, but embellished just enough to be draped in delicateness.” He stopped in front of Changbin, looking up to him with a soft smile and offering his hand to help him down the steps. “Most importantly, you look handsome. Everyone’s going to be caught up in you, love.” He may not have been a wordsmith, but Minho had to have had an idea of the effects his words had.

The younger man smiled, then purposefully stumbled a bit on the steps so he could collide his way into an embrace. “Oh,” Changbin sighed, “guess I lost my footing.”

“Guess you did,” Minho smirks, helping reorient the younger man upright. “You should be more careful. I’d hate to see you slip and fall where I’m not around to catch you.”

“Well,” Changbin winks at the older man before he turns around, back to the dressing room, “guess I’m lucky you’re my fiancé and you’ll catch me when I fall, huh?”

The party is a lot more nerve wracking than Changbin expected. Eyes were following him around everywhere, and he was constantly cornered by strangers that didn’t actually care about the questions they were asking him. Several people asked him questions that were clearly digs at just getting to know more intimate details about Minho and his personal life.

Eventually, he finds Seungmin over by the bar. He quickly makes his way over, grabbing a half-empty bottle of champagne off of the counter with one hand, then Seungmin’s arm with the other hand. “Need you.”

Seungmin interjects with a yelp, turning around quickly and following Changbin without spilling his drink. They made their way through the kitchen, through the back of the building, out to where the line cooks and other staff would run and hide for their smoke breaks.

“Why are you freaking out, Bin?” Seungmin knew that something was wrong without even asking. He took a sip of his drink, quietly cursing the cold under his breath.

Changbin took a swig of champagne directly from the bottle, wincing at the carbonation and the sting of the alcohol. He coughed twice, then leaned up against the exterior of the building in exasperation. “This is too fucking much,” he sighed, looking up at the way his breath clouded up, then faded off into the night sky. “He knows a lot of people, and they’re all so goddamn nosy.”

Seungmin scoffs, taking another sip of his drink as he walks over to Changbin, leaning up on the building next to him. “Welcome to the lifestyles of the rich and famous. Kind of a shitty price to pay, if you ask me.”

The older man scoffs, taking another drink from the bottle in his hand. “Yeah, but like, it wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t like him.”

“Love him,” Seungmin arrogantly corrected him.

“Shut up,” Changbin rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Okay, yeah, so I do love him. Maybe I’ll just keep it hidden.”

He didn’t need to turn his head to know that Seungmin was glaring at him.

“You know that's—”

“—a dumb idea, yeah.” They stared up at the sky for a few more minutes, sipping on their drinks of choice until they started shivering from the cold. Seungmin pushed off of the wall, about to say something, but Changbin couldn’t stop his mouth from spouting off his concerns again. “I’m gonna finally tell him tonight I think. When we go home. I get the feeling he’ll like that.”

“Awfully romantic,” Seungmin shivered as he smiled.

Changbin shrugged his shoulders, bobbing his head back and forth a couple times. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared, though.”

“Changbin,” the false redhead placed his free, cold hand on the shoulder of his friend. “If he rejects you, he’s missing out, and that’s on him, not you. You’re my best friend, so yeah, I’m a little biased, but I know you’re a catch.”

The bluenette smiles, then stands up straight. “Where would I be without you, Seung?”

“I dunno, dead maybe?” They both laugh for a moment, before Seungmin loudly shudders as he shivers. “Come on, it’s fucking cold. Let’s go back inside, yeah? I wanna drink more of this rich people shit on your fiancé’s dime.”

Changbin smiled in appreciation. His best friend was truly a gift he didn’t deserve. “Yeah, yeah, let’s go.”

They had been inside for maybe thirty seconds before Minho found Changbin, making a quick beeline towards him, politely excusing himself away from some riveting conversation about how he met Changbin two years ago for the nth time.

“Changbin, love,” he sighed in desperation as he caught up to the two cold men. “I think we should do the toast soon, because this is beyond exhausting.” Seungmin winked at Changbin before he snaked his way out of the conversation.

The bluenette tried to shove Seungmin’s words of encouragement down as he nodded his head. “That’s a great idea, Minho. Let’s go get this over with, so people stop asking us the same ten questions thirty times in a row.”

“Oh my god,” Minho sighed, colliding his forehead against Changbin’s shoulder. “If I have to answer ‘he’s so unlike your usual friends, how’d you meet?’ one more time, I might lose it and actually turn into a serial killer.”

Changbin rubbed his cheek against Minho’s head, then offered him a quick pat on the back. “We’ll get through it, I promise.”

“I know, I know.”

The toast had started off normal, seemingly fine. There were pleasantries, Minho gave a brief introduction about himself and the projects he had been working on, giving some half-true, half-bullshit explanation about how he and Changbin met and fell in love. Some of the details of how they fell in love, including how they were in love in the first place, caused discomfort inside Changbin.

“Binnie, love?” Minho’s hand on Changbin’s back brought the younger man back to focus on the conversation. “Maybe you should introduce yourself?” That wasn’t really the question Minho was asking him. The look that the older man gave him was one of concern, as if he were asking him if he was actually alright.

“Right,” Changbin muttered incoherently, grabbing the microphone from Minho. “As you’ve heard, I’m the Changbin everyone seems to be talking about tonight. Seo Changbin.” He pauses, scanning the room for Seungmin, who is giving him a subtle thumbs up with a wince on his face. “Minho and I met at an art exhibit two years ago, where he told me he valued the honesty and the character behind my paintings.”

A couple of people make some sort of half-assed ‘aww’s and ‘ooh’s.

“I was worried about him, since my friend had just given me a crash-course on how Minho was supposedly some big, scary art critic. He was so scary, in fact, that he was known as The Heartless. A name, to this day, that I disagree with.” Changbin smiles, looking over to Minho, who returns a soft gaze and delicate smile. The younger man reached his hand out, and they interlaced their fingers together, getting close to the other, until they were practically embracing.

“I am very lucky to hopefully spend the rest of my life with a man like Minho. He’s not only very artistically gifted, but he’s kind and I do love him from the bottom of my heart.”

While Changbin meant every word he said, he simply read off the words that Minho asked him to memorize the night prior. It was honest, but its intentions were false, which caused a bit of nausea inside the young man. He passed the microphone back to Minho, letting him wrap up the speech with the same banal, inconsequential words he had probably come up with and memorized beforehand.

The words would sound nice, please the crowd, and get some annoying stragglers off of their backs for the rest of the party. Changbin held his customer service-style smile on his face until he stepped away from the makeshift stage. He made his way towards the kitchen again, trying to rid himself from the people that wanted to insincerely congratulate him. He heard people talking shit about him as he made his way through the crowd, gritting his teeth as certain words like ‘whore’, ‘sellout’, and ‘fake’ seemed magnified and heavier than they were.

Changbin watched a couple of staff members head outside for a break, and he growled in irritation to himself, eventually leaning up against a countertop, pressing his head into his palms. He wasn’t even that upset over one specific thing, it was just a lot of things suddenly compounding, along with the tension of the overall situation.

“Changbin?” Minho’s voice was soft, quiet, as it came through the entrance of the kitchen. “Love, are you alright?”

His brain told him just to say that he wasn’t feeling well, tell some bullshit white lie that they could brush over. His heart, however, spoke up for him. “What are we doing, Minho?”

The brunette shook his head, then brought his hand up, almost sarcastically. “Announcing our engagement. I thought that was obvious.”

“Not that,” Changbin sucks in a quick breath of air through his teeth. “Put all this to the side for a second. What are we doing? How much of your speech was true? A lot of it seemed too hyperbolic and shallow, and it’s not sitting well with me.”

