#one pic it's bright as shit and five seconds later it looks like its night fdsafdsa

[placesyoucallhome]

Maybe I just put him out on maduin for now, transfers aren't like to happen for a while unfortunately, I'll shuffle accordingly once I can, but that's all betting on both mat and bal being open at the same time... u_u

but oh man the manbun looks good on him damn

#Avnas Beleth #either that or i put him on cor and make cor on maduin so i can move him to bal later? that may be safer #also the clouds coming and going in the benchmark is throwing me #one pic it's bright as shit and five seconds later it looks like its night fdsafdsa #but also also ohhh fdsafds the skin shine i wanna chew on his shoulder

[tefilovesreading]

It’s a match! Part. 1

Pairing: Charlie Gillespie x Fem!Reader

Word count: +1,7k

Warnings: language, mention of alcohol.

A/N: This is a mini series, I’m not sure how many parts it’s gonna have and there’s gonna be some texts in between. LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANNA BE TAGGED. 

Edited by: @theamazingtomholland

MASTERLIST // PART 2 // PART 3

She felt her hands start sweating as she saw the small circle slowly filling up, letting her know that the app was being downloaded. She knew what a dating app was, how it worked and what was its purpose, but never created her account, not that she needed it before because she had a boyfriend. Her roommate, on the other hand, was well acquainted with dating apps, and they’d spent nights swiping through the profiles together. 

Now that she was single for the first time since she graduated from high school, her roommate and best friend had convinced her to download Tinder and have fun.

“You don’t even have to go and meet the guy, Y/N,” Jo had said with a beaming smile to encourage her when they met for coffee earlier that day, “just have a look and see if you find someone you’d want to talk to.”

She nibbled on her lip when the circle filled up entirely and the icon appeared on her screen, bright and inviting. Putting her phone down, she decided she’d create her account later, for now, downloading it was more than enough.

In her sophomore year, she broke up with her boyfriend because they couldn’t find time to be together, too busy with classes, exams, and part-time jobs. But that didn’t last long, ‘cause they got back together after three weeks. 

Those three weeks ignited a spark in her, suddenly things were more exciting to her, and she didn’t feel like she was acting how others expected her to. Y/N felt a kind of freedom that made her go on a date with her co-worker, sure they just went for a coffee together once and decided that they were better off as friends, but that small rejection made her want to make that spark disappear.

Being with Lance made things easier, they knew each other since they were little, and that meant she didn’t have to open up to let him know her flaws and fears, because he knew her like the palm of his hand. Being with him made her feel safe, even when they were apart during his first year of college since she was a year younger than him and was still in high school when he left for college, but that safety net vanished when Lance decided he wanted to spend time overseas after he graduated from college. And it was useless to wait for him if he wasn’t even sure he wanted to come back.

Eight months later, Y/N felt that spark reigniting again, making her feel like she was missing something. Ever since Lance left, she spent too much time afraid to put herself out there. How can you let someone into your life and trust them to not hurt you? After all, she trusted Lance for so long just to get hurt because they didn’t want the same things, and their paths went in different ways. But Y/N knew she couldn’t hide much longer, she wanted to go out, have fun, go on dates and meet new people, she just didn’t know how to start.

Her phone vibrated with a new notification from her best friend, and she snorted at her text.

Jo: Any matches yet heartbreaker???

If only Jo knew she still wasn’t able to bring herself into making an account. Maybe she could choose the pictures first, plan her bio, and then create it. Planning that out was definitely better than staring at the app icon.

Y/N: Not yet, but I’ll let you know ;)

After an hour of scrolling through her photos, Y/N chose five pictures where she looked decent. Hell, she looked really hot in one or two of those, and she wasn’t going to act as if that wasn’t true.

“Here goes nothing,” she muttered to herself after her account was finally set up. 

It was a strange feeling swiping through the profiles, reading their bios, and rolling her eyes at some of them. But after a few minutes, she started enjoying it, not even feeling bad if she didn’t match with a guy.

She smiled at the simple bio on her screen and swiped right, not even bothering to go through his other photos. He was cute, he seemed like he liked to have fun, and even though he was cute, he was also hot. A dangerous mix, but a really nice one.

It’s a match!

“Honey I’m home!” her best friend sang, entering  the living room.

“Shit Jo!” Y/N scolded the girl, “you scared me.”

“Why?” Jo faked an offended look, “were you sending dirty messages or something?”

“Oh shut up,” Y/N said, handing her phone over to her friend with a sheepish smile on her face, “check out my last match.”

“Okay, so he likes outdoor activities, he plays the guitar, and he has a cute smile,” her friend listed, swiping through his photos, “what are you waiting for, Y/N? Send him a message!”

“I was actually waiting for him to send one first,” she admitted, feeling her cheeks heat up, “you know I suck with conversations over chat.”

“But what if he’s waiting for you to talk to him, and you don’t do it,” Y/N looked at her friend and knew she was already making up a whole movie in her head, about how they could be soulmates, but they would never know if she didn’t send him a text.

“Fine!” She huffed and took her phone from her friend’s hands, “Do I send him a hello or what?”

“No, that’s too dry,” Jo replied, “you should ask him about where he took that picture, the one where he’s in the snow.”

She bit her bottom lip to distract herself from the fact that she felt as if her stomach was tied up in knots. He was really cute, and she had a good feeling about him, almost as if the universe was telling her to go for it, meet up with him and have fun.

Hesitating at first, she let her finger hover over the little “send” button for a few seconds, before pressing the screen and sending the text.

Y/N: Hey! Where did you take the first pic? The place looks great

“What now?” Jo looked at her with one of her eyebrows arched.

“We wait, you idiot.”

“I need to do something,” Y/N locked her phone and got up, “if I stay on that couch waiting for a reply I’m gonna end up with no nails.”

“I did your nails last night, Y/N, don’t ruin my work,” Jo complained, “why don’t you cook dinner today?, and I’ll wash the dishes, so you can text with that guy if he replies to you by the time we’re done eating.”

“I’m gonna ignore the fact that it was your turn, Jo” she pointed out but made her way to the kitchen anyway, “and you better wash, dry, and put the dishes back in the cabinets.”

Cooking was the perfect distraction, and the glass of wine she drank while they were eating helped her loosen up just enough to check her phone without feeling like she was getting back some important results.

Charlie: It’s in Canada Charlie: Sulphur Mountain Trail! Charlie: I like your smile btw

She smiled with excitement when she opened the app and saw those three messages, and just as she was about to respond, Charlie sent another one.

Charlie: How was your day??  Y/N: It was good, pretty relaxing actually Y/N: Yours?? Charlie: Great! I went hiking with a friend, so now I’m just chilling at home Y/N: I’m assuming you’re into hiking, don’t you??? Charlie: Hahaha yeah you’re right Charlie: I guess I enjoy being outside, it keeps my mind occupied

Y/N: I get it, I’m not really into outdoor activities Y/N: I mean Y/N: I don’t mind going on a hike once in a while, but I prefer reading, painting, or playing some music  Y/N: To keep my mind occupied 

Five texts in a row. Was that too much? She didn’t want to appear intense, but she also didn’t want to send just one massive text and type it for way too long.

Charlie: You play an instrument?? Charlie: I love music Y/N: Yeah I play the piano Y/N: I just don’t have one with me now, so I haven’t played in a while Charlie: Oh! That sucks! Charlie: When I moved here I think I packed my guitars first and then the rest of my stuff

Y/N let out a soft laugh at his text, he did seem like the kind of guy to pack random stuff before things that he might actually need. She should’ve done the same, she missed playing the piano, and now that she was miles away from her parents’ house it wasn’t like she could just go and play. Especially because she didn’t even know how to drive a car.

Y/N: Should’ve done the same if I’m honest Y/N: Where are you from? You said you moved here

After reading his answer to her last question, she groaned in embarrassment because it was the most obvious answer, and yet she didn’t notice it.

Charlie: I’m Canadian

She lost track of time talking to him about things they both enjoyed doing, what was their favorite movie, favorite musician, and to her surprise it was so easy to talk to him about small things like that could help you a lot to get to know another person. Y/N got startled when Jo touched her shoulder to get her attention.

“I’m off to bed, babe,” Y/N dodged when her friend tried to ruffle her hair as if she was a little kid, “don’t go to bed too late.”

“I won’t mom,” she replied jokingly, “sweet dreams, Jo.”

With a heavy sigh, Y/N typed a message, telling him that she needed to get some rest and that she was hoping they could keep talking the next day.

Charlie: Do you mind if I ask you for your number?? Charlie: I’d love to call you or FaceTime with you if you’re okay with that

“Shit, shit, shit,” she whispered, wishing her best friend hadn’t gone to bed already. Of course, she wanted to give him her number, but was she supposed to give her number to the first guy she talked to on Tinder? “fuck it, I’m doing it.”

Y/N sent him her number and after telling him goodnight, she closed the app and got ready for bed. She really had a good feeling about this whole thing, and she couldn’t put her finger on what it was, because the feeling started even before they even matched. 

Maybe it was just fate doing its work.

#charlie gillespie x reader #charlie gillespie x y/n #charlie gillespie imagine #charlie gillespie fanfic #charlie gillespie fanfiction #charlie gillespie one shot #charlie gillespie fluff #jatp cast imagine #charlie gillespie

[rxsie-the-demon]

Brooklyn Baby | JJ Maybank

SERIES MASTERLIST | chapter one 

chapter summary: Nikki goes out of her comfort zone and bonds with Kie, while still remaining curious about what happened last summer. At a party, Topper gets a little too touchy, and Nikki (surprisingly) befriends Rafe and Wheezie.

warnings: drinking, smoking, HARD DRUGS, swearing (oops), HARRASSMENT (topper gets VERY touchy) so if that makes u uncomfy just skim over that, and a conversation about addiction/rehab and therapy

word count: 5029

Chapter 2: Cinnamon Girl

If I had to choose, B Days would be my least favorite. On B days, I have no classes with anyone I know, except English with Kelce at the end of the day.

And no one to sit with at lunch.

On my second day of school, when I realized I had no one to sit with, I ate in the library. You’re allowed to, so long as you clean up after yourself and stuff.

Walking into the huge cafeteria, with clean white titles and those long foldable school tables, I decided to do the same thing today; just sit in the library by myself, and maybe read or shop online, The tall walls of the cafeteria were decorated with motivational quotes and the school’s athletic accomplishments.

But when I was walking towards the lunch line, I saw Kiara sitting by herself out of the corner of my eye, head down on the table. Which made me feel really, really sad for her.

I stood in line quietly, AirPods in my ears, scrolling through Instagram when I found Kiara’s page. I didn’t want to seem like a stalker, but my curiosity got the best of me and I clicked on it.

Her page reminded me of this social activist that I follow that of a social activist I follow, the difference being that Kiara’s page was mostly environment-focused, with the occasional selfie and pics of her friends.

Clicking on one of her them, a selfie with her and her four friends on a boat during sunset, I saw a slightly sunburned brunet with his arm wrapped around one of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever seen. She’s probably a TikToker, I thought. Sunburn had a dark blue bandana wrapped around his neck and had his shirt unbuttoned. Major surfer boy vibes. 

Next to Tiktok, was Kiara, with bright eyes and a bright smile. Completely different from the girl who sits behind me in APUSH. The boy next to Kiara had dark skin and curly hair. He was wearing a hat, like Sunburn and the other boy next to him. And judging from the way his arm was around her waist, Hat totally had a thing for Kiara.

But the last boy, holy shit, if I thought Sunburn was cute, Hot Blonde Boy was another level. He was the one taking the picture, with one arm stretched out to hold the phone and the other one, covered shiny rings, was posing with, like, the rock hand sign? I think that’s what it’s called: with his index and pink fingers up, and the rest like they’d be balled in a fist. His messy blonde hair was being held together by a red snapback, and he was shirtless except for his shark tooth necklace. His tan went well with his bright, energetic eyes and big smile but...oh my gosh. His hands. They were big, with long fingers, and his arms were a little veiny and-

I put my phone away. Nuh-uh, I’m not going to be thirsting over a random guy’s hands, especially when that guy could literally be dead, or worse, the crazy dude who tried to shoot Topper.

Not that I don’t understand why someone would want to shoot Topper.

I grabbed my tray, putting a Chicken Caesar salad bowl (yum), a bowl of grapes (double yum), and a water bottle onto my tray. Remembering that Kiara didn’t have any food with her, I grabbed a hamburger, too.

I paid for my food and walked towards the utensil holder, debating whether or not I should just go to the library or sit with Kiara. I mean, I should sit with her, she’s by herself and is going through a hard time, but then again, I hardly know her. Besides exchanging numbers with her yesterday and not even texting her, I never interacted with the girl. She’ll probably think I’m just talking to her to get tea for Topper and Scarlet.

But then again, I already bought her a hamburger.

I walked over to her table. She was wearing a similar outfit as she was yesterday, the only difference being she was wearing light blue jeans. So, yay? A bit of color?

I sat down across from her and put my tray down quietly, not wanting to scare her. “Hey.”

Her head shot up immediately. Her soft brown eyes looked so tired, her light brown skin looking ashy and dull. Her dark brown hair, with it’s nice, defined beach wave curls, was tied back in a bun in her hood. When she saw who it was, her face softened. “Oh, hi.”

“I hope it’s ok I’m sitting with you, I don’t know anyone else in this lunch and I thought it’d be good to discuss our project.” I waved my hands around a bit before opening the plastic lid of my salad.

She nodded, eyeing my food for a second.

My heart hurt. Of course, she has the money to buy food, that’s not the issue. She probably hasn’t been eating out of grief.

