#she SHOULD be at least a bit pathetic btw. the more awful the better!!!!

[theywontletmebeprincipal]

dee dee allen alignment chart

#she SHOULD be at least a bit pathetic btw. the more awful the better!!!! #sanders bu11$hi+ (ban era) #musical theatre #the prom #the prom tour #the prom movie #dee dee allen #can’t decide if I like courtney or beth better they r so different……. #n just fucking slay the both of them #meryl too. I guess

[staruplatinum]

Stay With Me

I co-wrote this with @risottostitties a while back, and I just got around to posting it now. She’s a god at writing Abbacchio btw, and this was written for my oc/Leone but I edited it so everyone can enjoy 🎉

summary: reader comforting drunk Abbacchio after he confesses his past.

It’s angsty but has a cute ending. (abbacchio says I love you for the first time!) enjoy!

3.2K words

Abbacchio was on the floor, surrounded by bottles of alcohol. Was he crying? “Jesus Christ.” You panicked, dropping your things on the floor and rushing to his side. What the hell happened? He must have been doing this for a while now because you could see how bloodshot his eyes were, even though they were only opened a little bit.

“Fuck! Leone ! What -“ you were so confused, and scared. You worried he might have gotten alcohol poisoning, but that was just your “worry-wart” mind and you knew you were just overreacting. You took deep breaths and calmed yourself down, taking a deep breath before laying down on the floor across from Abbacchio.

You understood it now, he obviously had some sort of unresolved trauma. If there was one thing you knew about trauma survivors.. it was to never touch them in a state like this because they may not want it. You had to respect that since you didn’t know what you were dealing with here. It broke your heart to see him cry, but he needed someone right now and you needed to approach this cautiously.

“I don’t know what happened, but when you want to talk, I’ll be right here. “ You said, smiling softly at him. You needed him to know that you were serious about.. helping him through whatever this was. You wanted to be there for him, to be the girlfriend he needed.

“I’ll lay here all night, if I have to.” Frankly, while this was something you didn’t expect, you were just happy to see him alive. You were so worried that he might have been dead. Your mind started going to the more logical side of things. He needed food and water or else he’d be puking soon if he hadn’t already. That, and he’d have an awful headache in the morning. You weren’t going to leave his side though. Instead, you reached your hand out across the cold floor, hoping he’d hold yours and ground himself, in a sense. You didn’t think he was sober enough for that, though.

It took Abbacchio a second to even register the fact that someone had come into his apartment. When did you get here? He must have made you worried... he could add that to the ever growing list of why Leone Abbacchio was a disgusting waste of oxygen.

"You shouldn't stay. I'm a filthy ex cop and a pathetic excuse of a man. I'll only drag you down and make you hate me if you stay. You deserve someone better, not someone who got a good man killed because he took a fucking bribe and ruined his life." Abbacchio choked out, the alcohol causing some slurring of his words and also removing his filter.

It took a minute before he realized exactly what he said to you. Fuck, he told you about it. He told you about his partner and now you were going to fucking hate him. Would it have been better to keep lying? Probably. He could have at least prolonged your relationship, instead of sabotaging it less than a month in. He really was a pathetic piece of work, wasn't he?

"You deserve better, you deserve so much better. Fuck I'm... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't deserve you, I don't deserve to be here while a good fucking man is dead. He had a wife and a kid! Fuck, its my fault that kid is growing up without his dad. I should have been the one shot, not him. Fuck!"

Abbacchio was starting to talk in circles, tears leaking from his eyes as he sobbed and curled in on himself. He didn't deserve your kindness. He didn't deserve you right now, laying on the floor with him and being so heart breakingly kind.

"I'm going to fail you too in the end. You'll get hurt if you stay, I know you will. I fuck up every good thing that's ever happened to me and I know that you'll hate me eventually. So just... please, don't let me do that to you. You deserve so much better-" Abbacchio's words were cut off by a heaving sob.

He wanted to beg you to stay though, beg you not to leave him and not to hate him but he couldn't do that. He didn't deserve to be happy and he knew that, and he didn't want to guilt you into staying with him by being an emotional pussy. You deserved better than someone who needed alcohol to work through anything like this. You deserved a good man who could give you a house and children like you wanted.

Anything Abbacchio gave you would be tainted by him. A house, a marriage, children, he'd somehow find a way to ruin all of that. Someone as kind and beautiful as you didn't deserve that. All he ever wanted to do was help people. Even joining the mafia he wanted to help people. But he managed to fuck everything up no matter what he did. He was a loser who couldn't even keep his one dream in life after he achieved it and you didn't deserve that.

"Fuck, I-... Fuck!" Abbacchio didn't know what else to say, having already made a fool of himself. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I fucking... dragged you into this. You shouldn't be here right now you should be having fun. Not fucking... laying on the floor with some alcoholic loser..."

Ah. So that’s what it was. You listened to him, and sat up, pulling his head into your lap as he cried.

“Shh. Shh. It’s okay. I have you.” You said, trying to help him control his sobs. You knew it was falling on deaf ears though, as he continued to go on about everything. You remained silent though, letting him vent it out. “Leone.” you said, your tone more serious than any other time you had spoken to him. “Leone listen to me. You aren’t a bad person and you aren’t a corrupt cop. What you did was not something that every other police man didn’t do in the past.” You began to say. While you didn’t know the context of what the bribe was for, you could tell that deep down Leone was reluctant about it. “Your friend getting shot was not your mistake. If he chose to take a bullet for you, then that’s on him. When you are in that line of work you should expect death at every corner - the same as you do now with being in the mafia.”

It honestly wasn’t your place to say any of this but the more he went on about it the more you realized that he didn’t need to feel as guilty. He wasn’t blowing it out of proportion and losing someone was never easy, but you didn’t want him to have to cry like this constantly when his partner chose to save him.

“I don’t know what exactly happened that day, and I’ll never know exactly how you feel either. I have my own traumas to deal with. But what I do know is that your friend wouldn’t have wanted you to be like this. He saved you for a reason. If that reason is for you to join the mafia and protect Bruno? Then so be it. But you have a purpose here, Leone. As much as you don’t think you deserve anything ‘good’ in your life - you do.”