Minho squints in discomfort, a look of disbelief on his face as he looks at Changbin with confusion. “I’m sorry, what? Was I supposed to tell them that our entire relationship is false?”

“Entire relationship?” Changbin scoffed, all of the tension from before compiling together, and that was the final straw. “Fuck that. No, fuck that.” He pushed off of the counter with frustration, making his way through the back door and past the few staff members and through their cloud of nicotine.

“Changbin, wait,” Minho ran after the younger man, nearly sliding as his shoes came into contact with the icy concrete. “What’s gotten into you?”

The bluenette sucks in air through his teeth as he turns, staring down the older man. His face was contorted into a bitter scowl, and he was visibly shaken. “I don’t fucking understand you, you know?”

“What?” Minho panted, clouds of vapourized breath coming from his mouth, travelling past him on a bit of wind. “What did I say, Changbin?”

There’s a scoff that comes from Changbin, one that’s laden with frustration and a bit of sadness. “You’ve been saying a lot lately, Minho, that’s part of the problem.” He brings his hands up to his hair, gently tugging on the strands as he sniffles, partially due to the cold, partially due to his emotions. “I can’t fucking read you.”

“I’m not a book, Changbin,” Minho takes another step closer and rolls his eyes, “you can communicate your problems to me and we can discuss them.”

“You’re right. You’re not a book, and I believe I’m right in assuming that I’m more than a business deal to you.”

Minho shakes his head in disbelief, eyes nervously darting around. “What?” This interjection sounded shocked and breathless, less arrogant and confident than the other interjections came off as.

Changbin knows he shouldn’t ask it, not with how much tension is in the air, and how loaded the question is, but his heart causes him to act irrationally yet again. “Do you love me, Minho?”

There’s a gust of cold air that blows between them, causing Changbin to shiver. Minho tries not to notice, but his voice trembles when he repeats the question. “Do I love you?”

Another useless response.

“God, you’re so fucking dense,” Changbin muttered under his breath, angrily taking a couple of steps closer, centimetres away from the brunette now. “Do you want to know something, Minho?” There’s a pause after Changbin’s rhetorical question; the younger man feels the warmth of Minho feeding into his energy as he takes in a deep breath. “I realized it the morning after the fake proposal. I was upset at how much money you spent on a fake engagement ring, for a fake relationship that was probably going to end within a couple of years, if we’re being optimistic. You put in so much effort for something fake, and I was putting in a lot of emotional investment into someone that I’m supposed to have nothing more than a business deal with.

“I remember talking to Seungmin that night, and he told me straight up. He told me that I was in love with you. Beyond interest, beyond infatuation. Actually in full-fucking-blown love, something I didn’t know I was even capable of doing anymore.” A sarcastic scoff punctuates Changbin’s sentence as he licks his bottom lip, looking away from Minho. “I thought it was stupid, that I could shove it down and ignore it. But the truth is, Minho,” he tilts his head back, looking at Minho with a heavy gaze, like he was teetering on the edge of anger and despair, “I didn’t mean for it to be like this. I meant for it all to stay professional, like we wanted it to be, but I can’t do it. I can’t fucking do that anymore, Minho.”

There’s a stutter as Changbin’s deep inhale gets caught in his throat. He inhales once again, and slowly breathes out, before he lets the words just fall from him. “I really do think I love you. I don’t know where to go from here, and I don’t know if you can understand how terrified I am.”

Minho doesn’t quite know how to respond. He watches a few tears start to roll down Changbin’s face, breaking down the confidence that was there for a fleeting moment. He instinctively reaches up to brush the tears away, causing the younger man to melt into his touch. A couple of rare wintry snowflakes fall in between them, one landing and subsequently melting on Changbin’s nose. “You really think you love me?” Minho softly questions, his voice coming off as soothing, yet anxious.

Changbin takes in a quick breath, shaking his head. “Minho,” his voice cracks as he knits his eyebrows together, “you and me, we…” Perhaps it’s the cold, but Changbin can’t quite get the words in his head to form the sentence he wants to say. That’s when it comes to him: there were some things where actions definitely spoke louder and more effectively than words.

A snowflake fell onto Changbin’s bottom lip right before his lips brushed up against Minho’s with a spark. Everything that felt confusing suddenly became clear. Tonight was the coldest night of winter so far this season, but it was like all of the ice around them had melted. Their kiss was nervous and awkward, but Minho pushed back, grabbing at Changbin’s neck, pulling him in closer and returning his kiss with a sense of urgency.

Changbin suddenly pulled back, taking a step backwards and staring at Minho with wide, terrified eyes. He frantically remembered that if either party developed too deep an emotional connection with the other, that their agreement could be rendered null and void by the other party. An overwhelming panic at the possibility of an upheaval of his life — going back to a life without Minho — overtook him. Not for the loss of financial stability, but the loss of connection, the loss of friendship they had built over the years.

His reaction was irrational, but the potential of heartbreak was so loud. It terrified and overwhelmed him, wrapping him in a bone-chilling embrace.

Minho takes a cautious step forward, staring at Changbin and reaching out to him with a timid hand. “Changbin, love, please…”

“Minho,” Changbin looks up at him, shaking his head and nearly hyperventilating. He takes a few steps backwards, watching a rapidly intensifying flurry of snow start to come between them. “Minho, I’m so sorry. This is all fucked up because of me. I shouldn’t have… Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

His legs move before he can even acknowledge that he’s running. Changbin has no idea where exactly he is, but he’s maneuvering through alleyways and parking lots, backstreets and dead areas of town. He doesn’t consciously know where he is, but he somehow knows where he’s going. He gets far enough away, all the way out to Harbour Green Park. The sight of the ocean calms him down as he finally stops running.

Changbin slides on the slick grass, and he collides into the ground. He starts hyperventilating, then just gives up and lets the inevitable tears fall from his face, down to the chilled ground beneath him. Time passes as he cries, upset with the situation, but mostly angry at himself.

The potential of heartbreak caused him to panic, and he responded by giving into that fear, literally running away from the man he claimed to love. It was stupid, really, throwing everything away just because of the possibility of discomfort, of facing reality. Before, there was a chance that Minho felt the same way. Now? Now Changbin had practically guaranteed that there was no possibility for that anymore. Perhaps knowing that he was the cause of the complete unravelling of two years of emotional connection hurt the most.

No. What hurt the most was that he desperately wanted Minho to catch him as he fell.

[michaeljacksoncaptaineo]

Today in History

On January 23, 1988, Michael Jackson begins rehearsals for the BAD World Tour's second leg took place at the Pensacola Civic Center in Pensacola, Florida.

MICHAEL MANIA RUNS WILD AMONG PENSACOLA FAITHFUL

Donna O'Neal of The Sentinel Staff

THE ORLANDO SENTINEL

Here he is, buying Florida Lottery tickets at the Circle K store. No, there he is at the pet shop, ordering a rhinestone necklace for his monkey. Or is he driving that yellow Ryder rental truck?

Only the elusive Michael Jackson knows for sure, but phantom sightings of the superstar singer during his two-week stay in Pensacola are driving the city crazy.

He sends vibrations to you," said Karen Griffiths, 30. "I love him to death. I don't care what anybody says. . . . Michael Jackson was put on this Earth for a reason. He's just one talented person."

All week, fans have wooed Jackson, trying to coax him to show his famous face by Valentine's Day. They have waited, waved, pleaded, petitioned and even starved themselves to try to win Jackson's attention.

