#they have things they consider careers or at least not fucking Starbucks

[courtingchaos]

.

#I don’t understand how I go from having a decent day to being in a shitty mood #I’m in a mood about everything #I hate my fucking job but I’m still basing all these decisions around it like it’s the end all #I’m sick of myself #I got out of my writing funk but I fucking hate everything I’ve put on paper #can’t seem to clean up my tiny living space to make it feel better #I was talking to a friend after the movie we saw and got struck with that almighty of realizations that I’m the least accomplished #at least in this friend group #they have things they consider careers or at least not fucking Starbucks #they don’t have to work bullshit jobs anymore because they have degrees! #and job experience! #and I can’t even get myself to look at a college website #because my fucking brain doesn’t work right anymore #and I have no energy for any actual productive thoughts just stupid fucking fanfiction #Jesus fucking christ I’m sick of it all #I’m tired #I want to delete this fucking blog #it makes me feel fucking stupid

[13uswntimagines]

Never Enough (Kristie Mewis x Reader)

Request: mal x little sister!reader where the reader is always hidden behind mal's shadow

Author’s Note: So I really hope you like this (though it deviated slightly from the Request) and good luck to everyone starting their next semester of college!!

Pt. 2

You drummed your fingers absentmindedly on the table in front of you, your knees bouncing rapidly. You had just won the challenge cup (proving to the world that Huston wasn’t just the land of broken toys), the last thing you wanted to do was a press conference, but coach had insisted. At least you had Kristi with you.

She had taken you under her wing the second you had been transferred to Huston, becoming your best friend (though your feelings were more than friendly). She understood what it felt like to be overshadowed and could more easily grasp the fiasco that was Jill Ellis in charge of a roster.

Her hand grasped your thigh, halting its movement, and continuing on with the rest of the vapid reporters’ question without so much as a blink.

You probably should have been paying attention to whatever the fuck the reporters were asking, but honestly sitting back and letting the vet field the question so you could watch her answer was so much more your speed.

They didn’t want to ask you about soccer anyway, they wanted sister drama and you weren’t in the mood to indulge them.

You loved your older sister. You were adamant about that, but you didn’t always like her. You and Mal had never really gotten along, even as children. You were 3 years younger than her, always chasing after her, and always falling short. You had come so close, only to have it all ripped away.

****

3 weeks before the start of the World Cup

You glared at your packed suitcase, fighting the tears that threatened to fall from your eyes. Your fingers clenching and unclenching in a desperate attempt to keep your opportunity from slipping through your fingertips again.

You could still hear coaches' words ringing in your head. You weren’t living up to your last name, you weren’t good enough to wear it for your country.

You shook your head, retiring your attention to your very excited sister (who appeared to be completely oblivious to your distress). Mal and you were polar opposites. She was bubbly while you were shy. She had made it to UCLA while you had barely gotten into Texas A&M.

She paused in front of you, holding 2 celebration outfits for you to choose from in her hands.

“Cheer up, I’m going to the World Cup and your mopeyness is killing my mood,” She scoffed. You had been sulking since you came back from your meeting with coach, and while it was probably hard for you to be excluded, you should be happy that she was gonna get to live out one of her lifelong dreams.

You smiled weekly up at the woman “And I’m going back to Huston to watch you,” you blinked and pointed to the backless dress on the left, swallowing down the comment about how Jill’s teardown of your career had killed your mood too. “That one, Rosie likes you in blue,”

Mal rolled her eyes. She could practically hear your lamenting in her head. Enough was enough. This wasn’t about you, it was about the team. it was about being happy for others even when you didn’t get your way. “So, you weren’t good enough. You want us to win right?”

You shrugged, scratching the back of your neck. Of course, you wanted the team to win, but you had hoped that you would get the chance to help them in France. To have it taken just days before they left hurt more than you could put into words, all because you weren’t as good as your sister. “She said she could only take one of us and she chose you. It stings just a little bit,”

Mal gave you a scathing look. It was annoying how you were always doing what she was doing, how you were always running after her and her friends. She wasn’t happy when you started to play soccer, cause it was her thing. She was excited that the World Cup was going to be her thing. She didn’t want to share it with you, and she didn’t care how immature that sounded.

“Look, I’m a better fit for the squad, and for once in my life I wanna do something without you. Anyway, I’m going to celebrate, don’t wait up,”

The door slammed as she left, and it reverberated through you like the final nail in a coffin. How could she be so cold towards you? How could she agree with Jill? You sniffled once, burying yourself under a pile of blankets, your tears your only company.

****

“Y/n, my next question is for you,” A different reporter said when Kristie finished answering, pulling you back to reality. You sat up in your chair, blinking owlishly at the reporter.

“Oh, um go for it I guess,” You smiled shyly at the reporter, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. Kristie squeezed your thigh when it began to bounce again. You blushed, more from the contact than from being caught daydreaming.

