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#like this is a classic joke the i’m singing about how cool weed is joke
catboyaoi · 3 years
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im such a stoner but when a song talks about weed i get SUCH second hand embarrassment. ur proud of that??? u think its cool??? no. ur lame as hell.
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justholdingstill · 2 years
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First is a pop and a scratch; there is a breath of quiet, long and deep. Then there is a heartbeat, drumming steady, growing louder and more urgent as the seconds tick by.
His fingers are nimble and practiced--graceful, even--despite the scars and calluses layered over one another, despite the pinky finger that was broken and healed months ago and which no longer moves quite the way it was meant to. They are beautiful hands. Steady, firm. Castiel has seen them stitch wounds and field strip guns and dissect vegetables for dinner, all with the same precise efficiency that they now apply to the task at hand.
He exhales through his nose; the heartbeat blends itself into a brief, confusing jumble of noises that resolve into a jarring wail and then melt, almost improbably, into the first lazy guitar chord of the album, which ripples its way down his spine like a physical thing. If pressed to describe the sensation, he would call it warm and liquid and highly gratifying. Tingly, even. It makes him shudder and sigh out loud.
Nobody asks, but he says so anyway. Dean laughs at him. “You are, like...you are really fucking high, huh, sweetheart?” 
He licks the glue on the rolling paper and twists his handiwork just a bit tighter, presenting it to Castiel with the corner of his mouth ticked up. His eyes are very red. “You sure you wanna smoke another one?”
“I was under the impression that being ‘really fucking high’ was the sole purpose of this endeavour, Dean,” Castiel tells him coolly. He makes a broad, dismissive gesture, discovering as he does so that there’s still a chocolate chip cookie in his hand.
“All right, all right, preaching to the choir here, buddy.” Dean fumbles for his lighter, the flame briefly illuminating the planes of his face as he tilts it down toward the cradle of his hands. There’s the syrupy-sharp tang of smoke on the air again after a moment; Castiel chews his cookie and watches in fascination as Dean parts his lips (just as beautiful as those hands--as every inch of him, really) to let it spill out between them in a languorous white plume, as lingering as revelation and as heady as desire. He coughs a little bit at the end of the exhale, chuckling at himself this time before he waves the joint in Castiel’s face. “Your turn. And quit bogarting those, I had a hard enough time hiding half the batch from Jack and Sam.”
Reluctantly, Castiel trades Dean for the plastic container and tries not to be too distracted by the way he dives into the cookies with gusto, shoving one into his mouth practically whole with a bone-deep hum of satisfaction. Castiel occupies himself with dropping back into the pillows as he takes a few careful drags, his eyes catching on the record cover that Dean had been using as a rolling surface, forgotten in his lap.
“Is this considered homosexual music?”
Dean chokes, clapping a hand over his mouth so he doesn’t spray crumbs. Once he’s calmed himself enough to swallow, he reaches over to pluck the joint back and eyes Castiel warily. “Not really, I guess? Why would you ask that?”
“There’s a--a prism. On the cover. A rainbow. And when we went to Pride with Charlie you said that rainbows are often used by the ‘gay community’--”
“Not again with the fucking air quotes,” Dean interjects.
“...fine, gay community. You said that rainbows can a way for the gay community to acknowledge and recognize each other. Is this gay music?”
Dean belly-laughs at that, though not unkindly. “Nah, man,” he says, still grinning, “I’m pretty sure that Pink Floyd are pretty damn straight. Although, what do I know for sure? Sometimes it’s just some cool imagery.”
Castiel nods. He mulls this over as Dean smokes, his face warming when Dean crowds up into his personal space to share his breath with Castiel, lung to lung, so nearly mouth to mouth. Dean has told him on previous occasions that this is called “shotgunning”, but he’s not sure why; it clearly has no relation to either firearms or violence, but that hardly seems to matter when it brings Dean so close, the green of his eyes bright and intent with something that Castiel had once thought he’d never have a name for.
Dean sucks in more air, and then he’s kissing Castiel for real, soft and wet, luxuriating in it. This--this lights up Castiel’s nerves just as much as the music does, more, pleasure pooling and igniting wherever Dean’s body is in contact with his own, waves of it rolling and breaking through his whole nervous system. It’s overwhelming, especially in combination with the female vocalist reaching for some explosive notes, now, singing as if they’re being physically tugged from the center of her chest by an unseen hand.
Castiel thinks he might understand how that feels.
“Jesus,” Dean gasps, breaking away to flop down beside him, raking a hand through his own hair. He dissolves into giggles, and Castiel can’t help but laugh with him. “I am blitzed, man. This is embarrassing.”
“I’m the only other person here,” Castiel feels obligated to point out, nuzzling at his ear, “and I have literally seen your soul at its barest and at its lowest. Is this really what embarrasses you?”
“Shut up,” Dean says, muffled because he’s hiding his face in Castiel’s shoulder, blushing so hard that he might as well be glowing. Castiel can actually feel the warmth of it radiating through the cotton of his shirt; it makes him want.
“So this,” he says, hesitant, picking up the earlier thread of their conversation. “This--you only do it with me. Not with Sam. Not with Charlie or Jody--at least not like this. But these, um. These... meetings...aren’t about us, about what--what we do together?”
“Jesus,” Dean groans again, rolling his eyes, adding a heartfelt, “Christ.” He hauls himself up off the bed and strips off his shirt, gesturing at Castiel to do the same. “Take your damn clothes off already, man.” He seems to catch himself on how that sounds, because he pauses with one hand on the buckle of his belt before shaking his head, grinning at some private joke. “I mean, yeah, I guess it’s a little bit about that. But no, Cas, we don’t hang out smoking weed and listening to the classics because it’s some kind of agenda, because you and I are, uh...you know. Because rainbows,” he offers, very careful to look anywhere but directly at Cas.
Castiel tilts his head, listening, and when he doesn’t speak, Dean blusters on. “No, it’s ‘cause you’re stuck with me, you know? Stuck with us, stuck here, stuck human...I guess I just figure if you’ve gotta take the lumps of it, the sore backs and the seasonal colds and the, the shitty truck stop coffee of it all, you should have some of the good stuff, too. If I’m not the one to teach you the finer points of stoner rock, ok, who will? It’s not all bad here, and I just want to make sure you know that.”
Finished with his speech, Dean grabs awkwardly for another cookie, presumably to stop himself from rambling any further. Something light and fond unfurls itself inside Castiel; he reaches out to draw Dean down into his arms again. “I assure you, Dean,” he says gravely, “I am absolutely certain of it.” Dean offers him a bite, which he accepts with equal gravity.
All of their kisses are delicious, to be fair, but they are undeniably more delightful chased with chocolate.
“Anyway,” Dean says with his mouth full, “take your fucking pants off. You wanna talk gay music? It’s gonna be Night at the Opera next, and that’s really gonna bake your noodle.”
_________________
Read it here on AO3! 
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yesvac · 5 years
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Cool Kids Never Have The Time (stozier)
au where stan and richie don’t know each other but as classmates, richie is the class stoner, and stan smokes weed for the first time with him : ) 
warning: drug use
length: about 3k
The first hit of the bowl is a bit too much to handle, in Stan’s opinion.
It’s not like he’s a nerd, per say. He wouldn’t be qualified as one in most people’s minds. He’s actually quite cool, in his opinion, but in the social ladder of their high school, he’s not particularly topping the charts. He’s got friends, sure, but those people are not considered “cool kids” or “popular”. One of his friends, Ben, called him “the King of the nerds,” once.
So Stan wouldn’t say it’s surprising that he became friends with Richie Tozier. Yeah, Richie is… a bit edgier than most people he knows, and Richie doesn’t go to school as often as he should, but it’s not like Stan’s counting his attendance, or looking over at Richie’s empty seat at the beginning of class every day. Psh, why would he?
But that doesn’t quite explain how Stan got to be in this situation, holding a “bowl” up to his lips while Richie lights the end.
He surely didn’t mean to get in this situation. He’s not a bad kid. He stays away from drugs, and when he gets invited to parties with alcohol, he politely declines. In his high school career, and in all of the 18 years of his life, he’s gone to one real party. He left in twenty minutes.
But what was he supposed to do when Richie passed him a note in Economics, reading “you want to come over to mine later?”
When the note was dropped on his desk, he was dumbfounded at first, for multiple reasons. His heart was racing as he tried to process it. First thought: who the fuck passes notes anymore? this isn’t middle school. And then: wait, Richie Tozier wants me to come over?
Then he thinks of what he might like to do at Richie Tozier’s house. Oh.
Stan blushes at his thoughts. He shouldn’t allow himself to think things like that about boys, but he indulges occasionally. Probably more than most guys would.