To no avail -- until Friday.

This is Jackson's only weekend in Pensacola. He is expected to leave by the end of next week after rehearsing at the Pensacola Civic Center for a 13-city tour beginning Feb. 23 in Kansas City, Mo. He arrived in Pensacola on Monday. Pensacola is not on the concert list, so about 8,700 fans in this Panhandle city of 60,000 have signed a petition urging Jackson to perform.

The die-hard devotees just want to see their Thriller, and what they got at last was Mr. Bad himself.

On Friday about 200 people -- from infants to the elderly -- gathered in freezing temperatures for a pep rally outside the downtown civic center.

"We want Michael, We want Michael," the crowd chanted for more than three hours. Finally, Jackson appeared for three seconds on a civic center balcony. For most, that fleeting glimpse was enough.

"I'm speechless," said Tammi Robnett, 17. "I'm freezing. I'd catch a cold over Michael Jackson any day."

Mayor Vince Whibbs, known for being stingy with public proclamations, broke down and announced that Friday was "Michael Jackson Appreciation Day."

Officials estimated Jackson's entourage has pumped tens of thousands of dollars into the city's economy since the 150 members of the band and crew began arriving last month.

Even the civic center, which normally co-sponsors events with Coke, allowed rallygoers to down free cups of Pepsi, Jackson's trademark soft drink and only known junk-food vice. The Jackson entourage has had cases of Pepsi shipped in for rehearsals, which ended Friday.

Why all the commotion and devotion over one person?

"I love him a lot, and I just wish he'd take the time and understand it instead of just hiding himself," said Mariella D'Ercole, 18, who rode a bus from Toronto, Canada, to see Jackson.

Others, like Leon Rankins, want to be discovered. The 16-year-old musician and songwriter from Pensacola has a fantasy: He's singing at a nightclub, giving it all he has, and Jackson walks in. The audience freezes. Jackson points a gloved finger at Rankins and says, "That's him, he's the next great artist." Then they sing together.

You don't have to convince J.D. North that Jackson has been a boon to Pensacola.

"He's one of the hottest acts out there," said North, program director for WJLQ-FM.

The rally and petition drive were North's idea. So was the two-week hunger strike by two of his disc jockeys to focus attention on world hunger, an issue Jackson has championed.

The disc jockeys lost about 20 pounds each, but that hasn't coaxed Jackson to show his face. It has heaped a lot of attention on WJLQ, Pensacola's only Top 40 station. North's petition drive has been featured on Cable News Network and in USA Today, not to mention coverage from the local newspaper, television and competing radio stations.

One competitor even delivered biscuits to the starving disc jockeys last week to tempt them into breaking their fast, which ended Monday.

North persuaded the mayor to issue the "Jackson Day" proclamation and approve Friday's pep rally, although North had to leave his station's broadcast van at the office. It's covered with the red-and-white Coke logo, the van's sponsor.

"They told me, 'No. Until they Jackson and his crew leave, this is Pepsi land,' " North said.

Forget Pepsi. For the fans, this is Michael Jackson land.

Dozens of teen-agers skipped school to wait for hours outside the 10,000- seat civic center hoping to see Jackson before and after rehearsals.

"I didn't skip school, I just checked out," corrected Rankins, an Escambia High School student. "I'm sure Michael would understand."

For Rankins and a few lucky others, their persistence paid off.

"Oh God! I saw him," screamed Bobby Cheatum, 17, as Jackson's tinted red van swept by the civic center late Thursday to the Pensacola Hilton next door."

But so far, most fans have only tales of rumored sightings -- dozens of them. About 30 callers a day report the latest gossip to the 24-hour "Michael Jackson hot line" North has set up at his station.

Jackson has been spotted in a Burger King wolfing down a Whopper Junior. He's been seen walking down the street with his monkey and girlfriend. He has appeared at a high school party.

Dozens reported he was in the emergency room of West Regional Medical Center for treatment for a leg injured during rehearsal.

"I've heard that one so many times it's got to be true, although the hospital denied it," North said. Besides, he has personal proof: A friend of a friend of a friend saw Jackson in the emergency room and got his autograph. At least, that's what he heard.

https://youtu.be/8qC6ZDRdxpk

[deletevanlis]

Last month, this amazing woman and appearances agent got me a spot at @qfxevents “Cloud Con” a VIRTUAL convention for us queer folks to celebrate pride safely in quarantine. I agreed to participate (as long as my ticket prices were lowered to be more accessible) because I thought it might be a nice way to raise funds for charitable donations while spreading some joy!

•

I chose @the519, Toronto’s 2SLGBTQ centre, which provides a number of services for the queer community. From refugee settlement to counselling, and COVID relief. As an openly pansexual actress with a following, I will not stop being a vocal supporter of 2SLGBTQ rights. But I also acknowledge that QBIPOC have even more struggles than white queers like me from experiencing systemic, and individual acts of, racism on top of homophobia and transphobia. So it’s important to me that an additional portion of my proceeds go to a specifically Black led organization.

•

After seeing @paultaylorto, the Executive Director of @foodshareto and former @ndpcanada candidate (the political party I support) speak at a panel run by @sanpedrochar this past International Women’s Day, I was struck by his feminism and commitment to eliminating poverty in the city where I was born and raised. That is why @foodshareto will be the second benefactor of a portion of my ticket sales.

•

My parents (a school custodian and son of Greek immigrants, and an HR assistant of mixed Indigenous and white heritage from the housing projects of Regent and Flemingdon Park) and I all grew up materially poor, and often faced food insecurities. As a queer person who’s been on welfare, has student debt, and needs mental health support, these two organizations hold a special place in my heart. Sometimes I still feel like a “starving artist” but I also understand that I am improving my situation thanks to the advantages my white, femme, cisgender privileges give me. Change starts with people who look like me. So moving forward, I will not attend any future conventions unless at least 50% of the other guests are BIPOC. Sharing this publicly just to keep myself accountable.

•

Link to tickets in bio. Hope to see you! 🏳️‍🌈 by natvanlis

[spine-buster]

Alone, Together | Chapter 15 | Morgan Rielly

A/N:  Thanks to everyone who told me / reported / helped with the plagiarism fiasco on AO3.  It was very much appreciated since I don’t have an active AO3 account.  Please, if you see my work copied anywhere, let me know!  For now, I am only posting this story to Tumblr.  I might decide to post to AO3 in the future, just so this never happens again.  I’ll let you know if/when I do.

Still loving all the Mo/Bee canon questions.  Keep them coming!  And if you haven’t seen, I’ve posted the playlist link for Spotify.  I’m working on the YouTube version.

Anyways, it’s Christmas in June!  Merry Christmas!

Since knowing Angie, Christmas Eve and Christmas Day had grown to be Bee’s favourite days.  It wasn’t because of the small gifts her family gave to her, or because she got to stuff her face with amazing food.  It was because Angie’s younger brother, Joshua, would set up board games for the family to play on Christmas Eve before they went to midnight mass at their local Catholic Church, and then he’d put funny IOUs in everybody hand knit stockings (that he knit himself) on the fireplace mantle.  It was because Angie’s family had a cozy wood-burning fireplace at their house that her dad would roast chestnuts in while her mom opened the tub of ice cream and scooped some out for everyone even after their enormous meal.  It was because their family dog, an old Cavalier King Charles spaniel named Sarah Jessica Barker (yes, really) would curl up on Bee’s lap as the family watched whatever movie was on TV.

