#they showed clips to contrast with of a home being tossed up and the shit materials they use disgust me

[medicinemane]

"DIY tiny home you can build in weeks", ok... now lets see the cost

...seven and a half minutes later, the answer is $75k... so when you include land and all the rest of it, so basically nothing right?

This is my problem with tiny homes stuff, it's for rich people

[miekasa]

when the world comes crashing down (there’s still you and me)

+ summary: the aftermath of a long day ft. levi, eren, jean, armin, mikasa, sasha, hange, connie, and erwin. connie and erwin from me? connie and erwin from me!

if you didn’t know him any better, it would be quite difficult to tell that levi is having a hard day. his usual resting face is enough to convince anybody that every day is a bad day for him; coupled with his expert emotional control and evasion, and it becomes almost impossible to discern his true feelings. but you know when he’s had a particularly long day, because he says nothing but a simple greeting when he walks into your apartment, sits as close to you as possible, rests his head in the crook of your neck, and sighs. he doesn’t have to say anything, and at that point he doesn’t want to; he just wants to be with you. and you’re happy to oblige.

conversely, eren’s feelings are as clear as daylight, and anyone within a ten mile radius could tell he’s pissed off, to put it lightly. when he comes home to you, all he wants is to be cuddled and lulled to sleep. he clumsily shimmies himself out of his clothes, and flops down directly on top of you with a relieved huff. he impatiently waits for you to play with his hair, and only then do his exhales become content, as he hugs you as close as possible, your heartbeat the lullaby that drowns out the frustrations of his day.

jean comes crashing through your bedroom door already bitching about his day and how everybody seemed to be out to piss him the hell off. he lays across from you on your bed, elbow bent to prop his head up as he continues ranting, not noticing the amused smile on your face as you watch him complain. he has very strong opinions about how everybody is an idiot, and needs to voice it you immediately. when he’s done, he rolls his eyes and lets out one final, exaggerated sigh, “everybody sucks. but anyways, enough about me, how was your day, pretty girl?”

armin gets a lot of credit for being nice and friendly, but you think that if anyone heard the way he speaks behind closed doors for even a minute, they would throw that image of him out the window. he’s ruthless, tossing snide comments left and right while his head is in your lap. he speaks in clipped insults that he wouldn’t be caught dead saying out loud in anybody else’s presences, but with you, it’s okay, because you’re his confidant. he only seems to be able to do it like this though: cuddled in your lap, legs curled up like a child, toying with your hands like a baby; in complete contrast to the words coming out of his mouth. 

the first thing mikasa does on any day is greet you and ask you what you had for lunch. it’s simple but effective two times over. it allows her to check up on you, and in doing so, provides her with some relief that you’ve been taking care of yourself; because even on her worst days, knowing that you’re doing alright is enough to brighten her spirits. it eventually grows into a larger conversation about your days, and she likes that she can let her guard down around you, and trusts you to comfort her when she needs it.

sasha can hardly sit still. she rarely gets frustrated to the point of ranting about it, but when she does, all of her feelings come into play, the result forming a hypersensitive, hyperactive version of herself. you know that it must have taken something big, or a lot of little things over time, to make her this riled up; but you let her express herself. she feels strange after, those kinds of feelings almost foreign to her, and that’s when she’ll need your comfort and affections the most.

connie comes in right off the bat complaining to you about some highly specific, hypothetical scenario, because he didn’t agree with his friends’ views on it. he asks you what you would do in said situation, and the conversation flows from there. it starts as a rant, and the topic is always obtuse, but you have to admit you usually get a good laugh of his answers and reasoning, and his complaints behind, what he considers to be, the wrong answers. he likes ranting and laughing with you about these things, but he also just genuinely likes to hear your thoughts and pick your brain. and shitting on jean’s answers for a while, too.

hange comes home with a million tiktoks they want to show you, ready to rant about either the content of the videos, or the comment section, sometimes both. you don’t question why they save videos or comments they hate or don’t agree with, but you let it slide, knowing hange is a curious mind, and ultimately, just wants to express their opinions to you, and get yours in return. even one, thirty second video, about something that bothered them, can become the topic of discussion for hours on end with them. 

erwin starts his ranting without even realizing that he’s ranting. it hasn’t occurred to him how many things have been weighing on his mind until you ask the simple question “how are you?” and, suddenly, he’s been sat at the dinner table, letting it all out for hours on end. he almost becomes embarrassed when he catches himself, but feels warm inside when you tell him you don’t mind, and encourage him to continue. he doesn’t take your listening ears for granted.

[lizzy-williams]

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐏𝐭. 𝟐

🐺Warnings: Mentions of smut, mature themes, alpha/omega dynamic

🐺Masterlist

🐺Summary: It’s been a few months since the coffee shop events, and you and Tom are going steady. When you decide to go out to dinner as celebration for a work promotion, the waiter begins to flirt with you. When you two get home, he shows you who you truly belong to. Not to mention... it’s a full moon.

🐺Theme: (dream), Salvia Palth

🐺 A/N: Bruh one of the pics got cut off-

Thomas Stanley Holland was angry. No, he was livid. 

Tonight was supposed to be a proper date with his mate, a calming way to spend an evening, not getting worried about anything and everything else. By now, his bite mark had been healed, a delicate scar decorating her neck. 

That, coupled with her black evening dress, made her look so stunning, it made Tom’s chest swell with pride. That was his. She was his. 

But now, he was just pissed off, trying his hardest not to let his glowing gold eyes catch anyone’s attention. But there was only one person who noticed it, and thankfully it was the only person that understood. 

[y/n] was an understanding girl, especially when it came to territorial instincts that came with having a claimed mate. So when the waiter that was serving your table was getting a little too comfortable in your presence, you knew Tom would be agitated. 

She did your best to distance yourself from the flirty staff member, but it was hard when he was going to be serving you the rest of the night, and they hadn’t even ordered their entries yet. 

All Tom wanted to do was take her right on that table, showing that snobby waiter and the rest of the fucking restaurant who [y/n] truly belonged to. He wanted to rail into her as she let out the most perfect noises as he sucked hickeys on her neck, and made her cum so hard she cried, showing true dominance and-

“Tom,” [y/n] moved her chair closer to him at the table, putting a hand on his shoulder. 

His eyes snapped up, but softened as he looked at her reassuring smile and comforting expression as she leaned over and placed her head on his shoulder. 

“You know I’m yours,” she whispered in a tone only he could hear. 

Tom could already feel the tension roll off of his shoulders, knowing that even if there was an overly cocky waiter, [y/n] was faithful. He trusted her, their strong bond was not going to be broken by some douche with a bow-tie. 

“I’m sorry, tonight’s about you,” Tom looked over at her, gently kissing her nose, “We’re here to celebrate your promotion, darling,”

[y/n] gave a grateful smile, muttering a small ‘thank you’ before focusing on your expensive cocktail and appetizers. 

At first, everything was fine, and it was comfortable, [y/n] and Tom getting into conversation, talking about what was going on in their jobs, or how the rest of the Holland family was doing. 

But when the waiter came back, Tom tensed up slightly. 

“You ready to order?” he asked, whipping out his notepad and waiting for at least one of them to speak.

Tom was the first to order, hesitantly adding a tense ‘please’ at the end of his request. After all, he knew that [y/n] valued manners. He did it all for her. 

“And for you, beautiful?”

That motherfucker.

[y/n] cleared her throat, “Ma’am will be just fine with me thanks,” her voice was clipped in annoyance, not daring to look over at Tom, knowing that all the comfort she just gave him meant close to nothing now, Tom surely back to square one, like a child’s building blocks knocked down after building them up to satisfactory. 

After she gave her order, the waiter walked away, muttering ‘prude’ as he made his exit. 

The time to get their food was silent, partly because she didn’t want to disturb him, simply putting her arm around his waist, her free hand holding his as he held it back. 

Thankfully, a different waiter came to deliver their meals, which released tension that was being held within Tom like a caged animal. Almost literally. 

Finally, after he seemed to calm down a little, [y/n] tried to resume conversation and banter, and Tom reluctantly went along with it, soon restoring his hope of a pleasant night with his mate. 

Tom was grateful for her, really. She would do anything for him, and he knew it, and all that time she was looking out for him, comforting when he needed comforting. And he couldn’t help but silently gush as she went on about a subject that she was truly passionate about. 

And soon enough, the food was finally finished, the platers almost literally licked clean, everything cleared, and the couple knew that the dishwasher hidden in the back of the kitchen would be secretly grateful, their work getting cut down by half. 

Shit. He was back. 

And back he was, the flirty waiter returning with the check. Tom desperately tried to stay calm, tired of feeling like he wanted to rip the young man’s throat out. 

But what he was about to say pushed him passed the point of redemption. 

“I wrote my number on the check, darling,” he started, “you know, once you get tired of dealing with this man-child,”

Oh that was fuckin’ it. 

Tom didn’t care anymore, blinded by anger, he looked at the waiter with his vicious glowing yellow eyes, his jaw clenched. That coupled with his clenched fist made him look absolutely terrifying.

But before the waiter could flee in terror, Tom grabbed [y/n]’s jaw tightly before jerking her forward as she let out a whimper, forcing her mouth open. To assert dominance, he spit directly in her mouth before turning back to the bastard that really pushed him over the edge. 

He turned around, walking to the back of the restaurant, and if he had a tail, it would most certainly been between his legs. Tom couldn’t care less about the rest of the people around then, gawking at the two, shocked by the display of such a lewd act in the middle of a high-end Italian joint. 

Tom dug into his wallet, tossing two Benjamins on the table before grabbing her hand, guiding her out to the car, opening the door for her. Even if he was blinded by rage, he always found a way to still be a gentleman. 

The car ride home was dead silent, the sexual tension polluting the car, so thick it seemed as if one could cut it like butter. It took Tom everything not to swerve the the car to the side of the road, taking her right in the back seat, the smell of her arousal making him painfully hard. 