He looks across the room to where Richie’s sitting and he’s a bit spooked when he sees that Richie is already looking at him, with this little smirk on his face. Swallowing his anxiety, Stan nods in Richie’s direction, and the butterflies that reside in his tummy are making a bit of an uproar as a grin appears on Richie’s face. Richie mouths to him slowly: meet me by my locker after school.
Fuck. Stan’s fucked if he wants a good grade in Econ, because any and all material is lost to his mind after that.
-
A few hours later when the final bell rings, Stan tries to convince himself he hasn’t been waiting for the moment that school ends, but he can’t, not truly. His friends have been bugging him about being absentminded and not participating in their conversations mentally, but he reckons that’s okay for one day.
He tries not to run to Richie’s locker, and instead settles for a brisk pace over to a black mob of hair and a jean jacket faced the opposite way. Briefly, he is immobilized with nervousness, but when Richie glances over to where Stan is standing awkwardly a few feet away, he loudly spits out, “Hi!”
At first, Richie looks a bit judgemental, but his expression softens, and the corners of his beautiful mouth tilt upwards. Stan’s running his fingers through his fringe and pushing it upwards because Jesus, he’s sweating already. Calm the fuck down and stop being so gay, he thinks, but Richie’s smile just makes his knees feel weak. “Hey, Stan the man.”
“Stan the man?” he makes out, and the nervousness is coming back again, and he thinks for a moment that maybe he’s actually judged this situation completely wrong. Is this… an insult, or a nickname? It’s not like Richie is perceived in the eyes of the school body as a nice guy, really. Stan’s not sure. But… maybe he saw him looking at him. Maybe he’s angry. Maybe he knows Stan’s gay somehow, and trapped him here, cornered against a locker. Maybe coming here was the worst possible idea.
His mind tells him to take a step back, so he does. “I- I actually think, that I have to, I have to go,” he stammers. “My mom, uh. My mom needs me to take care of our… Our iguana.”
Stan doesn’t have an iguana. He facepalms mentally.
But then, Richie says the unexpected: “Is something wrong? Are you okay? You look pale all the sudden.” He extends an arm to rest on Stan’s shoulder and despite his best efforts, Stan can’t find it in him to think there’s anything malicious about him.
Sure, Richie’s wearing black ripped jeans and some old, beat up Doc Martins that look like they’re from the 80’s, but he’s also wearing a jean jacket with pink patches and embroidered designs. Yes, he’s got a septum piercing and he skips school, but his eyes and smile are so soft that Stan can’t be intimidated. He melts at the gentle hand on his shoulder.
“I’m fine,” Stan manages, and he can tell his face is hot. “I just remembered that I, uh, don’t actually have to be home, so nevermind. I can come over to yours.”
Richie laughs, and the way he tilts his head back while laughing makes Stan’s heart hurt. “Okay, it’s not iguana-care day. I see,” Richie teases, and surprisingly, Stan doesn’t feel targeted or anything by the tease, just wants to laugh along with him, so he does. It feels natural and organic to be laughing with him and he wants to do it forever. “Let’s go, I can give us a ride.”
There’s something mundanely enchanting to Stan about boys who can drive. Well, maybe it’s just boys. Actually, maybe it’s just Richie.
He coughs awkwardly as he gets into Richie’s vehicle. It’s an interesting one for sure. “Sorry if it’s hard to close the door, Ol’ Gertrude is getting a bit rickety. But we won’t die.” Stan laughs, as if it’s a joke, but Richie looks at him seriously. “Probably.”
He’s not lying when he says that the car is getting old; there’s rust all over it and it does take two or three tries for Stan to fully close the door because for some reason, its locking mechanism doesn’t work. The seats are all busted in some ways and Richie has seemed to fix it by using duct tape strategically, but Stan can still feel the springs poking out in some places. There’s dice hanging from the mirror. It’s a hot day, but there’s not air conditioning, so Stan can feel the perspiration on his face, but the way the windows roll down and Stan can stick his fingers out to feel the air as Richie drives is therapudic and organic.
Richie’s fringe is fully pushed up by now, his face slightly flush as he drives with one hand. He’s trying to explain music to Stan, and Stan suddenly realizes what Richie’s actually passionate about.
“Call me a hipster - really, I am - but the stuff nowadays is really shitty. Too much autotune, and electronic music sound. I’m not into it. Prime music was the 80’s and 90’s - alternative was the best then.” He’s trying to get a CD out of the compartment in front of Stan and Stan takes it over from him, sliding the CD out of the case and helping Richie slide it into the disc player. It immediately plays Track 1.
“Fuck, this is a classic,” Richie comments fondly, and Stan thinks swear words don’t sound quite as crude coming out of his mouth.
Shakedown 1979
Cool kids never have the time
On a live wire right up off the street
You and I should meet
He finds himself fascinated with the way Richie looks, carefree and happy as he drives and sings along to the song. Stan’s not sure if he likes the music better than what he listens to, but he’s sure that he likes Richie singing it better than anything he’s ever heard, ever.
Too soon they arrive at Richie’s house, and as they get out, some anxiety clouds Stan’s mind because what the fuck are they going to do, anyways? He’s not like, socially incapable, but Richie and him have never really talked ever, and they don’t seem to have very many common interests. Nevertheless, they enter Richie’s house and it’s nice, cozy. His downstairs is painted in light pastel yellows and he feels comforted at the decor.
When Richie shows him his room, it’s like walking into a completely different building from the rest of the house.
First of all, it’s painted a light blue, but that’s barely visible through all of the posters he has up. There’s movie posters for every award-winning movie he can think of in the last 30 years. Also, there’s posters for, yes, 90’s and 80’s alternative and rock bands, and Stan thinks if Richie knew that the only real 80’s and 90’s music Stan knows is the boybands, then he would be scolded severely (he can’t help it - his first boy crush was on Justin Timberlake). There’s also tacked up photos of what look to be torn pages from National Geographic of locations around the world. Stan recognizes what looks to be a busy Japanese street, a waterfall somewhere, the badlands, and a photo taken in a desert with a crowd of antelope. He has a bed and in the corner of his bedroom, a sofa, and then a computer desk with a computer chair - he sits down at his chair and looks up at Stan, and Stan sits on his bed lightly.  His bedroom is also slightly messy, disheveled in a way that isn’t too unacceptable. There’s an indistinct smell that he can’t quite place.
Stan feels slightly overwhelmed.
Richie begins talking about something related to music again, and he syncs his phone with a speaker in his room and plays some song Stan can’t place, one he’s never heard before, and he zones out a bit to what he’s saying, internally freaking out that he’s at a hot boy’s house on his bed while he’s being ranted at about good music, until Richie says something that shocks him into listening.
“Wanna smoke weed?”
While Stan knows it’s unattractive to sputter, apparently he can’t help but be not cute around Richie. “W-what did you say?” Because he isn’t quite sure he heard right, even though he knows internally exactly what Richie said.
“Did you want to smoke some weed? I have four grams and a bowl if you wanted to. My parents aren’t home and won’t be ‘till later. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, really. It helps me relax though, and makes the music even better,” Richie says, and he giggles a bit at the end. He raises his eyebrows at Stan, obviously expecting an answer, but Stan’s not sure he can give a comprehensible one.
Oh god, he’s about to get high for the first time with the hottest dude in his class. This is what he knows, because he knows for a fact he’s not going to be able to say no to Richie’s smile, even if he’s kind of scared of inhaling smoke and getting high in general, and his mom raised him to stay away from drugs.
“Yes,” he says. Of course. Idiot.
So that brings them to where they are now. Richie is opening up the window to his room, and he retrieves a wooden box from a discreet place at the top of his messy closet, and he opens the box. There’s some oddly shaped things Stan doesn’t recognize, and it occurs to him that Richie probably doesn’t realize that he hasn’t smoked weed before. “I haven’t smoked weed before,” he comments casually, and Richie looks at him incredulously.
“Really, Stan the man? Never smoked?” Richie asks, and Stan nods. “Figures, with your straight A’s, and all. You just need to be roughed up a little. Live life and all that shit.” Stan nods again, and pretends that he doesn’t want Richie to rough him up in every way. “I’ll guide you through it.”
Ten minutes later and they’re both sitting on Richie’s sofa facing his window, and Richie’s holding what he calls a “bowl”, which in reality looks nothing like a bowl and actually looks more like a pipe made of glass or ceramic material, Stan doesn’t know. It’s blue and shiny, and it’s stuffed with weed at the end. Richie tells him the process of it, how you’re supposed to hold your fingers over one part of it, and then light it, and then inhale, and then release your fingers, and then exhale after you’ve held it for a moment. But try as he might, all of those instructions escaped his mind, because when you’ve got Richie Tozier one foot in front of you and you’re about to get high with him, it’s quite hard to focus on little things.