Angie’s house, for however much it was not Bee’s home, felt like her natural home.  Besides her old apartment, it was where she felt most at ease, where she could kick her feet up, fall asleep on the couch, go into the fridge whenever she was hungry, and drop in whenever she wanted.  There was always room for her.  There was always space.  

When she arrived with Angie and Mason on the morning of Christmas Eve, Rocco and Clarette welcomed her with open arms and warm hugs.  Their house was decorated with all of Joshua and Angie’s old Christmas artwork from grade school, poinsettia tablecloths, and figurines on Santas, snowmen, penguins, polar bears, and more.  It sort of looked like Christmas threw up, but Bee loved it.  She loved how festive Clarette got and she loved how Rocco just let her decorate the house however she wanted.  

“How are yooooooouuuuuu,” Clarette cooed as she let go of her tight hug, her French Canadian accent music to Bee’s ears.  “I haven’t seen you in such a long time!  Angie told me you finally finished school.”

“I did!”

“And your graduation?  When is your graduation so we can book the day off?”

“Mom, you’re both retired.  You don’t need to book off anything,” Angie deadpanned.  

Bee giggled.  “It’s not until June, Clarette,” she informed her.  “You still have a lot of time.”

“What about jobs now?  Are you going to join Angie at Indigo?” Rocco joined in.  His voice was stern and serious, but Bee knew he was a complete softie who talked to the dog in a baby voice.

“I don’t think they’d allow that.  They’d destroy the place,” Mason piped up.  

“She’s in finance Rocco,” Clarette chastised her husband.  “She’s gonna handle our retirement savings.  Right mignonette?”  

“Sort of.”

“Well come in, come in.  Go drop your stuff off in your room,” Clarette encouraged.  “I’m going to make some tea.  You want your Earl Grey?  Rocco knows how to make a London Fog now.  We got a new machine.  Angie, tell Joshua dad is making London Fogs for everyone.”

Rocco and Clarette’s house was everything that Bee envisioned a family house to be.  It was a side split in the suburbs with three bedrooms on the second floor and a room converted to a fourth bedroom on a split level between the main and the basement.  It was very homey, not ostentatious in any way, although Rocco and Clarette did invest in some upgrades before they retired, like a new kitchen, a fresh paint job, and some new floors and furniture in the main living areas.  It was perfect and modest – what Bee dreamed of when she saw her life ten, fifteen, twenty years from now.  It was everything she could want.  

Her room was always the fourth bedroom.  When Rocco’s father lived with them for two years before he passed away, Bee would just shack up with Angie, but now the room was dedicated to her again.  She threw her weekender bag on the bed and plopped down dramatically, taking in the scent of the freshly washed sheets.  Clarette had even put a little chocolate on the pillow.  She was in heaven.  

A slight knock on her door revealed Josh standing in the doorway with a smile on his face.  At twenty, he was a tall, lanky university undergrad studying theatre at York University.  He wanted to become the next Shakespeare, or at least the next Laurence Olivier.  He even had a prop skull on his bedroom desk.  

“How’s my favourite Angie friend?” he asked, leaning on the doorframe.  

“Your mom’s the best.  You know that, right?”

Joshua chuckled.  “I do.”

“I hope you kiss her every night.”

“When I make it home,” he winked, waltzing into the room.  “Angie told me you’re done with school.”

“I am.”

“So are you going to be able to tell me what a poor starving artist I’ll be once I finish this theatre degree?”

Bee snorted.  “You’re going to marry rich, Josh.  Remember?  You’ll be richer than all of us combined.”

“I don’t think I’ll be richer than everyone,” he said, sitting down on the bed beside her.  “A little birdie told me you’re dating a Toronto Maple Leaf.”

She rose from her position dramatically.  “Your sister’s got a big mouth.”

“I’m sure Mason appreciates it.”

Bee pushed him over.  “You’re fucking gross, Josh.”

“Stop trying to deflect.  She told me it’s Morgan Rielly.”

“It is Morgan Rielly.”

“And how’s that going?”

“Fine,” she side-eyed him.  “How’s Patrick?”

“Fine,” he gave her the same side-eye.  “He’s back home in St. Thomas, but we’re seeing each other Boxing Day.”

“That’s sweet,” she said, and she meant it sincerely.  She was glad Joshua found someone that made him happy.  “Are you guys gonna join your sister and I at the Eaton’s Centre?”

“We’re going to have brunch first, then we might, depending if we’re in the mood,” he said.  “Are you…I mean, how are you feeling about everything that happened?”

Bee knew that Angie would have told her family.  She was an extension of the family, so it was only natural.  And it was only natural that Josh was worried, that he cared about her and that he wanted to make sure she was okay, since it only happened a month ago.  “Better now,” she said, giving him a smile.  “I’m living at a new place with a doorman and stuff.  It feels much safer.  I got some new clothes and a new laptop, and everything’s been good.”

“My parents were really torn up about it,” he revealed.  “My dad was ready to hop in the truck and drive down to the Annex.  Angie had to stop him.  Told him it was already being taken care of.”

“Yeah.  Morgan helped a lot,” Bee revealed.  “And, um, you know, some of the other Leafs.”

A grin appeared on Joshua’s face.  “Look at you.  Getting help from the Leafs.”

“Hey kids!  London fogs are ready for you!” Rocco called loudly from the kitchen area.  “Get ‘em while they’re still hot!”

“C’mon, let’s go,” Josh stood up, extending his arm for Bee and pulling her up from the bed.  “Angie told Dad too and he’s gonna interrogate you for the remainder of the day.”

***

Christmas morning was typical of the Favaro household.  At around 8:15am, Bee heard Clarette clanking around in the kitchen, preparing a quick breakfast that everyone would eat before they moved on to opening presents.  Soon, she heard Josh’s voice helping her out, probably preparing the pot of coffee.  Every Christmas morning, he was the designated bacon fryer – a job he took very seriously, since bacon was always the first thing to go.

When Bee emerged from her room, still in her pajamas like everyone else, she got a big hug and a kiss from Clarette.  Josh, already too busy with the bacon, pointed at his cheek for her to come over to where he was standing at the stove and kiss him, which she did.  Soon enough, Rocco, Angie, and Mason arrived, and everybody did their part to set the table and plate the scrambled eggs and bacon.  Rocco slapped Josh’s arm for eating a piece of bacon before everyone else could.  Angie almost spilled the entire sugar jar all over the counter.

When breakfast was done, they made their way into the family room to open presents.  Sarah Jessica Barker trotted over to the commotion and jumped up onto the armchair Bee was sitting on, snuggling herself into Bee’s side as Mason passed everybody their presents.  Bee bought Clarette and Rocco gifts every year despite their insistence that she not, and she also usually bought a gift for Josh.  

Clarette and Rocco began unwrapping their gift from Bee at the same time.  She got them both books – for Clarette, Elena Ferrante’s Neopolitan novels in her native French, and for Rocco, Warlight by Michael Ondaatje since he wanted to take up reading now that he was retired.  

“You’re always so thoughtful, Bee,” Rocco said, smiling at her as he read the book sleeve.  “I remember taking Clarette to go see the English Patient when it came out as a movie.”

“I’ve been wanting to read these forever!” Clarette exclaimed as she took the plastic film off.  She elbowed her husband next to her on the couch.  “You know, because they’re in French they’ll be closer to the original Italian.”