“So I’m Indian, duh,” I waved my hand in front of my face and she smiled softly, “and I thought this was a chicken burger, but it’s beef. And I can’t eat beef, because, ya know, Hindus don’t eat beef. So, like, could you do me a solid and eat this for me? I hate wasting food and I’d feel awful if I threw it out.” I slid the burger towards her.

She nodded, pulling it towards her and taking a small bite.

I poured my croutons into my salad and started quietly eating when I heard Kiara mumble, “Thank you.”

I glanced up at her for a second, only to look back down. “Don’t thank me. I bought that on accident.”

“I saw you staring at me in line. And...I haven’t eaten in the past two days.”

I looked back at Kiara, who was looking everywhere but me. I decided to just ask.

“It’s because of what happened to your friends, right? You’re mourning?”

She nodded, still not looking at me.

“I understand. Grief isn’t something that has, like, a definitive answer. You just gotta let it run its course,” I said, putting my hand in front of my mouth because I was chewing.

Kiara nodded again and took another bite, a bigger one this time. I mentally high-fived myself for getting her to eat. I didn’t think it’d work.

“So, what do you want to do for the project?” I asked.

Kiara shrugged. “We could do current events. Maybe something environment related?”

“Like, an advertisement? We make a video talking about pollution or something?”

“Yeah! Or maybe we could organize something and get a bunch of people to come together and, like, clean up the beach?”

“Or we could go out on boats and find trash in the ocean?”

“That too!” Kiara’s eyes were shining now, and she was smiling. Wide. Much like the girl whose Instagram I was stalking.

“Sweet. Ok, so, the environment is one thing, do we have any other ideas? Like, isn’t the Outer Banks also famous for shipwrecks or something? I heard The Royal Merchant sank here. Maybe we could do a project on that?”

Kiara stiffened up when I mentioned shipwrecks. Did I say something wrong? 

Shit. Her friends died at sea, how could I be so stupid?

“That’s...not a bad idea, actually. I happen to know a lot about The Royal Merchant. More than I want to know, actually,” She chuckled. She looked down at her hands, and then looked back up. “John B, my friend who died at sea over the summer, he and his dad were obsessed with finding it. We actually-,” she leaned closer to me. “We actually found it. But, uh, the gold isn’t there.”

My eyes went wide. I leaned forward, too. “Well, where is the gold then? Do you know?”

Kiara nodded. “In the Bahamas.”

“How the f- How did it get there, if the shipwreck happened here and no one knew where it was until you and your Pogue friends found it?”

She sighed. “Long story. I’ll tell you another day.”

“Wait-”

The lunch bell rang. I sighed as we stood up and grabbed our bags, walking towards the doors to leave for class. I really want to know how the gold ended up in the Bahamas.

“Well, thanks for lunch, Nikki!”

“Of course, Kiara, that’s what friends are for,” I smiled.

Kiara beamed. “Call me Kie.”

I was overjoyed. A friend. A real, actual friend. “Kie. Fantastic. Hey, Kie, do you know anyone named Rafe by any chance?”

Kie narrowed her eyes. “Yea, why?”

“Oh, nothing, I was just invited to his birthday party this Saturday.”

Kie rolled her eyes. “Be careful around him, ok? Talk to you later!”

“Uh, bye!”

************************************************

Yellow, or blue?

I held both dresses up to myself, looking in the mirror.

Saturday came, and it was time for Rafe’s party.

The party starts at 9 and was gonna last all night, but Topper wanted to take me out to eat, so at 7:30, I’m still deciding which dress to wear.

Both dresses are sundresses, short, flowy with shirred backs and knotted straps. They are literally the same dress, down to the little polka dots, just in different colors. I could wear either one, because I kept my makeup simple: concealer, nude eye shadow, mascara, and clear lip gloss.

I texted Kiara, asking her to choose a color, to which she responded yellow. We managed to get really close in just three days, which made me happy, because I felt that she was my only real friend at school, and, well, I was her only friend there.

I slipped the dress on and matched it with my white Birkenstocks. I went over to my dresser table (yes I have two mirrors in my room, sue me) and put on my white tassel fringe earrings. I kept my ‘Om’ necklace on.

I admired myself. My light brown skin looks good with the yellow and white, and my jet black hair, which I decided to not straighten, had slight waves, and reached my shoulders. I look like a rich, beach girl. A Kook, I suppose.

I grabbed my phone, taking a quick mirror selfie and snapping it to Topper, captioned ‘i’m readyyy’. He opened it immediately.

‘Damnn u look hot,’ he typed out. Ew.

‘aw ty,’ I typed back. ‘where r u?’

‘I’m omw. U have ur bag? The party’s on a yacht and there’ll be a pool.’

‘swim suit’s packed’

‘Fantastic. I’ll be there soon.’

I locked my phone, putting it into my purple and black NYU drawstring bag that also held my black bikini and a towel. I grabbed the bag hopped down the stairs.

Mallory and Krish, my sister-in-law and brother, were sitting on the couch, watching TV. 

“Hey losers. My friend’s gonna be here any minute to pick me up.”

Mallory turned to face me, smiling. “Aw, you look cute! Have fun, and be safe, ok?”

“If you’re gonna be coming in, like, super late,” Krish added, not taking his eyes off the TV, “try to be as quiet as possible. Diya is a really light sleeper.”

Diya, my 5-month-old niece, made baby sounds. I took a couple steps forward and saw she was spread out on the floor, in her fluffy pink blanket, chewing on her gloved hands. I waved at her.

“Don’t worry, if I wake her up, I’ll take care of her. I don’t plan on drinking or smoking or anything tonight. Well, maybe drinking, but that’s it.”

They laughed. “Ok, ok, just have fun,” Mal said.

I sat on the floor, playing with Diya, until 7:50, when the doorbell rang, revealing Topper, wearing a black button-down shirt that was rolled up to his elbows (bless), Air Force 1s, ripped jeans, and a Gucci belt.

He smiled. “Ready to go?”

I smiled back. “Yep.” I turned to face Krish and Mal. “Bye Mom, bye Dad!”

“Bye, hun!” Mallory called out. They smiled and Top, too, and waved.

I closed the door and left, and Topper grabbed my hand to lead me to the car. “Sorry, I’d have introduced you to my parents, but they were too busy, like, ogling at my baby sister,” I half lied.

Topper laughed, “No worries. I’ll have plenty of chances to meet them, I hope?”

I smiled. “Yep, I hope so too.”

A complete lie.

******************************************

Dinner with Topper was...interesting. Instead of taking me to some fancy restaurant or whatever, he took me to this cute little diner closer to the beach, but not close to The Cut, according to him. “There are a bunch of restaurants here in the Banks,” he had said. “But not a lot of people know about this one. That’s why it’s my favorite.” He winked, and I nearly vomited in my mouth.

The place was real old-timey, with the little booths and a jukebox. We had burgers and shared a plate of fries and a milkshake. And honestly? It would’ve been really romantic if I actually liked Topper like that.

Don’t get me wrong, Topper is hot. He’s sweet to me, like cotton candy sweet, and really affectionate. I love touchy boys (consensual, of course, or they get their shit rocked), but he’s always grabbing my hand and playing with my hair. Which would be fine, but I barely know him.

And ever since he admitted to drowning that John B kid, whatever potential feelings I had just...disappeared. That paired with his Holier-than-thou attitude and his blatant classism makes him everything I would hate in a person, let alone a potential boyfriend.

Besides, I know the real reason he’s flirting with me. The Kook King of High School needs a Queen, and with his ex gone, everyone wants me to step into that role. Any other time, I’d be happy to be That Girl. But something just feels wrong about this.

Lots of people have told me I remind them of Sarah, apparently because she, too, was a bit of a social activist and an environmental freak (no wonder her and Kie were friends) which just confirms the fact that I’m just a replacement.

But, besides Kie, I have no other friends at OBX High. I have no choice but to go with it.

Driving close to the dock, I could hear loud music playing from somewhere. Leaning forward, I saw the yachts, one of them in particular already pretty full of people and neon lights.

“Yeah, Rafe tends to go all out on parties,” Topper remarked, gesturing towards the boats as he parked. “But they’re always fun.”

I nodded, plastering on a smile. I grabbed his hand. “Fantastic. Lead the way.”

**********************************************

Ok, I have to hand it to OBX kids. They know how to get turnt.

At 9:30, the yacht left the dock and headed towards the sea. By 10, the party was in full form, with kids dancing, singing, swimming, smoking, drinking, everything!

It was a glorious mess.

Right now it’s 10:30, and I’d been dancing with Top when we decided to go get something to drink.

We went to the bar and I told Topper to just one of whatever he was drinking for me, so he got two Mai Tais. The bartender looked really worried, because, you know, more than half the kids at this party are underaged, so I slipped him a 50 for his troubles.

Top and I walked away, laughing at the bartender’s confused face. The familiar feeling of alcohol started to wash

We walked around and talked about life and the universe, and when we finished our drinks, we went to the deck.

I leaned onto the railing, staring into the ocean.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I asked softly. Growing up in Brooklyn Heights, I was never one for the ocean. I mean, sure, there were beaches an hour or two away from my old home that I visited often, but I was always a city girl. But this, this was something else entirely. The way the pale, white moonlight shined on the dark blue ocean, it was comforting, almost.

“Yeah,” Topper whispered back, wrapping his arm around my cold body, “really is beautiful.” I turned and saw him staring at me, smiling just a tiny bit. I shoved him lightly.

“You’re so corny,” I laughed.

“Maybe, but I made you smile, didn’t I?”

“...Shut up.”

We laughed, and he wrapped both arms around me and pulled me close to him. I stiffened a bit. Calm down, Nikki. It’s not that big a deal. But it is. I hate leading people on and I hated that he was always touching me.

I snuck my arms around his waist and rested my head on his chest. I’m short, I’ll admit it, standing at a towering five foot four with my two-inch platforms. Topper, on the other hand, is six feet tall, so my head tucked in just underneath his.

We stayed like that for a bit, swaying softly to some pop song. I felt myself relaxing, but I knew it wouldn’t last long.

“Hey, Nikki?”

“Yeah?”

“I, uh, I really like you.”

I pulled back and looked at Topper, who was fidgeting with my hair, and I narrowed my eyes “Wait, actually?”.

I hope he’s joking. He’s known me for less than a week! I mean, sure, you can have an instinct attraction to someone, yadda yadda, and maybe he wants to get to know me better, or whatever. Fine. 

Maybe it’s because I don’t like him that, but I find his declaration of feelings a little ridiculous.

“Yea, I do. I know we just met, but I really want to get to know you more. No, I’m not asking you out...unless you want to date, that is, but I feel insanely attracted to you.” He brushed his hair back nervously.

I could reject Topper, and risk my popularity and social standing. It could end up well, it could end up terribly. But if I say I like him back, which is a lie, I guarantee my place as the most popular girl in the Outer Banks.

I place my right hand on his shoulder and my left hand on his cheek. Standing on my toes, I gently guide his face to mine.

As I close my eyes, I imagine that I’m not about to kiss Topper, but Hot Blonde Boy from Kie’s Instagram.

His lips are soft, really soft, and Top’s hands drop to my waist to pull me closer to him.

After we pull away, he tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear and gently kisses my forehead.

“I like you too, Top,” I lied, “but I don’t want to rush into anything. We just met, and I’ve rushed into things before, and they never ended well, and-”

“Hey, hey, I get it,” he takes his hand to my chin and lifts it up so that I’m looking at him instead of the floor. “We can go as slow as you like, all right?”

I smile and nod. Top cups my face in his hands, and right before he can kiss me, I pull away and say, “Let’s go swimming! I’m going to go change, ok?”

He nods, ruffling his hair. I turn, pulling my phone out from my duffel bag and sending a text to Kie.

‘sos i just kissed topper.’

I walk into one of the changing rooms and change into my bikini. As I’m stuffing my dress into my bag, I see I get a text back.

‘dumbass!!’

**********************************************

Apparently, when I said I wanted to go swimming, it translated to yeeting me into the pool and then jumping in after, and then us splashing each other, non-stop. I mean, I guess that is what you do at a pool party, but I have no idea. Usually, I just stand around and eat food and, you know, don’t actually go into the water.

It was fun and all, yea, but I was uncomfortable the entire time because he couldn’t- no, wouldn’t- keep his hands off of me.

After it became too much, I jumped out of the pool and sat down on one of the chairs, wrapped my towel around myself and feeling really uncomfortable. Topper climbed out after me and sat down at my feet. “Did I, uh, do something?”

Yeah, you won’t stop touching me, bro.

“No, no, it’s fine, I just got a bit claustrophobic, that’s all.” I checked the time on my phone. I had an idea. “Hey, I’m going to go find Kelce and Scarlet, ok?”

“Uh, sure, do you want me to come with you?”

Not really, no. “Uh, if you want, but I was just gonna have, like, a girl’s talk with Scarlet?”

Topper nodded and smiled. I stood up, shoved my towel into my bag, slipped my shoes on, and ran off.

I felt a little weird just walking around in a bikini, especially since I don’t know anyone here, but remembering that everyone else was just as scantily clad as I was made me feel a little better.

I went to the highest deck, where the eldest kids (and by kids I mean like seniors and 20-year-olds), hoping to find Kelce or Scarlet there because I hadn’t seen them anywhere else. But I couldn’t see them on the deck.

I walked around a bit and then decided to text Scarlet.

‘where are you?’

I got a text back immediately. ‘Top deck, near the front. I’m with the little kid.’