“Got it?” Richie asks him, and Stan wants to have got it, but he hasn’t got it. He shakes his head, and Richie laughs. He feels bad for a moment, but not for long, not really. “It’s okay, Stan. I’ll hold the bowl for you and I’ll light it too. All you have to do is inhale, and then exhale when you’re ready.”
Stan nods, and he doesn’t feel ready quite yet, but it’s not like he’s going to say no because god, Richie is beautiful and he’s holding the bowl up to his lips and Stan’s going to hell for being so gay, he’s sure of it. It occurs to him that he’s practically on Richie’s lap right as Richie lights the weed, and says “GO!” to him, and he inhales the smoke from the bowl, and immediately chokes.
Richie had told him that he’d probably cough, but this was nothing like he��d imagined. He choked on smoke and coughed to try to get the toxicity out of his throat. He keeps coughing, and he’s honestly surprised at the amount he coughs before he can stop, really. He’s practically wheezing out of Richie’s window, and Richie is chuckling at him slightly. When Stan finally stops coughing, wiping the water out of his eyes, he sees Richie from his blurry vision taking a hit and he looks practiced and masterful. The smoke leaves through his nose and he takes a breathe of air calmly. No coughing at all.
“What the fuck? How did you do that?” Stan laughs, and he coughs again at the end of his sentence, and finds himself in another minute-long coughing fit. He wants to stop, he really does, but there’s an insistent tickling at the back of his throat and he must look like an idiot.
However, there’s a warmth at his shoulder and he looks back at Richie, smiling warmly at him and he feels comforted with just a glance at the boy next to him, and he can feel the anxiety melting off of him by the minute. “If you’re a loser pothead like me, then you’re good at this. But don’t aspire for that,” he laughs again, and holds the bowl out to Stan’s mouth again, and Stan tries to pull himself together for another hit again, and he inhales like before. It goes down much smoother than the first, but he still coughs with his exhale.
“Is there a way to make this any better than it is? Like, my eyes won’t stop watering and I’ve got this tickling in my throat that isn’t going away,” he complains to Richie as Richie takes another hit. It occurs to him mildly that his lips were wrapped around the same thing that Richie’s are, and tries to make that fact not matter to him, and fails. “I don’t get the glamour of this yet.”
The way Richie exhales the smoke out of the window through pursed lips makes Stan’s spine tingle a little bit, in a way that only Richie’s looks can do. Richie laughs dryly again. “Eating and drinking make it better. I’m sure the high will hit you in a few. You’ll feel it, and you’ll know.” As Richie relaxes against the sofa, he gets the feeling that Richie is already feeling it.
“How am I supposed to know if I’ve never experienced it?” Stan presses, leaning forward a bit, closer to Richie. Richie gives him a devious smile in return, cracking his knuckles before placing a hand on Stan’s shoulder, which is warm and welcome.
“You’ll know, Stan the man. You’ll know.”
A few minutes later, they are both lying on the floor and looking up at Richie’s ceiling. The lights are off and Richie has glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to his ceiling which Richie is entranced by, as they listen to more music. Stan feels… something, but he isn’t sure if it is from the drug he just smoked or the feeling of laying so close to Richie.
Richie suddenly turns towards him, still horizontal, and says, “Stan the man.”
“Yes?”
“How do you feel?”
Stan’s fingers grip the carpet around him, letting the fabric touch his hands and feel the texture and everything around him. “I feel a little different. Like everything’s slower.”
“Your eyes are red as hell,” Richie comments, laying a hand on Stan’s arm. Tingles shoot through Stan from the place that Richie touched him. He internally facepalms at how sensitive he is, and tells himself to calm down.
Stan sits up a bit, and looks at Richie’s face, examining the way that the weed has affected him. “Your eyes are red too, you know. So shut up.”
“You’re so handsome, Stan,” Richie sighs, and Stan’s eyes widen. He’s unsure if he heard Richie correctly, and where that compliment came from, and what the implications are, and whether it could just be a platonic comment, and his mind is racing with thoughts while he stares blankly forward.
Richie’s eyebrows furrow. “You good?”
Stan sputters, “yeah. I’m good. I think it just hit me.”
Richie smirks, an irritatingly attractive tilt of the mouth, and Stan wishes he could kiss it off of him, so he does. He grabs Richie’s wrists and pulls him forward, and their mouths collide clumsily and Stan is feeling so, so unorthodox.
But it’s good. It’s really good. Richie is warm and although he is bony, his hands seem to have an instinct of their own and perfectly clutch Stan’s face, aligning like they were made to fit, and Stan’s whole body feels like it’s tingling as he moves his lips against Richie’s, kissing him. Richie seems to be pressing forward, responding emphatically to Stan’s movements, and Stan pulls away to breathe and to look at Richie again. He can’t believe himself.
Richie’s face is flushed, his cheeks pleasantly red, and Stan thinks he looks better than ever. His eyes are blown-- from use of illegal substances or from kissing, Stan isn’t sure-- and he looks exhilerated. Stan is internally satisfied that he can make Richie look like that.
Turning down the volume of the music, Richie smiles back to Stan, and his hands move along Stan’s arms like he can’t stop touching him. “I guess I’ll have to have you over a lot more often, Stan the man.”
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dandrabbles · 5 years
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There Is No Fire Here
“Hey, bro-sis.”
Eleven that night was when Tati decided to show her face around our room. Whether or not she’d been dealing or just avoiding home, her backpack crumpled empty where she chucked it on the ground. She was all smiles, always the happier of the two of us. Even when she wasn’t. Her dimples made her look like a child in a way I could never say no to. Classic bambi-eyed rapscallion right out of a movie, and the blonde curls to match. Well, before she shaved them off.
“Sup, fuckface,” I said.
“Good day? Elliot said you got snatched by a cop,” Tati said.
“The best day.”
Tati flopped onto our bed, sending her boots across the room with two hard kicks. The duct taped toes were starting to pull up from the rain and she pressed her wet socks against my thighs.
“You’re sleeping on the wet spots if you don’t get your damn wet socks off the bed,” I said.
“Mongilla was talking about it,” she said. Her socks came off, slapping against the wall to crumple with her boots.“You know teachers. Anything to spice up conversation.”
“You’re still dealing to him?”
“He’s my best customer. Buys more weed than anyone.”
“How am I getting expelled before you?” I said.
“Search me. Be smarter about your criminality, man.” She smiled her dimpled smile and spread her arms wide, palms out and fingers splayed, her head tilting upward toward the ceiling. “I’m but a local businesswoman peddling her wares. You, my dear, bro-sis,” she shrugged in my direction, “decided to go hardcore and burn shit down.”
“So, what you’re saying is that I’m cooler than you.”
“So fucking cool.”
When she grinned wide her whole face squished together. Seventeen and she still looked twelve more often than not. Short, like me, but with a rounder, softer face, none of our mom’s harsh edges. I got Mom’s nose, her chin, her hair. Tati got her attitude. That baby face got into trouble and I knew better than to ask about her backpack or why she’d been walking in the rain so much that her boots were falling apart again. When she smiled like that, it was too damn easy to let it all go.
Down the hall, Mom was singing in the bathroom. A high-pitched, off key rendition of a song I knew from childhood. Words that suggested the vague outline of her, smiling, leaning over me in a bed that didn’t have my sister in it. A night where the dark didn’t feel cold yet. Tati and I looked at each other, both of us suddenly still, listening, until the singing quieted. There was a moment where we both relaxed. Idiots.
Then, Mom’s voice, quiet and inviting from down the hall. “Come help me in the bedroom, Tatiana.”
Tati’s face went desperate, fixed on me, still waiting. We both knew. There are things in this world bigger than us, but when Mom’s voice got sweet like that, everything felt real small. Just the two of us and Mom and the calm before I failed again. I reached out, touched the back of her hand with two of my fingers. Neither of us moved.
Tati got cold, her eyes brimming, her mouth and brows gone smooth. “Yes, Mama.” She said it to me. Eyes locked, held solid, before she slipped off our bed.
Then there was just me. Sitting on our bed. Not watching her go. Her bare feet on the carpet shuffled to the door and down the hall. Didn’t ask her to stay or lie about us having homework or do a damn thing. I didn’t even try. See our whole house knew what Mom’s sweet voice meant. A trip to the principal’s office for her good kid, a dirty bathroom, and all that stress needing a way out. The more Tati smiled, the bigger a target she got on her back. Dad was down the hall in the living room, turning the television up loud enough that I might as well be sitting next to him, loud enough to cover up the sound of Mom’s belt on Tati, then louder. So no one had to hear it. So no one had to hear the way neither of us stopped it.