Oh, he was going to wreck her. 

As soon as they got back to the flat complex, he picked her up, carrying her to the elevator, not feeling like dragging her along like a wagon. Besides, he knew if he held her hand, he would probably break it. 

His keys violently jingled in his hand as he unlocked the door to his abode, and as soon as he heard a click, he waisted no time, going to his bedroom at almost an inhuman speed, throwing her on the bed, making her giggle, Tom letting out a growl in response, stripping so quickly he almost ripped his shirt. 

It thrilled [y/n] to think about all the ways he could ravage her, taking her anyway he pleased, knowing there was nothing in this world that could stop him from making her feel nothing but ecstasy. 

“You have no idea how much I wanted to take you right there on that table, love,” he started, undressing her with vigor, his body language wreaking of impatience, “You would like that, wouldn’t you? To have everyone watch as I took you on top of your pasta that cost me a shit-ton of money, huh?”

He teared her underwear off of her, unclasping the omega’s bra as she let out a whimper. Normally, she would have cared that her favorite pair of panties were now nothing but a scrap of cloth on the floor. But at the moment, she couldn’t care less, lust glaring her senses.

He paused, taking in the form of his mate’s nude body. No matter how many times he saw her like this, it was always like seeing her for the first time. God, she was fucking perfect. He didn’t hesitate to wrap his hand around his cock, giving a few jerks before returning to an unholy position on top of her. 

“Spitting in your mouth was the closest thing to heaven, darling,” he hovered over her, sucking and biting at all her sweet spots on her throat, growling and muttering dark and sinful nothings in her ear. 

“I’m not going to lie to you, bunny, I’m not really in the mood for much foreplay,” he admitted, “I can’t wait to watch my seed drip out of you,”

Before [y/n] could even respond, he had already lined himself up, sliding in, millimeter my millimeter, making sure she felt every vein and ridge of his aching cock that was caused by her and her alone. She made him like this, so it was only fair. 

As soon as he bottomed out, he stayed there, peppering soft kisses across her face, a stark contrast to his mood only seconds before, basically cockwarming as he waited patiently for her to adjust. No matter how many times he was inside her, it always felt as if he was tearing her in half like an axe does wood. 

Soon her small, nimble fingers made their way to his chestnut hair, tugging slightly as her fingernails lightly and gently grazed his scalp, signaling that she was ready for what was to come. 

Tom slowly pulled out, only to slide right back in, hanging onto every whimper and whine she made, noises that he was ready to hear for the rest of his life. It was a strong bond that they had, and even though he was getting ready to plow into her, he couldn’t help but place a soft kiss and muttering a soft ‘are you okay?’

To this, she gave a nod, “Please Tom, ruin me... show me who I belong to,” 

She most certainly didn’t need to repeat herself, Tom’s eyes returning to a dark lustful gold as he began to go harder without warning, which was exactly what his mate wanted. 

“This what you wanted?” he grunted, his pace progressing into swift and quick thrusts, “For your alpha to wreck you? Fuck you until you cried?”

“Y-Yes! Please Tommy, I-” she stuttered between moans, his pace never faltering. 

Suddenly, he yanked her to the edge of the bed, placing her legs over his shoulder as he stood, still inside her, soon resuming his pace, both of the pleasure they were feeling ten times more intense. 

Then, Tom made the mistake of looking down. He could see her stomach bulge with the outline of his cock, almost reaching her fucking guts. He almost came right then and there. 

“Can you feel me, darling? So fucking deep, you like that don’t you? When I rearrange your guts?” 

His words made [y/n] let out a loud whine, just thinking about the fact that he was buried inside her, she could feel him everywhere. It was just him. 

Him. Him. Him. 

Her coil tightened as she reached down, rubbing soft circles around her clit before Tom snatched her hand away, growling. 

“No touching what’s mine.” he slammed into her harder, “This cunt? It’s fucking mine, understand?”

“Y--Yes, Tom,” she muttered out, just barely loud enough for him to hear. 

“Who’s cunt is this?”

“Yours, T-Tommy,”

“Sorry, darling, couldn’t quite understand you,” he taunted, driving in at an inhuman pace, his supernatural abilities making his stamina and strength almost limitless, “Who’s cunt is this?”

“Yours Tommy!!” she cried out, not stuttering once as the coil in her core was tighter than ever, “Please, please Tommy, touch your cunt! Please, I’m so close!”

“Tell me I’m yours. Tell me I’m the only one,” he desperately pleaded, the need for validation the only thing that was holding him back from his release.

“Tommy, y-your mine, you’re the only one --oh god yes, you’re the only one”

And that was enough to get his fingers to rub on the small of her clit, making her cry out, the pleasure unmeasurable as she felt every part of him. 

“D-Don’t stop!” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,”

Finally, the coil inside her snapped like a whip, making her release the most pornographic moan she had ever let out, the neighbors most definitely wishing the complex had thicker walls. 

Feeling her tighten so harshly was what tipped Tom over, her mound squeezing him tightly, his seed spilling inside of her, the warm liquid coating her walls like paint as they road out each other’s highs, the both of them feeling as if they were floating. 

When Tom felt as if he could move again, he pulled out, stepping back to admire his masterpiece, watching as his seed spilled out of his perfect girl’s core like a waterfall, dripping onto the sheets, making him groan. It was almost enough to make him harden again.

He then helped [y/n] move vertically on the bed, plopping down right beside her as he did his best to catch his breath, the both of them basking in their love for each other. It was a beautiful, really.

“I want you to move in with me,” he finally said between pants, [y/n] stopping dead, looking over at her alpha. 

“Wh-what?” she stuttered, her cloudy post-orgasmic haze making her question whether or not she heard him right. She turned her body slowly, facing him as he continued. 

“I want you to live here. With me. I wanna be able to be with you, protect you. I love you so much, and I can’t think of anyone else I would want to live with. Besides, I wouldn’t mind this becoming a part of a nightly routine,” he wiggled his eyebrows playfully. 

“Yes. I would love to,” [y/n] finally replied after a dramatic pause. 

Tom smiled and pulled her in close, the two of them fitting together like puzzle pieces. He held her tightly, his hands rubbing up and down her back. 

“Mine,” he muttered into the crown of her head, breathing in her scent. 

“Yours.”

[ubernoxa]

The Sip: A Modern Day Guns N’ Roses Fanfic

Chapter 8: Entertainment News

Story Summary: In a packed room she couldn’t have felt more alone. Everyone was adorned and jewels and would humbly brag about their accomplishments when asked. She couldn’t blame them though, that’s what she was told to do as well. So, she stood there next to her boyfriend she knew was cheating on her as she continued to quietly listen as a good guest does.

In the basement of the dreadful never ending party, Alanah quickly realizes the night just might not be over. In this modern day AU Alanah learns just how much one sip can ripple into a waterfall.

Chapter Summary: The press become suspicious of Duff and Alanah’s ‘relationship’ or lack there of.

Masterlist

Taglist: @str4nge-haze

Before I could even open my eyes I knew exactly who was holding onto me. I knew who I had decided to cuddle last night. I leaned in closer to him as I smell his familiar scent of vodka and cigarets. The scent slowly bringing me back to sleep.

“Nah, she’s still sleeping,” my heart fluttered at the sound of Duff’s voice. I felt his chest slowly rise and fall as he spoke. It was calming almost rhythmic, a melody slowly pulling me back to sleep.

I fought the urge and opened my eyes to find that I was covered by a blanket shielding me from the light. Did he put the blanket over me so I wouldn’t wake up if someone turned on the lights?

My heart skipped a beat as he subconsciously pulled me in closer as he talked to someone about the award he won last night. I was proud of them, not the speech they gave after the award, but the award itself. They were drunk and it was clear that the alcohol had taken full effect the moment Slash opened his mouth and spoke into the microphone. It was absolutely hilarious, but it was immediately clear that not everyone found it funny as Sandy and I as we received SEVERAL glares as we tried to hide our giggles.

Once the person Duff was talking to left, I decided to poke my head from under the covers. I wish I could have stayed under the covers for longer, but it was getting too hot. My dress becoming more unbearable by the second.

“Good morning,” I purposely spoke in my sweetest voice possible as I snuggled into him. This all felt like some sort of strange dream. My heart skipped a beat as I heart him subconsciously hum.

“Yes it is,” I felt myself blush as he looked at me. There is something about his damn smile that makes my stomach perform backflips. It makes me feel like I’m in middle school again, nervous around that boy I have a crush on.

“Shame about your dress, must have been uncomfortable to sleep in,” I nodded at his comment while trying to remember the previous night. I could remember the interviews the awards the shots, but there were still a few moments I couldn’t recall.

“Such a shame,” those were the only words that could come out of my mouth as he held me in his arms. He had me speechless. I shrugged back trying to seem casual, a very stark contrast to what I was feeling on the inside.

——————

“So you guys didn’t do it?”

I rolled my eyes as Sandy continued to pry about what happened last night a the after party.

“No, of course we didn’t! The place was packed and we didn’t have a private room to do it. Plus why are you so interested in my sex life? You know we have already had sex right?,” I stood in the kitchen pouring some beans on the nachos I was about to cook. I couldn’t cook a lot of things, but nachos were another story. My nachos were amazing and anyone who disagrees had to have been lying, or at least that’s what I told myself.

“Have you watched any of the interviews from last night?”

“No, we were there. Why would I rewatch the interviews?” After I put the chips in the oven to heat up, I joined her on the couch watching entertainment news aka the fake news.

“Good afternoon, my name is Harriet Hegel, and you’re watching E news!”

I smirked as the woman began to speak reporting on news. She went on and on about the stupidest things from latest Instagram posts to alleged fights, and we were making fun of the show the entire time. I was pulled from our conversation the sound of my timer going off announcing that my nachos were done cooking.