Little kid? I walked towards the front side of the ship and indeed saw Scarlet, wearing a dark red colored bikini, sitting in a lounging chair with a girl who looks like she’s in middle school. The kid was pale, with freckles, dark hair, and glasses. She was the only one at this point not wearing a bathing suit.

Why is there a kid here?

I sat down in the seat next to Scarlet and gave her a hug. “Hey!” I slipped my bag off my shoulders and leaned forward to face the young girl. “Hi. What’s your name?”

She smiled. “I’m Wheezie. My brother’s the birthday boy.”

“Wheezie?”

“It’s a nickname, my real name is- Oh, hey, Topper!”

I spun around. Topper was standing in front of me, arms angrily crossed over his bare chest. “Hey, Wheezie. Nikki, can I talk to you?”

“I’m enjoying the company of my new friend.” I gestured over to Wheezie.

“Yeah, well, I want to talk.” He roughly grabbed my wrist and yanked me up.

“Ok, jeez, lemme grab my bag.” I pulled myself from his grasp and turned around to grab my bag. Scarlet mouthed the words be careful, to me. I nodded.

“Bye, Nikki, it was nice to meet you!” Wheezie called out. I shouted pleasantries back. Topper grabbed my wrist again.

After dragging me halfway across the deck, he let go of me and turned around. “What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me?! What’s wrong with you?! You’re the one who, one, won’t stop touching even though we’re not dating and we barely know each other, and two, literally dragged me away from my friends when I was having a conversation with them! Are you like this with all the girls you like? Huh? Maybe that’s why your girlfriend left you for some Pogue, not because Pogues steal things, but because you-” I stepped forward and shoved Topper, “-don’t know how to treat a girl, no, a person, with respect!”

I stopped talking and realized that a lot of people had gone quiet. My face flushed with embarrassment until I heard someone shout.

“WOO! You tell him, Nikki!”

I turned and saw Scarlet and Wheezie jumping up and down and clapping. Soon, all the girls (and some of the boys) around me were clapping and cheering for me, congratulating me and telling Topper that he’s a dick.

I stepped towards Topper. “You and me, whatever thing you think we had going on, it’s done.”

I turned around and beckoned Wheezie and Scarlet to sit back down with me on the deck. The partying resumed, and I went off chatting with the two girls, but I saw out of the corner of my eye that Topper was getting all huffy and puffy.

I pointed that out to the girls. “Should I be worried?”

Wheezie wheezed laughed. “He’s probably just going to call Rafe and get him to tell you off.”

“...He’s gonna get the host of the party, who I don’t know and never met, to yell at me? Fantastic. Good thing he’s your brother.”

“Technically half brother, but yes, a good thing. Oh look, there he is right now!”

I turned around and saw Topper marching towards me with another equally tall, equally blonde boy right behind him. The difference is, this boy didn’t have as much of a hostile aura as Topper has right now.

“So, which one of you embarrassed my boy Top?”

************************************************

The boy, who introduced himself as Rafe, the host, beckoned Scarlet, Topper, and I inside of his suite. He closed the door on Wheezie, though. Bummer. I liked her.

Inside his suite were a bunch of twenty-year-olds, drinking hard liquor, dancing, and sitting around this big table. Rafe took his seat in the middle, told everyone else around him to fuck off, and had us, except Topper, sit across from him. Topper took the seat to his right.

He offered us a bag of white powder, to which Scarlet and I declined. Topper took it, though, and started setting it up to use.

“You use coke?” I asked Topper in disgust. I have nothing against most drugs, like weed or psychedelics, which can be fun to use sparingly at parties or whatever, but not hard drugs like opioids.

Topper shrugged at my question. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal. What the fuck is wrong with y-?!”

“Ok, no fighting at my party, please?” Rafe sighed, rubbing his temples. “I brought you guys inside so that everyone else can enjoy the party while you guys have your little marital dispute-”

“WE’RE NOT DATING!” I shouted.

“Whatever,” Rafe sighed.

I stood up. “I’m gonna go hang with Wheezie. Scarlet, you coming?”

She was about to respond when Rafe stood up and said, “I’ll join you.”

I shot a confused look at Scarlet, who just shrugged.

I slipped my bag over my shoulder and walked towards the door, which Rafe held open for me, and we stepped outside, the air making me shiver.

Rafe pulled a pack of Dunhill cigarettes out of his pocket, put one to his mouth, and lights it. He gestured the box towards me and I take one, leaning forward a bit so that he could light it for me.

I rest my arms on the railing and close my eyes, breathing in the burning smoke and exhaling it slowly, being submerged in the light-headed haze of nicotine.

“How old are you?” Rafe’s voice interrupts my zen. I open my eyes and look at the boy, who’s very obviously checking out my bikini covered body.

I laughed and took another drag. “Sixteen,” I exhaled the smoke from my mouth.

Rafe’s eyes went wide, and he turned back to the sea. “Oh shit. My bad. Uh...how’re you liking the party?”

“It’s pretty good. Besides, you know, Topper being Topper, and you forcing me to talk to him.”

Rafe laughed. “Yea, I didn’t mean anything by it. I have a reputation of being a prick, and I’m trying to be better but, you know, not a lot of people respect you when you go from being a douche to a nice guy.”

I nodded, understanding what he meant by that. “Reputation with friends?”

He laughed. “Just,” he waved his hand free hand around, “Everyone. I wasn’t a good person. I’m trying to be better, but it’s hard when everyone already expects me to act a certain way and don’t give me a chance to change.”

I noticed the rings on his hands, like that boy from Kie’s Instagram. But unlike Hot Blondie, Rafe’s too old for me.

Which leads me to wonder…

“Did you know Sarah Cameron, by any chance?” I asked.

Rafe’s eyes went wide, and then he started coughing up smoke.

“W-Why do you ask?” He stammers, still coughing.

I gave him a weird look and just shrugged. “Curious, I guess.” I looked back at the ocean. “I’m the new girl, and everyone keeps telling me about all this stuff, but won’t tell me what actually happened, and I dunno, I’m just so confused.”

I turned to face Rafe, who was looking away, and I think I saw tears forming in his eyes. “Yea, Sarah’s my sister.”

Now it was my turn to cough up smoke. “W-”-cough cough- “Wait”-cough cough- “a minute.” I gasp for air and continue coughing. And after I finally manage to get some oxygen into my lungs, I say, “Sarah Cameron’s your sister? Shit, I’m so sorry, Topper never told me.”

Rafe shrugged, fiddling around with his rings. “It’s alright, I was just...surprised. No one asks me about Sarah or the Pogues anymore. After I came back from rehab-” He stopped, probably because he didn’t mean to say that, but he continued, “After I came back from rehab, I just...stopped beefing with the Pogues, especially JJ, Kie, and Pope. You know them?”

I nodded. “I know Kie, we’re friends. But not JJ and Pope. Never met ‘em, don’t even know what they look like, yet I’ve heard so many things about them.”

Rafe nodded. “They’re not bad kids, really. My time away made me realize how much of a prick I’ve been to them. Like, I caused them a lot of pain, and for what? For nothing. Literally just because I thought that, because they were poorer than us, they weren’t as good as us.”

I nodded. Then I turned and smiled, and stretched out my hand. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Rafe Cameron.”

He smiled and shook back.

_______________________________

chapter three

#obx fic #obx #obx fanfic #outerbanks #jj maybank #jj fluff #jj angst #jj x reader #john b #john b x sarah #obx kiara #obx pope #rafe cameron #topper obx

[rainey-staerie-daize]

Typing this here because I don't think any of my family cares to hear about this right now (as always).

So, we had plans to test-drive the Mazda 5 my mom just got, but I thought it was too late today, so I take off my shirt in preparation for bed. Not ten minutes later (at least it feels like it), Mom says we're out the door in five. People started getting a bit pissy with me, since I wasn't ready and I got stuck in my bra for a few minutes. Did I put on weight? Anyway, I'm also not used to my shoes anymore, and people usually sit in my seat in the car, so I wasn't entirely thrilled.

As we were leaving the neighborhood, I saw fireworks for some bizarre reason, and shouted, "KORE WA NAN-DES-KA?!" I was proud, because I've been learning Japanese through Duolingo and Memrise, and that's a full sentence, but my mom got mad, because I'm not a quiet person, and she said I could cause her to crash the car. Skye looked annoyed as well, although by my excalmation or Mom ranting, I don't know. Then, Skye and Mom started talking about something (I forget what, and so does Skye, but I think they were talking about something I was jealous of) and I got hit by a sudden wave of sadness. So, the night's been ruined so far. My eyes were almost about to tear up like earlier, although I would know the reason this time. Stared out the windshield and focused on my breathing, but then the car jerked, and messed that up.

"Hey [Raine], what milkshake do you want?"

My brain froze because I'm trying to breathe, but they kept asking. Did they even notice I wasn't all the way mentally there? Picked chocolate, kinda wish I got strawberry. Was good, but there was no cherry. I got the one with the good whipped cream for a photo opportunity.

The whole reason we left the house was to get milkshakes and see the strip with half its lights out, so that's what we did.

"Hey, you're gonna see how I get the work!"

... but Mom has forgotten how to get to her job. We turned down a wrong street, and ended up in the middle of a BLM protest. Joined in from our car, got video. It was pretty neat. One guy was handing out bottled water from the back of a truck, yeeting it at one point. Many people on bikes, and we found the source of the fireworks. Got some meme-worthy video, and some good pics. Rolled the windows down and stuck out our fists in solidarity.

Saw a lot of lights, but not as much as we would've. On the bright side, it was more sensory-friendly that way.

Went and took pics with the "Welcome to Las Vegas" sign, and mom made us all use hand sanitizer even though I'm pretty sure none of us touched anything. I sometimes lick my fingers, so I was not pleased. Also not pleased with my mom's backpack rubbing against my leg when she went to get it and put it back on the floorboards, and the fact that the walk to and from the sign made me sweaty. I forgot deodorant.

Went home on the freeway, flipped off the Trump Tower, and got some more pics and video of our shenanigans. Missed recording when I saw the "road work ahead" sign tho. All three of us older kids quoted the vine in sync.

Saw a ton of police cars on the freeway, and Mom taunted a guy into racing by revving the engine. He sped off, and she said, "enjoy the ticket!"

Mom also said that was her second protest, and Skye and Bry won't stop making jokes about how joining a protest feels like it happened today.

Very annoyed and moody as soon as I got home, since they keep making that same joke and I'm busy typing my journal entry for the day and making sure my pajama pants didn't get anything on them. It's been harder to listen to people talking while I'm trying to focus on something the past year or two, and it results in me being cranky as fuck. And anytime I try to explain my feelings, like a good little autistic who actually learned shit in speech therapy, it usually results in my mom ranting about me, or all of us, being disrespectful and, "this is why we don't go anywhere."

Now that I'm done typing, I think I'll try to calm down a bit and rejoin my family. I'm in the kitchen, but I've been giving everyone the cold shoulder as I type. It might not go well, since I'm not a quiet person and the littles need to go to sleep. I would've been asleep myself by now, except we did all this tonight.

#raine's daize #you'd think out of a family of allistics #I'd be the worst at noticing body language and social cues #but no #fuck Trump #my first protest

[danfanciesphil]

Give Me A Try (New Chapter)

Gay Instagram Model/Bartender Phan AU Part 3

(Part One)

(Part Two)

(Read on Ao3!)

Dan’s in the middle of his break, scrolling through his phone, when a text notification appears at the top of his screen. He drops his bagel into his lap, cursing.

The text is from Phil. He doesn’t know any other Phil’s, so it has to be AmazingPhil, texting him, inexplicably.

He clicks the notification, eyes wide, simultaneously scooping up the bagel bits that have fallen onto his knees.

From: Phil To: Dan im in makeup for a weird photoshoot for some korean clothing brand and they just put loads of silver goo in my hair to make it chromey

As Dan is reading the message, searching between the lines for a reason Phil might be telling him this information, another text pings through.

From: Phil To: Dan whoops, i kinda meant to send that to PJ. but hey, if you’re interested, here’s a pic of me with ‘Kpop Idol Silver Hair Paste’ in lol xx

From: Phil To: Dan [image]

The phone slips from Dan’s fingers, clattering through his legs to the floor of the staff room. Phil has sent him a selfie. An un-edited, un-Instagrammed photo of his breathtaking face, up close. Sure, there’s a weird silvery goop in his usually raven hair, but still. Gingerly, Dan retrieves the phone, a small, strangled sound escaping from his throat as he surveys the image in front of him.

It makes a little more sense now that Phil has informed him that he had actually mistakenly texted the original message, but did the guy really have to follow up with a photo? He must, surely, be aware of Dan’s crush. He witnessed the brunt of Dan’s obsessive stalking in person on his phone, after all.

Bagel entirely forgotten, Dan just stares down into the pixelated blue of Phil Lester’s eyes, wondering how to respond, and if he even should. Deciding eventually that it would be rude not to, Dan shakily types out something he hopes is vaguely witty.

From: Dan To: Phil hahaha wow :’) kpop? more like kpoop. (it looks like bird poop, sorry dude.) x

From: Phil To: Dan hahaha it does ur so right. and if you think thats bad you should see the outfits… xx

Settling back into his chair, Dan bites his lip. As he thinks of a potential response, his eyes wander over to the spot, just to the right of him, where he and Phil had stood not long ago, when it had seemed like maybe, possibly, Phil might’ve…

But obviously that’s absurd. 

Dan’s wishful thinking had clearly driven him to the point of hallucination, because the very notion that Phil Lester, AmazingPhil, the famous Instagram model, would ever have looked at Dan as anything more than a random bartender, is laughable.