Josh opened his gift too – a mug with a packet of David’s Tea.  He drank more tea than the entirety of Britain, so it was only fitting.  Bee’s gift to Angie and Mason, S’well bottles, also went over well.  Josh got her a floral scarf, which she loved, and she threw it over her shoulders dramatically.  Angie and Mason got her a candle and a nice white frame, undoubtedly to put a picture of her and Morgan in for the new apartment.  Clarette and Rocco gifted Bee a nice cutting board, knowing how much she liked to cook, and also a gnocchi board that she was super excited about.  “From the good Italian supermarket,” Rocco said, nodding his head.  “That was probably made by an old nonna somewhere in Italy.”

“I’m gonna use it next week,” she said, her fingertips feeling the grooves, thinking about Morgan’s return to Toronto and how she cold make him homemade gnocchi now.  When Bee thought all was said and done, she noticed one more box under the tree that nobody had touched.  “What’s this one?” Bee asked, nodding towards the large box.

“Oh honey, that one’s for you,” Rocco said.  “Your man friend dropped it off.”

She froze at the mention.  She looked to Angie, who was actively avoiding her gaze.  “You…you mean Morgan?”

“Mhm,” Rocco nodded his head.  Josh handed her the box.  “Came yesterday afternoon.”

She gulped.  How did he even find the time to drive all the way up to North York to deliver it?  What could he have gotten her?  She…she didn’t get him anything.  She wrote him a nice card and stuffed it into his carry-on as a surprise for him, but she didn’t explicitly buy him a gift for Christmas.  She didn’t think he would for her either.  She should have known better though.  This was Morgan.  

Bee ripped open the sides carefully, and in one long stretch, the wrapping paper was pulled back to reveal ‘Mulberry’ on the box.  She froze again, her hand resting over the letters.  She knew exactly what this was.

She looked up.  The entire Favaro family was looking at her.  She took a deep breath.  She didn’t want to do this in front of them.  “Can I…um…can I…”

“You can go to your room if you need to dear.  I’ll start the hot chocolate,” Clarette nodded her head.  She got up and pointed at all the wrapping paper, then pointed at her husband.  “You.  Clean that up.”

Bee picked up the box, half-wrapped, and scurried into her designated bedroom, plopping the box down on the bed before closing the door.  She took a deep breath before ripping the rest of the paper off.  When she opened the box, she lifted up the dust bag and pulled out the Amberley satchel bag in the most gorgeous and perfect oxblood colour.  She had seen it with Lucy when they had gone shopping, and Bee had commented on how beautiful it was – the most perfect bag in the world besides the Birkin.  Lucy urged her to get it, but there was no way Bee could have justified the purchase after the Chanel bag, the Louis Vuitton bag, and the Yves Saint Laurent bag.  Lucy must have told Morgan, because of course she did. 

As Bee ran her fingertips over the pristine leather, she noticed two square outlines still in the dust bag.  She couldn’t even fully take in the absolute beauty of the bag after noticing them.  She set the satchel down gently and dug into the dust bag, pulling out two identical blue boxes with Birks ribbon wrapped around them.  

Bee gulped.  She had walked by the Birks storefront on Bloor Street West countless times, trying not to ogle the pretty and blindingly shiny diamonds in the window.  Now she was holding two boxes from them in her hands.  She was going to kill Morgan.  Absolutely murder him.

She began to open one, delicately pulling on the ribbon and opening the box to reveal a stunning gold bracelet.  Bee’s cheeks flushed as her fingertips felt the pearl and onyx.  She tried to imagine it on her wrist – and realistically, she could have just taken it out of the box right then and there and put it on – but for some reason, she didn’t.  It didn’t feel real to her; it didn’t feel like it was hers yet.  She didn’t get gifts like this.  She didn’t get expensive jewellery from boys – from anyone – and it didn’t feel like it was meant for her, although she knew Morgan probably scoured the store or the website for hours looking for the perfect gift.  

The second box.  She pulled the ribbon again, opening the box.  What she saw inside made her chest tighten fiercely.  Tears formed in her eyes automatically.  A beautiful, delicate necklace, in matching gold, with a bumblebee medallion.  For her.  Bee.

Morgan’s Bumblebee.

She grabbed her phone and ripped it out of the charging socket before dialling Morgan’s number.  As it rang, she barely registered that it was still only about 6am in Vancouver and he probably wasn’t even awake yet.  

“Mornin’,” he mumbled into the phone, not bothering to say hello.  “Merry Christmas.”

“Morgan…” she began, her voice cracking.  

“Are you okay?” he asked, his tone immediately switching.  The last time he got an unexpected phone call from her and she sounded like this, it wasn’t exactly the best.

“I’m fine,” she clarified, wiping a tear from her cheek.  “But what’s wrong with you?”

“What?”

“You’re nuts, Morgan.  Absolutely nuts,” she continued.  “This is a $1500 dollar bag.  More, I think.”

“Yeah, so?”

“I can’t accept this!”

“Wait, what?  Is it the wrong one?  Lucy said you loved it in the store!” he got worried.

“Morgan…I love it, it’s gorgeous, it’s the most perfect bag ever created aside from the Hermes Birkin, but I cannot accept this as a gift.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a $1500 bag!”

“I feel like we’re going around in circles here,” he admitted.  “That’s the bag you liked, right?  Lucy was adamant that that’s the one you liked.  The colour and everything.”

“Morgan, it is, but --”

“The bag isn’t even the important part,” he interrupted her.  “Did you find the jewellery?”

“Yes,” Bee said, and at the mention of the jewellery, new tears fell down her cheeks.  “Morgan, why are you like this?” she asked, not knowing how to word it in any other way.  

“Briony…”

“Why are you so nice to me?  Why do you buy me nice gifts all the time?” she asked, trying not to let her voice crack.  

“Bumblebee,” he began, his voice sombre.  “How many times do I have to tell you that you deserve it?” he asked rhetorically.  

“You know that you don’t need to like…buy my relationship, right?” she asked.  “I’m not some girl that needs to be bought.  I’d still be with you if you weren’t a rich hockey player.  I’d still like you and still cook for you.  I came from absolutely nothing and I can go back to nothing.  I’d give all that stuff back if I had to.”

“I know Bumblebee, I know.  But I’m gonna keep repeating it until it gets to you.  You deserve nice things.  I want to spoil you because you deserve it, not because I’m trying to buy you or anything.  You.  Deserve.  Nice.  Things.  For.  Once.  In.  Your.  Life.”

Bee tried to take his words to heart, but it was hard.  It was hard to take to heart when she wasn’t used to it.  It was hard to take to heart when growing up, Christmases and birthdays weren’t celebrated because it wasn’t affordable.  It was hard to take to heart when since sixteen years old she had been literally counting pennies to stay afloat.  Most importantly, it was hard to take to heart when her mother told her she didn’t deserve anything.  “Thank you Morgan.  I really…I really love the bumblebee necklace.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah,” she said, wiping away the last of her tears.  “It’s beautiful.  I’m gonna think of you whenever I see it or touch it.”

“Good,” he said.  “My Bumblebee.”

There was a moment of silence.  “I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything.”

“Um, what you got me Friday night was enough,” he said, chuckling slightly.

Thoughts of that night came rushing back to her and she felt a shiver go up her spine.  It was probably the best sex she’d ever had.  Memories of it still flashed through her mind from time to time.  If she got lost in her thoughts, she could still feel Morgan pounding into her or pulling her hair.  She still had the marks on her ass to remind her too.  “Yeah.  That…that was good,” she said quietly, trying not to get too riled up thinking about it.

“When I come back, I wanna fuck you wearing only that necklace,” he said in an equally quiet voice.  His tone sent more shivers down her spine.  “Unless you have some other pieces you’re waiting to surprise me with…”

She smiled.  She thought about some of the other sets of lingerie she bought and wondered how he would react to them.  “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

He groaned in response.  She giggled and he groaned some more.  “You’re such a fucking tease.  Fuck.  I woke up hard dreaming about what I’m going to do to you when I get back.”