You ran your fingers through his hair as you heard his sobs start to die down a little. That was a good sign, at least. It was quite honestly making you tear up a little, seeing him cry like this. You had loved him for a while now and you wanted to be... so much more doting. But what could you do? They had only dated a month, at that.

“And you can try your hardest but I promise you I am one stubborn girl. You make me happy, even at your worst so it’s gonna be hard to scare me off or make me leave.” It was true. You could be stubborn at the best of times. Maybe a lesser woman would have ran away after seeing Abbacchio like this. But not you. This only proved your love for him.

Frankly, if anyone left him in this state then they’d be the lowest scum of the earth. He needed someone right now, and you wanted to be here.

“I want to help you, Leone. I want to be your girlfriend. I don’t care what the future holds for us I just want us both to be happy. I’m not going to let anything get in the way of that. You deserve happiness. You aren’t dragging me down in the slightest ”

There was more you wanted to say, but what? What could you say? You loved him, - that she knew -but he probably didn’t want to hear that right now - and that was fair. You knew your words were coming out choppy anyways, but now that he was somewhat calm, your concerns were on something else.

Leaning down, you placed a kiss on the top of his head before brushing the hair out of his face. His sobs died down completely, only various sniffles echoing in the room.

Abbacchio reacted to you putting his head on your lap by turning over and immediately trying to hide his face by pressing it into your stomach as he clung to you. He didn't want you to see how pathetic he looked as he shook and sobbed. Your words were too kind, he knew he didn't deserve them. Couldn't you see how much of a fuck up he was? Or maybe you did, but then why were you being so heartbreakingly kind? You couldn't seriously be accepting of all this, could you? The thought made him choke out another sob, clinging tighter.

Did he want you to hate him? To leave him? Or to stay? He didn't know any more, but for right now all he wanted was just to be here with you. He felt your hands start to card tenderly through his hair and despite himself the tension began to fade from his body. Your soothing voice and gentle affection starting to coax the sadness from him, causing his sobbing to eventually wane into the occasional hiccup and sniffle. His tears dried too, but he knew his face would be red and puffy and ugly to look at so he still tried to hide as best he could. " 'M sorry..." He mumbled again, half muffled by your clothes. He didn't want to move, he didn't want to go anywhere. This felt too nice, too safe, to even consider getting up.

“I’m going to get up and get you some water, yeah? I don’t want you having an awful hangover tomorrow.” You said, gently moving his head up and standing from the floor. You tried your very hardest to lift him up. He was sluggish from all the booze he drank but he could still move around. That was a good sign, at least.

He could feel you carefully freeing yourself from his grip and standing up. "Wait! Where..?" Were you really going to get up and leave him like this? He still had no idea what he wanted but if you left he'd definitely break again. His breathing started to pick up again until you explained that you were just taking him to their room. Their room. He liked the sound of that. Their room, their apartment, it was all really nice. He allowed himself to be helped up, leaning on you heavily as you guided him to their room. It was difficult to walk right now, swimming in alcohol as he was, but he tried not to let himself become too much of a burden on you like this. You were so small compared to him.

“Come on, baby.” He was heavy, but you let him rest his weight on your shoulders as you heaved him over to the bedroom. Once he was on the bed, you laid him back, taking his pants off. You knew he didn’t really sleep in Pyjamas because he got hot easily. Hell - sometimes he didn’t even wear a shirt. It was little things like this that you remembered, and you wanted to make him as comfortable as possible. You covered him in the duvet, before heading to the kitchen for some water. You knew he should probably eat something too.. but what? You knew Abbacchio would crash soon, so you opted to make him something light and easy on the stomach - some toast. That was easy enough anyways.

He knew he should be the one helping and protecting YOU, not the other way around. But he didn't complain as you helped him out of his clothes and helped him get comfortable in the bed. It was cold without you there, but it was comfortable. He supposed he could handle this for a bit. He watched you get up again, opening his mouth to protest when you explained again that you were just getting him some water and something to eat. Right water. He hadn't had anything to drink except alcohol all day, and barely ate anything too. He needed to have something otherwise he'd be sick tomorrow. He knew this, and so did you. So he waited.

When the toast was ready you put some butter on it and tossed the knife in the sink, you’d clean it up afterwards. Walking to the bedroom you placed the toast on the nightstand, helping him sit up.

Abbacchio tried his very hardest not to sleep until you came back so he could make sure you stayed, and when you returned with toast and a glass of water he sat up. Abbacchio felt his head spinning at the sudden movement, but he tried his best not to get sick, leaning heavily on you for support while he nibbled on the toast and sipped at the water. He didn't have an appetite at all but he knew he needed to try and finish this otherwise you would be disappointed.

“You have to drink this okay?” you said. You felt a bit better when he drank some of the water. Good. “I un- I Made you toast. I don’t know what you like to eat on it but I just put some butter. You need something in your system or you’ll be puking everywhere - which I don’t mind, I’ll clean it all for you. I just.. want to make this easier on you, if I can.” you hummed, placing a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

You looked at him as you sat on the edge of the bed. Your heart hurt, genuinely. You loved this man and it bothered you that he was so hurt by this. You just wished there was more you could do.

"-re too good for me." He slurred, resting his head on your shoulder for a minute while he took a break from trying to eat.

"I love you so much. You're so... perfect. You're too nice. You deserve the world and I... I want to give it to you. I'm trying. I promise I'm trying I really-" Abbacchio felt himself choking up again as he took a drink from the water, coughing slightly before righting himself. He was trying. It might not look like it now but he really was trying. He'd been trying for a long time and he needed you to know that.

"I promise I'm... trying. To be better. So please don't leave." He repeated, vision growing hazy as he looked down at the half eaten toast. He felt... so tired after everything. Exhausted really. He just wanted to lay down and sleep it all off.

You tried to be as calm as you could, helping abbacchio drink the water and eat. He didn’t have to eat the whole thing, considering his stomach probably would hurt or it could cause him to puke, but you were still happy with what he ate. You almost dropped the plate when you heard Abbacchio utter the words I love you.

Fuck. You didn’t know what to think. Your heart was telling you to drop everything and kiss him passionately!! Tell him how you’ve loved him since you first laid eyes on him and how you want to marry him! But you stopped yourself.