Dan sighs to himself, then smirks. Well, just because he has no chance, doesn’t mean he can’t utilise his semi-connection to the celebrity to get some behind-the-scenes footage of his fave.

From: Dan To: Phil well now i have to see x

There’s a noticeable pause, and Dan wonders, panicking vaguely, if he may have pushed too far. Is it a little much to ask this of Phil? Maybe he just won’t respond, and Dan will have to quit his job forever, or maybe just spend his shifts on red alert that Phil will wander into the bar, and hide from him if he does-

He texts back.

From: Phil To: Dan [image]

From: Phil To: Dan hot, right? xx

For two long, uninterrupted minutes, Dan is frozen. Then, he lets out a muffled groan of frustration. The photo Phil sent is a full body shot taken by someone else; he’s dressed in an asymmetrical long white t-shirt with several long rips through the chest, some bright pink camouflage trousers, and a shiny silver puffer jacket with a black fur-lined hood. The outfit is a complete disaster, but it doesn’t matter in the slightest. His chest is visible through the slits in the tee; having seen it twice now IRL, Dan is drawn to the slivers he can see. The trousers make his eyes pop, and the jacket matches the silver streaked through his hair.

His pose is casual, feet apart, smirking at the camera, with his hands gesturing to his body as if to say ‘see what i mean?’. If he’d posted this on his Instagram, Dan gets the feeling he’d have saved it to his camera roll anyway, maybe even made it his phone background.

Dan’s done that with a few of his favourite photos of Phil in the past. He won’t even dwell on the time when Phil posted a photo of himself in the bath and Dan, in a semi-sleep-deprived fit of insanity, printed the photo out and stuck it on his wall.

Tyler came over once, weeks later, saw the photo taped above Dan’s bed, and tore the thing down. He’d told Dan, quite rightly, to stop being such a creep and keep his crazed obsessive behaviour to social media like everyone else.

“Who even has physical photos these days?? You’re like a fucking serial killer!”

Dan chuckles at this memory. He’s glad for Tyler, sometimes, even if he’s only good for keeping Dan’s stalkerish behaviour within the realms of normalcy.

Belatedly, he realises it’s been over five minutes and he still hasn’t responded to Phil. Also, his break is close to being over.

From: Dan To: Phil woww. please, phil of the future, tell me what life is like in 2087 x

From: Phil To: Dan stawwp. i keep laughing out loud at what ur saying and now the designer is sending me death glares :’’’D xx

Trying hard to ignore the fact that his dorky jokes are apparently literally making Phil ‘lol’, Dan checks the time, and sighs, typing out another message.

From: Dan To: Phil is the designer a martian? or maybe secretly one of those reptile-people? maybe skin him just to be safe. also my break is over so i gtg. have fun on set of NASA’s moonlanding recreation x

From: Phil To: Dan aww ur at work too? that sux. i forgot that u work at night lol. hope u stay dry this evening ;) xx

From: Dan To: Phil speaking of… why are u at work? isnt it kind of late for a photoshoot? x

From: Phil To: Dan well its 8am here so no haha xx

From: Dan To: Phil where are you? x

From: Phil To: Dan seoul :) hence the… unusual fashion lol xx

Dan’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. He stands from his chair, throws his half eaten bagel in the trash, and looks around himself. He’s in the staff room - a small, dusty space with a row of falling apart lockers, a couple of chairs and a small table. There’s a hook on the wall which holds a load of unused aprons, and a rusty heater for when it’s especially cold.

He’s about to go back out to serve a load of rowdy customers some overpriced cocktails, then mop a dancefloor sticky with sweat, alcohol, and whatever other liquids might have found their way there. Then, he’s going to go back to his crummy flat way across in Kemptown, unfold his sofabed, and fall asleep to Netflix.

Phil, on the other side of the world in Korea, is having his hair, makeup and wardrobe done by professionals. He’s being treated like a celebrity, no doubt, and pampered excessively. Later, he’ll receive high-definition, professional photographs of himself looking gorgeous, and post them to his Instagram, where millions of people will tell him how stunning he looks.

Dan sighs to himself. How the other half lives.

*

The following day, Dan wakes up to find that Phil has updated his Instagram story, and posted the photo with the silver goo in his hair. The same one he’d sent to Dan. The caption reads:

Not sure silver hair was a good idea! The designer was going for Kpop, but ended up with Kpoop… can’t wait to show you guys the photos from this shoot! xx

Two things cross Dan’s mind.

First, Dan can now officially state that he had a sneak-peek at an official AmazingPhil photo before it was posted.

Second, the bitch totally stole his joke.

He smiles to himself ruefully, then decides to leave a comment. There’s no way that Phil will even see it - he’s never seen any of Dan’s others, or at least Dan sincerely hopes he hasn’t, as they’re mostly things like ‘choke me’ or ‘slap me round the face with your yaoi hands dad’.

Okay, maybe he tends to leave those sorts of comments when he’s less than sober.

This time, Dan just taps out a simple:

danisnotonfire: joke stealing is a low form of theft phil smh ;)

Still smiling to himself, Dan rolls over onto his side, and settles in to watch Phil’s story. The stories are usually long, silly, and full of adorable clips of Phil being clumsy and cute. As expected, this one is no exception. It’s a tour of Phil’s hotel room in Seoul, which is very posh.

Phil exclaims over the origami hand towels on his bed, the robe provided for him in the wardrobe, and the multiple options on the ‘disco shower’ as he calls it. Just as Dan is marvelling at the panoramic shot Phil has filmed of his view from the balcony, a notification pings at the top of his screen.

amazingphil replied to your comment: joke stealing is…

Dan sits bolt upright in bed, the sheets falling off him. He runs a hand through his messy hair, eyes wide. He clicks the notification before it disappears, heart pounding.

Oh no, oh no, oh no. Dan hadn’t intended for him to actually see. What if Phil thinks he’s being rude? He doesn’t actually mind Phil stealing his stupid joke about the hair goo. It’s an honour, if anything, that Phil finds his dumb joke good enough to post as a caption millions of people will read.

Heart thrumming, Dan finds the response Phil left.

danisnotonfire: joke stealing is a low form of theft phil smh ;)

amazingphil: @danisnotonfire aha i was kinda hoping you wouldn’t see ;D

Another notification pings at the top of his screen.

amazingphil started following you

“Holy shit,” Dan says to nobody.

amazingphil liked your photo

“Fuck,” Dan squeaks, clutching his pillow for support. “Stop it Phil, I’m gonna have a heart attack.”

Curious, Dan clicks the last notification, wondering which photo it was that Phil pressed the little heart for. To his surprise, it’s a selfie, one he took at work around a month ago. He took it during a lull between serving, if he remembers correctly. The lighting hadn’t been awful when he was doing his hourly fringe check in his phone camera, so he’d snapped a pic. It’s nothing special, just a moody expression and a wash of pink lighting across one half of his face.

amazingphil commented on your photo

amazingphil: nice pout ;) xx

Dan falls back into the pillows, mind obliterating itself into a thousand, tiny pieces.

*

Over the next few weeks, Dan has several text conversations with Phil. They’re usually started by Phil himself, who will - out of what Dan assumes is boredom - sometimes send him a random meme, a musing about his surroundings, or a selfie. For obvious reasons, Dan prefers the latter.

No matter how many times Phil reaches out via text, the surreality of it never fails to send Dan’s mind freewheeling. It always knocks the wind out of his lungs, it always makes him stop dead in his tracks, and it always leaves him struggling to recover for the next few hours. Whenever this happens at work, Tyler never fails to tease him mercilessly.

“Whoops! Please excuse him, sir, his mind has been blended by a single text from his crush,” Tyler tells a customer the fifth time Dan drops a glass behind the bar.

Dan scowls at his friend, but doesn’t try to defend himself. It’s true, after all. One text from Phil has him behaving like a moron. He becomes physically inept, unable to make the simplest drink.

One night, after the bar has closed, Dan and Tyler are cleaning up.

“So when’s he gonna stop torturing you over text and come sweep you off your beer-drenched tootsies?”

Dan rolls his eyes at this. “He’s not, Ty. He’s a rich and famous superstar, and I’m clearing up puke for the third day in a row.”

Dan wrinkles his nose as he continues mopping up the patch of vomit. He’s suspicious at this point; three days in a row is unusual. Is the same person coming in each night and spewing their guts all over the dance floor out of spite? Perhaps it’s some sort of hate crime.

“It’s like a Cinderella story!” Ty exclaims, pirouetting around his broom. “Except it’s gay, which makes it even better.”

Dan scoffs at him. “I’m pretty sure fairytales don’t involve stalking someone over social media and having them find out. He’s just taking pity on me because he saw that first night that I’m a fan.” Dan dunks the mop back in the bucket, turning to Tyler. “Besides, I’m pretty sure he has a boyfriend.”

Tyler sucks in a scandalised breath. “What! Who?”

Dragging the mop back to the supply closet, Dan laughs. “Remember the drunk guy he came with? The one who gave me a lovely Rainforest shower?”

“Him?”

Dan sighs, locks the cupboard, and nods. He digs into his pocket for his phone, and brings it over to show Tyler the photo of Phil and Charlie kissing. Matt, the security guard wanders over to see as well, letting out a low whistle.

“He’s a nonce if he thinks that guy’s behaviour was attractive,” Matt says. “He puked ‘soon as I got him out the door that night. All over the pavement.”

Dan looks at Matt, tilting his head in interest. “He did?”

Tyler plucks the phone out of Dan’s hand, zooming into the photo to have a better look, a frown on his face.

“Yep, your friend there came out, called him an Uber and sent him off,” Matt says. “Doubt pukey there would’ve made it home without him.”

“Nice guy,” Dan mutters, cheeks warm.

“This is staged,” Tyler announces abruptly.

“What?”

“Look,” he says, bringing the phone back over for Dan to see.

He zooms in on the crux of the kiss, right onto Phil’s face. Dan grimaces.

“Ty, I don’t want to see-”

“Shut up and look at his face,” Tyler interrupts, grabbing Dan’s chin and angling it towards the phone. “See how his lips are puckered? All stiff and pointed, like he’s kissing his grandma. And his eyes are open.”

“He’s looking at the camera!”

“Nah, Tyler’s right mate,” Matt says. The gum he’s chewing is making gross squishy sounds right in Dan’s ear as he leans over to look. “He looks awkward as hell.”

Dan narrows his eyes at the photo, trying to see what the others see.

“Besides, didn’t you say he hated that guy?” Tyler asks, clicking off the photo.

Dan tuts, snatching his phone back. “Well, apparently he was just being nice to compensate for the fact his kissing buddy covered me in sugary cocktail.”

He makes the smart decision to step away from this preposterous conversation before he does something stupid. Like allow either of these morons to give him hope that Phil is actually single.

Not that Phil being single would even matter.

“Or he was making it clear that he’s available!” Tyler calls after him as Dan stalks over to the staff room. “He whipped his shirt off for you twice and gave you his number. Do you think he’d do that if he had a boyfriend?”

“Drop it, Ty!” Dan calls back, shutting the staff room door behind him.

He will not let himself fall into the trap of daring to believe he could get someone as gorgeous, as hilarious, as pure and… amazing, as Phil Lester. 

He won’t.

*

This is a good philosophy, in theory.

In practise, it turns out to be a lot more difficult. Dan finds this out to his cost when Phil strolls into Habenero the following Friday with Charlie Hickory at his side. Dan’s stomach sinks as soon as he sees the pair, the butterflies that appear each time Phil so much as acknowledges exploding into dust the moment he registers who Phil is here with.

Phil makes a beeline for the bar, a big smile on his face as he sees Dan. Warily, Dan smiles back, very aware that he is not exactly Charlie’s biggest fan.

“Dan!” Phil sings, chipper as ever.

Blushing already, Dan waves an awkward hand. He will never, he’s sure, get used to hearing his name on Phil Lester’s lips. “Hi. You’re back.”

“Of course! This is my local hangout now,” Phil says, winking. “Great cocktails, cute bar staff, crazy Bingo nights… this place has got it all.”

“Some people might not agree with you about the cocktails,” Dan can’t help himself saying, glancing at Charlie.

Charlie shuffles awkwardly on the spot. “Right,” he says, casting a look at Phil. They share a look that seems loaded with something Dan is not privy to, and then Charlie sighs, turning to Dan. “I wanted to, uh, apologise. About last time. Totally not cool of me to… tell you off like that. I was wasted.”

For an awkward moment, Dan waits for the actual word ‘sorry’ to leave Charlie’s mouth. It becomes obvious fairly swiftly that the dude feels he’s already said enough, so Dan just gives him a tight smile, and clears his throat.

“Oh, yeah man,” he says. “Let’s just… move on, I guess.”

If Charlie won’t say sorry, then Dan’s sure as hell not going to say he forgives him.

“So, drinks?” Phil asks, seeming to sense the taut atmosphere. “Maybe not cocktails?”

Dan can’t help the splutter of laughter, but Charlie shoots a dagger-like glare Phil’s way. It makes Dan’s lip curl; how could anyone be angry with Phil, of all people?

“Maybe some beers?” Dan suggests, teeth clenched. “We have a load of craft beers, or if you’re more into spirits I could make you guys a-”

“I’ll have a vodka and light tonic, no ice,” Charlie interrupts. “A double. If you use regular tonic, I will know.”

“Charlie,” Phil hisses under his breath.

They exchange another loaded look, and again Charlie sighs, turning to Dan with a fake smile. “Please.”

Swallowing the urge to roll his eyes, Dan nods, then gladly turns his attention to Phil. “And for you?”

“Oh,” Phil says, like it’s only just occurred to him that he needs to order as well. “God, I’m so bad at deciding, err…”

As he’s dithering, Charlie sighs. “Are you cool to get these, Phil? I’m gonna go find us a table.”