No matter how many times Mom hit her, Tati kept smiling at me. Like we didn’t know I could stop it. Like I didn’t sit there quiet every time Tati got pulled away. Mom’s nails digging into Tati’s arm hard enough to leave divots in her skin. Tati’s face so smooth and cold. What was my excuse? Too scared to speak up. Too scared to point out how fucked up it all was. Didn’t want divots in me.
When Tati came back I already had the Neosporin ready. Bandaids out of the bathroom, only a few left in the box. She didn’t say anything. Neither of us did. She just took her shirt off and laid out on her stomach while I tried to clean up her back. No busted skin, but welting bruises the same color as Tati’s plum lipstick. That was good. I wanted to make a joke about it. To distract her; me; both. Like it was just another fashion choice she made better than me.
“I’ll get you some new tape from Office Max tomorrow,” I said. “For your shoes.”
Her breath hissed through her teeth when I pressed too hard against her skin. Then she reached for me, her fingers flexing in the air behind her, both of us aching, needing affection. We curled together in our bed. No covers so Tati’s skin could breathe. She pressed in against my chest, her baby’s face wet and cold against my cheek. Quiet. So quiet.
Mom never touched me. I always figured I reminded her too much of herself. Same hair, same eyes, same olive skin—she was always yelling about how she was Greek in her Spanish accent. Tati had the bad luck of looking too much like her dad. Same Mom, different Dads, and Tati’s was the one that Mom claimed “broke” her. He’d ditched before the baby cropped up. What was my excuse? All I did was stay. That wasn’t anything. I wasn’t anything.
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eddieunbanished · 7 years
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Juliet and His Romeo
His only break of the day and Isak couldn’t believe he was stuck here. If it weren’t for fucking Sana holding Madhi’s weed over his head, or his stupid ass, shoving it down the first candy jar he spotted in Eva’s house- or even fucking Vilde for thinking it would be a good idea to start a revue group, Isak could be chillin’ in the cafeteria or the courtyard with his bros.
But instead he was here, in Nissen’s theater. Adjusting fake, plastic leaves that made up fake, plastic vines wrapping around the base of a fake tower made of plaster and wood.  
No wonder Sana had to blackmail people to join. Vilde was a nightmare as a director.
They met weeks before the other performances were even decided. As soon as Isak had shown up to the first revue meeting three weeks ago, Vilde had handed him a script and explained that they were doing Romeo and Juliet. She said they were doing it because it was a classic love story. Isak thinks it’s because they already had the balcony and costumes in the props room. But whatever.
The first week was auditions and stage hand sign ups. Vilde had almost bullied him into being Mercutio, because “you’d be perfect for it Isak,” but thank God he had wriggled his way out of that one and took a spot on the stage crew at the last second, meaning he didn’t have to attend the following two weeks of torture- stage hands weren’t needed for read-throughs.
That also meant that Sana withheld the weed from him even longer, claiming that he wouldn’t get it back until she knew he would take his job seriously.
The things he did for his friends.
So it was week three and Vilde wanted the tower decorated already, and Sana decided taking his job seriously meant forfeiting his social life to get it done before the next rehearsal.
Isak sighed, looking at the rough sketch Sana gave him, realizing he’d have to climb up the back of the tower and stand on the balcony to actually place the vines and flowers up there. So, he gathered the power stapler, the rest of the foliage, and the picture and headed up the questionably constructed wooden steps from behind the tower.
He got to it, placing and adjusting and stapling the vines and flowers just like the picture. Part of the way through, just when Isak thought he might jump off in boredom, he popped one earbud in and turned on his favorite playlist.
He was halfway through his favorite N.W.A song, rapping along, moving a bit more freely the more he got into it. He picked up a stray hydrangea and used it as a faux mic, bobbing his head and rapping,
“I’m in control of your mind and soul Don’t be afraid, just bust the moves,”
He stapled the hydrangea in place and a few strings of vines, draping them just so, even daring to move his feet and hips to the beat as he worked.
“So out your home, you’re on your own in the land of the unknown”
He was full-on bobbing at this point, his shoulders and his whole body moving in time as he laid down the rhymes along with the vines.
“It’s the dark side, the dirty-side It’s called-”
“Halla?” A voice rang out from below him and Isak jumped, dropping the flower in his hand, ripping the earbud out in the process.
“Shit,” he swore. That fucking hurt. He looked down to see who had caught him and how much he’d have to pay for their silence and- oh. Oh no.
It’s called the Panic Zone.
And shit, was Isak panicking- because bellow him stood Even, who picked up the flower Isak dropped, who was the lead in Vilde’s stupid play, who had just caught him rapping and dancing and maybe even singing into that flower… God, how long had he been there? Isak felt his stomach go tight in embarrassment and his face heat up.
“Halla,” Even said again, smiling from the base of the balcony, where he stood.
“Uh, hey,” Isak answered, not really sure what to do. “Just, um, setting up stuff.” He picked up another vine and placed it down, very much not looking in Even’s direction, trying to look unaffected.
“I can see that,” and Isak could hear the smile in his voice. Fuck, the last thing he needed was for Even, the cool, hot guy who was the leading man for fucks sake to be making fun of him right now. Or tell anyone what he saw later. Isak was really re-thinking that whole jumping off the tower thing right now. Maybe Sana would pity him and just give the weed back if he broke his limbs helping Vilde out, who knew?
“Do you mind if I practice in here? I came to run lines for tonight’s practice,” Even called up. Isak snuck a glance at him, only to find Even staring intensely, too intensely, his hands tucked in his back pockets and his blue eyes all but drilling into Isak.
Or maybe that was his imagination.
When Isak met his gaze, he raised his eyebrows expectantly.
“Uh, yeah, whatever, dude. That’s cool.”
“Cool.” Even shrugged off his backpack and dug around for a bit, produced his script, then began pacing.
Isak went back to work as Even’s deep voice rang through the theater.
“But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east and Juliet is the sun!”
And oh, he was rehearsing those lines. And Isak wouldn’t care normally, but as Even continued Isak couldn’t help but think back to the first day of rehearsal, the auditions where he had first seen Even up close, had watched Even run this exact monologue. He had been so moved by Even’s quiet passion, apparent even through the archaic language, that he hadn’t taken his eyes off him the rest of practice.
And when he overheard Even mentioning to Eva that Baz Lurhmann’s Romeo + Juliet was his favorite adaption of the tragic love story, he may or may not have immediately downloaded it when he got home.
(and he may or may not have definitely cried a little.)
“Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief,
That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she.”
Isak was only keeping up an appearance of working at this point, stapler and vines in hand, but he was pretty sure he had stapled the same place four times so far. He just had such a good vantage point- he had never seen Even so up close before, only daring to sneak glances from across the room, looking away every time he got caught staring. And he must have had really shit timing because Even seemed to always catch him staring. Now he had a front row seat.
And Even was so expressive- his whole face was thrown into the performance, his eyebrows drawn in and a small smile on his face. And usually Isak thought this whole poetry and verse stuff sounded so fake and corny but Even’s words sounded so sincere- low and passionate, adoring and a little playful- like Juliet was really there, like Even was really trying too woo this girl.
“Be not her maid since she is envious.                                                           
Her vestal livery is but sick and green,                                                          
And none but fools do wear it.”
Even looked up and met Isak’s eyes. Every other time Isak had been caught staring he’d looked away, foudn any excuse to leave or try and pretend nothing had happened. But this time he held his gaze, looking down at Even.
Even was still rehearsing, as in it as ever, but something was a little different about his face, his demeanor as he looked up at Isak now. Something changed- a mischevious look, maybe, as he raised his eyebrows and quirked his lips, almost deviously.  
“Cast it off!”
And then Even was moving, he was propelling himself forward and before Isak could really register it- Even was finding footholds in the plaster bricks, sticking out from the tower and was he trying to climb up here?
“It is my lady, it is my love!”                                                                                  
He looked at Isak, who was speechless as he watched Even go, grasping at the flimsy plaster bricks that were jutting out from the tower and heave himself up. Isak told himself he was imagining the look on his face, the adoration, determination, the glee- but the hopefull little voice in the back of his head said this is for you. But that would be ridiculous- wouldn’t it?
”Oh, that she knew she were.”
Even broke eye contact only to search for more purchase on the tower.
Isak didn’t know what to do- what the fuck was happening?
“E-Even, what the hell?” He dropped the stapler and vines he had been holding and they fell at his feet with a thud. “Dude, you’re- you’re going to hurt yourself.”