Instead, you smiled and rubbed his arm gently before standing up.

“You’re drunk baby.” you said softly, pressing a kiss to his sweaty forehead. You tried not to “believe” what he said anyways. People say a lot of things when they’re drunk. Doesn’t mean they’re always true. Still, you wanted to believe.

“Hey hey.. it’s okay it’s okay. I know you’re trying Leone - that’s what matters.” you said, hugging him gently. “I’m not going to leave you, ever. Alright? I promise.” your hand brushed some stray hairs out of his face, and you smiled at him. He looked.. so sad.

It hurt you , to see him like this.

“I’m just going to put this dish away and turn the lights off, then I’ll come to bed. Okay?”

You needed to make sure that he understood you weren’t leaving ; but you couldn’t just drop here

When he nodded, You quickly disposed of the remaining toast and put the dish in the sink. There was a small pile up of dishes, and while that was a pet peeve of yours- you’d do it tomorrow. Right now abbacchio needed you. The dishes could wait.

You returned to the bed, quickly slipping on a t-shirt and taking your pants off before cuddling Abbacchio. You were the big spoon this time and that was fine, you really didn’t mind at all. As tired as he was, he still seemed somewhat agitated. Which was fair considering everything he went through. You paused for a moment - unsure of what else you could do, but then you had an idea. Leaning up on your elbow, you used your hand to gently caress his head while humming a soft lullaby to him.

When you were sure he was “almost” out, you pulled away and kissed his head once more.

“I love you too, Leone...” you whispered.

#cw: alcohol #Leone Abbacchio #Abbacchio x Reader #angst with a happy ending #angst #cowritten

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Gift-fic for bessie-bass (because she has all the best headcanons)

She’d barely given two minutes thought to the tweet- that was the really frustrating thing. She’d meant it as a joke- it’d been born from a moment of mild frustration, sure, but she hadn’t meant anything bad by it, she’d typed it out in less than a minute before tossing her phone aside and going back to work.

  ‘Love having my costume purloined at the last moment- perhaps I’ll grab a spare queen dress next time I need to do laundry lol’

  It had been barely a day later when the director had pulled her aside and asked if she’d looked at her feed lately. Of course she hadn’t, and said as much- she’d been working more or less nonstop to ensure everything was going smoothly with the new alts….and when he’d brought it up on his own phone, she felt suddenly sick.

  People were so ANGRY- so many tweets, direct and indirect, all telling her that she was awful, rude, disrespectful, that she was trying to ‘erase’ the queens and their alts, that she was giving herself undue importance, that she should be GRATEFUL that she could be of help to someone so much more important than herself….

And then the others, wishing her every sort of pain, graphic descriptions of what they wanted done to her in retribution….

  Watching her face, the director closed the tab after a couple of minutes but she’d had more than enough time to get the gist of it. She felt light headed, like she was in freefall.

  What had she done?

  Perhaps her distress was obvious- the ticking off was brief, but it still stung: not least to be scolded like a child but to be blamed for the response, as if it had been something she wanted.

  The injustice of it all roared in her ears and drowned out at least half of the lecture- when she realised that input was expected from her, she mumbled and apology and fled to the dressing room, grateful at least that it was a Sunday and that the theatre was relatively empty aside from her and few others putting in extra hours.

  Sitting down at her station, she tried to refocus herself back on her work but thoughts buzzed round and round her head like angry bees- humiliation, guilt, anger….and under all of it, she just felt sad.

  People she didn’t even know, would never know, were somehow angry enough at her to want everybody to know….and the thought made her feel very alone.

  Suddenly, she wanted Cathy- to see her or even just hear her voice, to be able to remind herself that at least one person wasn’t angry with her, that at least one person didn’t think she was bad. The strength of her feelings was surprising and disconcerting too. She wasn’t used to needing people (she wasn’t used to having people to need) and it made her wonder if she’d become weak, if getting used to having Cathy smile at her and ask about her day had stripped away some of her self reliance.

  It made her wonder if she should resist calling or texting- if she should push through the sadness like it was an addiction until she just stopped feeling altogether….but after a few minutes of pretending to make notes, she had snatched up her phone and was keying in a message.

  ‘Hi. Sorry to bother you. I hope you’re not busy.’

  Her hands shook as she pressed send- and then it occurred to her that perhaps Cathy wouldn’t even have her number saved and added a quick ‘This is Joan btw.’

  It was only after she sent it that it occurred to her that not identifying herself would have allowed her some leeway to make comforting excuses to herself if (when) Cathy didn’t reply….but almost immediately, her phone buzzed with a message.

  ‘Not busy and not a bother- what’s up?’

  Then, quick on its heels: ‘I knew it was you silly, I have your number saved!’

  It was nice, she found, the image of Cathy actually saving her number into her contact list (the idea of her number being included in the list of Cathy’s actual friends, as if she was no different from any of them).

  She agonised over what to put- she didn’t want to explain exactly but she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to put up a good front and pretend she was only texting to chat. Besides, she never texted for nothing. Still though-

  She composed and deleted half a dozen responses- and then her phone started ringing, surprising her so much that she nearly dropped it.

  ‘Hi!’ Cathy sounded bright, cheerful- not as if she needed her free afternoon ruined by Joan’s stupidity and neediness. ‘What’s up? Thought I’d just call rather than waiting for you to reply-’

  The chiding was of the very lightest, most friendly sort- and yet it was also much too much for Joan’s current state: the implication that she had annoyed Cathy on top of everyone else (the idea that she was frustrating her, irritating her, using up her patience) was something she just couldn’t deal with.

  She gave a little gasp and burst into tears.

  Straight away, she tried to find the button to end the call- she didn’t want Cathy to hear her being so pathetic (Cathy wouldn’t WANT to see her so pathetic)- but her tears made everything blurry and her hands were shaking too much to work properly.

  ‘Joan? Joan? Are you there?’

  Cathy’s voice sounded tinny through the speaker but her tone was unmistakably frantic. It gave Joan pause that she sounded so concerned- and she immeadiately mentally berated herself for (selfishly) giving her closest (only) friend worry over something so stupid.