“This is the Lord’s Day,” she joked.  “I don’t think he appreciates your dirty mind or you getting hard the morning of his birthday.”

He groaned even louder and she let out a heart laugh.  “Don’t remind me.  We still have to go to Church.”

“Will I be able to talk to you later today?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” he said.  “After my wine drunk nap I take after lunch, I’ll call you.  So maybe three or four my time.”

“Okay,” she agreed.  “Merry Christmas, Morgan.”

“Merry Christmas, Briony.”

She paused before hanging up the phone, wondering if there was anything else to say.

***

The Eaton’s Centre was packed.  Bee tried to get Angie to wake up on time so they could at least get there at mall opening, but Angie was a bitch in the morning and liked to sleep in, so they were late.  It was 10am by the time they arrived, and shoppers were in full swing.  Angie was doing a majority of the shopping anyway; Bee didn’t exactly need anything more.  Maybe she’d pick up a book or two.

But first, coffee.  

As they stood in line in the Starbucks at Indigo, Bee looked down at her phone to field some more messages from another round of bots that seemed to have infiltrated her Instagram.  She began automatically deleting the messages until one message in particular caught her eye.

R u dating morgan rielly?  Do I have ur attention now?  U didn’t answer me last time.

She furrowed her eyebrows.  Who was this person?  She clicked on the profile, but whoever it was had it on private; the only thing Bee could see was a half-face selfie of a girl who looked five years younger than she did with false lashes and lipstick.  She went back to her inbox, deciding not to delete the message.  Instead, she took the opportunity to actually read what was being sent to her.  It became adamantly clear to her these accounts weren’t bots.

If you’re dating Morgan shouldn’t you be prettier and skinnier?  Sent from a girl with a bikini shot as her profile picture.  

are the leafs wags as nice as everyone says? i wanna become one who is single?  Sent from a girl who didn’t look older than 12.

Cut your hair.  It doesn’t look good.

Do you really think Morgan doesn’t cheat on you when they’re on the road?  Hockey guys have bunnies in every city.

Ur just a puckbunny wanting morgan’s money.  stay away from him!!!!!!!!!!

You’re such a slut.  Stay away from Morgan.

Just another puckbunny making her way around the leafs.  You are pathetic.

“Grande caramel macchiato with coconut milk for Briony!”

So u go to u of t and u think ur smart?  Whatever bitch

What does Rielly see in you?  You’re so ugly

“Bee, you should grab your drink before someone else steals it.”

Why don’t u post pics w morgan

Can you please post pics with morgan so we can see

Why are you so close with some of the wags but not with others?

I hope u know morgan prob just keeps you around as a fuckbuddy.  He’s got them all over the city.  There were hundreds of girls before you, and there will be hundreds of girls after you.  Actually, there are prob hundreds of girls DURING you too.

“BRIONY!” Angie’s voice screaming her name pulled her out of her trance.  When she looked up, Angie was holding both their drinks, shoving her caramel macchiato towards her.  “What’s so important on your phone?”

“N-Nothing,” she said, locking her screen and shoving her phone into her jacket pocket.  

“Did Morgan send you a dick pic?”

“Can you not?” Bee slapped the arm of her best friend.  “You’re so crude.  You’re just like your brother.”

“Well, same genes and all.”

“Where are we going first?” Bee changed the subject.

“We need to go to Sephora.  If the Nars Sheer Glow is as good as you say it is then I need to get some.”

As Briony followed Angie around in Sephora, she tried to get rid of the thoughts swirling around her head about the messages from the random girls.  She assumed this is what Morgan meant when he said some Leafs fans could be crazy and obsessive.  But were these fans?  Or did these girls just want to hook up with Morgan?

As Angie chatted with a Sephora consultant about her foundation shade, Bee took out her phone again to see the rest of the messages that were sent to her.  A lot of them were variations of the messages she had read earlier.  Some accounts had even messaged her multiple times.

Can u pls post pics with mo where u show his face pls ppl are wondering if ur dating him and we need to know

Aren’t you a little too fat to be a wag?

What’s stephh lachancee like in person shes so pretty

Ur a puckslut.  Ur only after Mo’s money.  U should be ashamed of urself

Everybody knows you’re dating Morgan so there’s no point in hiding it anymore.  The more you deny it the more we’re gonna message you.  Just post a pic with him already.  Get over yourself.  You’re such an attention seeker by NOT posting a pic with him and it’s honestly ridiculous.  Stop lying and stop trying to play coy.

Bee mostly wondered where these people got the audacity to send her such messages.  She didn’t understand why they were being so hostile, and why they wanted information about something that was so clearly private.  Did they just think she would message them back?  That she’d reveal juicy, salacious details about their relationship?  That she’d send them pictures of Morgan that were on her camera roll?  What exactly did they want?

As she started to delete all the messages, she heard giggles and saw two girls out of the corner of her eye.  They were whispering to each other something Briony couldn’t hear because of all the commotion in Sephora, but then she swore, she swore she heard the iPhone camera shutter sound.  She looked up immediately to see the girls giggling at something on the phone they were looking at.  The phone wasn’t in her direction, but Bee got self-conscious.  When they both looked up from the screen at the same time and noticed Bee staring at them, they stopped giggling.

“Are you taking a picture of me?” she asked.

The one girl, with the phone in her hand, looked like a deer caught in the headlights.  It was her friend that came to her rescue when she piped up, “No no!  We’re not!  We just love your Chanel bag.”

Bee looked down at the bag, the one Morgan had technically paid for, with pearls adorned all over it, the logo still shining against the leather and satin material.  She looked back up at the girls, who were still looking at her.  “Um, thanks?” Bee didn’t know what else to say.

“Where’d you get it?” the one with the phone asked.  These girls weren’t older than sixteen.

Bee gave her a look.  “At Chanel…?” her response came out more as a question than a statement.  Where else would she buy a Chanel bag?  

“Right.  Of course.  Sorry if we…we just really liked your bag,” they scurried away, looking mortified but still smiling at each other as they ran out of Sephora, looking down at the girl’s phone.

“Bee?!  Where’d you go?  I found the shade!” Angie’s voice called from the next aisle, her head slightly above the top shelf.  “Come here!”

Bee returned to the Nars aisle, and saw that the beauty expert had matched her skin tone perfectly.  “That looks amazing, Angie.”

“Where’d you go?” Angie asked, grabbing the foundation from the beauty expert and putting it in her basket.

“I just had teenage girls take a picture of my bag,” Bee said, shaking her head in disbelief still that it had happened.  “That was…I’ve never had that happen to me before.”

Angie shrugged her shoulders.  “It is a nice Chanel bag.”

[thepenpalhub]

Hello, I’m Desiree!

I’m 27, from Toronto, Ontario, Canada and I’m looking for more snail mail pen pals :)

My hobbies include collecting vinyls and going to concerts, playing a lot of Pokémon go, travelling the globe (been to cool places like Japan and Mexico City), being a starving artist and retro gaming. (There are way more interests, these are just a few!)

Looking for pen pals all over the globe 🌎 to learn culture, language and make friends to maybe one day visit on my travels 💕.

Message if interested, I don’t mind writing first 😊

[winnipegpatty]

We’re Fatally Flawed | two | s.m. series

a/n: feedback is very much appreciated, okay? 

warnings: mentions of child abuse, absolutely nothing graphic. 