When I came home a couple hours ago the first thing I did was take off the dress that had become INCREDIBLY uncomfortable. Between the indents that the zipper was currently making in my skin to the sweat that had made it stick to me, I wanted it off. A nap was next on the agenda followed by food.

“Oh my god! ALANAH GET YOUR ASS IN HERE!” I bolted from the the kitchen to the living room as I heard Sandy scream across the apartment.

I didn’t need to ask what was wrong when I walked into the living room. Harriet answered my question immediately.

“Like most award events that Guns N’ Roses rockers Slash and Duff McKagan attend, they caused a lot of...commotion.” The hostess was smiling from ear to ear. To say the media loves reporting on Guns and their questionable lifestyle would be an understatement. Their antics made good content, and their audience was always bound to eat it up.

“Their night started with the pair showing up to the awards show tipsy,” Harriet was then joined by another blonde who I had seen on previous broadcasts. I think she was a co-host, but she never really says who she is..but who the fuck cares.

“The Guns boys won more than just the award for rock song of the year, they also won the award for most controversy. The night started with the boys showing up clearly tipsy, and after being clearly directed down one path they chose to go some the other. At first this caused A LOT of confusion among the people working the security, but our questions were quickly answered as they walked over to YouTubers Sandy Mafter and Alanah Whittle who were hosting interviews on that carpet,”

“They fucking said my last name wrong! It’s not that hard?!? How hard is it to say it right, MAY-FTER! Not mater like the tow truck from Cars!” I couldn’t help but laugh hysterically as she yelled at the TV.

“Well ain’t that a coincidence !” Harriett joked. Harriet was hinting at what I was trying to ignore. They went all the way out of their way to talk to us. Duff was just a friend who wanted to say hi though. He was just being nice.

And last night....we were just drunk.

Sandy quickly calmed down and smirked at the TV. Great now the media was getting as bad as Sandy. Duff and I were just friends!

“They seem to have great chemistry and they look cute together!” The other woman added as they played a clip from our interview with them.

“So this begs the question we all want to answer, are Duff and Alanah dating?”

“Good to know I’m not the only one wondering that!” I teasingly tossed a chip in Sandy’s direction earning some giggles as she caught it and ate it.

Me too girl...me too.

“We quickly got that question after the awards ceremony during a post awards show interview, roll the clip.”

My eyes were glued to the screen as the clip played.

“That’s why I can’t get a girlfriend, the media likes to paint a picture on who we are and what we do. I’ll admit we are roll models....” I could help, but laugh at a tipsy Duff who was too tall and had to bend over to talk into the mic. He looked adorably ridiculous.

Before Duff could continue his drunken rant, a reporter asked him a question that grabbed my full attention.

“What about Alanah Whittle?” I felt my heart trying to escape my chest as my eyes were glued to the screen at the interviewer’s question.

Yeah, what about me?

Slash giggled and Duff began to blush, which wasn’t helping my stomach from continuing to perform backflips.

FRIENDS

FRIENDS

FRIENDS

He’s only acting like that because he is very tipsy. It’s the alcohol.

“She’s great..” Slash drunkly said as he giggled at his tipsy bandmate who was still flustered from the question.

“Yeah, she’s great. Easy to talk to and an absolute goof...her cooking is another story,” As Duff spoke he had a smirk on his face, not a smirk like Sandy’s earlier, but a smirk none the less.

The clip ended and the tv was once again filled with the two woman who were hosting the entertainment news.

“So that’s a hard no, but we will see how long that lasts. As most of you know I’m incredibly nosey which is why I do the job I do,” one of the hosts proudly said earning a collective eye roll from Sandy and me.

“Looking at social media, neither Duff nor Alanah posted photos of them together last night. Alanah posted a cute picture of her and Sandy captioned ‘pinch me because I must be dreaming’, and Duff posting a picture of him and slash holding the award captioned ‘holy shit, thanks guys!’.” The woman pointed at the photos that appeared behind her on what I assumed was a green screen.

“Aww that’s a cute photo of us!” Sandy smiled as the woman rambled at how different Duff and my captions were.

“Yeah, couldn’t help, but post it!” I smiled back, but before I could continue talking my attention was pulled back to the TV as they pulled up a video.

“That chick has to be ex-FBI or something because she has gone full detective,” I nodded at Sandy’s words.

“Now if you look at this video from Slash’s Instagram live last night. I will admit most of it is him and Steven going around and drunkly interviewing people, but we do catch this moment in the background,” the woman pointed towards Duff and I who were playing a very drunk game of Jenga. From what I could remember Steven’s girlfriend had set it up and recommend the two of us to play it together.

“Now if we zoom in here...” the woman had the video zoom in and you could see what we were doing clearly. My arms were wrapped around his neck and you could see my hands gently playing with his hair. I held my breath as the show remained zoomed in on Duff and I.

The whole time I was frozen eyes glued to the screen.

We didn’t have sex right?

My dress was still on this morning.

Fuck.

Fuck.

There was no way a camera could have caught us having sex if we didn’t have sex. It was a simple fact, but my brain was racing with what ifs that made it impossible to look away from the screen.

After the passionate kiss, Duff placed a kiss on my forehead, and pulled me in tight for a hug.

“Aww,” I turned to Sandy who looked like she was watching a puppy video on YouTube.

“Shut up,” I playfully pushed her, only earning more laughter.

I quickly grabbed the remote and threw on some random Netflix show before going to do the dishes.

“I’m sorry did you say something?” I shouted across the room. I heard a noise from the living room that pulled me from washing my dishes.

“I said, is it cool if I post some photos from last night ?”

“Ohh yeah go right ahead. I uploaded all of mine to our shared drive earlier, so feel free to grab some from there. Make sure to add a thank you to YouTube for inviting us and shit,” I yelled back.

I hadn’t put much thought to the pictures I had uploaded to our drive, but I probably should have.

“So for our next video I was thinking we should post the summary video of us getting ready for the awards show. Then I’m thinking some of our favorite interview moments. Last, I want to do a video on some of the weird stuff on Amazon, like the stuff with terrible rating,” I said writing down our schedule on some scratch paper. Once we agreed on our next steps we would put it on our schedule board, but for right now scrap paper was fine.

“Sandy,” I said again pulling her attention from her phone.

“Yeah I like the amazon idea. Also yes to absolutely milking hosting the awards show....sorry I was distracted by something, but I’m listening I promise,” Sandy said handing me her phone.

It was on the Guns N’ Roses Instagram page, and she motioned me to swipe through the the photos.

The first one was a shot of Slash and Duff onstage, the second was a group shot of the entire band, I froze at the third photo which was definitly a screenshot from Sandy’s and my interview with Duff and Slash, and I flipped through more, but the last one caught my eye. I didn’t remember being apart of the photo, but there I was standing next to Steven’s girl with Duff’s arms wrapped around my waist. We defiantly looked like a couple, but were we?

I groaned in frustration as I leaned back against the couch, and handed Sandy her phone back.

We were just friends right?

Nothing more?

Within seconds my phone went off, and speaking of the devil it was Duff. Sandy sent me a knowing look before she went back through scrolling through social media.

“Hey! What’s up?” I smiled as I answered his FaceTime call.

“Nothing definitely still tired as fuck.”

“Same!” I immediately replied back as I plopped down on my bed.

“Are you free Friday night?” My heart stopped as the question left his tongue. There was a cyclone of butterflies tearing through my stomach.

“Umm yeah, I have Friday off. Why what’s up?” I focused on my breathing as I spoke.

Holy shit was he asking me out on a date?

“Guns N’ Roses was invited to some bullshit record company party. All I know is that I have to wear a suit for the second time this week, and it’s gonna suck,” he seemed the least bit interested in the event as he spoke. He reminded me of when my mom used to force me to go to church on Sunday.

“If you’re trying to sell me on this event, I should warn you that you’re aren’t doing a good job at it,” I teased back earning some chuckles from Duff.

“Here’s the thing, it wouldn’t suck if you were there as my date.”

[hellfire-damnation]

Hum Hallelujah || Marginally Catholic

[Backdated: Mid-June, before the bar fight and after prom.]

Claude has a good night’s sleep, which prompts singing and a conversation about parents and one’s good behavior.

TW: None, this is just a good ol’ wholesome conversation. 

@every-last-inch-of-me

CLAUDE: 

It had been one of the rare times last evening that Claude did not wake up covered in sweat, his chest heaving. Whatever he had done to stave off the night terrors he did not know, merely that he was grateful for the lone night of respite. The feeling was a foreign one to him, so strange that he had no clue how to identify it until it was too late. It had already swallowed him whole and, truth be told, Claude almost didn’t want it to ever let him go. There was something serene about a clear mind. His medication helped with that, had been doing so for a while, but he had not felt like he had this morning in a long, long time.

He busied himself in the kitchen, still in boxers and a white tank top, hair a bit sleep mussed and glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. There wasn’t meant to be anyone by for a few hours yet and the Frenchman hoped to make a bit of headway on his final projects for his specialization and look into the music for the play. He had memorized the sheet music and could play it in his sleep, but the harmonies he did not quite know off the top of his head. He could get by, but Claude liked to be prepared. 

Singing the words to one of the songs he’d had to learn to play the music for, Claude stirred honey into his tea, leaned back against the counter and staring out the window to the lake, past the cemetery and onto the field behind. Saint twined through his legs, purr rumbling against the side of his leg as the tomcat tried to get his attention.

GASTON:

Gaston was up uncharacteristically early. Or late. Depending on how you look at it. There had been a handful of patrons desperate to keep the night alive and - though his license to sell technically ended at 1am - he'd let them stay. He wasn't the type to turn away good business and he'd learned ways to get around those kinds of things, should the police come calling.

By the time he'd finished wiping the bar and turning the chairs, the sun was already rising, crisp and fresh through the eastern windows.