  She tried to take a deep breath as she pressed the phone to her ear.

  ‘I- I’m here- I’m sorry, I-’ Another sob almost choked her.

  ‘What’s the matter sweetheart?’ The warm concern in Cathy’s voice was like honey. ‘Can you tell me what’s wrong?’

  She had intended to lie and pretend to be ok (she had surely forfeited her right to comfort for being so dramatic) but instead she found herself pouring out the whole stupid story in a teary, hiccupy rush, while Cathy hummed and made soothing noises of understanding into the reciever.

  ‘-and now everyone hates me, and it’s just-’ She pressed a hand to her eyes as she finished, already dreading Cathy’s reaction. ‘- it’s just all ruined….’

  ‘Oh you poor poor thing.’ Cathy sounded so very loving, it was enough to bring fresh tears to her eyes- it was unbelievable to Joan that she didn’t sound even a little bit cross or annoyed. ‘That all sounds dreadful sweetheart, I’m so sorry-’ There was a pause and some tapping and Joan realised she must be at her laptop. ‘I haven’t even looked at twitter in days-’ Suddenly her voice was louder, indignant. ‘Oh my GOD….they- Oh Joan! I can’t believe they- it’s so-’ The fact that Cathy was speechless made Joan feel a tiny bit better: it was nice to know that perhaps she wasn’t overreacting, that other people were horrified too, that Cathy was clearly not holding her to account for how things had turned out (perhaps Cathy didn’t think she deserved it).

  ‘They’re…..a bit irate….’

 She wanted to sound funny but it just came out as a flat little whimper. It was too hard to mask how absolutely crushed she felt- as if someone had pulled out her insides, as if she was collapsing in on herself.

  ‘They’re AWFUL!’ Cathy sounded angrier than Joan had ever heard her. ‘The fact that they think they can treat you like this, especially under the guise of ‘protecting’ us….I’m going to write a tweet right now, let them know EXACTLY what I think of them….’ From how fierce she sounded, Joan almost felt sorry for anyone to catch her ire. ‘I wish I had them here now so I could really make them sorry-’ Suddenly, she paused, perhaps remembering that she was still on the phone.

  ‘Joan, sweetheart, where are you?’

  The question took her by surprise. ‘The theatre- why-?’

  Cathy sounded a bit surprised. ‘Well I’m coming to get you. Obviously.’

  There was nothing obvious about it to Joan- she tried to protest.

  ‘It’s your free day though- you shouldn’t have to waste it on me!’ She brushed at her swollen eyes with her sleeve. ‘I’m fine really- I just needed to tell someone but I’m ok, I don’t need-’

  ‘Joan.’ Cathy’s voice cut through her rambling. ‘You’re definitely not fine. No one would be fine.’

  ‘Yes but-’

  ‘I’m coming to get you. You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to and I’ll take you straight home if you like, if you want some space but….you really should take some time to relax.’ Cathy’s voice was insistent but soft, fond. ‘You work too hard. You need a break.’

  ‘Honestly you don’t have to, I can get a cab or walk or-’

  ‘Now-’ Cathy carried on talking as if Joan hadn’t even spoken. ‘Why don’t you go and wash your face, get some tissues and a drink of a water and make yourself comfy in my dressing room until I’m there? I think I left my sweater on the sofa- did you remember to even take a coat with you?’

  There was an embarrassed silence that answered her better than words and Cathy laughed quietly. ‘Thought not. Put it on, if it’s there and get yourself settled and I’ll be with you in a little bit ok? And then I’m going to get you home, run you a nice hot bath so you can relax, make you some hot chocolate and we’ll pile up some pillows and blankets on your bed and watch a movie or something ok? Something to take your mind off things. Sound good?’

  It sounded so very good that Joan found herself actually nodding into the phone, as if Cathy could see.

  ‘-and you’re going to actually eat something for dinner that’s real food’ Cathy continued. ‘Because I know you haven’t been taking proper care of yourself lately, what with all the new cast and everything. And you’re going to get some sleep at some point, because if you haven’t been eating, you probably haven’t been sleeping-’

  (It occured to Joan that Cathy could perhaps be compared to a bulldozer. A very tiny, very soothing blue bulldozer.)

  ‘-and I’m not going to leave until I’m sure you’re ok again. And then….’ Cathy’s voice takes on a slightly sinister edge. ‘I’m going on twitter because I REFUSE to let them treat you like this. And also at some point there is a tv series I want your opinion on. But that can wait til you’re up to it.’ She takes a breath. ‘Sound like a plan?’

  Joan wanted to protest again, to tell Cathy not to waste her time, to enjoy her free day and not worry…. But somehow she heard herself giving a very quiet assent to Cathy’s plan, and when the other woman arrived at the theatre half an hour later, slightly breathless and armed with a thermos of hot tea, a tube of eye gel and a bag of Joan’s favourite Malteasers, she found Joan wrapped up in her big blue cardigan and sipping a glass of water. 

  Just as she had ordered.

#HOLY F U C K OH MY GOD I LOVE THIS SO MUCH #THIS IS SO CUTE #YOU WROTE THEM SO WELL!!!! #first of all #the subtle nods to the recent drama was 👌 it honestly fits joan really well #the director fucking griping at joan for it was also a nice touch #she doesnt deserve that at all but I love that angst #then her wanting to talk to her friend 🥺🥺 #I absolutely LOVED cathy’s reaction!! #like oh my god she is gonna kill someone #and I am HERE FOR IT #everything about this is perfect and adorable and I love it so much!! #thank you so so much I dont deserve you or this 🥺🥺 #this was really sweet of you to send it #it made me so happy #thank you 💖💕💘💗💖💕💘💗💖💕💘💗💖💕💘💗 #submission #not my writing #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six the musical tour #uk tour six #tour catherine parr #tour joan on the keys

[melancholiablackbile]

A lot of questions... my my, someone's curious lol

@black-satin-dancer tagged me, cheers dude :D

Rules: answer all the questions, add one of your own and tag as many people as there are questions …pshh please, let’s keep it realistic - I don’t even know that many people irl. (also didn’t feel obligated to answer the Dragon age/Mars effect questions, because I’ve never played it)

1. coke or pepsi?