“First, congratulations on the win and being named tournament MVP,” The reporter smiled, and you nodded at her, the red that colored your cheeks making its way up to your ears. Kristie squeezed your leg again, and you brought your fingers down to tangle with hers.

“How did it feel to really get to show off in front of Vlatko Andonovski,” The reporter asked.

You let out a deep breath, buzzing your lips. How did you feel? You had scored 13 goals and brought the underdog team to victory. You didn’t just show off, you had implemented all the things he wanted you too when he called you up for a camp before the Shebelieves cup.

“Good, I felt good at camp, so it was really nice to get to show him how I’ve improved in the last few months while we’ve been quarantined,” You smiled, glancing at Kristie as she began to rub her thumb on the back of your hand comfortingly.

She was nervous when you got called to camp again. Terrified that they would crush you like they had before. Terrified that she wouldn’t be there to help you through the fallout of seeing your sister again for the first time in months.

*****

“You sure you have everything?” The blond midfielder asked for the 15th time since you entered the airport. You smiled softly at the woman, who was shifting foot to foot, bringing your joined hands up to kiss the back of her buckles.“Yeah,” You nodded,  glancing over her shoulder to the taller Mewis sister, who also nodded that you both had everything.

“And you’ll text me when you land and get to the hotel?” Kristie asked, pulling you to a stop and forcing you to face her. You Y/e/c orbs met her worried blue ones.

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly, pulling the woman into you and tucking your head into the crook of her neck.“Yes, mom. I promise. Now give me a hug,”

She huffed, but still wrapped around you tightly and placed a kiss on the crown of your head. “I just care about you kid,”

“I know, and I love you for it,” You mumbled, into your favorite hiding spot. “now I’m gonna go get a coffee before I pass out,” You kissed her cheek before heading off towards the crappy airport Starbucks. She watched you go, fingers twitching by her side. How she wished to tell you that she loved you too (probably in a much different way than you loved her, but still).

“You’ve got it bad,” Sam snorted, patting her sister’s shoulder. She was visiting Kristie, so it was easier for her to get a flight out of Huston anyway, and in the time of her visit, her sister’s feelings for you had become abundantly clear.

She was glad that you had a shoulder to lean on. someone to confide in after your fallout with Mal. Though she had had several words with the younger player, the woman couldn’t seem to grasp your pain. At least her sister could understand it better than anyone, and she was clearly helping you overcome it.

Kristie blushed, shrugging slightly. “Maybe a little,” she hummed. It was hard not too. You were actually quite adorable once you let your walls come down.

Sam smirked (how she didn’t know you felt the same way, Sam would never know) “Does she know?”

The older mewis’s lips formed a thin line and she shook her head “no,”

It was complicated. The two of you were roommates, and you were just beginning to pull yourself together in the wake of Jill Ellis destroying your self-esteem.

She watched you grab your coffee, smiling at the young man behind the counter (who blushed). You had this incredible ability to light up everyone around you, like the sun. Though over the years you had lost some of your sunshine, you were beginning to gain it back. She didn’t want you to lose it again.

“Just keep an eye on her for me, alright? She was really messed up after what happened at the last camp,” Kristie said softly, faintly tearing her eyes away to look at her younger sister.

Sam nodded solemnly. “You know I will Kris,”

She knew how much you meant to her sister, and she would help you through whatever this camp brought, even if that meant keeping one of her best friends in line.

****

“My question is also for you Y/n,” A different reporter said, and you tilted your chin up at him in acknowledgment.

“We know that Mal is currently out with a knee injury, any idea on when she’ll be back with her team, and if that impacts your chances with Vlatko?” He asked, scribbling furiously on a notepad in front of him.

You tilted your head to the side, almost like a puppy. You weren’t abreast to Vlatkos’ plans (only that he seemed to be more attuned and aware than one Jill Ellis), and considering you hadn’t spoken to Mal in months, you were also clueless on her progress.

“Oh um, I have no idea about either of those questions, sorry,” You mumbled, biting your lip and shifting awkwardly in your chair. The man frowned at your answer, his pen pausing on the pad as he studied you over his horned rimmed glasses.

“Do you think you could beat her out for an Olympic roster spot? And if your success here will help your chances of taking her spot on the team?” He tried again, pointing his pen in your direction. Kristie’s thumb tapped the back of your hand again, three little taps, helping you focus and giving you a little bit of comfort.

You smirked at the man, masking your irritation behind a quip. “Again, I have no clue. That stuff is way above my paygrade,”

Kristie’s hand tightened around yours in warning, a reminder that biting a reporter’s head off wouldn’t make you feel better. It wouldn’t make them see that you didn’t want to be compared. It would just give them more ammunition to shoot at you.

“Do you feel overlooked, as you’ve continuously performed better than your sister within the NWSL?” A different reporter pipped in, looking at you expectantly.