He'd crossed the path to the church, using the spare key to slide in through the back in hopes of finally retrieving his confiscated bottle of vodka while the priest was asleep. Only, he realized as he made his way up to the living quarters, that the priest wasn't asleep at all.

Gaston lingered by the door to the kitchen a moment, just to listen to the dulcet tones of the other man's voice and watch the gentle whir of his fingers against the spoon. He hadn't realized he could sing at all. Let alone in a way that hummed off the floorboards and danced with the dust and made the room feel whole. His mother had liked to sing in the mornings, though her voice had been a lot softer and a lot less trained. And for a second, as the golden light poured across the table, it almost felt like home.

When the tune met a break, he stepped into the room, coaxing Spider the cat towards him with the tips of his fingers and letting out a soft laugh. "Alright, Susan Boyle. No need to show off."

CLAUDE: 

The priest continued his singing, the sound carrying throughout the empty space around him, not realizing he was being watched. There was a certain peace in the moment, here, that was rare for him to obtain. It was something he very rarely felt comfortable doing if it was not given a reason or, rather, if he did not feel up to it. 

And, then, the floorboard creaked behind him. 

Claude's voice cut off abruptly and he looked up, startled, as he took in the form of the man standing across from him in the kitchen. His heart leaped into his throat and, for a moment, all he could do was stare. He looked away after a moment, chewing at his lip as he tried to calm his nerves. He hadn't even heard the man come in. Saint, for all the good he had done him, pranced over to the other man with his tail curled, happy to see him. 

"My mother used to sing," he said quietly, levering himself up onto the counter. He plucked a mug from the shelving next to him and held it out towards him as he stared out the window. "It is one of the few things I remember of her." 

GASTON:

His fingernails worked behind the cat’s ears, feeling his soft and albeit scruffy head press fondly into the palm of his hand. Gaston had always loved cats. They were comforting little creatures that desperately need all the attention and were simultaneously excellent at independence. He felt a solidarity with them, likely for that reason, that he didn’t get with dogs. Most of all with, of course, his Zoom Zoom. But after Zoom (singular: the original Zoom), Spider was a close third.

He glanced up as the priest began to talk, raising from his knees and moving over to take the cup. He hadn’t known the priest had parents. Well, he had, in that everyone had had parents at some point in their life. If only for the conception. But he hadn’t known Father Frollo had known them long enough to remember them. “So did mine,” he mused as he dropped a teabag into the mug. “Maybe it’s a mum thing. Definitely makes waking up a bit less shit.”

Gaston, by contrast, wouldn’t dare sing, lest someone heard him. Mostly, because he wasn’t very good at it, or at least had never tried hard enough to find out. The closest thing he did to singing was getting drunk and shouting along to songs.

He lifted the kettle and filled his cup, before leaving it to brew a moment. “What was her name?” He asked as he leaned back against the countertop.

CLAUDE: 

The priest watched for a moment as the tomcat arched his back and pressed forward into Gaston's hand, craving the attention the other man sought to give him. It was amusing, really, watching such a large person interacting with such a small animal and feeling a fondness for it that he might not show otherwise. Of course, Claude knew that was a lie, that Gaston was fond of many things, but he would not tell a soul. 

Turning back to the window, the Frenchman hummed quietly to himself until Gaston came to join him, the last few notes echoing off the ceiling and the stained glass. The humming paused when Gaston spoke, and Claude turned a curious eye to him, the edges of his eyes crinkling as he offered up a small smile. "It probably is, though I do not think all mothers sound the same." But he did agree, from what he remembered of her it made everything...better. Both of his parents had. 

"Amélie," he whispered, voice soft "her name was Amélie." It was one of the few things he knew to be true, just like the likeness of her that stained his arm. Well, the parts of it that were intact. "There is a picture of her and my father in my room. You may get it, if you like. It is on the bedside table. But...it is what I used for the angel." He tapped a forefinger against his shoulder, huffed a laugh. 

GASTON:

Gaston nodded. That was true enough. His mother had sounded soft and gentle and ever so young. Probably because she was. If she'd been alive today she would have been -- oh Christ, he'd forgotten her birthday… forty nine? Nearly fifty? 

It was one of his biggest regrets, that he'd never listened to her as much as he could have done. Or his father for that matter. He'd spent so much time trying to be cool and wishing they weren't there, to tell him what to do or clip him round the earhole when he came home from a party late, that he sometimes wondered if it was him that had wished them out of existence.

His eyes trailed to the scarred angel and he nodded. French names were always so pretty compared to their British counterparts. His own mother's, which had strangers often pronounced in English, took a certain softness in their native tongue. 

Quickly fishing the teabag from its cup and dropping it in the bin on the way past, he dipped into the next room and brought the frame back with him, passing it to the priest. "You look like her," he hummed.

CLAUDE: 

Claude could feel Gaston's eyes trailing over him but, for once, it was a time where he did not mind. He'd been the one to point out the angel, after all, and truthfully he did not mind if Gaston looked. He was comfortable with him, perhaps almost solely with him, and he had ceased to try to figure out why. Gaston was a good person, even beneath all of his bluster and bravado, and it endeared him to the man. 

He listened as Gaston tossed the tea bag in the bin and his footsteps disappeared into the room over, came back a moment later. Turning, the priest saw the exact picture he'd spoken of. It was an old one but one of the few he had been allowed to keep. There had not been many pictures taken of he and his family, or so he had been told, and it was one of his most precious memories. 

Glancing up, Claude quirked a smile at the other man and murmured a quiet thank you. He supposed he did look like her, more so than he ever would his father, but there were traits of Marc Olivier there, as well. Taping the man over the glass, the priest took a drink of his tea before speaking. 

"We lived in the Vercors region. My father was a vintner, a farmer. We had land. I do not think...I do not know what my mother did but-" a pause, a slight smile, "I suppose she helped him. I suppose, if things had been different, I would have, as well. I remember we had a dog. A scruffy little thing, though I do not know what happened to him." 

The thought, in a way, made him sad. He knew what had become of his parents, what had happened to him, but the dog that had been his childhood friend? He had no idea. 

GASTON:

Gaston nodded, gazing between the faces in the picture, the clothes. It was very much of the time. Truth be told he couldn't imagine Claude as a farmer. Though he knew full well that it was an occupation that trickled through generations like water in the sand. If his parents hadn't moved to England, it was likely what he'd be doing now himself. His grandfather was certainly hoping for it. Even if these days you had to spend three years at University thinking about it.

That was part of the reason papi had always been a bit of an arse about his father. Anne-Sophie was an only child and Gaston was certain his grandfather had expected her to take on the farm. 

While Christian's family had been farmers too, his mother was also the mayor of the small town and wanted her son to go on to better things. When she'd seen he'd had a passion for brewing, she'd encouraged him to explore it as far away from the small world of rural France as possible. And papi, of course, had decided that it meant the LaCarrieres looked down on him and his existence.

Saint hopped onto the counter and curled between them, purring quietly. "You sure he didn't get reincarnated as a cat?" He teased. It seemed the priest had a fondness for scruffy beasts.

CLAUDE: 

The quietness washed over them and Claude let it be, content, for the moment, to sit in it. There was nothing stilted about this kind of conversation, not with the other man. He had found, and rightfully so, that they did not always need words to feel like it was a conversation. The priest could see the gears turning in the other man's head as plainly as if he were speaking aloud, but he would not push him to voice whatever it was he was thinking on. 

Still, when Saint hopped up onto the counter, delicate paws clicking against the tiles and a scratchy meow bellowing at him, Claude had to smile. Unfurling one hand from around his cup, the priest scratched behind the tomcat's ears, earning much louder purring for his troubles. He chuckled quietly at what Gaston said, eyes crinkling as he glanced over to him. 

"Mmm perhaps. It is hard to say. Saint is certainly scruffy enough, isn't he?" He wondered what had happened with Gaston's own parents, though he knew from the silence of it that it had been something much like his own case. "The last time I saw him was just before I was taken to the church by a..mmm concerned neighbor. I am sure he lived with one of them." Or, at least, that was his hope. He would not have known, truthfully, whether or not that was the case. 

GASTON:

"Maybe. Or maybe he went to a pets trust. Got taken in by a loving family and died of happily of old age." Gaston nudged the priest in the ribs and smirked. "Look, you've got me putting sparkles in the shit now."

Though he knew for sure there could be a reality in that. His parents had got the first Zoom from a shelter when he was still only toddling. They never knew the extent of her background, just that she'd been taken from her mother very early and was a little strange. Gaston had always been convinced that she thought she was just as human as the rest of them. She'd felt a little like she was. And he'd loved her for it.

He took a lingering sip of his tea, warming his hands on the cup. Considering the time, he was feeling surprisingly awake. No doubt the tiredness would catch up with him eventually. But for now, their little chat was keeping him occupied. "Did he have a name?"

CLAUDE: 

The priest nodded, considering the question as he took another swallow of his drink. "I am sure, though if he did I do not remember it. I was...six or seven I think. It has been three decades since they passed. It is easy to forget such things." Still, he smiled at the ribbing, the smirk on Gaston's face. It was something easy to hold onto, simple where things in his life had not been. 

Gaston LaCarriere was many things, Claude supposed, but complicated was not one of them. Not to him, anyway. 

The priest found himself still staring after a moment, noticing the dark circles under Gaston's eyes and the way his shoulders seemed to slump. Even with the smile on his face, he still looked tired. "You have not slept yet, have you," he murmured, voice dropping with concern. Watching his face for a moment, the Frenchman sighed and then shook his head, unfolding himself from where he was sitting and hopping off the counter beside the other man. "Finish your drink and then go use my room or the spare. I do not care which. But you should rest." 

GASTON:

The barman shrugged and tilted his head, blowing on his tea as he raised the mug to his lips. He wasn't sure he'd ever forget a name like that. But then, he'd forgotten his mother's birthday and really, that was almost the same thing. After all, he hadn't even had trauma to contend with. Just nine years of distance and twenty of disinterest before that.