Neither. I absolutely hate fizzy sweet drinks lol. The only thing I enjoy is kombucha and I’ve had ginger ale which I can tolerate. (btw did you know there’s something called bacon soda? I just found out and I’m absolutely horrified and disgusted. pls burn this knowledge out of my brain thank)

2. disney or dreamworks?

I don’t have a preference, nor am I overly invested in any of the two, so it depends. By Disney I really like Hocus Pocus, The Nightmare before Christmas and Frankenweenie, to pick a few. As for DreamWorks, Penguins of Madagascar are THE SHIT omg 3. coffee or tea? I’m a tea person, however I enjoy coffee flavour in things

4. books or movies?

Both

5. windows or mac?

I use windows, don’t feel like I’m missing out or anything tbh

6. dc or marvel?

I’m only starting to get into comics, and I’ve probably seen more marvel films than dc ones, but I think I like dc a little more I like the older Batman films by Tim Burton.

7. xbox or playstation?

playstation. “OF COURSE we’re going to go with the ps4 - they’re blacker!” :D

8. dragon age or mass effect?

Haven’t played either, but was thinking about giving Dragon age a go

9. night owl or early riser?

aw shit dude, I don’t even know anymore. my sleeping schedule is so fucked up lately, I tend to be a night owl tho. But hey, time isn’t really anyway, so..

10. cards or chess?

both, but you can do more with cards. like chess is just one game, but there are lots of different card games. I personally identify with CAH, I think the company should hire me, because I’m a horrible person lmao

11. chocolate or vanilla?

chocolate all the way. I don’t eat it often, but when I do, I’m a snob about it - I only like the dark stuff (only vegan ofc). bonus points, if there’s dried fruit like berries in it. To sum it up (i’m taking this way too seriously and detailed lol, but I have insomnia ¯\_(ツ)_/¯) overall, chocolate flavour is better I guess, vanilla makes me vomit, it’s disgusting and I hate it. 12.vans or converse? I used to own a pair of converse, but neither are shoes I’d wear now

13. fluff or angst?

a good combination of both ehehe

14. beach or forest?

forests are awesome - they are green and smell amazing, you can spot a lot of wild animals and the atmosphere is very serene and calming. I’ll always pick forests over beaches, unless the beach is all sand or small round marble stones, the water is clear without the detached, rotting algae stuff that floats around and ew, the sun has fucked off so I don’t get sunburnt (my skin always skips the tan stage right to red and I prefer pale skin anyway) and all sweaty and shit, there are NO people beside those I’m there with and I do NOT spot any animal while in the water that’s bigger than like 5cm. Because even though I love and respect it deeply, I’m genuinely afraid of sea life, I don’t care that there are lots of totally harmless creatures. …lmao, I feel like a rich asshole saying all that - way too many demands. (sorry sea/ocean, I love you, but you freak me the fuck out)

15. dogs or cats?

I have dogs, but I love both. With dogs, the love is more likely to be returned though :D

16. clear skies or rain?

clear night skies for star gazing, rain during the day

17. cooking or eating out?

I eat mostly raw vegan nowadays, because it’s healthy I don’t have the energy to cook and can’t be arsed and I’m not too fond of eating in public so… preparing/eating food at home?

18. spicy food or mild food?

all the spices lol

19. halloween/samhain or solstice/yule/christmas?

How is this a question, have you met me? My whole existence basically revolves around celebrating Halloween like every day

20. would you rather forever be a little too cold or a little too hot?

The first one is way better imho, I’m usually a little too cold anyway (no pun intended omg) and I’m fine with that.

21. if you could have a superpower, what would it be?

Hydrokinesis (so basically I’d be a water bender ehehe) or Telepathy

22. animation or live action?

both are great (with the exception of some anime adaptations lol)

23. baths or showers?

showers don’t take too long, but baths are very nice from time to time

24. team cap or team ironman?

Team Loki, duh! No, but honestly, I’m not really invested in the whole civil war thing, but if cap is a nazi, then I’m team ironman

25. fantasy or sci-fi?

both are amazing and bring happiness into my life

26. do you have three or four favourite quotes, if so, what are they?

I guess I have a lot of favourite ones, but these two came to my mind right now: “I do desire we may be strangers” (Shakespeare) it’s such a classy and eloquent way to tell someone you hate them :D “And so being young and dipped in folly, I fell in love with melancholy” (E.A. Poe) because ME tbh

27. youtube or netflix? 

Youtube, no netflix here

28. harry potter or percy jackson?

Harry Potter all the way. I’ve read the first Percy jackson pentalogy and don’t get me wrong, Greek mythology is awesome, but wizards over demigods

29. when do you feel accomplished?

Idk, when I’m able to do more than the bare minimum and when I totally Tony Stark the whole subject/study material the night before the exam. and probably smug/petty rather than accomplished - when I prove horrible people/people I don’t like wrong or do things they don’t approve of lol

30. star wars or star trek?

I have to say Star Trek but I love both

31. paperback or hardback books?

Hardback. HARDBACK!

32. horror or rom-com?

I’ve always gravitated towards horror - psychological, gothic, really bad b/c movie style, etc. - I get bored by rom-coms

33. tv shows or movies?

depends, but both. as an aspiring actor, beside theatre, I think I’d like to work on films over tv shows - if I ever get the chance to do so that is

34. favourite animal?

penguins, rats, corvids.. but like, birds in general and all animals are awesome anyway and precious and worth of life 35. favourite genre of music? alternative rock - which is a broad spectrum tho, so I guess rock sub-genres in general.. art rock, goth rock, punk rock my favourite (purely because of the name) is krautrock (aka kosmische Musik) which is the German term for space rock, but the literal translation is either herb or cabbage rock lmao :D throw in some psychedelic stuff, ambient music, experimental and classical and I’m good to go

36. least favourite book?

Madame Bovary. I think The Great Gatsby was boring too. I don’t usually read books without researching it a bit before so I can somewhat predict whether I’ll like it or not. (btw, if you’re into fantasy at all, 10/10 recommend reading the series A Raven’s Shadow by Anthony Ryan, he’s such an eloquent writer and the plot and characters are incredible! 37. favourite season? The season of Halloween - autumn all the way

38. song that’s currently stuck in your head?