“You don’t wanna dance?”

“Not in the mood.”

Phil nods, obviously disappointed. “Okay, yeah, I’ll meet you in the back.”

With that, Charlie is gone, slipping into the crowd. The look of distaste must be more evident on Dan’s face than he thinks, because Phil laughs at it.

“I know,” Phil says. “But he does have a few… marginally amiable qualities.”

‘Why have you chosen to be with someone that’s marginally amiable when you’re so great,’ is what Dan wants to ask. Instead, he simply shrugs, deciding to change the subject.

“Have you decided on a drink yet? I’d better get on with making his low-cal dishwater.”

Phil laughs a little, then leans forwards, his smile deepening as he leans across the bar. “Surprise me.”

Something sparks a roman candle in Dan’s stomach, and his skin prickles with the heat it creates. He drags his eyes free of Phil’s with some difficulty, nodding, and turns to make the drinks.

He prepares Phil a ‘PopQueen’ cocktail, which is one of their most popular. It’s inspired by popcorn, along with the trio of Pop Queens that rule the gay music scene: Gaga, RiRi, and Bey. The moscato vodka base is made from Italian grapes to represent Gaga’s heritage, the spiced rum is a shoutout to Bey’s favourite drink, and Riri comes in in the form of a smoky splash of passion fruit bitter. The rest is topped up with popcorn syrup, lemonade, a sprinkle of caramel popcorn kernels, and as many sparkly cocktail sticks as Dan can fit in.

He explains the whole concoction to Phil as he presents it, a little smug because he knows this is an impressive looking cocktail. It’s probably his favourite one to make; the Viniq shimmery moscato vodka makes the drink swirl and shimmer - always exceptionally pretty.

Sure enough, Phil’s mouth drops open at the sight of it. “Okay wow,” Phil says, chuckling. “I’m gonna get drunk tonight, aren’t I?”

“If that’s your plan, this should definitely help you on your way,” Dan says, laughing too. “I wouldn’t recommend having a second if you want to remember your evening.”

Phil leans forwards to take a sip of the PopQueen, moaning around the straw, much to Dan’s dismay. He plucks one of the popcorn pieces off and eats it, eyes closed. In related news, Dan struggles not to fall to the floor. “Dan, you are an artiste,” Phil says. “Popcorn is my all time favourite food.”

“Oh, wow, that’s... lucky, I guess,” Dan stammers, a swell of pride surging up into his chest. “Glad you like it.”

“So, how much?”

“Oh, on the house.” Dan smiles, sliding the cocktail across the bar along with Charlie’s vodka tonic. “I feel bad for not letting you in on the forfeit for Bingo last time.”

The look on Phil’s face softens into something so sweet Dan can taste sugar on his tongue. 

“You don’t have to do that,” Phil says softly.

“It’s fine, really,” Dan assures him, all but sliding his elbows across the bar towards him. “I insist.”

A twitch in the corner of Phil’s mouth, and then he’s leaning across the bar. It happens slowly, but Dan still manages to be caught off guard. One moment, he’s watching, bemused, as Phil inches towards him, and the next there’s a light press of paper-soft lips to his cheek. A scratch of stubble grazes over Dan’s skin as Phil leans away.

“Thanks,” Phil tells him, smiling. “You’re sweet, Dan.”

And then he’s turning away, drinks in hand, slipping into the mass of people.

*

For the next few hours, Dan hopes for Phil to return to the bar for another round. He waits, eagerly, for this moment to come. Instead, Charlie is the one who brings his and Phil’s glasses back over, and waves to flag down Dan’s attention.

He nods in acknowledgement, finishing up the drinks order he’s in the middle of, and sidling over to Charlie. He forces a strained smile.

“Same again?”

“Yeah,” Charlie says, digging out his phone. “And a couple of vodka shots.”

He says nothing else, eyes glued to his phone screen. Dan waits for a moment before moving off, eyes stuck to Charlie’s face. He’s the kind of gorgeous that shouldn’t exist in real life. Unblemished, tanned skin. Clean, dark stubble, lacing his perfect, razorblade jawline. His hair is a swoop of glossy mahogany; even the cut of it looks expensive.

Charlie’s eyes flick up to Dan’s, obviously questioning why he’s staring, so Dan nods, embarrassed, and hurries to make the drinks. From a superficial standpoint, it’s obvious why Phil is with Charlie. Obviously, in Dan’s eyes, Phil is the most attractive man on the planet, but that’s just because he’s Dan’s type. Even he can tell that Charlie is objectively a beautiful human being.

It’s just a shame about everything below the surface level.

Dan pours the two shots Charlie ordered. “All together it’s twenty pounds, please.”

Charlie snorts, then pockets his phone at last. “Figures you’d give Phil the discount.”

He pulls out a twenty and slaps it on the counter.

“Sorry, I can’t give you guys free drinks all night.”

Charlie just stares back at him, a faint, knowing smile caught on his dusty pink lips. One of this thick eyebrows is slightly quirked, sliding an irritation under Dan’s skin. “Listen, Danny, is it?”

“Dan,” he grits.

“Dan,” Charlie says, leaning across the bar. “A little advice, yeah? Don’t be so transparent. It just comes across as pathetic.”

He downs both the shots in quick succession, baffling Dan, who is frozen, mortified, to the spot. Before his brain can thaw enough to stammer out some witty rebuttal, Charlie has swept the drinks off the counter, and is moving away.

Cheeks burning, Dan turns around, trying to calm his boiling blood. He squeezes his fists together, counting to ten, the way he makes himself after all encounters with dickhead customers.

“Hey, sweetcheeks, can we get some drinks over here, please?”

With a deep sigh, Dan unclenches his fists, and turns to the next customer.

*

At around one in the morning, Dan runs to the bathroom for a minute, and on his way, he sees Charlie. He’s against the wall of the club, near the DJ booth. There’s a muscular, dark-skinned man pressing him there; their faces are close. Dan can’t stop, he’s left Tyler and Dodie to the mercy of the drunks in their worst state - things get rowdy an hour before closing - and he needs to get back there. So, instead, he simply tucks the image away in his mind, to think about later on.

That man, leant against Charlie in a less-than-innocent seeming stance, was certainly not Phil, after all. As he exits the bathroom, he notices that Charlie is gone, as is whoever was with him.

*

At 1:55am, the lights come on. As usual, an enormous groan chants out of the crowd of patrons on the dance floor, followed by a few pairs awkwardly stepping out of the shadows, some squinting and eye-covering, and the slow, jelly-legged walk to the coat-check area.

“I think I just saw some guy getting up off his knees in the corner,” Tyler says despondently. “Shotgun not mopping the floor tonight.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Dan sighs. “On the dance floor? Really? Why can’t they suck each other off in the bathroom like normal people?”

“Oh, there were definitely people doing that in one of the stalls about an hour ago,” someone says to Dan’s right. The voice, for some reason, sends the hairs up on the back of Dan’s neck.

He turns, wondering when Matt’s voice got so low, only to find that Phil has perched himself on one of the bar stools, the dregs of his cocktail still in a glass in front of him. For a moment, Dan is too stunned at the sight of him to reply. Then, he registers that the lights are on, and cringes, knowing he likely looks frightful. Phil, of course, looks radiant as ever even under the harsh fluorescents, apart from a faint tiredness, visible in the dark circles underneath his eyes.

“You’re still here,” Dan comments. “I thought you guys had gone.”

“Charlie left,” Phil says, looking away from Dan. “Or I assume he did.”

Out of sight, Tyler catches Dan’s eye, making an obscene gesture with his hands before snickering and running off in the direction of the supply closet. Dan just glares after him, pink-cheeked, and turns back to Phil.

“Wait, he left without telling you?”

One of Phil’s shoulders moves towards his neck, then falls. “He does that.”

“Wow that’s… kind of shitty.”

As soon as the words are out, Dan regrets them. He can’t help but think of Charlie’s comment from earlier; it rings in his ears as if the guy had screamed it at him.

Don’t be so transparent. It just comes across as pathetic.

He was right, probably, though Dan had hated hearing it. He should stop being such a suck-up. It must be awkward and cringey for Phil to see Dan so obviously smitten.

Still, Phil throws him a faint smile. “It’s cool. He’s just a flaky guy. A bit of a princess. He grew up rich, so he’s always been a bit superficial. I’m trying to wring the bourgeoisie out of his blue blood.”

Dan snorts with laughter. “In my experience, you can’t filter the dickishness out of people very easily.”

There’s a silence, then. Phil regards him with a faintly curious expression.

“Maybe I’m wrong,” Dan says once the silence gets too uncomfortable. He shrugs, grabbing the rag from his back pocket and starting to wipe down the bar. “I don’t know the guy, really. I’ve just had a couple of unfortunate experiences with him.”

“Oh no,” Phil says, face falling. “What did he do this time?”

Dan laughs, bitterly. “Don’t worry about it. He’s just a little mouthy, is all.”

“Ugh, I’m sorry.”

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

“So, when do you get to leave this place?” Phil asks, playing with his glass. He still hasn’t drunk the remainder of his cocktail. “Or do you sleep here?”

“On weekdays, the bar closes at two, so I get out of here at around two-thirty.”

“Christ,” Phil mutters. “And I thought my job was long hours.”

A laugh bursts out of Dan’s throat, but he covers it as best he can with a cough, turning away. Busying himself with ‘dusting’ some liquor bottles, Dan tries to compose a straight face. Is Phil honestly going to try and argue that his job is difficult? When was the last time that guy ever grabbed a broom, or handled someone’s sticky change?

In a minute, Dan is going to go into the corner of the dance floor, get down on his knees, and clean up some randomer’s come. A few weeks ago he saw Phil swanning about a five-star hotel in Korea. If AmazingPhil’s worst complaint is that he had to have a few questionable outfit choices put on him, and some silvery goo in his hair, then he needs a reality check.

Nevertheless, Dan knows that he can’t say any of this. Not only would he never dream of insulting Phil Lester, but it’s pointless to try and explain the differences between classes to someone in a privileged position. They’ve usually forgotten how to understand.

“Are you close by, at least?” Phil asks, interrupting Dan’s thoughts.

Dan turns back to him. “Kemptown. It’s half an hour’s walk, more or less.”

“You walk?” Phil asks, eyebrows skyrocketing towards his quiff. “At two in the morning?”

“Five in the morning on weekends,” Dan confirms, hiding a smile at Phil’s surprise. “It’s okay, you get used to it. Besides, it’s mostly just drunk idiots chugging cans of cider and threatening to run into the sea. Not too scary.”

Despite Dan’s reassurance, the look of pity and concern on Phil’s face doesn’t subside. After a while, Dan turns from it, feeling awkward. He busies himself with clearing away the last of the empty glasses, yawning into the crook of his elbow. Tonight was rough.

“You should crash at mine,” Phil blurts.

Sure he must have misheard, Dan faces Phil slowly. “Um, what?”

“If you’re exhausted, I mean.” Phil fidgets, fingers tapping against his glass. “Like, on the nights you can’t face walking all the way home, you can totally just sleep on my sofa.”

Speechless, Dan simply stares.

“The couch is pretty comfy,” Phil continues in a ramble, not meeting Dan’s eye. “And my flat is just up the road, literally like a minute away. I’m not saying, y’know, come over every night, ‘cause obviously… that might be an issue, but you can absolutely stay round on, say, Saturday nights when you finish later. That wouldn’t be a problem.”

He’s just being nice. That’s Dan’s only explanation. Phil Lester is a sweetheart of a person, and he got so worried about the hypothetical danger involved in Dan’s walks home, that he offered something big, even though he didn’t really mean it.

Dan is a stranger to him. He needs to decline the polite offer, and let Phil off the hook he accidentally created to string himself up on.

So, Dan forces out a small chuckle, and says: “Oh, no, it’s really fine. Thanks for the offer, that’s really good of you, but I quite like the walk. It’s a nice come down after a busy night.”

Phil nods, chewing his lip. He looks unconvinced. “I’m not just saying it, though.” His voice has dropped to a lower tone. “Like tonight… you’re so tired, I can see it. Just grab some sleep at mine before you head back across town.”

As soon as Phil mentions it, the quilt of his own exhaustion flops around his shoulders, dragging Dan’s bones towards the floor. He tries to picture the stumble back to his crummy flat in Kemptown, loathing each imaginary step.

“You barely know me,” Dan says - one last attempt at refusal.

Sensing he’s won, Phil smiles very slightly, then downs the rest of his cocktail at last. “I don’t know if it’s just me, Dan, but I have this feeling that we’re going to be good friends.”

(Part 4!)

#phan #phanfic #bartender au #phanfiction

[hellyeahomeland]

“Paean to the People” | Directed by Lesli Linka Glatter

“Paean to the People” picks up right where “All In” left off. Carrie and Anson are speeding through the streets of Budapest Moscow Budapow. In this opening shot, their car is the only one on the bridge, adding to the feeling of just how on their own they are, without diplomatic cover, as they try to distract Yevgeny long enough to get Simone on that plane.

The arrangement in this shot!! Everyone whose face is visible is serving so much face. Simone is like, “don’t look at me.” Bennet (with facial hair!) is like, “are you fucking kidding me?” Doxie (with some pretty great side eye) is like, “I am NOT getting stuck in Budapow.” And Ms. Pink Scarf is like, “What am I doing here again? What is my job?” You and us both, Pink Scarf. You and us both.