Even only smiled more in answer, fond and warm, like he was in on a joke Isak just didn’t get. He went on, his voice straining with the effort of lifting his own weight as he spoke.
“She speaks, yet she says nothing. What of that?                                        
Her eye discourses. I will answer it.—”
Isak moved back as Even’s hand reached for the edge of the balcony, and he hoisted himself up so he was supported by his arms, the tips of his toes pressed into the tower to provide stability. He was only slightly out of breath as he said,
“I am too bold.”
And man, was he close. Isak had backed up, but now they were only a foot or two apart, and Even was still looking at him like that, unwavering in his… Whatever it was. Isak could feel the heat in his cheeks, probably bright pink by this point.
“’Tis not to me she speaks                                                                                   
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,                                                 
 Having some business, do entreat her eyes                                                   
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.”
Maybe Even was making fun of him? Maybe he had been caught staring one too many times or maybe Even just took a sick kind of pleasure in fucking with Isak, seeing him flustered.
And man was it working. Isak’s heart was hammering in his chest. He thought he might stop breathing right then and there as Even pulled his whole body up, clambering over the railing and onto the small balcony floor, even closer to Isak now and inching even more so.
“What if her eyes were there, they in her head?                                            
The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars “
His voice was soft and impossibly intimate.
Isak was frozen this whole time, he couldn’t believe this was happening, was waiting to wake up or for Even to start laughing, to say oh, man, you should have seen your face! Waiting for some sign that this was a joke or a dream because there was no way Even was standing a breath away from him, looking into his eyes like a man possessed and reciting Shakespear to him.
Even raised his hand, slow and deliberate, maybe in case Isak would stop him- as if.
Even’s fingers brushed Isak’s cheek, so lightly, and Even was whispering now, low and breathy, his eyes still glued to Isak’s, searching, searching for something.
“Oh, that I might touch that cheek.”
And Isak almost didn’t feel real as he said, “I…uh,” he swallowed, licked his lips, and Even raised his eyebrows, looking so beautiful- God, and still so close…
“I think you skipped some lines,” Isak whispered- anything louder would break this moment, this magic in the atmosphere, and the last thing Isak wanted was for the warmth of Even’s hand, cupping Isak’s cheek, his thumb softly stroking the edge of his jaw, to disappear. Isak licked his lips again and he definitely didn’t miss Even’s eyes move down for a long second, following the movement before meeting Isak’s own again.
“I think,” he answered, still incredibly breathy and low and God so close, “You’re right. Maybe, uhm, you could help me practice?”
Isak didn’t answer him. “You could have hurt yourself. This thing is old, and not sturdy at all.” He tried to put some playful admonishment in the words, but it came out as more of a stunned whisper. Which was probably what Isak was right now, stunned.
Even smiled and Isak felt the air from his soft, breathy laughter his face. Even almost had him backed up against the frame of the balcony arch, and Isak felt the strange urge to put his hands on Even’s waist.
“Alack, there lies more peril in thine eyes,” Even breathed, “Isak…” he drew his name out like he loved saying, and, fuck, fuck, Isak loved hearing him say it.
“Even,” Isak returned when Even didn’t continue. He knew he was staring at his lips, try as he might to keep his eyes on Even’s.
“Could you help me with this one line- I can never remember how it goes,” He was still moving his thumb along Isak’s jaw.
What?
“Uh,” Isak swallowed, and he’s so close to Even, he doesn’t want to play this game anymore he just wants to kiss him, feel their lips meet like he’s thought about, dreamed about, so many times. But he just can’t risk ruining this, being lost in Even’s eyes, the warmth of his hand on his cheek
“Su- sure, yeah. What is it?”
“Act one, scene five,” Even said and his other hand came up and then he was cupping Isak’s face in his hands. “Romeo and Juliet are dancing- and Romeo says then move not, while my prayer’s effect I take. What comes after?”
“I, I don’t know,” Isak answered and he doesn’t, but god he knew what he wanted to happen.
Even’s body moved to press into Isak’s just slightly, just enough, and his face becomes closer, too, so fucking close. Isak couldn’t stop thinking bout the distance, the lack of it.
“Ah, I remember now,” Even’s eyebrows drew down, as though he was thinking very hard, concentrating.
“What is it?” Isak asked, his voice barely there and God, how long have they been here, how long has this been happening? It feels like forever, like they’ve been in each other’s orbits for years and they’ll never break free enough to collide-
“They kiss,” Even said and suddenly it happened. His lips were on Isak’s, Isak’s lips were on his, and Isak’s arms were wrapped around Even’s shoulders, he pulled him close, so close, he was so warm, and Isak felt like he was going to float away.
They kissed more than that, pulling away to breathe and smile and kiss some more, and this, Isak thought, was the best kiss. Better than any he’s had, better than any he’s dreamed of, better than any kiss on any stage, in any script, ever.
“You should help me more often,” Even said an eternity later, when they’ve sunk down to sit on the wooden floor of the stupid fake balcony, the wonderful fake balcony.
“Yeah,” Isak nodded, smiling and smiling, running his fingers through Even’s hair, “Yeah, I could do that.”
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artificialqueens · 7 years
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forever halloween (Alaska/Adore) - comeapart
a/n: i haven’t submitted before but apparently 2017 is the year i do new things. i wrote this in half an hour + it’s 2k worth of adore/alaska fluff with some alaska/katya angst
Alaska hadn’t seen any of her friends in months. After winning All Stars, her life had been a mix of overseas gigs and shows that didn’t let her do what she wanted, and flights to places she probably couldn’t pronounce even sober. Her twitter had been left for dead in terms of actually tweeting, and her social media was just bookers posts by now. It was kind of ridiculous that she felt something, after the numbness that followed Drag Race. It wasn’t even Alaska’s show, but Halloween was sacred to her, and half of her friends were booked for the gig. It just made sense that she had to go, especially since it was in LA.
She settled on something cute for the occasion, something that meant she didn’t have to actually go buy a costume. It was pretty similar to her normal drag, when she actually got down to getting into it. In fact, it was her normal drag. All she had done was draw whiskers on her cheeks and a button nose for good measure, adding bangs to the mass of wigs pinned into her hair quite simply because she could. Someone would call her out later, but she didn’t care.
She was late, because it wasn’t her show, and she wasn’t about to walk past the line outside in full drag. She was too recognisable now, people stopped her for photos when she was out getting groceries, and as much as she didn’t mind it, she wasn’t at the show to perform. She was there to watch, and to see her friends, and probably drag them out to a club afterwards. She made the uber driver take the long route, arriving half an hour after doors and sneaking in through the back, being greeted by Willam in half-drag.
“You’re late, bitch,” Willam had laughed, pulling her into a hug before looking her up and down and rolling her eyes. “This is cute. C’mon, everyone’s upstairs. Meet and greet just ended.”
Realistically, Alaska knew that nobody would be surprised that she was there. Willam was the only one who had known, mostly because Alaska had texted her and made sure that she would be able to get in, but she did see everyone pretty regularly. Emotionally, she’d pulled away from nearly every friend she’d made. Twitter was overwhelming with death threats and hate that seemed a little too real to be a joke, and she’d gotten into the habit of  ignoring texts under the guise of being too busy. It wasn’t obvious that she wasn’t okay, but a few people had caught on. Courtney had come over a couple of times to check on her, and her mom had suggested seeing a therapist once after a long phone call about the future and winning the race.
When Katya saw her, she hugged her extra tight. She was the only one in the dressing room, in full drag, but she was missing eyebrows. It was kind of cute, and Alaska couldn’t figure out why, but she liked it. Katya didn’t let go until Alaska pulled away, looking up at her and smiling, mumbling something about missing her before making a joke that Alaska definitely laughed too hard at. Katya noticed, too. She didn’t know what was worse.
Alaska gave a shitty excuse before pulling herself away, but Katya grabbed her arm, letting go almost immediately when she saw her flinch. “You know I’m here for you, right?” God, Alaska hated that. She didn’t need help. Or pity. It wasn’t anyone’s fault but her own that people sent her hate. It wasn’t Katya’s fault that people liked her, that she was the fan favourite.
“I’m okay, girl. I’m just tired. Thank you,” Alaska drawled, pulling her arm away from Katya before looking down at her. Fuck Katya and her blue eyes and the way she knew everything about Alaska without asking. Maybe Courtney had told her, which would’ve been worse.
“I’m serious. You’re welcome to come over anytime, I’m crashing at Tracey’s right now, but we can trash her house and break twitter if you want,” And Alaska knew it was a bad idea. Alaska really did know it was a bad idea, because Katya had mentioned twitter, and that meant that she knew about the shit people sent her. Alaska just nodded and smiled, agreeing to whatever. She could cancel the plans later.