Cinnamon Bone by Eliza Rickman. She has a really nice voice and combined with the melody it sounds very unique. Actually didn’t know who the singer was until a few days ago. She also performed in the weather section in a Welcome to Night Vale episode. Oh and I rewatched CATS the musical on Sunday, so like.. the whole libretto is playing in my head on loop :D I’ve pretty much known the entire thing by heart since I was like 8 lol

39. what kind of pyjamas do you wear?

Either boxer shorts or Levi Ackerman’s running titan pyjamas lmao

40. how many existential crises do you have on an average day?

I’m having an ongoing one since the age of 16 tbh

41. if you can only choose one song to be played at your funeral, what would it be?

Space Oddity by David Bowie

42. favourite theme song to a TV show?

I’ve know this song before I started watching the show, but Far from Any Road from True Detective is amazing. And the opening to snk season 2 lol, it gets me all fired up and ready to salivate every time Levi appears cry probably idk :D

43. harry potter movies or books?

even though, they are problematic in some aspects, both have their charm (pun absolutely intended this time)

44. you can make your OTP become canon but you’ll forget that tumblr exists. will you do it? 

Bitch, my otp is canon. and I doubt anyone can really forget about tumblr - you can try and leave, but it will never leave you

45. do you play an instrument and if so, what is it? 

Not like professionally or since early childhood and all that, but I taught myself how to play the violin and I think I’m pretty decent. Same goes for drums. My dad and I low-key collect musical instruments, I think we have around 20+ pieces ^^

46. what is the worst way to die?

alone and helpless and in excruciating pain from whatever the cause was that didn’t kill you immediately though, so you have to suffer

47. if you could be entirely invisible for a day, what would you do? 

Be sneaky ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) lol idk, I’d do stuff anxiety and self-consciousness prevent me from in normal life. Okay, that is so pathetic, but my first thought was “I’d go swimming” … *wipes away a tear*

48. If you could have personally witnessed anything in history what would it be?

I feel like it’s kinda selfish and considering I’d choose this out of any moment in history maybe a wasted opportunity? but I would have loved to see David Bowie perform. Idk, I’m sure there’s more, but it’s 3am here..

49. If you could understand animals but you could never understand humans again, would you?

I find I often don’t understand humans anyway..

50. What is your most favourite album currently?

The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars by David Bowie is my go to favourite album, haven’t really listened to whole albums lately, just a few songs here and there 51. (my question) What is your favourite word/phrase/colloquiallism? Name one (or more) per language you speak c:

tbh, Jeremy tagged most of the people I’d tag too, so I’m just adding @the-river-dream-shore and @slecnaztemnot to this if they or anyone else feel like it ;) I’m going to sleep now hopefully~

Note: Wow, that’s a lot of reading material lol. Why did I sound so angry?? I was tired, so that took a toll on my answers, I promise I’m not that much of an asshole :D

#tag game #questions #personal

[krissysbookshelf]

Enjoy An Exclusive Sneek Peek of: #famous by Jilly Gagnon!

Rachel likes Kyle. Rachel snaps a photo of Kyle and posts it online. Kyle becomes insta-famous. And what starts out as an innocent photo turns into a whirlwind adventure that forces them both to question whether fame—and love—are worth the price…and changes both of their lives forever.  

LEARN MORE

Chapter One

RACHEL

TUESDAY, 4:15 P.M.

Loving your mom can lead to some seriously bad decisions.

I’d agreed to tag along on her quest for face creams mainly out of boredom. But the mall with my mother on a Tuesday afternoon—as though I suddenly believed in the calming effects of retail therapy? We’d been here maybe ten minutes and already I was regretting it.

We were almost at the makeup counter that was our raison de mall when she grabbed a black, fluttery top with laces winding up and down the front.

“Ooh, Rachel, isn’t this nice?” She held it out to me. It looked like batwings in a corset.

“Not my style.” I pushed the shirt away, turning to a rack of oversized sweatshirts in neon-bright colors. Where had she even found that thing?

“No, not for you, for me. I think it’s cool. Edgy. Don’t you?” She held the shirt at arm’s length. One chunk of frizzy hair fell from behind her ear onto her cheek. She always cut it too short; at that length, hair as electrical-socket nutso as ours would not be contained behind mere ears.

“Sure, Mom.” I’d be pretty shocked to see my mom commit to a shirt she had to lace herself into. Usually her style tended toward neutral-colored sacks, but if she really wanted to dress like a vampire, I wasn’t going to tell her no. Besides, it’s kind of awesome when parents try to be cool, like watching a baby sloth play the piano or something. Terrible on the execution, and therefore adorable.

“Hey, do you care if I go get something at the food court? I went straight to ceramics club after sixth period, so I didn’t have a chance to get a snack.” Things would move a lot faster if she didn’t have me to bounce awful fashion ideas off of.

She glanced at her watch. “Meet me back here in fifteen minutes. I don’t want to spend the whole evening at the mall.”

“Sure,” I said over my shoulder.

“And don’t be drinking one of those gallon-sized sodas,” she said. “They’re poison.”

Mom was always finding some new threat to my precious development. Too late: I’d topped out at five foot three years ago.

I felt my phone buzz against my hip bone as I passed by Banana Republic, its faceless, elongated mannequins watching disdainfully as I rounded the Wet Seal, following the faint scent of tasty greases.

(From MO-MO): Do you have a new draft of Twice Removed ready yet? I don’t think I’ll be able to look at it until the weekend, but we need to be on top of this.

(To MO-MO): No, I had ceramics today. I’ll work on it soon—we still have what, three months until the deadline?

(From MO-MO): There’s no point in putting it off.

Mo must be stressed about something; trying to micromanage someone else was always her go-to when she had too much on her plate. We were applying together to a summer playwriting program with Twice Removed, but the due date for applications was forever away, and I was doing more of the writing regardless—Mo was more into performing, which meant I usually just let her help with edits. There was no point in calling Mo on it though, unless you wanted to intensify her stress-crazies. The best thing was to divert her to whatever she really wanted to talk about, so you wouldn’t start arguing about not-really-the-point.