His gaze raised at the comment and he shook his head. He was tired, true enough. But he was very much of the opinion that as long as he didn't think about it, it wouldn't hit him half as hard. And it had been working. Almost. Though at even the mention of a bed, he could feel his eyelids growing heavy. 

"Nah, it's not like my house isn't a two second walk away and-" He stifled a yawn and took a quick sip of his drink in an attempt to revitalise himself. "If I go to sleep now, I'll forget what I came here for. Unfortunately, it wasn't a solo rendition of Les Miserables."

CLAUDE: 

Claude felt the corner of his mouth curling upward at the stifled yawn. It was almost like talking with a stubborn child, except Gaston was a grown man and should have known how to regulate his own sleeping habits. And, yet, here he stood, settled into the corner of Claude's kitchen with a mug of tea and fighting valiantly against the pull of sleep trying to claim him. The priest folded his arms across his chest and leaned a hip against the counter, quirking a brow at his friend. 

"Mmmhmm. And I suppose you have a better reason to loaf around my kitchen than you do using a room?" Shaking his head, he allowed the small smile on his face to grow, eye contact breaking when Saint mewled at them again. The tomcat rubbed up against Gaston's side for a second before padding towards the priest across the countertop. Normally, Claude would have chided him for walking all over the place and set him on the floor, but the early morning light and the precious rest he'd gotten was enough to curb his tongue. 

He looked back to the other man after a moment, shooting him a skeptical look. "If you had wanted to go back to the bar you would have. You are not missing much if you sleep, you know. Just some poorly done singing." He paused, cocking his head to the side for a moment before humming to himself. "Which will continue if you actually go to sleep. I have to run through the rest of the play anyhow." 

GASTON:

Gaston rubbed the cat with his elbow and glanced at the priest with drowsy eyes. Though, by this point, he was fuelled by determination alone, he really wished Claude would stop talking to him about things like sleep and bed, because the thought itself was beginning to work its way into his mind. Give it a couple of minutes and he'd be asleep standing up, if the tea didn't kick in quick enough.

"You trying to say I'm here to bask in the joy of your company?" He asked, eyebrow raised, as a faint smirk tickled the corner of his lips. "I'm here to claim back my booze. Thank you very much. It's been in your custody for long enough. I'm taking it out on bail." After a final, quick blow, he took a burning sip of his tea and glanced at the cupboard that looked like the most likely suspect.

CLAUDE: 

Cocking his head to the side, the priest felt the corner of his lip pulling up at the stubborn set to Gaston's forehead. Even in his tiredness, the other man was trying so desperately to stay awake. "I was saying that, yes, but if you are so unappreciative you know where the door is, nounours." 

Turning his back on the other man, Claude checked the clock with a sigh, fishing around in the cupboards for a bowl and whisk. Carrying both in his arms, the man deposited them on the kitchenette's island before gesturing to the other man. "That hasn't seen the light of day since it was taken. If you're going to stay pass me some flour and eggs would you?" 

He was making breakfast. If Gaston was staying, he could help or he could go sleep. 

GASTON:

The barman fought the urge to pull a face at the priest. He did know exactly where the door was, yes. But he didn't want to leave quite yet. Not without the drink he came here for and, now, not without the breakfast he'd just invited himself to.

Breaking his gaze from the suspect cupboard, he grabbed the ingredients and slid them across the counter top towards the awaiting bowl, before settling back into his original position. "Probably hasn't. But I plan on showing it the beauty of sunlight. It deserves that kind of happiness in its short life," he said, rocking his palms against the corner of the granite. "And let's be fair, you can't just rob a man of his hard earned drink."

He stifled another yawn, popping himself back upright, and moved with his cup of tea towards the living space. "If you're making breakfast, I'm gonna go sit down."

CLAUDE: 

"Mm does it? I don't think so. At any rate, you won't be finding it in here." He spoke as he worked, deftly cracking eggs and whisking the contents of flour, milk, and egg together to form batter. It was a simple task, easily done with half an eye on the contents. "Pancakes or waffles?" He called after the retreating footsteps, already planning on one or the other. 

"Oh but I have. You left it here. It is now mine. You can earn it back with good behavior." The lilt to his voice was amused, a small smile catching at his mouth while he said it. It was easy, companionable, even if the conversation was a tad off-color. He found that was how these things usually went with Gaston and he had almost come to expect them. 

Turning back towards the other, Claude leaned against the counter with a raised brow, waiting for him to respond while the pan warmed. 

GASTON:

The barman lolled his head back against the cushions of the couch, closing his eyes and blindly coaxing the cat over with pinched fingers. There was something soothing about the company of a cat that he just couldn't resist. It was probably why he spent more time than was strictly necessary tricking his own cat into spending time with him. "Pancakes. Whatever. I'm easy," he said before furrowing his brows as Claude's words finally settled in his tired brain.

"But wait one fucking second there," he started, raising his head and looking to the man with an eye cracked. "I'm fucking living and breathing good behavior right now. Pretty sure I've got enough good behavior backdated to get me my drink back and a whole crate of beer in interest."

CLAUDE: 

Satisfied with that form of a half-answer, the priest could not help but chortle quietly to himself. "I am not the one who said it." Turning back to the pan, the Frenchman nodded to himself as he ladled dollops of batter onto the heat. "But pancakes it is." He let the silence drift again, filled by the sound of Claude's own quiet humming and the popping of batter against the heat of the pan. 

When Gaston broke it a few moments later, the priest could not help but laugh once more. He gestured with the spatula in his hand, shrugging a shoulder as he turned at the waist to quirk an eyebrow at him. "Backdate it longer. At any rate, the liquor is not here. Not where you can find it anyway." 

GASTON:

Gaston raised an eyebrow and let a laugh out from his nose. Sometimes he wondered if the priest was always as daring, as cheeky, as he was in Gaston's presence. If the old ladies got the teasing and the innuendoes, or at very least, the friends he spent the rest of his time with when he wasn't at his bar, giving him judging glances and flirting with his cat - if he had any, besides the girl he'd seen him dancing with at prom.

His hand broke from the cat for a moment to stifle a yawn, and he nuzzled into the cushion beneath him. "I'll backdate it right up your arse."

CLAUDE: 

"I'm sure you would but buy me dinner first," the priest deadpanned, flipping one of the last pancakes before pressing it into the heat of the frying pan. When the last one was finished, Claude reached over and flicked the heat off. Beside him was a pile of pancakes, complete with butter and syrup beside them. 

"Come get food before you fall asleep, Gaston," he called over his shoulder, padding across the kitchen to wash the spatula in the sink. 

GASTON:

Through the haze of sleep, Gaston smirked a little. The ambient noise of Claude cooking had laid the perfect foundation for his tiredness to consume him. Though not quite so much that he missed the little joke. God, he was never living that down.

His head slipped down slightly into the cushions of the chair. He'd thought he'd heard Claude speak again, but somehow the words didn't take root and instead he drifted into the warm clutches of sleep.

[starsisbig]

Part 3~ @histrionicdaisy im on a roll

Lee isn’t sure why he decides to go back again and again. Maybe he needs to know it’s real– that he didn’t dream up a scary flirt and a ghost from his past. He doesn’t tell his dad how ridiculous it is or how useless it seems. No, Lee takes the next check and hops on his bike.

He hopes this is the part of him that wants to get better taking over.

Lee had woken up early. Immediately uneasy from a forgotten dream, he’d slugged through his morning ritual with persistence and resistance smacking at each other. Every room felt unfamiliar, and for a halting moment, he couldn’t remember which toothbrush was his.

The first breath of outside air felt like a parachute. He was no longer uncontrollably hurtling toward– something. Relief was so loud. Loud enough that he didn’t hear the broken latch crack against metal.

Lee is taking the longer, safer, back-road through the trees. Riding in the narrow strip of gravel along the highway is far less peaceful; tractor-trailers and pick-ups roar by with their coughing diesel engines, hardly taking care to avoid bicyclists. The wind off their tires and exhaust burn the inside of Lee’s nose.

Here, it smells like pine and blooming pollen. The breeze carries gently over to his back. Cars are sparse, so he can look up to notice the sky and enjoy how it looks against the white of birch bark. This route is longer, too. Something like contentment finds him three-quarters of the way there.

When he arrives, two people are visible through the front window. One has a dark, beanied head, the other has voluminous curls of black hair. The two least likely to talk to him.

Despite this, anxiety starts to boil deep in his chest. He’s going to have to sit in that tiny waiting room with them and their “not-talking.” They’ll be looking at him. They’ll wonder what a guy like him is still doing at group therapy. They’ll look at him and think about how pitiful he must be to land here from where he was.

Lee takes his time unwinding the bike lock. He plays with the idea that he can’t remember the combination. Then, of course, the rubber-like material on the coil is absolutely confounding. It’s not his fault if he takes an extra minute to examine its properties.

A car skids into the parking space behind him, forcing him out of his mind. With a hand over his pounding heart, he reflexively turns around.

Theo barely shifts the car into park before he’s swinging out of his dingy-gray Honda Civic. His eyes are harpooned through Lee’s neck.

Fucking hell.

Lee puts additional focus into the chain-link fence, fantasizing about the glorious safety of the waiting room. Russ and Daphne’s gazes would be kinder. He imagines ripping his heart out and chucking it across the lot, Go fetch!, and breaking for the building.

Theo doesn’t speak. He walks over slowly, occasionally dragging his rubber-soled shoes over the pavement.

When the noise stops, Lee manages to look up.

Heat floods the two-foot gap between them.

His face is completely blank. He doesn’t know what Theo wants from this. Lee should probably say something. Ask him. Make it friendly. Impossibly black eyes give nothing away. Freckles across his nose and cheeks don’t spell any clues, and his lips are cracking, in desperate need of Chapstick.