She didn’t really relax until Adore entered the room. She was carrying an armful of gifts and letters, and she looked happy. She looked so genuinely happy to meet people, and it made Alaska’s steel heart warm. Drag was meant to spread positivity, not what Alaska had been receiving for months now. She dumped her stuff by Ginger and Tatianna before looking around, realising Alaska was there, and grinning.
She didn’t say anything, walking over and launching herself into Alaska’s arms and hugging her tighter than any of the other queens had. It felt sincere, like Katya’s hug had been, but without any guilt. It was hard to act like she was completely okay with being told she deserved to have acid thrown at her, or be hit by a car, or whatever horrible thing one of the team Katya fans had decided to come up with, but she knew it wasn’t Katya’s fault. She didn’t doubt that Katya would tweet about it later, telling people to be nicer or some shit. Katya was the queen for the people, clearly.
It wasn’t that Alaska was always sad. She had good days where it didn’t affect her, but she had a habit of reading too much into things. But even on her worst days, Adore could put a smile on her face. It was the attitude, the fact she didn’t give a shit. Alaska was pretty sure they were too similar for their own good, both anxious and both great at hiding it. In a way, it was the same for Katya, except there was tension within that friendship. Adore had never gone through the stress of competing against Alaska in the same way, and it had definitely made things a lot easier. Adore was good vibes personified, Alaska was pretty sure.
Adore finally pulled away after a few moments, looking up and grinning. “You bitch, you’re meant to tell me when you’re here. We could’ve gotten high at Roy’s place or something, Laganja hooked me up with new shit today,” She started, moving her hands from Alaska’s sides to her arms and laughing to herself, “I missed you.”
“You do know I live here, right?” Alaska laughed, biting her lip and probably pulling off half of the gloss she’d applied earlier with her teeth. Something about Adore made her feel warm.
“Yeah, but you’re never home. You’re too busy for little ol’ me, I know it,” Adore pouted, letting the green strands of the unbrushed wig cover her cheek as she tilted her head.
“I’m never too busy for my Adorm,” Alaska smiled, moving the hair from Adore’s face and shaking her head. “Are you singing tonight? Or lip-syncing?”
“I was gonna do some Halloween classics. Hey, we should do our song together, Lasky. It’ll be fucking cool,” She laughed, throwing her head back before looking back to Alaska, and yeah. It would be cool. Alaska wasn’t going to ruin the one thing that had made her genuinely smile for the first time in a month.
They got high together, hotboxing one of the bathrooms right up until Adore was called away to perform and Alaska following suit, making her way to sit by the side and watch just out of the public’s view. She was warm inside, and she didn’t hate anyone. She should probably go apologise to Katya, but that would happen much later, when she was on her way home in another uber. They didn’t play I Look Fucking Cool until the very end, Alaska walking on on cue and making the crowd scream in a way that she hadn’t heard all night.
She forgot a word, which nobody noticed, and at some point, Katya and Tatianna had walked onto the stage, Katya doing her gymnastics thing and Tatianna dancing. It felt good. It felt like what she had started doing drag for. It felt like passion and expression and it felt like what she wanted to be doing, even if it was just being high on stage with her friends. After the show, people slowed the horrible tweets, but a few were still there. The group hug between Adore, Katya, and Tati probably helped, but Adore caught her frowning at her phone and took it off of her, reading it.
It could’ve been worse. Some guy was threatening to knife her if she ever went to Texas, but he didn’t look particularly big, and Alaska travelled with security anyway. Adore raised her brows, blocking the user before handing it back. “You shouldn’t read that shit, y’know? I used to, but it just made me sad. Now I block people.”
“I should probably do that,” Alaska mumbled, putting her phone away and smiling at Adore. “I get so many of them. I don’t understand why people don’t like me. I watched All Stars, I know I wasn’t that bad.”
“It’s because you’re good at what you do, Lasky. You’re so good at what you do. And none of us had a chance, and they’re just upset because you finally got a crown to match the talent. Now c’mon, it’s Halloween! No being sad, or I’ll call Willam on you, and he’ll try and blow you,” Adore laughed, and Alaska did too. The idea of Willam being a punishment was hilarious. Maybe it was the weed, or the half-bottle of gin she’d drunk whilst watching the show, but everything felt better.
They smoked again, and shared a bottle of wine after Adore had complained about anything harder hurting her voice. Alaska couldn’t stop thinking about her, and as much as she knew it was stupid, she really did like Adore. It wasn’t the alcohol, or the weed, or the show. Hell, the main reason she’d gone to the show was because Adore was there. She had nearly not gone because she was worried about Katya feeling guilty that Alaska had essentially jumped ship on twitter.
It wasn’t until four am that the club thinned out, people leaving in cars and taxis and stumbling down streets, and Adore was telling Alaska that she really should go home. She didn’t really know how it happened, but then her hands were on Adore’s sides, and they were kissing, and it was so much better than she’d expected.
Adore was all smooth, curves and soft skin and lips that were too eager. Alaska was probably too eager, too, but it was okay. It didn’t matter because Adore wanted her too. Before Alaska could say anything, they were in an Uber, Adore’s suitcase separating them until they reached Alaska’s apartment. Alaska texted Katya a string of jumbled letters, completely aware that it was barely readable, but she’d fix it later. Katya had left hours ago, and was probably asleep.
Alaska got the door open with some difficulty, and the rest of the night was a blur. She couldn’t remember anything that happened when she woke up the morning after, but she was naked, her face still painted and eyebrows half-smeared off onto the pillow. Adore was naked too, ass pressed against Alaska’s stomach and breathing shallow, still asleep.
Alaska checked her phone, and there were missed calls. There were a lot of missed calls. Several from Bianca, two from Courtney and Willam each, six from Katya and one from her manager. She checked her texts first, and yeah, okay. She could see why Katya tried calling so many times. From the looks of her texts, she had basically told her that she wanted to die, and that she was suicidal. It wasn’t necessarily wrong, but it definitely wasn’t appropriate to send someone at 5am on a Wednesday. She texted her back apologising, saying that she was hungover and that she’d call later, and left it at that.
Her hand hovered over the twitter app, before deciding against it. She didn’t need to read hate. She had the best person in the world besides her, and she had to figure out what had happened the night before before she let herself feel bad again. Later that day, she would find out that Adore liked her just as much as Alaska liked her. They made the relationship facebook official on their secret accounts, and later that month when people started asking questions, they went public.
Alaska was content, and it didn’t matter that people were getting tired of her posting pictures of Adore, because it made her happy. Courtney came over a lot more, and Bianca started booking shows with Alaska too. Finding the balance between comedy and music and everything inbetween wasn’t easy, but Adore made it easier. Alaska started using twitter again, too, and Katya ended up being one of her closest friends. Adore and Katya defended Alaska to the point that people stopped nearly entirely sending her hate. Besides, halloween was always going to be sacred to her.
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thewritinglist · 5 years
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Albums of the “Year”
It’s very limiting to list my favourite albums released in the last twelve months, because years are an arbitrary concept, invented by humanity, and I also struggle to get away from my comfort zone of a few bands I’ve obsessively listened to and mentally catalogued. So, here is my top ten albums of 2018. They’re not necessarily from 2018, but they defined my year.
10. After Laughter by Paramore
For a long while, Paramore existed in my cultural awareness as one song, and a post on this very site about how Hayley Williams once caused a tour to be cancelled by getting her teenage self grounded.
That’s an unfair assessment.
The one song was Still Into You, passed on as part of a mixtape made by a dear friend to celebrate my first anniversary with my girlfriend. But after hearing Fake Happy on the radio at my former place of work (I didn’t love The Co-Op, but I have to hand it to their DJs and their fine taste), I had to google some lyrics to find it. The twelve songs tell an often deceptively sad story underneath the jangling guitars and synths that throw you and Paramore back together to the eighties. I listen to the music for the lyrics, and Williams really excels in adding sadness in the tone and not as something yelled. 
Best song - Hard Times.
2017 - Fuelled by Ramen - Pop rock
9. Silver Dollar Moment by The Orielles
I discovered the next two bands by a moment of delightful chance, when indie band Little Comets opened their twitter account to female fans on International Women’s Day, and one recommended these two.
Opening track Mango really nicely sets the scene for forty-five minutes of dreamily delivered indie rock, especially in Esmé Dee Hand-Halford’s vocals and bass. It’s the sort of music that makes me want to close my eyes and gently drift my head from side to side, which is why I have a soft rule to listen to it mostly in the comfort of a closed bedroom. Labelling anything indie gives an impression of competent but basic guitar/bass/drums, but The Orielles do much more than that, there’s an injection of funk and weirdness that occasionally brings to mind Talking Heads, if you played them at half speed, and replaced Byrne’s sudden manic energy with languid relaxation.