(To MO-MO): Don’t worry. I’ll send you something by the time you’re able to look at it. Why so busy?

(From MO-MO): Did I ever mention how much I hate Europeans?

(To MO-MO): That’s racist.

(From MO-MO): You can’t be racist against a continent.

(From MO-MO): Trying to absorb the entirety of their pointless history—which is all just wars and oppressing women, BTW—is making my head hurt. I am SO going to fail this test.

Doubtful. Monique never failed anything. We’d been best friends since we were in diapers, and I couldn’t remember her ever even getting a B. In third grade, she made two entire projects for the science fair in case one was better than the other.

(To MO-MO): That’s what you get for taking smart-kid classes EVEN FOR ELECTIVES.

(To MO-MO): Guess how hard my Art II test will be? Oh wait, we don’t have one.

(From MO-MO): I hate you.

(From MO-MO): I take it back. Distract me. If my head explodes I at least want to die laughing.

I looked around for something I could send to Monique. We had this ongoing game where we’d send each other funny pictures on Flit (basically anything that got an out-loud reaction—from snort to guffaw—scored a point, honors system) and the mall was the perfect spot to play. Monique loved unintentional double entendres or grammar mistakes on store signs. I usually sent funny graffiti or dogs in clothes. There’s something about a dog wearing pants that never gets old.

I glanced around as I made my way across the mall to the food court, but nothing jumped out at me. And now that I was getting close enough to really smell all the different kinds of grease in the air, there was no way I’d be able to focus on the game. I was too hungry to hunt down a costumed Pomeranian. Food would have to come first. I spun around slowly, trying to figure out what I was in the mood for.

There was the depressingly beige buffet of breaded meat bits at China House (pass), sushi that was probably fresh off the boat a week ago at Japan EXPRESS (side of food poisoning, please?), Mrs. Butterbun’s Cookie Shoppe (even thinking about putting an inch of frosting on a cookie made my teeth hurt) . . .

That’s when I saw him.

Kyle Bonham.

Instinctively, I ducked my head over my phone and half turned away, so he wouldn’t think I was staring.

I was, obviously—you couldn’t help but stare at Kyle. He was about a thousand miles away from my type—so clean-cut he could be in an ad for drinking enough milk—and still I went fricking googly-eyed whenever I saw him. Extra embarrassing since I had fifth period with him every single day—it was only a matter of time until he caught me drooling.

He was standing behind the register at the Burger Barn, solemnly counting out change for a little girl who couldn’t be more than seven or eight. She had this dreamy, beaming look on her face, like she was so proud to be getting treated like a grown-up, or maybe like she was half in love with him.

You and me both, babe.

He placed a final coin in her palm and straightened up, his shaggy brown hair flopping over his forehead in perfect just-barely-curls. Somehow he looked even hotter here than he did at school. The burnt-orange Burger Barn T-shirt he was wearing made his eyes—a little too far apart on his face, which made them even more beautiful—look greener. He somehow managed to make his pointed paper uniform cap seem jaunty and alluring.

I looked down at myself. I was wearing a shapeless old oxford I’d stolen from my dad’s Goodwill pile. It was so long it made me look like a little kid playing dress-up, and it had clay all over the hem from where my apron hadn’t covered it up. Then of course there were the faded leggings, starting to go baggy at the knees, the Chuck Taylors that had gotten so scuffed over the summer I wasn’t even sure anymore what color they’d started as, and the sloppy side braid that did approximately nothing to contain the bursts of dark-brown frizz I call my hair.

Great look, Rach. No wonder Monique was always asking to give me makeovers. I was a fricking disaster.

Not that it mattered; I was not the kind of girl guys like Kyle Bonham—or really, any guy—paid much attention to. I’d managed to stay pretty much invisible for my entire high school career by hiding out in the art room. Especially to the painfully adorable lacrosse-star seniors who go out of their way to make even eight-year-olds feel special.

An older couple shuffled up to the register, staring perplexedly at the dozen or so variations on meat and cheese the Burger Barn packaged as “specials.” Kyle watched them blankly, looking like someone out of one of those catalogs where everyone is leaning against rustic wooden furniture just “being themselves.”

I should totally send a picture of him to Mo. After all, what could be a better distraction than a perfect-looking boy? Bonus: if I snapped a picture of Kyle I could look at it on my phone whenever. Yes, borderline pathetic, but it’s not like anyone would know but me.

I walked up behind the old woman, trying to look casual by keeping my phone down by my waist.

I tilted the phone up so Kyle’s face was in the frame. He was staring out over the rest of the food court while the older couple worked out their order. I couldn’t believe I was doing this; he was only a few feet away. Even with my flash and sound off, it would be so easy for him to realize what was going on.

But it would be worth it. In fact, this might be my best entry yet. Not like it was hard to find something better than a misplaced apostrophe, but this was gold-star emoji material.

As soon as he turned his head back toward the couple, I could take the picture quick and head over to the Pretzel Hut, like I’d realized I didn’t want anything Burger Barn had on the menu. At least, not on the food menu.

“Well I don’t know, Fred, I don’t think I want triple cheese. Can’t we get regular cheese?”

“Ma’am, if you like, I can substitute the cheese,” Kyle said, smiling easily at the older woman. She seemed startled that he was talking to her. Enough so that she shifted over into my frame right as I was clicking to take the picture.

Well, crap-sandwich. Great photo of old-lady shoulder, Rach.

I shifted my weight onto my left foot, easing over as imperceptibly as I could. Just move your arm, Grandma…

That’s when I saw her, sulking in the line for the Caribou kiosk about twenty feet past the entrance to the food court: Jessie Florenzano.

. . . and her mom, waving cheerily at me like I wasn’t the last person Jessie wanted to see, especially with her mom in tow. Jessie had been embarrassed by her even before our friendship imploded.

Jessie raised an eyebrow as though she could smell what I was doing. I dropped the phone down to my side and waved back. Jessie rolled her eyes and turned her back on me. I could see her whispering sharply to her mom, who smiled apologetically, then turned to Jessie, frowning. There were very few people I’d rather see less than Jessie, anywhere, ever, but I kind of loved that her mom still automatically acted friendly, four years after Jessie had sliced me out of her life.