Freckles?

Why is he so scared of this little bespeckled kid, again?

He’s about to release his bated breath when Theo sniffs, making Lee and his traitorous cheek flinch in surprise.

Theo nods and starts over to the door. Okay.

There’s something off about that guy.

In an unspoken agreement, everyone sits in the same spots as last time. Dora slouches languidly in the largest armchair, Cassie twirls on a padded office chair, and Theo hops to his perch on the arm of a yellow loveseat, strangling the life out of a decorative pillow.

Dr. Usa opens “How is everyone today? Anything big happen since we last saw each other?”

Cassie immediately raises her hand.

“Cassie! Great. With a small group like this, you can feel free to just shout it out.”

“Yes, ma’am!” she enthused with a dinky salute. “Well, I put pictures of some of my paintings online– watermarked, of course– and someone bought one! I don’t know them, but they’re going to send the money through PayPal. They gave me their address. I’m sending the painting– it’s a view of the sky from my backyard– to them in the mail!”

Lee feels a smile force itself onto his face, cracking the plaster of an incomplete mask.

“That must feel very rewarding.”

“Oh, yes!”

His hours of sleep feel infinitely far away. What has he got to be proud of. Anymore. Lee remembers newspaper clippings on the fridge, surprise parties from his team and his family, his little brother swearing up and down Lee was the best football player in the world, and how Neal was going to be a quarterback just like him. God, did he take that harmony for granted. Now, his father and Neal just look at him. That’s all they manage to do when he’s around.

“Lee?”

“Yes?” He blinks a couple times, meeting Dr. Usa’s gaze. “Sorry. I was...” he trails off.

“Someone didn’t have their listening ears on.”

He sighs and looks at Dora. Eyes tired, he says “That’s why I apologized.”

Something flashed in her eyes, face assuming a rather odd expression. Surprise, maybe? Embarrassment... seems unlikely.

“It’s quite alright, Lee. I just asked how your day off went.”

Air puffs through his lips. “It was fine. My little brother had a soccer tournament, so he and my dad were out all day.”

“You didn’t want to go with them?”

“Nah. I liked having time by myself.” He starts fiddling with his sleeves. Alone is safer. Fewer awkward conversations that no one wants to have.

“I feel that.” Theo agrees in an exhale, thumb and middle finger pressing over his eyelids.

With the focus momentarily elsewhere, Lee takes the opportunity to sink into his chair. The heat of the spotlight recedes. Theo is talking. From what Lee’s seen, it’s obvious he takes to attention like a plant to the sun.

“We had extended family from all over tarnation at the house yesterday. It was ridiculous! They wouldn’t understand my right to privacy if it bit them in the–”

“Theo.”

“Sorry, but they wouldn’t! They act like lowering their voices protects the sanctity of the quote, unquote ‘secret’ when they’re telling it to everyone!”

“Why don’t you like your family discussing this?”

“‘Cuz it’s me they’re discussing!”

“Please keep your voice down.”

“Sorry.” Theo says it quick, like an afterthought. “They aren’t acting concerned. They’re tossing around what’s ‘wrong’ with me like hot gossip. Like– finally something interesting is happening in the family.” The last part is drawled with a dramatic touch of the fingertips to the sternum, but his voice is too sharp to be simply joking.

“Every family, and every person in it has a different way of expressing their emotions toward a situation. It’s possible this is their way of showing that they see what’s going on, and just don’t know how to help.” Dr. Usa’s voice is melodious and quiet. It’s a very distinct contrast to Theo’s frustration.

“Well. I wish they’d cut it out.”

Lee notices the subtle tremors in Theos hands as they cover his face. Something’s coming loose. He has a feeling that when Theo falls apart he doesn’t crumble. No, those are bolts rattling, threatening to blow outward with the shriek of scalding steam.

“My family acts like nothing happened at all.”

When silence strikes the room, nerves punch him right in the gut. Shit. That’s where his plan ended. All eyes have moved back to him. He successfully got the attention away from Theo– go him– but he, being an eternal idiot, failed to realize that now he’d have to hold it.

Thankfully, Dr. Usa says “It’s likely a very painful topic, seeing someone they care about hurt.”

He laughs. Immediately he covers his mouth, feeling like he’d just smacked himself across the cheek. Wiping the knee-jerk reaction from his face, Lee swallows.

“Yeah.”

Before Dr. Usa has a chance to follow up, Cassie bursts in.

“If they don’t care, they don’t matter!”

Her nose is scrunched up, pinched by the angry purse of her lips. A newly pale-painted, manicured finger points at the ceiling, as if that’s where the injustice is hiding.

Cassie always seems to have a motivational quote up her sleeve. This is not the first time one had been directed at him. And though the words themselves aren’t helpful, the earnest way she delivers them always heals a small part of the ache.

“Thanks, Cassie. They matter. They’ve just moved on. They have other things to worry about.” The half-lie tastes weak as it leaves his mouth. He knows his family is embarrassed by his mistakes; they can’t bear to revisit the shame.

He sees movement in the corner of his eye, where movement is usually not. Russ is signing something.

“Family is not always right.”

Instead of going home right after, Lee decides to sit cross-legged on the pavement next to his bike. He has Twitter open on his phone, but he’s not really reading anything.

It’s nearly 10:45. His brother is probably up. Neal’ll probably hang around the house for a bit, texting a couple of his bajillion friends to meet up. Then, he’ll borrow dad’s car and pick them up on the way downtown, uptown, or a McDonalds in either direction.

Dad is probably working on the shed. The roof caved last winter, and he needs a dry place to store the tractor. Since his brother is taking the car, he’ll have no choice but to stay home.

A kick to his left shoe startles him back to the real world. He sees ragged black jeans.

Theo looks at him, avoiding his eyes.

“Thanks.”

Thanks? Not sure what he’s referencing, he responds “Uh, yeah. No problem.”

“Sorry. You know, about earlier. You’re confusing.”

Not as confusing as this conversation. Lee just looks at Theo, hoping for some elaboration.

“Okay.”

Theo turns and skips back to his car. He opens the drivers-side door and points to Lee over the roof.

“You’re a real one, Lee Pugnator,” he shouts. “If Nicki Minaj lyrics were enough I’d be serenading you right now, you gorgeous son-of-a-bitch.”

Lee laughs helplessly.

That kid is absolutely inscrutable.

[shamelessly4shameless-blog]

130lb of Ukrainian Courage (pt 5)

Ian nags, he cajoles and he even tries outright emotional manipulation. Mickey won’t budge. It is like they have gone back in time. The more Ian pushes, the more withdrawn and irritable Mickey becomes and the more difficult he gets, the more Ian wants to convince him.

The final straw comes when Ian brings it up during sex. Mickey is out the bed and furiously tugging on his pants before Ian has even finished his sentence.

“...what the fuck? You’re done already?”

“No.”

Mickey snaps,

“No, I’m not done and I didn’t even get a chance to fuckin’ start before you started running your damn mouth again.”

“Hey!”

Ian frowns and Mickey waves a semi-apologetic hand in his direction

“Sorry, but you won’t fuckin’ stop, Ian! It’s getting a little old.”

“I’ll stop when you listen!”

Realising Mickey has no intention of getting back into bed, Ian tugs his shirt back on and stands up

“No, you won’t because I have fuckin’ listened and you still keep going on.”

“But you don’t ac…”

“Tell me I don’t actually get it one more time and I swear to God, Ian...”

Mickey shakes his head irritably, trailing off before he says something that turns this into a full blown argument. He is pissed off, his balls ache and he needs to get away from Ian before things escalate, again.

“OK, OK I’m sorry. Will you … hey! Wait, Mick.”

Mickey leaves his hand on the doorknob but turns to face Ian who is now wrestling into his jeans preparing to follow him.

“What? What do you wanna talk about? I came up here to relax and get blown, not get bitched at.”

“Oh, nice. Thank you.”

Ian quips and Mickey rolls his eyes

“Yeah well I don’t feel like being a fuckin’ gentleman at the moment.”

“Clearly.”

Ian finally gets his foot through the narrow leg hole and draws himself up to his full height.

“I’m sorry that I’m annoying you but this thing is happening tomorrow and you still haven’t called it off.”

“And I’m not going to either. I told you why it’s happening and I told you it’s a one off fucking thing. Let it go.”

“Can’t you just ...”

“Jesus, fucking Christ.”

Mickey presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, his pulse is pounding in his temples and his temper is fraying horribly.

“NO! Whatever you are about to fuckin’ ask, the answer is a resounding fuckin’ NO!”

“Well I’ll just go fuck myself then shall I?”

Ian crosses his arms defensively over his chest and Mickey throws his arms out in a wild ‘what the fuck do you want’ expression of utter frustration

“Sure, you do that. Then at least one of us will get laid!”

He gives Ian one final blue-eyed glare and turns on his heel, storming out of the house.

*

Svetlana glances up from the bar and sighs. Her ex looks like someone has just pissed in his cereal and is heading straight toward her.

“What do you want?”

She asks as he kicks a bar stool out of the way and places tattooed hands flat on the counter top.

“I want to know why the fuck Terry is meeting our kid. Not this bullshit about family, I want to know what’s in it for you?”

He is looking at her with a knowing expression that Svetlana would rather like to slap from his face but she can’t fault him either because when it comes down to it, they do know each other very well.

“It is too late to change your mind.”

“I’m not changing my mind but Ian won’t shut the fuck up about it, so I at least want to know why the fuck my life has just got a whole lot more miserable.”

“Money for college.”

Mickey cocks his head to the side and compresses his lips, clearly wanting more.

Svetlana hesitates and then shrugs. What the Hell? Why not be honest?

“I disappointed him. I was meant to keep you happy, keep you straight. Do wifely duties to prevent your faggot urges. He thinks I let him down.”