Best song: Mango
2018 - Heavenly Records - Indie rock
8. Love in the 4th Dimension by The Big Moon
The second chance discovery, The Big Moon are definitely more conventionally indie than their precedents in this list, but I like the simplicity of not adding too much to a song. This album blasts, first track Sucker building quickly and simply to a massive chorus, which is easy to imagine reverberating around Rescue Rooms or Rock City to a highly appreciative crowd. 
But it slows, too. Formidable’s verses have a solemn quality, with imagery of a capsizing boat and vague references to “did she make you swallow all your pride?” changing the atmosphere to something more confrontational, before the chorus rugby tackles the subject, with still soft vocals.
Best song: Silent Movie Susie
2017 - Columbia & Fiction Records - Indie rock
7. Harry Styles by Harry Styles
“Have you listened to Harry Styles’ album?”
The same friend that brought me the Paramore song asked me this on a Texas road trip with my girlfriend, having grown understandably tired of my musical choices. I said no, with an implication of “of course not”, because he was a he One Direction guy, and I hated them and all they stood for.
That is a poor assessment of Harry Styles’ abilities as a songwriter and musician. His self-titled debut, such a classic going solo move, is a mature change-up from the former One Direction star. An aeon away from upbeat teen-pop, now Styles is singing maturely and softly about sex, not explicitly but provocatively in Carolina. The use of “Good Girl, she makes me feel so good” is not at all subtle, and the album often feels like these are ideas and feelings that Styles wanted to get off his chest. These are not One Direction songs, and much as the Harry Potter series mature as the books passed and readers aged, Harry Styles feels like an album aimed at One Direction fans who are growing less interested in the innocent, good boy image they’d cultivated.
The music is clean and engaging, but more complex than those previous recordings. In all, the album manages something tough: It reveals a former teen star’s true maturity without the need to scream it explicitly. It feels confident in its identity, which is an achievement in itself.
Best song: Two Ghosts
2017 - Columbia - Indie pop/soft rock
6. Mean Girls - Original Cast Recording
Mean Girls, the film, holds up. Comedy, as I’ve learned just across my time at university, is the first genre to age badly. Punchlines need a target, and our understanding and acceptance of who and what is allowed as a target is ever shifting. So for Tina Fey to ingeniously target not the cattiness of teenage girls, which is a cheap stereotype that the mainstream media still loves to find and blow up (see: the majority of Taylor Swift coverage), but rather the expectation that they’ll do that, and the mentalities of teenager in general, savvily keeps it fresh.
Mean Girls, the musical, opened in 2017 and moved to Broadway in 2018. Music is written by Jeff Richmond, Fey’s husband and collaborator on both the seminal 30 Rock and Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt. Nell Benajmin provided lyrics whilst Fey wrote the book, and together they brilliantly recreated the quotable magic of the original. Fey’s credit is limited to the book but at times her voice is loud and clear in the lyrics. The dumbest plastic, Karen Smith, sings an ode to Halloween, which begins with her muddling over putting it before world peace as a priority, and builds to her love of costumes: “I’m sexy Eleanor Roosevelt or sexy Rosa Parks” is such a Fey joke, fitting of the film. It’s also delightful to hear some extra input on protagonist Cady’s initial best friend Janis (Barrett Wilbert Weed, the best performance), a wonderful character who has the backstory most ripe for exploration in any future works.
Hey, I managed not to say fetch. 
Wait.
Damn.
Best song: World Burn
2018 - Atlantic - Broadway
5. Be More Chill - Original Cast Recording
Be More Chill is an honest story of teenagers and mental health. Adapted mostly faithfully from a 2004 novel by young adult author Ned Vizzini, the story is of Jeremy Heere, a high school loser whose initial goal is charmingly low-key. He just wants to be a bit less awkward and able to survive high school, but quickly decides to sign up for a school production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, following in the steps of his crush Christine Canigula, a theatre lover with, in her words, “A touch of ADD”.
It’s this detail that sets the musical’s story apart from the book. Mental health is a subtextual theme of the book, but Christine and her love of performing as someone else and occasional scatterbrain, makes it explicit. The main thrust comes when a jock named Rich offers Jeremy a Squip, AKA a supercomputer, taken as a pill, that invades your brain and tells you how to act and speak. It helps Jeremy enter the cool kids’ circle, but at the expense of his friendship with the proudly dorky Michael, who is delighted that humanity has stopped evolving because, in his words, “there’s never been a better time in history to be a looooooooooooooooser!”
In the final song, Voices in My Head, Christine and Jeremy finally bond properly over the voices they’ve both heard, and it completes a surprisingly moving story of mental health in a musical that is often bombastically big and ridiculous - the Squip is supposed to have Keanu Reeves’ voice. Joe Iconis’ music and lyrics are witty and engaging, perfectly fitting the clever and original novel, and the sadly departed Vizzini.
Best song: Michael in the Bathroom (George Salazar)
2015 - Ghostlight Records - Broadway
4. Worhead by Little Comets
Little Comets are the most exciting band in current music.
This is a bold claim, but I like to be bold. Little Comets, who hail from Jarrow in Tyne and Wear, write the most incredibly moving, lyrically dense and thoughtful songs you can find today. Every song on Worhead is affecting.
If you listen to their first album, In Search of Elusive Little Comets, the musical and lyrical progression in six years is astounding. The fun early indie rock has complicated and deepened, like a lake dug out from beneath its surface. By 2017, lead singer and writer Rob Coles’ grasp on lyrics had become masterful, and he uses images to  generate feeling so well. The title and opening tack immediately point to a specific image: “Standing in a field of grass, looking for a blade of grass”. Coles is upfront about his political beliefs - a 2014 song titled “The Blur, the Line and the Thickest of Onions” explicitly denies and attacks the language of Blurred Lines, and their music is often loudly feminist. Worhead asks us “My sweetheart, can we lean more, to the left side, to the left side of everything”. À Bientôt angrily speaks to anti-migrant rhetoric from their perspective, even including the temporary sympathy caused by the image of the dead boy washed up on the beach, whilst Hunting is written from the smug, entitled view of Tory ministers, cutting, unafraid of retribution, safe from the consequences.
Density of ideas is a Little Comets staple, and the unapologetic thickness of the accents often need a trip to their website or Genius for understanding, but Coles also writes poetically when he pares his words down for romance. “Common Things” describes globetrotting, but in the context of not wanting it, because of the joys of being home, only needing an atlas under the mattress. Elegant domesticity is the only kind of love song that continually appeals to me. They are a continually astounding and unique band.
Best song: 
2017 - The Smallest Label - Indie rock
3. Illinois by Sufjan Stevens
I hardly ever enjoy music purely for the feeling that the music imparts on me. Before I was listening to music critically, I saw an episode of Charlie Brooker’s excellent series Screenwipe, which discussed and took the piss out of all elements of television. In an advertising special, he mentioned that advertisers love music as it bypasses the logical part of your mind and is processed emotionally. There’s something romantic about that, but at the same time sometimes I wonder if that subconsciously put up mental guards, and I have to understand lyrics to understand the emotions.
Illinois is a rare exception.
Sufjan Stevens relased Illinois in 2005 and it serves as a sort of concept album about the American state. It covers points from its history: “Come on! Feel the Illinoise!” covers the historic World’s Columbian Exposition, and “John Wayne Gacy Jr.” is about the infamous serial killer and affords him almost shocking levels of empathy. Stevens later said that we’re all capable of what Gacy did, which is debatable.
But we’re all capable of the grief woven into Caismir Pulaski Day, which tragically tells the story of losing someone who died on the state holiday celebrating their Polish revolutionary war hero.
An independent singer songwriter with track titles as terribly long as “The Black Hawk War, or, How to Demolish an Entire Civilization and Still Feel Good About Yourself in the Morning, or, We Apologize for the Inconvenience but You're Going to Have to Leave Now, or, 'I Have Fought the Big Knives and Will Continue to Fight Them Until They Are Off Our Lands!'” seems like someone addicted to acoustic guitar, but Stevens utilises piano, strings and horns, especially effective in the aforementioned ‘Come on’. The album is vivid and alive, and is really a practical tie for second.
2005 - Asthmatic Kitty/Secretly Canadian and Rough Trade - Indie rock/folk
2. Masseduction by St. Vincent
This year, I made a real effort, admittedly only in September, to get into new music. Reading an interview with David Byrne, I was intrigued by his mention of St. Vincent, aka Annie Clark. Anyone who can engage David Byrne is worthy of attention.