Let’s give a full round of snaps to Sandy this season. She brought the sassy realness and Russian know-how the whole dang time. This show needs all the female energy it can get and this shot of her pulling out the chair for Clint’s “time out” is incredible. We’re not sure if she’ll be back for season eight, but if she won’t, we will miss her so.

Both Carrie and Anson know what’s at stake in this mission but in this moment, it’s Carrie who has to convince Anson how far she can and will go. We hate to say it, but the moment of recognition shared here between them screams “America First” when Quinn tells Carrie to get in the car and stay down. If seven seasons of Homeland have taught us one thing, it’s that these people all follow the same code: Get in. Get down. Shut up. Mission over self.

IJLTP.

We will hand it to the Homeland props department for getting the birthday right on Simone’s fake Carrie Mathison passport (it’s April 5, 1979). But!! Her middle name is spelled Anne, not Ann.

Simone spent a lot of time obscuring her face from the Russian officials in that car, but this glimpse of her expression after she asks Saul if he’s really going to leave Carrie--the Carrie who CLIMBED A FUCKING ROOF LIKE TWENTY MINUTES AGO TO GET TO SIMONE--in Budapow. That is a pursed lip and evil eye if we ever saw ‘em.

...And, of course, the guilt is written all over his face.

We are CACKLING at the dude in the white jacket in the background. We are not sure if he is just a really bad extra or some random stranger who saw Claire Danes in a Budapest train station and needed to share else he was met with a chorus of “pics or it didn’t happen” from his friends.

Sara and Doxie have the same birthday (November 4), which further solidifies that he is her forever man and the best Carrie Angel of them all.

We talked about the strong “America First” vibes above and the whole sequence of Carrie running through the train station is giving us heavy “The Smile” vibes, too. After seven seasons, it’s difficult for some moments not to feel like explicit callbacks from earlier episodes. After all, maybe looking at a mirror in a crowded marketplace is just Carrie’s favorite American spy woman move. But this shot, and Carrie’s smile later, are so specific that we think the homage is intentional.

IJLTP, II.

Real talk though, you really get a sense of the loneliness of the office here, as Beau faces away, back to the camera, surrounded by those heavy curtains.

Lesli Linka Glatter is a choreographer by training and she’s talked before about the diligent preparation she does before directing a Homeland episode. In sequences like these--filmed, acted, and edited with such specific clarity--that training and preparation come through loud and clear. Every shot has a purpose and we’re exposed to all angles of the action. It really is like a dance.

Here, the slow reveal of Yevgeny coming around the corner ratchets up the stakes as Carrie waits, a sitting duck in the locked room.

And here’s our duck. What’s so great about thrilling and suspenseful action sequences like this is the human moments they’re contrasted with. We can see the fear in her face as she contemplates whether to go down in a blaze of glory. She’s not made of steel. She may only have seconds left to live. She may be a hero but she is not a superhero.

Yevgeny delivers a BudaPOW (sorry, we couldn’t resist) with his punch to Carrie, but her moment of defeat is quickly transformed into one of triumph with the news that Saul and his “package” have achieved lift-off.

This smile, guys. Damn. Claire Danes is in a class all her own.

Delirious, glorious laughter. When was the last time we saw Carrie laugh?

It doesn’t last long, of course. The first rule of Homeland is that if Carrie smiles, shit’s about to get fucked up. “At least she had this moment,” we all whisper quietly to ourselves.

The shots of Saul looking down from his window at the city of Budapow--Carrie in it God knows where, the proverbial needle in the haystack--are powerful. He has left her there. And now he has to get her back.

We love this shot of everyone arrayed out like this, watching Simone’s testimony in The Room Where It Happened. Though we would like to point out that it’s hard to take Bennet seriously without facial hair. Dude, it’s 5 o’clock somewhere. Get on it! (Also there are so many VESTS this season! We count two in this shot alone.)

IJLTP, III.

This is the sequence of shots after Keane says she’ll do everything she can to get Carrie back. There was some chatter about going to Anson first (looking pensive), then Saul (looking sorrowful), and finally Max, who looks the most doubtful and suspect of them all (and, of course, almost hidden behind the others in the back). Sara actually thinks closing with Max is the most powerful. He’s been by Carrie’s side, through thick and thin, all seven seasons of this show. And after the trauma of losing Quinn last season, it’s easy to see how history may be replaying itself for him, this time in agonizing slow-motion.

So many “Pilot” vibes. This show loves playing with reversals and bookends, and having Carrie be the prisoner now is one of the most stinging of them all.

Sara would just like to say that she even looks beautiful in a Russian prison.

The book Carrie’s reading here is called Where Avon into Severn Flows, which is actually a short story by the American writer Harold Frederic and part of his book The Deserter and Other Stories: A Book of Two Wars.

Here is the opening paragraph of the story:

“A boy of fifteen, clad in doublet and hose of plain cloth dyed a sober brown, sat alone at one end of a broad, vaulted room, before a writing table. The strong, clear light which covered him and his work fell through an open window, arched at the top and piercing a stone wall of almost a yard's thickness. Similar openings to the right and left of him marked with bars of light a dozen other places along the extended, shelf-like table, where writers had now finished their day's labor, and, departing, had left covered horns of ink and cleansed utensils behind them. But the boy's task lagged behind fulfilment, and mocked him.”

It’s easy to see the parallels. Carrie is held in a Russian prison, also dressed in plain, ill-fitting clothes. She sits in a broad, vaulted room with a plain writing table nearby. Carrie might have won the battle, getting Simone back to the United States, but here in this cell, her success must feel fleeting and the irony of her current circumstance mocking.

Some major “There’s Something Else Going On” vibes here. (Sorry, we’re just gonna point out all our vibes.)

We’re just gonna call this pose from Costa Ronin the Yevgeny Lean (#IJustLikeHowHeLeans). On a more serious note, some credit needs to be given to Ronin, who brought Yevgeny to life and made him feel like a fully lived-in person. His habit of leaning back, feet propped out before him, is just one small example, but it’s representative of the care and attention he put into crafting such a three-dimensional portrait of one of the most interesting villains in the series’ history.

IJLTP, IV. 

And that IJLTP shot of Carrie, alone in that Russian prison with the stakes (i.e., her mental health) now clearly defined, is followed by the rather astounding hero’s welcome that awaits Keane back in the West Wing. This reminds Sara of those tunnels that sports teams would form after a game for everyone to run through. And now Sara wishes Keane had run through the tunnel, high-fiving everyone.

It’s Tie Color Time! Note that Beau is now back to the blue tie, having resumed his position as Vice President.

Talk about sweet karma. The scene between Paley and Keane is remarkable for a few reasons. First, Paley does all the talking. Keane doesn’t even give him the respect that comes with a response. He lowers himself to his knees, literally begging for her mercy.

Keane is often shot from below, highlighting her stance and power. But here, it’s a point-of-view shot. We see what Paley sees: this woman, whom Saul once claimed could not “rise above her own vindictiveness,” closing in on him, a bird of prey who’s finally made her catch. And then she spits in his face.

The Washington Monument, which sits due east of the Reflecting Pool, adds great dramatic effect to this beautifully shot (and scored) moment after Keane leaves her meeting with Paley. Despite the monument’s great size, in these shots its height matches Keane’s, which is likely intentional.

As the monument was being completed. Joseph R. Chandler, a Freemason and member of the House of Representatives said:

“No more Washingtons shall come in our time ... But his virtues are stamped on the heart of mankind. He who is great in the battlefield looks upward to the generalship of Washington. He who grows wise in counsel feels that he is imitating Washington. He who can resign power against the wishes of a people, has in his eye the bright example of Washington.”  

As she drives back through the DC streets at night one last time as President, she’s clearly at a crossroads. History has its eyes on her. (We will also continue to make ALL the Hamilton references.)

We’re not sure if this moment was scripted or if it was a choice by Claire in the moment. Either way, what’s happening? If she praying? Thanking God? Carrie’s relationship with religion and atonement has been basically nonexistent since the show devoted attention to it in season five. We wonder if, like Brody before her, she may be discovering--or rediscovering, as it were--it while in captivity, a salve for her inevitable isolation.

A few things to note from this headstone:

It’s the tenth anniversary of Andrew’s death.

Are we really meant to believe Keane is old enough to have had a kid in 1979? Elizabeth Marvel was born in 1969, which means she’s playing at least ten years older than she actually is. Sara does not buy this, but whatever.

Andrew is born mere weeks before Carrie, which in hindsight kind of shifts the relationship between Keane and Carrie in season six. Carrie really could be Keane’s daughter, and if Carrie indeed did see her in some small part as a mother figure, it frames her conflict with Saul last season--and the battle for Carrie’s loyalty--in an even sharper light.

This is just a gorgeous light, the rows of headstones filling the bottom half of the screen and the large, overgrown tree framing Keane in the top half. It’s her figurative “moment alone in the shade” (figurative because she’s not really in the shade, but y’all catch our drift).

Again, it was impossible to properly capture the moment when Carrie congratulates Aleksandr through anything other than a gif. The quiver in her voice, her attempt at a forced smile. After this moment, the lighting in the room shifts--she is literally forced to see the light, as the direness of her circumstances are fully revealed.

This is the last time we see Carrie before the “seven months later” coda, so now’s as good a time as any to talk about the truly tremendous work she did this season.

From the opening episode, Claire took us on the tenuous, tumultuous journey of Carrie’s war with her own mind and the battles waged within. Every episode, every moment was brought to life with exacting precision. Sometimes we loved her, and sometimes we hated her, but Claire’s commitment to every moment never wavered, whether it was seducing Dante, having nightmarish visions of her bloodied daughter, or inching her way across that GRU roof.

The throughline of this season of Carrie’s mental health makes this moment and the final scene land with even more crushing weight than they otherwise would. When Carrie experiences a breakdown so harrowing and frightening, she goes to extreme lengths to restore her own sanity. In the last three episodes of the season, we see just how invaluable that sanity is--her mind is both her greatest asset and greatest liability.

Carrie knows here what’s about to happen. She stares, eyes wide open, almost as if she’s glimpsing into the future at what lies before her. There’s no safety net this time, no pills or ECT to pull her back or hit the reset button. But for as much as she knows that she’ll lose her mind (in every sense of the word, it turns out), there is also great uncertainty, looking into “the bottom of a black hole with no walls.”

Something we find super interesting about this sequence is just how many perspectives LLG gives us of Keane’s speech, whether it’s Wellington’s from inside the Oval, Saul in his office, or Yevgeny in Budapow. Again, LLG’s choreography background comes shining through. For almost the entire speech, we see her presidency--and what turns out to be its final moments--through everyone’s lens except her own.

LLG doesn’t shoot Keane center-frame, without some extra filter of a screen, until the very end of the scene, after the speech is over. Keane talks earlier about wanting to speak directly to the American people, from the heart, but what we actually get is everyone looking at screens, at the filtered version of this woman and her office, a metaphor if ever there was one for her short-lived presidency.

As her speech (which, like Washington’s Farewell Address, focuses on the need to not let political parties and divisions tear apart the country) nears its end, we do see Keane center-frame. But, again, it’s a shot of her center-frame on the screen, and her appearance is somehow altered and filtered.

(A quick note about her wardrobe: Keane starts the day grieving for her son at Arlington, and she keeps on the same black clothing during her speech, a signal of the impending end of her presidency. The dangling earrings are also an interesting choice, and an unusual one for Keane, who usually wears studs or conservative-looking hoops. Like Carrie in “Species Jump,” this is as close as she’ll get to “letting her hair down,” and the unconventional jewelry choice conveys the peace she’s found with her decision.)

And now the lights come down on Keane and her presidency, in every sense of the word.

The dynamics of this scene remind Sara of the end of “The Choice,” when Saul sees Carrie in that hall of dead bodies after thinking she’d died in the explosion. They shared a moment of recognition at the end of that scene, standing in stark contrast to what unfolds here.

Here’s our first good shot of Carrie, and there’s a lot to take in. The swollen face and unkempt hair are startling, to say the least. Under her bulky black coat she’s wearing white (you can see a peak of her shirt here but her pants--not visible in this shot--are also white), indicating she’s been in an asylum.

The season opened with Carrie running on a treadmill, athletic and strong, the buzzy chords of jazz blaring in our ears. It ends with our heroine on the complete opposite end of the spectrum. She’s feeble and unsteady, running away from the Russian guards and straight past Saul. We hear jazz again, but it’s slower and somehow weightier.

As Saul gently brushes the hair from her face and looks into her eyes, calling her name, she is seemingly unable to recognize him. Her eyes dart from side to side, up and down, but his remain steady on her, and we can see (and share) the concern and devastation etched on his face.

She’s searching, and so is he.

#homeland #homelandedit #paean to the people #lesli linka glatter #* #in the director's chair #by: sara #by: gail #vibes on vibes on vibes

[im-a-peanut-bar]

111. “Delete it. Now.”

Requested by @thiamlife

Also can be found on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13645203?show_comments=true&view_full_work=false#comment_149505330

Liam felt like an idiot just laying in his bed with the blankets pulled up to his chest as his thoughts prevented him from sleeping. Damn gay thoughts were keeping him up every night for the past few weeks. He couldn’t help it, his mind just kept going back to thinking about Theo. The way the chimera kept him grounded and sane, the way he looked when he genuinely smiled, the way his laugh sounded when he found even the stupidest of things funny. He was falling for the chimera...hard. Feelings like this were to tough to avoid, especially when said person lived in the same house and was two doors down from his bedroom. He really hoped Theo couldn’t hear his heartbeat and the way it pounded uncontrollably. Why did Theo have to do this to him? He groaned as he glanced at the alarm clock on his nightstand. 3 a.m. You’ve got to be joking. Liam was gonna be running on E all day if he didn’t go to bed now. He rolled to his side glancing at the wall before forcing his eyes closed. This was good all he had to do was relax and not think about… he blinked his eyes open with huff. This wasn’t working, being overly tired made it even harder for him to control his thoughts.