I turned back. Grandma was laughing and nudging her husband’s arm.

“You know how I love pickles!”

Ew. Not the mental image I needed before eating.

Kyle smiled and tapped at the register. If I moved my arm a couple more inches… but not too far. He couldn’t know what was happening, and Jessie couldn’t guess; it would be way too mortifying. He tapped his fingers on the counter in a rat-a-tat rhythm as the old lady dug through her wallet.

He was perfectly lined up in the frame, the last traces of a smile lingering on his smooth cheeks.

I glanced over at Jessie. She was resolutely pretending I didn’t exist. There was never going to be a better time.

Click.

He looked toward me for a second. Crap, I was totally caught. I could feel my cheeks burning, betraying me. My breath caught somewhere around my sternum and stopped there, trapped.

  But then he smiled and turned back to the customer, taking her pile of ones and quarters.

I exhaled, trying not to grin. I cropped the photo, typing in Mo’s Flit handle so she’d see it. This was even better than a German shepherd with a tie.

“It’s Rachel, right?”

I looked up, startled. The old couple had moved away to wait for their order, and Kyle was staring at me expectantly. I checked over my shoulder to make sure he wasn’t talking to someone else. Like the Burger Barn only served Rachels or something? But I was the only person in line.

“Um, yeah.” I felt my face going hot again. “Rachel. That’s me.” Oh god, I sounded like the worst kind of stupid. Quickly, I clicked to make my screen go dark.

He pointed at himself.

“Kyle.”

I just stared, totally incapable of forming words.

“We’re in Creative Writing together? Fifth period?”

As though I hadn’t spent every day of the three weeks since school started thanking all the gods for that fact.

“Right,” I said, trying to sound like a girl who didn’t eye assault him daily. “You sit in the back, right?”

“Yeah! So Jenkins won’t call on me too much. I’m not as good as you are at that stuff.”

“I’m not that good,” I said automatically, looking down at the counter. Someone had made a ketchupy fingerprint to the right of the register. Like a cheeseburger crime scene. I couldn’t believe he knew who I was. The semester had barely started, and I wasn’t even his year. Not only that, he had an opinion about me. A nice one.

“No, you are. That story of yours that Jenkins read yesterday was… well it was really weird, but, like, in a cool way,” he said.

“Oh. Um, thanks.” All my words were melting, puddling around my feet in a big sloppy jumble, too liquid-slippery for me to get a grip on. The story had been about a computer that got a weird virus that convinced the machine it was actually the ghost of Queen Elizabeth I. He’d already summed it up: It was weird. I was weird. I could feel my armpits stinging with sweat.

“Anyway, what can I get you, Rachel from writing class?” he said.

You, shirtless, on a stallion?

“Um… what do you mean?”

“To eat?” He frowned. It made his nose wrinkle upward, like it was tethered to his forehead. I was so flustered about him knowing my name that I’d forgotten where we were—in line, at his job. He was being nice because he worked service. For god’s sake, he flirted with the elderly. Even more blood rushed into my cheeks. If you poked them with a pin they’d probably burst everywhere. Like that scene in The Shining all over the Apple Prairie Mall food court.

“Oh, duh. Sorry, my blood sugar must be really low,” I said. That’s always Monique’s excuse when she gets ditzy or snippy. “I was thinking, um, french fries?”

“Small?”

“No, large,” I said quickly. I was starving. He grinned a little, which reminded me that the girls Kyle Bonham hung out with did not eat large fries. They’d probably cumulatively eaten half an order of fries in the last ten years, which was why they looked like miniature supermodels and I looked like the funny friend. “I like how the large container makes my hands look extra tiny and stunted. It helps me get perspective on life,” I added.

Oh dear god, someone take this shovel away from me so I can stop digging my own fricking grave.

He laughed though, shaking his head slightly. “You’re funny. Okay. One large fry is gonna be four thirty-six.”

I dug in my purse for the money. He counted out my change and went to grab the fries. I could feel my heart rate slowing back to “not having a coronary” speeds.

“There you go,” he said. “I think this is the right size for your hands,” he added, grabbing one of my tiny fingers and playfully lifting the whole arm up in the air.

His touch was like an electric shock tingling up my entire arm. I almost snatched it back; guys don’t usually go around grabbing my hands. Only guys like Kyle—guys who win state sports titles and homecoming king crowns—have the balls to do stuff like that in the first place. I hoped I hadn’t nervous sweated enough to pit out my shirt.

But somehow I managed to keep it together long enough for him to squint back and forth between my hand and the fry box, measuring the two against each other before finally nodding as though I’d passed muster.

“Yup, looks like a fit,” he said.

He dropped my hand. I tried to breathe again.

“HA.” I forced a laugh. Poorly. “I should go. I have to meet up with my mom.” Awesome, Rachel, add to your intrigue by reminding him you hang out with your mother.

“Enjoy the fries, Rachel from writing,” he said, grinning. “See you tomorrow.”

“Sure.” I gulped, nodding too many times, too fast. “See you around.”

I walked away as slowly as I could force myself to, which was just this side of a sprint.

Breathing hard, I plopped onto a bench near the fountain. That had been disastrous.

But at least I’d gotten my picture. That had been the point, right? To flit something goofy to Monique? I finished typing her handle, then—because of course I’m oh-so-witty the minute actual guys have disappeared—I typed in a hashtag.

Send.

Immediately, I felt a little twinge. What if he saw it? He’d know it was me.

But that wouldn’t happen. Kyle didn’t follow me—maybe ten people did. I flitted all the pictures in the game to Monique, I’d been doing it for months; no one had ever noticed them before. I think the most attention any of the pictures ever got was a single non-Mo luv, and that squirrel vest had been AWESOME. Why would anyone suddenly care about this one?

My phone pinged with the sound that meant I had a reflit.

I opened my feed to see what Mo had said.

@attackoftherach_face tonight’s brain food.

The picture I’d flitted was below. That sweet, goofy half grin lingering around his lips was too adorable. So much so that it had made me feel sassy enough to flit:

@Mo_than_you_know I’m digging what they’re serving up at Burger Barn today. #idlikefrieswithTHAT

God, I am such an idiot.

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