Inside the striking image and colouring of the artwork, Masseduction was first introduced to me in the opening scene of Bojack Horseman’s fifth season, replacing the standard use of Back in the 90′s by Grouplove with Los Ageless. The song, Clark’s depiction of Los Angeles, feels bleak and distant, the electronic music giving an disconnected vibe. It’s her relationship to the city, and the album as a whole is a series of looks at relationships. Pills is about a relationship with drugs, the title track and Savior are about sex. Happy Birthday Johnny, both slower and acoustic, feel related, as though they’re both about the same person, Clark coming to terms with the sadness of that loss.
Masseduction is endlessly listenable. It spans various pop genres, with enough variety to reward many listens and picking on many of its songs to focus on individually. Pills really does feel like withdrawal, with pumped up verses, an almost manic chorus, and a suddenly balladish final section, where the tone becomes surprisingly sombre. It works, powerfully so.
Best song: Pills
2017 - Loma Vista Recordings - Electropop/Glam Rock
1. The Kinks are the Village Green Preservation Society (50th Anniversary Edition)
The Kinks released Village Green Preservation Society on the 22nd of November, 1968, which sounds fine until you learn that The Beatles released The White Album on the same day, spelling inevitable and crushing doom, and the permanent departure of founding bassist Pete Quaife from the band. Quaife, who had grown tired of the industry and the Davies’ brothers warring ways, scrawled ‘daze’ on a tape recording of Days. But he left on perhaps the band’s highest note. 
I don’t know what else can be said about this album. Even if every song isn’t a standalone masterpiece, with the strange fairy tale of Phenomenal Cat and the childlike Mr. Songbird only working in context of stories of the past, but they form a collective that is masterful in painting a rich story. It has the delicacy of a great painting, something that former art student Ray Davies must appreciate. And it is so distinctly Ray Davies in its voice, something only he alone could have written. It was their first album after a still somewhat mysterious five year ban from American touring, then the only real form of promotion, but it dismisses the cultural shift towards psychedelia with an almost passive-aggressive tone. 
The weighty re-release is fitted out with sixty tracks, but they’re largely alternative versions of songs from the original album and the recording sessions, many unreleased, including the finished Time Song, and a lovely demo of Days, that proves that Davies was always a better writer than singer, bless him. Harmonies with his brother Dave always lifted the words, but they stand alone, as short stories, brilliantly formed.
VGPS contributes to their stereotypical image of proud Britishness, but there’s a look to the future and underlying sadness that add depth to the album. The original final track’s closing lyirc?
Don’t show me no more, please.
1968/2018 - Pye Records - Folk Rock
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jmowatstuff · 7 years
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Monthly Media: August 2017
A good month of media. 17 entries. Ooft. Each month I sort of regret starting this project but then regret regretting it because I always find something  that I like within the challenge. Went for a much quicker, rough & ready illustration process this time round, scanning in pencil sketches and colouring them in Photoshop.
Movies
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Tropic Thunder (2008): ★★★
Only remembered catching bits of this before, but after being told by multiple people that it was great, I decided to rewatch. It wasn't great but it was good for sure. Would have liked more jokes than action, but the jokes were class. 'Booty Sweat' energy drink, Ben Stiller dumb acting, Robert Downey Jr.'s ridiculous character, and most of all Jack Black being so unhinged. All enjoyed. Also Matthew McConaghie is just the best. Some scenes were a bit hard to tell if they were jokes or not tho. Also Downey Jr's voice is almost intelligible.
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Spotlight (2015): ★★★★½
An incredibly informative and important film about crimes that are incredibly hard to be informed of but are important to hear about. Very well grounded in facts of the case as well as an appropriate amount of philosophical and spiritual issues it throws up. Definitely watch, especially if you consider yourself part of any church (or large institution) as I do.
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Fantastic Beasts & Where To Find Them (2017): ★★
This was alright. I imagine visual effects carries it further when viewed in a cinema and not on a plane, but nonetheless, it was a decent watch. Eddie Redmayne ladling on the awkwardness for Newt made me cringe a fair bit at times. Enjoyed NYC Jacob. In fact enjoyed the 1930s NYC setting a lot. But aye. My return to the world of HP solidified my grievances with it, along with some of the enjoyable cinematic delights too.
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Labyrinth (1986): ★★★★
This was mental. In a very enjoyable, unpredictable way. I see why many still see this as a classic kids adventure film. So many unbelievable character ideas and designs, outside the box in so many ways. Also some classic LOL bits. Having a Bog of Eternal Stench that is a constantly farting body of water was a highlight. Bowie soundtrack was appreciated even if a little bit out of place at times. Also how can the characters be cute and simultaneously grotesque? Great film.
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Edge of Seventeen (2017): ★★
Woody Harrelson was great. Lead character was insufferable. Can't be doing that in a coming of age rom com. No no.
TV
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Black Mirror: Season 3
This show blew my socks off!!!! Where the acting/dialogue couldn't carry the episode, the concept behind the narrative totally did. The 'San Junipero' episode properly rocked my world! Made me sceptical of many technological things, but I feel in a good way. Sack uploading yourself to a server and thinking that it matters. Gave me the fear. Also the final episode was gnarly, and the hacker episode. Thrills.
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Mad Men: Season 2
Thoroughly enjoying this show, even though it's hard to pinpoint why. It's a very relaxed watch which I enjoy. Although Season 2 brought some tasty twists that threw me into a spin, but all in all, I stay for the smooth style, creative industry chat, and R. Stirling zingers.
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Rick & Morty: Season 2
After the satisfaction of the first season having lived up to the HUGE amount of hype it got, the second season was a nice continuation of what made the first good. Maybe having lost some of the novelty, but improved by the consistent character development and fresh TAKES.
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Game of Thrones: Season 7
Wow. WHAT A SEASON. WHADDASEEZIN. Been great watch this show get better and better and just become the edge of the seat whirlwind that it is. 
GAMES
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Horizon Zero Dawn (2017): ★★★★
This game is DOPE. The story, the voice acting, the character design, the graphics. MMMMMM. Fun gameplay AS WELL?! Who knew hunting autonomous machines as a tribeswoman in a post-technology civilisation could be so much FUN? 
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Age of Empires II HD (2013): ★★★★
After managing to get multiplayer AoE running on my Macbook, I was a very happy boy. Time passes so fast on this game that I hope to get LAN parties set up in whatever care home I end up in to hasten my final years of life in a way that is very fun.
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Catan
I played this game for the first time ever when Beth and I were in Nepal for 5 weeks. We then played around 20 games of it in the remaining few weeks we had left, and nerded out very, very hard. We also both were shamefully sore losers when our settlements just weren't being settled. But what a game. Also when I taught my Mum this game she rolled a 7 so many times in a row she put one of my cards in my glass of beer out of pure fury.
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Catan: Cities & Knights
This expansion pack is extreme litness and I will build metropolises until the day I die.
READING
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Head Lopper: Vol. 1 - Andrew Maclean 
My first voyage into comics was a very enjoyable one. Having not really been exposed to serious comics when I was younger, this was a big deal, as I found out about Head Lopper through discovering Andrew Maclean's unbelievable illustration. I saw this Norgal character scattered throughout Andrew's Instagram and bought Head Lopper when I realised Andrew did comics. Very enjoyable. Great pace, great lopping of heads, great setting and dialogue. Also helped that a lot of the medieval places were based on places near Stonehaven and Aberdeen, where I'm from. Done good.
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Why Fonts Matter - Sarah Hyndman
This book was not bad. I think it was targeted at people who have no education about fonts and type beyond what is normal, i.e. non-designers. Because of this, the perspective of it was fresh and led to some cool insights and unknown things being found out, but mostly it was pretty light and basic stuff. Would recommend to anyone who is interested in type but doesn't know where to start.
LISTENING
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Big Baby D.R.A.M. - Big Baby D.R.A.M.: ★★★★
When I first listened to BBD, I put him in the opinion compartment of 'dumb rapper style rappers'. Especially after hearing 'Broccoli' which is what he calls the weed that he sings the whole song about. Then my bro Finlay turned me into his NPR Tiny Desk Concert and my opinion was CHANNGED. Dis boy sing god. He also charmin as a mammajamma. And his dog is on his album art. Best guy.
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How to Be A Human Being - Glass Animals: ★★★
Listened to this after seeing they were headlining Electric Fields, a music festival I did attend. Some good tunes. Lyrics are wild but carried through by the lead singer. Although a lot of the songs sound v similar cause of the weird singing style. But aye. Great album art.
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