Mickey draws his lower lip inwards and sets his teeth in it firmly. That is a fucking concern. If Terry is pissed at Svetlana it changes things a bit.

“So you’re on his shit list and using the kid as a bargaining chip?”

“No, I am on his shit list but I would never use Yevgeny. There is no harm in your father meeting his grandson and if it makes for happier relations – good.”

Mickey snorts and shakes his head in disbelief

“You really think it’s as easy as that with him?”

“It is with you. I gave you Carrot and you like me now.”

Svetlana smirks and Mickey runs his tongue over his teeth making a noise that suggests she should not be so sure.

“I’m not my dad, Svet. You should remember that. For your sake.”

“No, he is 200lbs of Ukrainian pussy. You weigh less.”

Mickey grins despite himself and raises his middle finger contemptuously.

“I’m coming tomorrow by the way.”

If Svetlana is surprised she covers it well and lifts one shoulder nonchalantly

“You think this is a good idea?”

“No. But Ian doesn’t want you and Yev going alone and I don’t either. I’ll pick you both up at ten.”

“Sometimes I can almost believe you truly care for us.”

She smiles icily and Mickey tongues at the inside of his cheek, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise

“I like the kid. You’re just 140 pounds of Russian bitch I’m stuck knowing for eighteen years.”

His tone is flat and dry and Svetlana’s face freezes before she lunges across the counter grabbing his shirt front

“I weigh ninety pounds at most!”

Mickey had been deliberately winding her up, being dicks to each other is pretty much ninety percent of their dynamic, but he’s never had such a spectacular result from doing so before and the shit-eating grin he gives her makes Svetlana instantly regret showing how bothered she is..

“Well shit. Looks like I found out how to melt the ice queen.”

His laugh is warm and genuine and Svetlana joins him a moment later, letting go and covering her face with her hands in embarrassment.

“Fuck off. I will see you tomorrow, asshole.”

“Later, fatty!”

Mickey grins, waving his middle finger in the air as he leaves.

*

Mickey gets home to find Ian in the middle of a passive aggressive cleaning frenzy. He sighs and leans against the counter waiting for him to notice that he is back. The Veronica’s are pounding out of the stereo, bemoaning their own shitty love lives or something and Mickey decides to have a beer whilst he waits. He can hear Ian stomping around upstairs, if he has cleaned the bathroom it will save Mickey a job later as it is definitely his turn.

By the time Ian skips downstairs, Mickey is on his second beer and feeling a little better about everything. Ian freezes when he sees him and then carries on as if Mickey isn’t there at all.

“Did you clean the bathroom? Cause you know, it was my turn to do that.”

Ian hesitates and then nods curtly. He had forgotten it was Mickey’s turn, not that it really matters anyway. Mickey is meticulous when he cleans but one room takes half the damn day before it is up to his standards.

He had intended to ignore his boyfriend for a bit but as Mickey is talking to him, it feels petty not to reciprocate.

“Where have you been?”

“Well I’ve been here for nearly half an hour but before that, I was at the Alibi.”

“Oh.”

Ian turns the music down and tosses the bucker of dirty water into the yard before coming back to stand in front of Mickey.

“So? What happened?”

“I asked Svet why the fuck I’m ruining my home life for this.”

Ian blushes but doesn’t say anything

“Turns out, Terry is pissed at her because she couldn’t keep me straight and she’s trying to make it up to him.”

“That’s crazy!”

Ian forgets what is left of his sulk and grabs the beer Mickey holds out to him.

“Yeah, it is. But that’s my Dad. Makes people do crazy shit.”

“Right, so what’s the plan?”

Ian sips his drink as Mickey shrugs and lights a cigarette

“Same plan but now I’m takin’ a gun.”

“What? Why?”

Ian’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline and he gawks at Mickey incredulously. Mickey is ridiculously calm by contrast and smiles blithely at him.

“I’m taking precautions to ensure a clear resolution to any problem.”

Ian ignores the fact that Mickey has clearly been reading his EMT manuals on handling difficult situations, though he stores the knowledge away to enjoy later, and focuses on the main issue

“So you think shit is going to go down?”

“No, but Terry might try and take Yev to teach Svetlana a lesson. He did that with some chick my uncle knocked up years ago. Took the kid to shake her up, keep her acting right. He’d bring Yev back in a day or two but why go through the hassle? Better just to nip that shit in the bud.���

Mickey leaves Ian digesting that new grim insight into the mind of his sort-of father in law and pushes away from the counter, heading toward his ‘junk’ drawer. Most houses have one and most contain random wires, old keys and letters that are too important to throw away but not important enough to bother filing.

Mickey’s contains all those things, plus an assortment of weapons and he keeps it locked purely because it is the only way Ian let him have it.

“Mick, wait … you can’t be serious about this?”

“You want me to show up with nothing but my dick in my hand?”

“No! I don’t want you to go at all! Any of you!”

Mickey smiles and pats Ian’s cheek gently

“I know, but things have changed a bit and I gotta handle it now.”

“What things?”

“The mother of our child is scared, Ian. I handle shit like that. That is my job.”

Mickey mumbles absently as he pulls out a box of bullets and three hand-guns, testing the grip on each before selecting his favourite.

“This … no. This is too much.”

“I agree. But what can I do? I’m sure it will be fine but better safe than fuckin’ sorry, right? He does something shitty, I’ll clip him in the leg.”

“Just kill him.”

The silence that greets his words envelopes Ian and he realises that those words have been bottled up in his throat for days, others have squeezed past them but it is those three words which he has wanted so desperately to say.

Mickey is looking at him but his expression is unreadable.

“He’s my fuckin’ father, Ian.”

Ian nods and makes a decision. It’s now or never because he won’t have the courage to push this conversation again.

“I know. But he’s dangerous and he’s unpredictable and we will never be safe with him alive.”

“I’l keep us safe.”

Mickey’s voice sounds like it is coming from that weird echo chamber again and he focusses all of his attention on the hand-gun in his palm.

“You can’t Mick. Not with him around. I could do it.”

Mickey snorts and shakes his head.

“Oh, yeah. Sure. You’re just gonna kill a guy, huh? You ever done that before?”

“No but I could.”

“Don’t be fuckin’ stupid. It’s not just about pulling the trigger, Ian. It’s all the shit that comes afterwards. You already take a fuckin’ cocktail of pills to function with a clean conscience, you really wanna add murder to the list of things that fuck up your head?”

Mickey is angry and his tone is sharper than it would usually be but Ian holds his ground and lifts his chin defiantly.

“You’re not the only one who wants to protect this family, Mickey!”

Mickey’s hands are trembling with anger as he sweeps the other guns and the spare bullets back into the drawer and slams it shut. The whole situation is getting more and more fucked up. A few days ago Mickey was asking about their anniversary and planning to ask Ian to marry him. Now, he’s loading a fucking handgun and Ian is offering to commit murder! Fucking Terry! Mickey clicks the lock in place hard enough to rattle the whole unit and takes a deep breath through his nose.

“You have no fucking clue what it takes to kill someone and I am not gonna waste my fuckin’ time debating it with you.”

“How many times have you done it?”

“In cold blood, like you’re talking about? I fuckin’ haven’t! I don’t need that shit on me, Ian.”

Mickey shudders and looks up at Ian and his boyfriend can see the play of emotions running through him. Ian tenses himself ready for a blow but when Mickey’s hand comes up, it is to gently tuck a length of hair behind Ian’s ear.

“I appreciate how much you want to help but I’ll handle it. Don’t worry.”

“But ...”

“Nah, man. I don’t wanna hear it. You ain’t doin’ time over a piece of shit like my dad. Forget it.”

Ian huffs out an impatient breath and looks down at the floor. He knows Mickey is probably right but he genuinely doesn’t think he would mind putting a damn bullet through Terry Milkovich’s head.

“I want you to stay in tomorrow morning, okay? I know you’re gonna hate it, but I just want to know you’re safe so I can focus on Yevgeny.”

Mickey plays his trump card and Ian scowls but nods his agreement without argument. Mickey hasn’t done this sort of job in years but it is as familiar as his old parka.

He has a plan.

He has a gun.

He has the obedience of his crew – grudging as it is.

No one is hurting his kid and no one is hurting his boyfriend.

As far as Mickey is concerned he has this covered.

[narwhalhowell-blog]

skam spin-off

to keep with the theme of positiveness for this blog, i wanted to talk a lil about the US version of skam ! admittedly hopes for the show aren’t the greatest, but rn there’s heaps of love in the tags for some really promising outcomes for the series and where it could be set. and it got me thinking, what if in some alternate universe we could have an english spin-off of skam that wasn’t set in america ?? i, as an australian, think skam would translate perfectly into a quaint little show set in australia, and below i wanna list why !