“The safety that you're selling me

One day be the death of me”

Turns out playing for We the Kings really is life changing. In the following weeks of their three shows, Terminal had been asked to open for 4 more shows of other various artists. They were in talks with two other bands looking for an opener too. Thanks to the help of Aaliyah, their instagram presence was better than ever, and for the first time, it felt like they actually had fans. There were people dedicated to listening to and loving their music. Downloads of their EP had increased some, and their Spotify listens were the same. We the Kings had publicly thanked them for opening in Toronto on their social media accounts a couple days ago, which started a whole new round of fever. It was chaos. A beautiful chaos.

Shawn couldn’t say they’d “made” it, sure. But they were well on their way. If the band could keep this momentum, they’d be able to make something of themselves. Shawn had been writing constantly when they weren’t practicing, gearing up to produce another EP to hopefully gain more traction. Afterall, only have 6 songs to your band’s name wasn’t much of a selling point if they wanted to make it on a real tour circuit.

Mandy was thrilled. Seeing Shawn’s smile every day when she came home from school was invigorating. She’d never seen Shawn like this before. His curls were fluffier than normal from over wear of his Harvard sweatshirt that he’d worn into the ground. He’d forget to take his earrings out before he went to bed because he was so exhausted, it didn’t even matter than he hated sleeping in them.

As much as Mandy wanted to say she was fully invested in Shawn’s continued success, that wasn’t entirely the case. Shawn’s happiness meant the world to her, but she also had a lot going on with herself. Kindergarten was a handful. Twenty one five year olds was a lot to take care of. It was only the second week of school, and so she was still learning the little quirks of each kid. She was deciding where the kids would be best sat in the classroom. She had to figure out who needed extra help or motivation and who could work well alone. She’d learned that Lilly really hated going out to recess. She’d rather sit inside and look at books. But she also learned that Milo would start crying for his mom everyday around lunch time. Luke was so sweet and would want to hug anyone who entered the classroom, while Lucas was a complete handful and dealt with a lot of sensory overload.

What she was trying to say, was that there was a lot to her job. There were so many details involved that no one really realized went into being a teacher until they were actually a teacher. Like how every month she had to have a new door design. Or how her one hour a day of “lesson planning” was never enough to actually plan lessons, so she’d spend evenings and weekends planning until the sun came up. She was constantly tired and didn’t see Shawn very often. But she was so happy. This had been her dream since she was a young girl. She’d always wanted to help little minds become great. To teach them what it meant to learn and to be kind to others.

Mandy was happy. Shawn was happy.

Everything was great.

“Hey, Em,” Shawn hollered as he walked in the door on a Thursday evening. “What are we doing this weekend?”

Mandy laughed, “Well, I’m not doing anything particular.” She walked down the hallway to see him pull off his leather jacket and throw it over a chair.

“Good,” Shawn answered. He reached towards her to pull her into a kiss. “That’s exactly what I was hoping you’d say.”

Mandy smiled up at her boyfriend, “What are we doing this weekend then, Shawn?”

“I was thinking I’d like to take you out on a date.”

“I’d like that.”

___

“I want to go to the beach,” Mandy whispered to Shawn in bed later than evening.

“What? Mandy, it’s freezing.”

“Yeah, but I just want to see the water. Please, Shawn? We haven’t seen the beach in so long.”

Shawn rolled his eyes at her. “Yeah, because it’s fucking freezing,” he reiterated.

“Please,” She pouted, and god, Shawn hated it when she did that. She jutted out her bottom lip and her eyes held this manufactured sadness that he knew wasn’t real, but could fool even her closest of friends.

He sighed, “Fine, but the second you start complaining because your fingers are going numb again; we’re leaving.”

Mandy smiled brightly before squealing. “Yes, thank you babe!” She kissed Shawn’s sweet lips excitedly. Popping her lips on and off his, before moving down to sweetly kiss his neck.

Shawn’s breathe caught a bit in his throat, feeling her lips press sensually against his neck. It was already well past midnight, and he knew that if they started something now, Mandy would be angry in the morning when she was exhausted and headed to school.

“Babe,” Shawn whispered. “Mandy.”

“Hmmm,” she hummed against his jugular, moving down towards his collar bone.

Shawn groaned at the back of his throat, “You gotta stop. You need to go to sleep.”

“I don’t need sleep, Shawny. Just need you.” She smiled against his skin.

Her words sent a rush to his heart, and he felt like he was melting. He really fucking loved this girl. With his whole goddamn heart, huh? “That’s really sweet, babe,” Shawn struggled, trying to pull away, but Mandy only pulled him closer. “You’re gonna have other things to say when you have to wake up in five hours and got no sleep.”

She shook her head, “Mmmm, nope. Don’t think so.” She popped off his collarbone and moved back to his lips. “I just wanna be with you tonight. Nothing else matters.”

And with that, Shawn officially gave in, tomorrow morning be damned.

__

Shawn had been right, of course. It was fucking freezing. But so far, thirty minutes in, Mandy had stayed true and hadn’t complained once. Much to Shawn’s dismay because frankly, he wanted to leave. It was too cold for this shit, and his leather jacket was doing nothing to keep him warm. Water was pretty and all, but he didn’t find it awe inspiring like Mandy did. He’d much rather look at Mandy and find his inspiration, inside in the warmth of their home.

“There’s this little boy at school…”

They’d been sitting on a couple of beach towels in silence, Mandy mostly just staring off into the sea, and Shawn figured she needed some time. She did this sometimes, when she had a lot going on. She’d just stare off, and Shawn would wait until she was ready to talk about whatever it was that had her thinking so hard.

“And, he’s unique,” She glanced over at Shawn. “I don’t know, Shawn...I think there might be something going on at home.”

Shawn hummed quietly, “Something?”

“I mean like, I think he might be getting abused?”

“What makes you think that?” Shawn questioned, his lips pulling down in a frown.

“I mean, I’ve never seen marks or bruises or anything. Not on what I can see, but it’s just the way he acts? Like he’s scared of adults. Not just his parents, but anyone that’s bigger than him. And when his mom dropped him off the other day, her eyes...Shawn,” her breath caught in her throat. “Shawn she looked dead inside. And the little boy, Jack, his name is Jack. He’s usually sweet and kind and just really good to have in class, but when she was around. He looked like all he wanted to do was crawl in on himself.”

“Have you talked to him?”

“Well, not about that…” Mandy sighed, “That’s just such a big accusation. And...it’s not like I have any proof. Maybe he’s just timid? Maybe his mom just didn’t get sleep that night before? Maybe I’m seeing things? I can’t accuse someone of something so horrible and not have any idea if I’m being right or just overreacting.”

Shawn splayed his hand gently over Mandy’s leg. “Maybe,” Shawn contemplated. “Maybe you could just get to know Jack. You know, make sure he’s learning well. Have some time with him where you’re just focused on his work. And, if he begins to trust you, he might let you in to see other parts of him. Make sure he’s okay, at school and at home, eh?”

“Yeah, yeah like maybe I could do a weekly tutor session with him or something after school. Work on his letters...he’s already a little bit behind the other kids.” Mandy bit at her nail bed, worrying herself.

“Just go slow,” Shawn smiled, pressing lightly again on her thigh. “Don’t scare him off.”

Mandy nodded, “Yeah, that’s good.” She looked up at Shawn before gently leaning over to kiss him, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Em.” Shawn smiled, squeezing her leg a final time before lightly rapping a little beat on it, “Now can we leave. It’s freezing, and I’m starving.”