He sat up suddenly reaching for his phone. He read somewhere that writing down your thoughts helped get rid of them. Like writing your emotions in a letter and then setting it on fire. Apparently burning the words would make the feelings fade too and at this point Liam was fucking desperate. He didn’t feel like getting up to physically write a letter so he was gonna type it and delete it. Simple solution to his ongoing problem. He just needed to get the feelings off his chest. Liam’s fingers hovered over the screen, opening his text messages before he began typing.

~I love you, Theo. There I said it, well more like typed it, but same thing. It’s out there now. No longer trapped inside my head. You’ve been driving me crazy, you know? Constantly on my mind. You say I never stop thinking, well guess what? This time it’s your fault asshole. I mean how is it even possible to be that good looking. You look like you were carved from fucking marble or sculpted by God himself. Yeah I know “I’m an atheist you dumbass” but still like that shit’s not fair. It’s not even just your looks (I mean Damn) but it’s your personality too. Like you're smart, incredibly smart. Sure at first you didn’t use your brains for the best of reasons, but you are still friggin observant and intelligent it’s crazy. I also like how sarcastic you are. When you're being a wise ass you get this smirk on your face, like you think you're the most hilarious person in the world. Did you know you do that? I act like I hate it, but I really don’t. Not to mention you deal with me all the time. You are the one person who doesn’t treat me like a ticking time bomb. You don’t make me feel like I’m a monster. You are always there for me, you calm me, anchor me. Who knew out of all the people in the world you’d be the one to keep me sane. I should thank you for that. I don’t think I ever have. You’ve saved my ass so many times and I don’t think I ever told you how much I appreciated it. I probably wouldn’t be living if it wasn’t for you. I don’t know when it happened exactly, but all I know is I fell hard and fast. So friggin hard that I’m writing a full on novel about my mushy feelings at 3 in the morning. You know what the worst part is? I can’t even fit everything I want to say in this message. You know I’m not good with words. Its now 3:30 in the morning and I’ll leave with this final note, you deserve to be loved Theo. I know you don’t think you do, but you really do even if its not with me. And I hope one day you feel that way too, I hope you find someone that shows you what happiness is. I hope you find someone who makes you smile. You should really smile more, it’s beautiful.~

Liam let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding as he looked down at his phone screen. Was it possible for him to feel worse than he did before? Writing out his feelings made him realize how much he truly cared for Theo and it hurt because he was too chicken to do anything about it. He closed his eyes letting out a sigh as he tapped the screen to clear the message.

He went to go turn off his phone screen when he saw the love confession he wrote Theo in a bright green bubble. Green meant sent, GREEN MEANT SENT. Liam’s eyes widened as his heart pounded in his chest. “No no no no no.” he tapped at the screen, but there was nothing he could do. The message sent, he was to late. He did the one thing he could think of, he facetimed Mason.

The phone rang for a few seconds before connecting with his best friend. The image of a tired and unamused Mason greeting him. “Liam do I even want to know why-”

“I fucked up.” Liam cut him off as he ran his fingers through his hair nervously.

“What could you have possibly fucked up on at 4 in the morning?” Mason asked as he sat up, realizing that this conversation was probably going to need his undivided attention.

“You know how they say to write all your feelings out in a letter and then burn it to get rid of those feelings. Well I did that, only with a text message. I typed all of my feelings out in a long ass paragraph with the expectation of deleting the message before anyone could see it. I thought it would help me feel better because my gay thoughts are keeping me up at night and I haven’t slept in days.”

Mason didn’t know if it was his still half asleep brain or not, but Liam was rambling and incredibly hard to follow. “You wrote out a text message to get rid of gay thoughts?” he questioned raising his eyebrow.

“Yes! I wrote it all out, telling Theo all about my feelings.” Liam whispered as he fidgeted with the blanket.

“Okay and?”

“And I sent it.”

“You sent it?!” Mason spoke a little too loudly for what time it currently was.

“Will you shut up? I don’t want all of Beacon Hills to know.” Liam groaned hiding his face in hands. “I wasn’t supposed to send it obviously. I meant to delete it, but I was tired and not thinking straight-”

“Well, I mean you definitely weren���t thinking straight.” Mason teased earning a pretty intense glare from Liam. “Sorry, sorry. I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.” he tried to comfort his best friend.

“I told him I thought he looked like he was carved from fucking marble Mason.”

“Oh my god.” Mason snorted.

“I think I’m gonna be sick.” Liam groaned as he tried to think of ways to erase his existence.

Mason being Liam’s best friend knew just how much he was panicking. “I’m guessing me saying just wait to see what he says isn’t going to fly with you?” he asked and Liam’s gaze immediately went back to the phone. Expression reading ‘what the hell do you think?’ Mason should have figured Liam wouldn’t want Theo to read it. He didn’t know what else Liam had confessed to Theo besides his perfect structure, but he assumed there was plenty more embarrassing things in the message. He sighed looking over at the clock before turning his attention back to his phone. “Why don’t you just steal his phone and delete the message before he reads it?” Mason suggested.

“What?”

“Liam its almost 5 in the morning, Theo is probably still asleep like a normal person. Just take his phone and delete it. The evidence will be gone and Theo will have no knowledge of you feelings towards him.” Mason clarified. All he really wanted to do was go to bed and pretend this conversation never happened.

“Oh my god Mason, You’re a genius! I’ll talk to you later” Liam replied muttering a quick thank you before hanging up. He dropped his phone on the bed and quickly rushed out of his bedroom, quietly heading towards the guest bedroom. He slowly opened the door, cringing when it squeaked slightly. He peeked inside and saw Theo still fast sleep, with his phone resting on the night stand beside the bed. This was his chance, he could do this. He walked into the room, holding his breath so not even him inhaling would wake the chimera. He was a few inches from the night stand, when the floor creaked beneath his feet. He glared down at the hardwood floors, even going as far as to flip it off. Because if sneaking into his crush’s room at five in the morning wasn’t crazy enough sending the hardwood floors a silent fuck you definitely was.

“Liam?” Theo’s raspy voice filled the air as he sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “What are you doing?”

If Liam wasn’t currently in the most awkward situation of his life he would have taken time to appreciate just how attractive a just woken up Theo was, but at the moment he just wanted to curl up into a ball until he vanished. “I uh… my phones not working so I need to use yours.”

“You need to use my phone at...5 in the morning?” Theo furrowed his brow as reached over towards the bedside table. Theo’s hand was inches away from the phone and Liam didn’t think he just acted, as he quickly slapped Theo’s hand away. “Ow! What the shit Liam?”

“You were going to touch your phone.” Liam replied quickly making Theo look at him like he had two heads.

“No, I was reaching over to turn on the light. But even if I was, it’s my phone. I’m allowed to touch it.” Theo retorted wondering if Liam realized just how weird he was being.

“You can’t!” Liam shouted panicking when he saw Theo actually reaching for his phone this time. Liam realized Theo's silences was an invitation to continue. “I uh I sent you a message and don’t want you to see it, it wasn’t meant for you.”

“Okay? Is that it. It can’t be that bad of a message.” Theo chuckled, stopping when he saw the look on the beta’s face. “Oh god Dunbar, don’t tell me you accidentally sent me a dick pic.”

“What?! NO” Liam shrieked voice going shockingly high as his face turned a bright shade of red.

“See then it’s nothing bad.” Theo spoke as he grabbed the phone. “Let’s see what the little beta sent me.” he teased with a smirk.

“Delete it. Now.” Liam demanded going to reach for the phone again, only for Theo to move it out of reach. “Damn it Theo, just let me delete it.” he whined as he tried to grab the phone again. A few minutes later and things quickly turned into a full out wrestling match. Liam was wrapped around Theo’s back the chimera’s elbow painfully digging into his ribs. “Give me the fucking phone.” he growled. The only reply Theo gave him was another painful jab in the ribs.

“OW! Did you- Did you just fucking bite me?!” Theo shouted when he felt Liam’s teeth latch on to his shoulder. “Just because you don’t get what you want doesn’t mean you get to bite people like a goddamn dog.”

“If you would have given me the phone-”

“It’s my phone!” Theo yelled back earning a painful pinch in the arm. That damn asshole used his fucking claws too. “I can’t believe I actually love you back! What kind of idiot am I?!” the chimera shouted just in time for Liam to slap the phone out of his hand making it land on the ground with a loud thud.

“You what?” Liam froze. Maybe his heart pounding in his ears made him mishear the chimera.

“I said I love you too, you jerk.” Theo restated with a sigh as he laid back on the bed with an exhausted sigh.

“You do?”

“Yes Liam I do. I read your message a few minutes after you sent it.” Theo muttered as he glanced over at the beta who was no longer clinging to him. “I was just going to wait until the morning to talk you about because bothering you at such an ungodly hour seemed rude of me.” Theo deadpanned.

“You didn’t think about telling me that before I smacked the phone out of your hand?” Liam asked failing to hold back the smile on his face, the ridiculousness of this situation finally hitting him.

“I honestly didn’t think it was going to turn out this way. I really should have known better.” Theo replied his own smile mirroring Liam’s. “Dude we are so fucked up.” He laughed shaking his head fondly.

“That’s what makes us, us.” Liam said softly as he reached for Theo’s hand, lacing their fingers together. Looking at Theo with a grin.

“Yeah it is.” Theo smiled back at him. Was this how he thought he was going to confess his feelings to Liam? No, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I’m sorry about your phone.” Liam apologized as he leaned closer to Theo, resting his head on the chimera’s chest.

“It’s fine, I forgive you” Theo replied as he wrapped his arm around Liam, pulling him closer. “But only because you think I look like I was carved from marble.” He teased.

“Oh god I should have known you wouldn’t let that go.” Liam groaned hiding his face in Theo’s neck.

“Afraid you’re never gonna live that one down little wolf.”

#teen wolf #thiam #fanfic #oneshot

[greenishbucket]

Something About You

The bottom line is Larissa could theoretically approach Camilla and something could happen. 1.9k, also on ao3.

For Day 5 of OMGCheckPlease! Women Week 2017: Gender/Sexuality Identities

It's not like Larissa has a real crush on Camilla Collins, not like she did on Raj in junior year of high school.

They'd been art buddies since second week of freshman year and he developed some of the worst acne Larissa'd ever seen, like, for real, but she'd still got flustered around him and his hair had been thick enough to lose a hand in. Not that she'd ever done that, or thought about it at length. And he'd been kind about her art when she forgot how to draw limbs or complete a clean block print for like a whole fucking month straight outta nowhere, as well as crazy good at physics which Larissa appreciated because she needed his notes to pass. He'd liked all of her updates on FB; still did, last being an arty pic Claire had taken of Lake Quad and Larissa had deemed worthy. He'd sat with her and her other friends at lunch sometimes and there had probs been some mutual crushing going on in hindsight.

Whatever Larissa's feeling around Camilla is something for sure but it doesn't have the familiarity of Raj. It’s a crush from afar. Larissa feels her face burning whenever Camilla’s near even though they’ve never really spoken, her eyes catching on Camilla’s arms and the curl of her hair and lame ass butterflies erupting in her stomach whenever Camilla laughs. Sure, she also imagines what it'd be like to go over and talk to her and what their first date could be like but it's not the same.

It’s kinda weird for a girl to be attainable, for one thing. Like, Larissa’s had crushes on girls before but their sexuality had always been an unknown, keeping the whole possibility of approaching a distant idea and something she’d played around with but not legit considered. Camilla goes to the same LGBT events that Larissa drops in on and is loud and proud about being bi in a way Larissa feels but doesn’t think she can replicate, busy still thinking too long before she talks; Camilla’s bright and friendly and possible and it draws Larissa in. Larissa thinks her crush is pretty reasonable by all standards, maybe even a rite of passage. Frosh Experience no. 38: Get crush on Camilla Collins.

The bottom line is Larissa could theoretically approach Camilla and something could happen. It’s wild.

She feels over-warm with the potential of it the first half of the semester, stuck between the desire to never do anything with the feeling and the fear that if she doesn’t she’ll regret it. Her art friends give her some shit about it - chirp, chirp, she thinks, thinking back to Shitty’s hockey guys she’d been introduced to the other day - and it’s chill but it kinda blows a little, how much they push it even when Larissa feels a little fragile about what to do with it. Not that she says anything because that’s not her style but still. Beyond that, nothing really happens until they’re all at a nice but a little try-hard party and Camilla is there, looking for a beer pong partner.

Larissa knows she’s a fucking pro at beer pong and so do all of her art friends with her (in spite of the intense angsty persona she’s carefully cultivating to project with them). They all turn to look at her when one of the tennis girls lifts Camilla’s arm, advertising her as ‘pretty fucking solid, wrist game off the charts, someone claim this lovely lady and become a legend!’. Next thing she knows she’s marching up to Camilla Collins - Camilla Collins - and offering to pair up, a couple of ‘get it!’ hoots just audible over the noise. Larissa can feel sweat in a nasty layer all along her back as she speaks and she can see now where Camilla’s smudged her mascara at some point in the night which, to be honest, only makes Larissa more nervous because smudged mascara has never looked more appealing.

“’Sup, I’m Larissa,” she says. She’s resisting the instinct to stick her hand out.

“Camilla,” says Camilla like Larissa doesn’t already know. “You think we could win this thing together?” She looks Larissa up and down like she’s calculating and its a commitment to competitiveness that Larissa admires.