Most of what I’m going to say below is applicable to southern Australia (Melbourne and surrounds) so if you’re a fellow aussie and this doesn’t make sense, this is the geographical context !

also this is kinda long (....2440 words....) bc i got super passionate about this so if you wanna chuck me a like (even if you didn’t read it) it will make me feel better for wasting the past hour of my life AHAHAH

Australia is an incredibly diverse country, both in the people that live there and the terrain. Where I live, you could drive for thirty minutes in any direction and could find yourself in a) a bustling city b) a small suburbia c) rural areas/farms d) dense bushlands, and e) a beach. i’m not being dramatic either, i could legit do this right now. 

but i think the allure of skam and love of it is not because of the characters and the appeal of a new culture (although character reliability helps, especially with the personalised touch with real-time clips and texts) but the authenticity of the experiences in the show transcend geographic barriers, and although australia has so many customs that may not translate well (but may in some places in the uk or in nz), we would still get the same feelings behind it if the show was treated well. below i have a small template about what the show would be like if it was set in australia, following the themes our beloved characters have left behind in the original series. 

also keep in mind this is an abstract reimagining of the themes, the events i’m hypothetically discussing (and secretly wishing someone would hire me to write lmao) are about a show like skam, not an actual remake. this is basically an Australian!OC au of skam.

season one; eva (and noora) equivalent

for this to make sense, if set in australia, it would probably set in a small suburb near melbourne. the main character would have moved from a small town (probably rural) and settled into a new high school. i want a storyline about a girl dealing with the societal expectations behind vanity, appearance, and how we present ourselves. i want a character that’s not a size 0, and a story following her. especially in australia, with a massively sports dominated culture (seriously, it’s all we care about), and her love of sport often being disregarded because of her weight and the fact that she’s a woman. fun fact, AFL (an australian sport that’s the most popular sport in southern states and has been around for DECADES, only just created a national league for women this year). alongside AN IMPORTANT MESSAGE that would be displayed throughout the season about embracing self-love, health doesn’t equate appearance, and we all have the right to pursue what we love, the main would befriend other girls in the school (and the local sports club, where i’m assuming a lot of time will be spent since that’s a fairly small town aussie thing) that don’t particularly ‘fit in’ and would become close, much like our girl squad. also along the lines of eva/jonas in s1, i want the romance for the season to follow the main and a boy, who she doesn’t like but feels obligated to like because she feels no one else will. this is something so many young people deal with, and i’ve never once seen it adapted to screen. it would be amazing to share the message that you have the freedom to love whoever you want, and you never have an obligation to like anyone back, even if you feel like there won’t be ‘anyone else’ (and hint: there will always be someone else). the season would end with the main having a beautiful group of friends, loving herself, allowing herself to play a sport she loves, and not feel the pressure to love someone because they like her.

season two ; sana equivalent

unlike skam, it would be awesome if season 2 (and arguably the show’s main premise) to follow the sana equivalent as opposed to a noora. this main season’s character would be another girl from the first season’s new friendship group, who happens to be an indigenous australian. for those of you who don’t know about australia’s institutionalised racism, indigenous australians (or aboriginals) were the nation of people who lived in australia before the british colonised coastlines in 1788. basically the british ignored them and still claimed australia despite the land being rightfully theirs, and the settlers built our nation on segregation and racism. from 1905-1969 (and in some places, even still in the 70s) the australian government actually seized mixed-race aboriginal children from their families in what is now known as the ‘stolen generation’ because the white men running the country believed that every single aboriginal was unfit to take care of their own children. many aboriginals still live in poverty, some retaining their old customs and others trying to 'join in’ westernised culture (with much reluctance, because like i said, so many people are still racist as shit). even in australia we hardly talk about this racism, let alone the rest of the world. so i think it would be so incredible to have an entire season (and really, a show) centered around a young aboriginal girl who’s grown up in the suburbs like everyone else (due to the tireless efforts of her parents who battled adversity) to try and ‘fit in’ despite no one accepting her. unlike sana’s season, this hypothetical season 2 would primarily focus on the season’s main, her insecurity about her heritage and thus distancing from her family and perhaps engaging in behaviour she wouldn’t otherwise. it’s so important for this character to have a personality in the sense that she’s more than a stereotype, and i see her as being a bright but quirky girl who isn’t very athletic but she’s so kind and optimistic but has a lot of self esteem issues and tends to distance herself from people due to her feeling inferior. the season’s romance would probably orientate around one of the more popular guys in her school (but nothing like william) - he’s very extroverted and funny and charismatic, hence why he’s popular, but the main feels like she never has a chance because he’s not indigenous so why would he acknowledge her??? i want them to develop an unlikely friendship (the viewers knowing that the main has a massive crush but unbeknownst to the actual main herself) and idk the exact details but the season will revolve around some sort of event that will end with the main embracing her heritage and proudly sharing her origin story and being extremely proud of her aboriginal ancestors, as she rightfully should be! also, she eventually gets the boy despite resistance (both on her end and her family’s) and we’d have a really sweet interracial relationship to grace us. :)

season three ; isak equivalent

This is still such a big issue in Australia, all things lbgtqia+ related, because as you may know, Australia still hasn’t legalised our marriage equality bill (although our government technically legalised it in 2013, albeit not properly so it was nullified after a month). But surprisingly, especially in sports clubs and smaller towns, Australia is still so conservative in the way it views gender roles. Everything is still so static. School uniforms at school are still so strict and gender orientated (people can get sent home for not doing up their shoes, legit. And this was at a public school). And the sports clubs we have here are typically an AFL/Netball club, in which the boys play Australian Football, and the girls netball, and it’s sort of just assumed you date the opposite gender depending??? (Much less allow boys to play netball and girls to play football, until recently at least). This season would follow a boy, who probably befriended the season one main at the football club and helped her out during that time, who is gay. Now it’s important to note that yes, there’s still a major deficiency of good wlw relationships and trans, intersex and asexual characters, well, everywhere, but funnily enough australia seems far more accepting of wlw as opposed to mlm, in terms of sports clubs, which is why i think this is still an important story to tell. often homophobic language is still tossed around and some people don’t even know there’s an underlying context to it. it’s just so ingrained in the culture that it’s hard to think of alternatives (if you’re wondering, i live in a family of football players, grew up at one of these clubs as a netballer and have many footballer friends, so i know all of this from experience). This season would follow the main, as all of his mates are getting girlfriends and boasting about it as they tend to do, all hyped up for the end of season presentations after the football finals, which people usually showcase their girlfriends at .The main is obviously terrified, thinking there’s something wrong with him, that their entire team/family will discard him if he comes out. The sideplot of this season would follow season one’s main, who contrasts to this season’s main as their both the other’s main support (I also want the season one main to be bi or pan, not only to demonstrate to the s3 main than there are such sexual orientations outside heterosexuality, but damn i want some cute and healthy wlw relationships okay). Let’s say this season’s main is either the captain of the team or the coach’s son, and he feels so much pressure to excel that he’s lost a piece of himself and has such receded into himself and his battling his own demons (cue my lame ass excuse to play troye sivan constantly). NOW THIS IS AN ACTUAL THING THAT HAPPENS, some clubs in smaller towns develop rivalries with the closest club and it’s actually a tangible thing??? Like my dad still speaks badly of his rival club even tho it was such a childish thing based on nothing omg. So I picture insecure season main training up, and meets a guy from the other club (either as a player, or maybe a rare male netballer bc that is a thing, or even just a worker in the canteen but still tied up with the other club) and it’s basically about overcoming the prejudice of class (which is why the clubs are rivals) as well as homophobia and how supportive a group of these ‘manly men’ (die gender roles, really) and it being just the sweetest and most important thing ever. as well as a romance that, even though sort of forbidden bc of club rivalry, it all works out in the end and the main ends up taking the boy to that end of season presentation despite all the conservatives bc he’s proud and happy and so are all his friends. ALSO I NEED A MAJESTIC BEST FRIEND that supports the main so much, a Jonas!equivalent. I think it would be really special if it could be the romantic interest from s2, purely to see more of that healthy interracial relationship, but bc he’s also popular and to destigmatise status and see the only reason you have for not understanding other people is bc you’re an asshole. stop making popular kids in school inhuman or completely removed from ‘normal’ people.

season four ; even equivalent. 

so this final season would obviously deviate from skam as well, and i mean even equivalent in the sense of his character, not as the s3 romantic interest. i feel mental illness (and disability) are things that skam could have explored much more, and a season dedicated to mental health would be so incredible. i feel like this character would be a female character in the original girl group, and the main drama of the season is the end of year exams in the final year of high school. as for which specific mental illnesses or disabilities this character could have, i haven’t done enough research on this to give a proper and educated answer, but i’m sure ao many of you can name some that are so relevant in today’s society but aren’t discussed in the media at all (and should be). back to the season, unlike norway we don’t have any ‘big’ graduation things, besides muck up day (a day where everyone really goes crazy with pranks and dress ups), schoolies (which is where you go on holiday for like a week and be drunk the whole time) and val (formal dinner/dance/graduation thing). but unlike a lot of countries, australia’s education system is kinda stupid bc if you wanna go to university (in victoria, australia anyway) your exams for your final year are the only thing that can get you in. in australia, you are literally only assessed on the final year (every other year of high school is irrelevant) and universities don’t see any extracurriculars or anything about you. we also don’t do entrance exams or essays. literally all universities get is a number (out of 100) that ranks you with the rest of the state by how you went in your exams. that’s literally it (i honestly almost died in that year, it was the worst thing). so i want a season to sort of talk about the school stress, and anxiety of planning out your future, and mental health because although everyone relates to the stress of school, there’s not much media about why it’s so stressful (and hence, why no governments will ever try to change it). it’s also so important to talk about mental health issues, and i think this would be a wonderful way to end the series because it will be good to devote this season to other characters as well (so it’s not as heavy) but can end on a really uplifting note and talk about health and how the bad things, no matter how bad, are never permanent, and even though friendships aren’t permanent either, there are such things as soulmates (platonically or not), and i want to emphasise the platonically part in the friendship of these girls and how they survived these years together and overcame adversity in different ways.and that the experiences we all feel as teenagers and young people are not only relevant but are valid, and no one can demean you or your thoughts for your age. because we lack in wisdom doesn’t mean we lack knowledge, and our generation has plenty of love in our hearts to hopefully share and ensure we can overcome adversity together. 

~

... so yeah. That was a rant and a half about what an australian skam could look like! This is basically a fanfiction, really. But the whole point of writing this was just to say that yeah a non-US based skam adaption would be great (I would also love to see a Canadian or New Zealand skam, purely because they are countries that are also rarely acknowledged in terms of english-speaking countries in the media). Also this wasn’t a dig at Julie or her incredible show, as regardless of what happens I’m so glad I’ve been part of the skamily. But all I’m saying is that Julie has definitely inspired me, and hopefully others, to start telling more stories that are authentic and real, and not just what people want to hear. 

Alt er love. <3