Mandy laughed before nodding at him and whispering an okay. Mandy decided, at least for the night, that she’d leave her concerns about Jack here. Let them wash away into the sea. Let the wind carry away her words. At least for now, so that she could enjoy the rest of the evening with Shawn. It was rare that they got such uninterrupted alone time as of late. What with Terminal really hitting the ground running now a days.

At dinner, conversation had flowed nicely. That was never a problem with Shawn and Mandy. They may have only known each other for four years now, but they shared secrets with each other like they were lifelong best friends. Like they’d played together in the schoolyard as children. But Shawn loved that about his relationship with Mandy. It’s how he knew that she was all he’d ever need. How he knew they were perfect for each other. Mandy truly was Shawn’s other half, as much as he hated the saying. It was completely, not cool. The band members constantly berated Shawn about being whipped for Mandy, but Shawn figured it was okay for at least one area of his life to not be punk approved. Besides, it’s not like Mandy couldn’t get into the punk scene when she wanted to. She fit into concerts just as well as any other groupie. She had the dress and the disposition to match the part, but yet at home and at school she was the perfect working girl. Shawn loved that about her. She had class and attitude.

“I don’t know...but Julia is just a total snob. Two weeks in, and she already hates me for no reason it’s ridicul-”

“Excuse me,” Shawn felt a tap on his shoulder, looking up to see the girl who’d interrupted Mandy’s sentence.

“Hello,” Shawn said in a sugary sweet voice.

He didn’t really appear to be confused by the interruption which came as a stark contrast to Mandy’s bewilderment.

“Hi, you’re Shawn Mendes, right?”

A smile bigger than any other Mandy had ever seen spread across Shawn’s face, his eyes squinting as he looked up at the blonde.

Shawn nodded, “Sure am.”

“Oh wow,” the girl blushed. “Wow, wow. I am such a huge fan of Terminal.”

Really? Mandy wouldn’t have pegged this girl, clad in a plaid schoolgirl shirt and a button up, as a punk band kind of gal. Her bleach blonde hair showed no signs of dye, which was not punk. And her nails were painted pink. Pink.

“Thank you, hunny. I’m so glad to hear it.” Shawn smiled pressing his hand against the girls arm.

“My name is Sev.” She introduced herself. And okay, Mandy didn’t know they were going to get all the way to introductions.

Shawn leaned back in his chair, gazing up at this girl like she owned the entire fucking world. And Mandy felt like her blood might begin to boil. It’s not like she didn’t know they had fans, but she certainly didn’t know that he had fans who’d rudely interrupt her only alone time she’d had with her boyfriend for three weeks. She wondered if he’d been recognized before. Did this happen often? Why had Shawn never mentioned that?

“Shawn, it’s nice to meet you Sev.” Shawn reached his hand out to shake the girls hand, and Mandy was just happy he hadn’t gone in for a hug or something. Anything that would make the girl linger any longer.

“Do you mind if I got a picture?” Sev asked excitedly, “I don’t want to interrupt or anything…” As if she hadn’t already completely cut off Mandy’s sentence and inserted herself into a private gathering.

“Of course, sweetie.”

It was odd hearing Shawn call other girls hunny and sweetie like that was a normal thing he’d do. Mandy had heard of a customer service voice, and hell she knew for a fact that she had a teacher voice at school, but she wasn’t aware that Shawn had a fan meeting voice. Or that the voice sounded entirely too close to the sound of his sweet I love you’s that we’re supposed to be for her ears only.

“Oh, great. Wow. Thank you so much,” Sev smiled.

Shawn stood up quickly as Sev pulled out an iPhone, readying herself to take a selfie before Shawn stopped her, “Oh, no. You don’t need to take a selfie. Here,” Shawn turned toward Mandy. “Babe, could you take it?”

Shawn smiled at Mandy, who most definitely did not want to take the photo. But she smiled and nodded curtly anyway, grasping the photo and taking two pictures as quickly as possible. She handed the phone back to Sev before returning to her seat and waiting for the interaction to end.

Finally, Sev and Shawn hugged before she finally departed, leaving them alone in an uncomfortable silence.

“Well, that was cool.” Shawn smiled, hunching over in his chair. He let out a breath, almost like a sigh of satisfaction.

“Yup,” Mandy answered with none of the enthusiasm to match Shawn.

The popped ‘p’ at the end was enough for Shawn to pick up on Mandy’s annoyance. And when he finally looked up at his girlfriend, he wondered how he didn’t see it earlier. She hadn’t been this way the whole dinner right? Her crossed arms over her chest, her downturned lips, and the annoying flickers of her eyes away from his while he tried to make eye contact, all clued him in.

“What’s wrong?” Shawn asked, all hints of his previous happiness gone.

“Nothing,” Mandy muttered, pushing around some of the leftover food on the plate.

“No, no. What happened. This was all going fine, what changed?” Shawn pried.

“I just didn’t realize you had fans recognizing you,” She huffed, taking a sip of her wine.

Shawn ran a hand through his curls, “Well, not constantly, but sometimes.” He wasn’t entirely sure how that would lead to Mandy’s sour attitude, but he decided he’d let her work through it if that’s what she needed.

“And do you flirt with them all like that?” She said quietly, refusing to meet Shawn’s eyes.

Shawn coughed, “Excuse me? I wasn’t flirting with her.”

Mandy laughed, “Really? Shawn, I’m cyour girlfriend. I know exactly what it looks like when you attempt flirting.”

Shawn rolled his eyes, “I was being polite, Mandy. The fans are the people that let me do what I’ve always dreamed of doing. Without people like her Terminal would be nowhere and would be in the garage for the rest of it’s life. So sure, if she wants a moment of my time and a photo, I’ll give it to her. Because she allows me to follow my dreams.”

“Doesn’t mean I wanted to give her a moment of my time,” Mandy muttered under her breath.

“What? Mandy, so what she came over during dinner. She came, she left, and now we resume. It’s not like its some big disruption.”

“Well it felt like one to me, is all,” Mandy answered.

“Well I’m sorry it felt that way but—”

“I’m ready to go home.” Mandy interrupted him, not allowing him to finish his thought.

Shawn balked at her for a moment, unsure of what to make of this new festering side of Mandy that he’d never seen before. “Fine,” is all Shawn uttered before asking for the check.

They left in silence and drove home in silence. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d ever sat in uncomfortable silence. And Shawn was just left wondering when he’d fallen in love with a girl who might not even support his biggest dream.

tagged: @fourtristattoos @peacedolantwins2 @rosecth @unhealthyobsessionwithmarvel @shavvnmendcs @justanotherfangurl272 (let me know if you want to be added) 

support me on ko-fi if you’d like 

[squilliamnylander]

hi squil!! things have been hectic for me lately so i haven't said much, but i'm still around! xoxo i'm in toronto for the weekend! any brunch recommendations?

YOU’RE INTORORONTO WHEN IM NOTTHERE ARE U KIDDING ME

school (liberty village)

aunties & uncles (little italy)

peter pan (queen west)

saving grace (dundas west)

lady marmalade (east chinatown)

the drake hotel eatery (queen west)

mildred’s temple kitchen (liberty village)

cafe florentina (danforth)

farmhouse tavern (junction/high park)

thompson diner (thompson hotel)

starving artist (the st clair west location is the best)

lazy daisy’s cafe (blooredale)

grapefruit moon (bathurst)

figo (near acc!)

most of these places will be pretty busy + have lineups so go early, and reserve with the opentable app if you can! aunties & uncles is my personal favourite - for the food but mostly for the vibe of the place. lineup is usually an hour after 9/9:30 am though so if you can’t go early, maybe pick a new place :/