“Chyeah,” Larissa says, because her heart might be beating a bajillion beats a minute but chyeah.

It seems enough to convince Camilla. She gives a slightly sloppy high five that Larissa just manages to meet and then the game is on.

Despite more than a few drinks between them, they more than hold their own. It’s like they can’t miss the cups put in front of them and the other pair across the table knock over so many that it starts to get ridiculous. Camilla’s arms are tight and toned around Larissa when she pulls her into a hug after a particularly slick manoeuvre and Larissa feels dizzy with it all, floating off her feet like none of it is quite real. It’s probably the alcohol but she can’t ignore how much of it is the anxiety-exhilaration of something could really happen here.  

The alcohol is what Larissa chooses to blame when Camilla drags her to the kitchen for water, laughing and talking fast over the music about how amazing they both were, and Larissa can’t stop staring at the strength in her hands as she does the most mundane of all fucking tasks in getting them two plastic cups of water. The way that with how close they’re standing despite the relative emptiness of the kitchen, Larissa can smell how Camilla’s perfume is mixed with clean sweat and she nearly tips the whole cup down her face she’s so distracted.

The alcohol is definitely what Larissa chooses to blame when she chucks all her usual reserve and caution out the window and leans in to kiss Camilla the second they’ve both put their water down.

Larissa knows she isn’t bad at kissing, she had practice with some guys here and there in high school, but she can only assume Camilla must be some kind of expert because it feels pretty fucking stellar. Warm and a little wet and sending so many signals all over the place Larissa feels like her mind’s blanking out. She can’t believe she’s kissing a girl, that’s it’s something that’s really happening and - she knows it’s stupid, she understands sexuality all right - that it’s ridiculously hot, her heart racing and stomach hot, and she’s really bi, she isn’t imagining it or faking it.

She realises half a second later that she needs to pull back a moment, that the reality that she’s kissing Camilla Collins and she’s a girl and they’re surrounded by people at a party is suddenly way heavy on her shoulders. Larissa thinks she could probably kiss Camilla for a few more hours at least just for the physicality of it (because shouldn’t there be something else? It feels amazing, it's just where’s the fizz of a crush-fantasy made real?) but right now she needs a moment.

The kitchen feels set adift from the party in the aftermath of the kiss. Larissa keeps her eyes on the sticky-looking floor, breathing deep. She can’t look at Camilla quite yet, even as Camilla’s hand is still on the small of her back.

“Larissa...” Camilla starts and Larissa knows that tone of voice. Gentle, cautious, getting Larissa’s back up immediately because she’s not fucking delicate.

That is, she feels pretty delicate at the moment actually but she doesn’t need Camilla to recognise that. Probs would prefer this entire exchange was just skipped straight over until she felt a lot less delicate, actually.

She looks away from the sticky floor and up at Camilla whose mascara is still smudged and whose eyes are still hazy with alcohol but who also looks concerned and unsure, softly apologetic. It's not anything Larissa ever wanted to see from her.

“Yeah?” she says because not replying would probably just make it worse.

“You seem like an awesome, awesome girl and, like, I’d love for us to be friends or something,” Camilla says, hand still on Larissa’s back and body still so close, “and I’d love for us to play beer pong again but I don’t know that we should do this. It’s not- I mean- it’s just- you get it, right?”

Larissa doesn’t get it. She has a lot of questions. Why did Camilla kiss her back for so long? Why has Larissa’s crush become suddenly 2D and finite, rather than exploding with the satisfaction of a really great kiss? What’s wrong with Larissa in Camilla’s eyes that even a kiss is too far - is she too shy? Not pretty enough? Too eager? Why did all her friends push them together like this and why did Larissa let herself get pulled along?

Maybe Camilla can tell Larissa doesn’t know what she’s doing yet, that she’s got an obvious crush that increasingly seems to be probs because, what? Because Camilla is the first girl Larissa’s found attractive that could find her attractive back, the first girl she could look at and think that could really happen the way she did with Raj? Not even like with Raj, who she knew. With Camilla, who really is hot and would probably be an amazing friend but, now she's staring it in the face, what is Larissa's crush really actually about? Larissa hardly knows Camilla enough to have a crush on her. Not the kind of thinking-of-the-future crush her mind had been skirting around lately; they've spoken, like, twice before today.

And, fuck, there's nothing wrong with just liking someone physically but if that's the deal with her and Camilla then why had she pushed so many feelings into it? To make it all more legit, more I'm-not-faking-to-be-hot? Like a girl can't just find another girl hot and then find some other girl hot and want all the romance stuff and have those both be legit? That's bullshit and Larissa knows it is and she just wants to be passed all of this being a baby bi shit already - she thought she already was - and have all the kinds of experience with girls, none of this shitty confusion.

And Camilla has had a front row to this mess, been pulled into it unknowingly. This kind of uncertainty isn't something Larissa is ever gonna want anyone to see. She is more embarrassed than she can put into words, feels prickly and awful all over.

“Yeah, I get it,” she says. “No problem.”

They both take a step back, putting the space of the sink between them.

“Well, I guess I should go,” Camilla says after a beat, gesturing back towards the party. “Thanks for the beer pong.”

She looks awkward and still apologetic and she’s still pretty enough Larissa finds it hard to look straight at her without blushing but she’d really prefer if she left. The lingering elation and mixing with humiliation and uncomfortable vulnerability makes for a horrible feeling in her chest that she’d rather be alone with.

Larissa stays in the kitchen a little longer once Camilla goes. Her hair feels too close and hot around her face, messed a little where Camilla’s hand might have been in it for a second, and she resists the impulsive urge to chop it all off. She ties it back in a painfully tight pony tail and returns to the party.

#omgcpwomenweek #my writing #hope this like.... makes sense

[dreamlogic]

"I've met a few angels" Really? That's so neat! Would you elaborate on that? 🌱🎶

aaaahhhh lmao perhaps “met” is the wrong word. it’s more like “happened to be in the way while they were doing their jobs and caught a glimpse of them, then spent a week not sleeping about it.” angels are intimidating af. even my guardian angel, who’s kind of a punk, carries himself with an incredible amount of power and authority. they’re incredibly graceful– so graceful that it’s a bit eerie how smooth and confident their movements are. i’ve encountered five angels over the course of my life (that i know of) and i don’t think i could ever forget any of them. and bc you caught me in a chatty mood, i’ll ramble a little about them under the cut:

the first angels i met were watchkeepers over the house i grew up in. it was a dinky little trailer in a quiet, well-maintained little park populated mostly by retirees and the occasional meth cook. nothing remarkable in itself, but i’m pretty sure our trailer was situated over some sort of spiritual continental divide or a rift in spacetime or something. weird shit always went down there, and i never realized how much weird shit went down till i moved out. my mom (who is also v sensitive to the supernatural) and i used to joke that it was a “halfway house for wayward demons and lost ghosts.”one night, i was going for a walk around the neighborhood, and when i returned to my house i saw two enormous shadowy figures crouched at each end of the trailer: one east, one west. the way they were perched reminded me of the ark of the covenant. they weren’t humanoid, per se, just shapes of dark cobalt and gold that almost disappeared in the night, with giant gold-laced wings outstretched to cover the majority of the house. one carried a spear, and one a staff with a lantern on the end, and they were crossed in the middle. neither acknowledged my presence, and although i glimpsed them out of the corner of my eye and in dreams several times over the years there, neither ever showed any signs of movement. their presence was grave and heavy, but overall comforting because after they took up post on our roof, the nastier demons tended to stay outside and leave us alone for the most part.

then there’s my guardian angel, for lack of a better word. i nicknamed him marlboro, because during the summer i first met him, i kept finding marlboro cigarette butts under my windowsill, which he eventually confessed to leaving there. did he smoke them? eat them? harvest them just to confuse me? i dunno, but for a while i was convinced it was a peeping tom who was really bad at covering their tracks.voyeurism aside, i also mistook him for a demon the first time i met him. at the time, i was still living in the trailer, and was still near constantly plagued with supernatural bullshit. demons tend to flock in threes for strength (imo trying to mimic the holy trinity), and i had a triumvirate in my room wrecking havoc on my mental health. i usually don’t have anxiety, but they were giving me anxiety attacks that felt like i’d been sliced in half with a blade of PURE RAW FEAR. i was chilling in my room one afternoon trying to calm down from one of these anxiety attacks when i thought i saw a shimmering blade out of the corner of my eye, emerging from thin air like an invisible curtain covering it had been briefly blown aside. thinking it was the demon, i whipped out my fuckin holy water and incense and tried to FITE TF OUT OF IT, but it didn’t budge. instead, it started laughing, this beautiful, but incredibly stressful sound like being stuck inside a giant brass bell while it rang.“are you really trying to exorcise me?” a voice asked, and i felt a bit nauseous. “get the fuck out, demon,” i replied. the laughter got louder and the blade burst into flames, sending light dancing around the room. “bro, seriously? i’m your angel,” it said. “here, watch this.” the point of the blade cut into the floor, opening up a little slice of darkness, and the point hooked around some screaming, squirming thing that it pulled up from the floor. i recognized it instantly as the demon that had been fucking with me: this vile thing dripping rotting blood and green bile, parts one two and three being a rusty spike, a moldering cloth wrapping it up, and a ribbon covered in eyes tying the bundle together. clawed hands reached out from behind the curtain shielding me from the brightness of the flaming blade and unwrapped the demon piece by piece, shredding it while it shrieked and blubbered. then the hands lifted the sword, twisted the blade into the demon’s “heart” and cut it in two easy as cutting air.the laughter stopped, and i felt a gentle weight on my knees and shoulders, pushing me to the floor. “you’re welcome,” the laughing voice said. the sword had disappeared behind the curtain again, and i felt a soft presence slip across my eyes before vanishing. i was so overwhelmed and stressed out by the encounter i took a nap on the floor and woke up four hours later.since then, i’ve gotten to know marlboro better and he doesn’t scare me anymore. his is a welcome presence, soft and humorous (if obnoxiously sarcastic for an angel), but still fiercely intense and a little careless with that intensity. i think he forgets my puny human brain can’t fully conceptualize his existence and sometimes he’s so intense it’s almost smothering. for the most part, he keeps his distance unless i call on him. lately, he’s been hovering over my bed while i sleep to guard my dreams, but for the most part he does his own thing elsewhere and doesn’t pay me much attention. i’ve also gotten a more accurate picture of his physical appearance over the years, but i still have trouble articulating. the ‘curtain’ i first saw turned out to be a garment he wears to shield himself from sight, like an invisibility cloak made of dark matter or some shit. if i had to compare his form to anything, it would be a barn owl, but even that doesn’t do him justice at all. i can’t tell if he carries many flaming blades under his cloak, or if those are feathers, or what, but occasionally i’ll catch a glint of sharp things in the soft, heavy, star-laden darkness under the garment. he exudes a dense rust-grey smoke that obscures everything but his face, and i think it’s another layer of protection he offers me, but i’m not sure. it smells like a bizarre blend of incense, rancid meat, and river water.

unlike my wandering truant angel, my mom’s guardian angel never leaves her side. it stands behind her with a vice grip on her left shoulder, and its presence scares the shit out of my cats. she has to ask it to loosen its grip and back off a bit, otherwise her shoulder aches and she can’t sleep with its overbearing weight on her. i haven’t seen much of its physical appearance, and i really don’t want to. it’s enormous, and tbh kinda terrifying. it wears full-body armor, but i only know what its head/shoulders looks like bc it noticed i was watching it and vanished with a sound like a flock of pigeons taking flight. its helmet is a featureless visor of tarnished golden-y color with plates like a snake’s scutes that slope gently into broad, rounded shoulders. tbh it looked a little bit like these fuckers, the druids from voltron. when they first made an appearance i was like “noooooooo fuckinnn wayyyyyy” lmao art imitates life or w/e.

this last angel came to me when i was visiting a catholic shrine in the rocky mountains. i’d been considering buying a rosary there, but the lil gift shop was closed. i was musing on this in one of the prayer gardens when something abruptly called my attention between two spruce trees on the opposite end of the garden. i felt magnetically drawn to that spot, even though i had to hop two fences and a rock wall to get there. “there” was a statue of an angel dedicated to some long-dead benefactor of the shrine, and to my eyes it seemed to be coated in a layer of glistening, fuzzy white down, like some sort of fungus, or dew-coated wool. from the angel’s outstretched hand was dangling a rosary, which wasn’t exactly uncommon. “i can’t take this, someone left it here for a reason,” i thought to myself. the shrine was littered with trinkets and offerings and it felt wrong to disturb them, but a voice that sounded like wind through a bottle rose from the fluff coating the statue and asked me “why do you think i compelled her to leave it? it’s yours.” after some deliberation (but not much cause you don’t just disregard authoritative talking statues), i unlooped the rosary from the angel’s hand. the second i did, the white down scattered like this [video link, arachnophobia cw]. here’s a pic of the angel statue, but it doesn’t look nearly as awe-inspiring as it did when covered with angel dust, or whatever that was (i’m p sure it was angelic, but i’m not sure if it was a single entity or a flock/hivemind of little luminous beings). the rosary now lives in a bag with my tarot deck bc i’m an awful blasphemous christian.

#angels #jesustalk #yes i know some (most) of this sounds batshit crazy #i have considered the possibility that my weird neurodivergence is responsible for these experiences #but they didn't feel like psychotic episodes. #they had weight and perspective and tangibility that hallucinations usually don't #besides reality is subjective and my reality is that i have crossed paths with five beings who seemed distinctly angelic #and i'd rather believe that life really is that strange and wonderful #than reduce it all to a fluke in brain chemistry #anon #asks