You shrugged, trying to ease the tension that had suddenly come over the press tent. “Well, I think my average is helped by me not having to miss games due to national team duties,”

You swore a few of the reporter’s lips ticked up, and the pat on your thigh told you that your midfielder counterpart was pleased with the deflection.

“Do you think you’ll continue to be able to live up to your last name?” The horned rimmed man asked a vicious smirk etched on his face. You flinched slightly.

It was the one fear that plagued you. The one shortcoming that your parents preyed on. That you would never be as good as your sister. That you would never be the Pugh that she was. That you were undeserving of the name.

Kirstie’s arm was around you immediately, shielding your opening and closing mouth from the furiously clicking cameras as she pulled you to stand.

“I think this press conference is over. We’re very excited to have won and it’s time for us to celebrate,” She said stiffly, practically dragging your frozen form through the door towards your locker room.

You stumbled after her, eyes wide as you tried to catch up to what was happening. Your brain was still split between its lament over his you’d never escape your sister’s shadow (no matter how hard you tried) and the feeling of your crush’s arm wrapped tightly around you. It made you feel safe and warm and wanted. She made you feel like you had a place beside her, like how you were feeling was important.

She paused, pinning you against the cool cement wall of the stadium. You stared over her shoulder, adamantly refusing to look her in the eyes. You didn’t want her to see your inner struggle, to know that despite all her efforts, you still weren’t confident that you could ever be good enough.

“Hey, look at me.” She said, a finger on your chin forcing you to look up. Her blue eyes studied you for a moment, her hips pressing you to the wall while her other hand brushed a stray hair out of your face. “Are you ok?” She asked, her voice soft, hesitant.

“I’m great,” You scoffed, shaking your head. “I just fucking won the fucking Chaos cup and all the fuck they want to ask me about is how my sister is, and if I think I stand a chance against her in making a fucking roster. She hasn’t even talked to me since-...” your chest heaved as the words spilled from your mouth, like the steam from a pressure cooker unable to be contained any longer.

“Hey, take a breath,” her voice was soft as she wiped away the tears you didn’t even know were burning a path down your red cheeks. You leaned into her warm hands.

“I just. I want to be good enough,” You mumbled, your eyes closing with the admission. You didn’t want to be weak.

“Baby, you are enough. You’re more than enough. You’re funny and cute and an amazing forward. You aren’t your sister and that’s ok. You don’t need to be the best Mal, you just need to be the best, most amazing you you can be because I love you,” with every word she got closer to you, until your faces were mere inches apart, and you could feel her breath fan across your lips.

You leaned in the rest of the way and connected your lips with hers. Your mouths moved together, her tongue gently probing for entrance, which you gladly gave her. Her fingers tangled in the baby hairs at the base of your neck, while yours settled on her hips to pull her closer.

“You said you love me,” You smiled against her lips, pulling away when the need to breathe finally caught up with you.

“Hm, I do,” She hummed back, connecting your lips again.

Maybe to the soccer world, you would always stand in Mal’s shadows, but here in the belly of the stadium, you knew. You were enough for Kristie, and she was enough for you.

#uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #uswnt x reader #kristie mewis imagine #kristie mewis x reader

[storiesofsvu]

Seeing Red- Ch 9

Casey Novak x fem!reader Warnings: language.

Rita grumbled at the feeling of a sudden shove pulling her from her slumber, it was only when she remembered that she’d definitely gone to bed solo last night that she jolted slightly, rolling to the side the shove had come from.

“Y/n what the fuck?” She asked, “shouldn’t you be distracted with morning sex right now?”

“Shut up.” You mumbled, “I need my big sister right now. Shove over.” She did as you said, shifting slightly to lean against the headboard as you climbed into the bed with her, half curling around her frame. “I brought breakfast.”

“At the very least.” She mumbled, taking the reusable cold Starbucks cup from your hand as you dropped the bag of goodies onto her bed, she noted you had a second cup of juice you’d left on the bedside table and took a large sip of the one you’d handed to her. “Oh God! Is there champagne in this?”

“It’s called hair of the dog!” You grumbled into her shirt, “I needed something.” Rita sighed, placing the cup down on the other table, her head dropping to kiss you on the head gently.

“What happened to Casey?”

“I’m an idiot.”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific than that.”

“Rude.” You retorted, your hand delving into the McDonald’s bag to pull out a McGriddle.

“Don’t get crumbs under the covers.”

“I’ll change your sheets myself, jeeze.” You poked into her ribs and she winced, swatting at your hip before she dug into the bag to take out the breakfast you’d brought her while you unwrapped yours.

“What happened?” Rita’s voice was softer now, knowing that if you were showing up in her apartment, and in dire need of sisterly affection like this that it wasn’t something easy.

“She thinks I’m a spoiled brat.” You mumbled over a bite of food.

“Did she say that?”

“No. But she may as well have.” You sighed, reaching out for your mimosa, taking a sip before settling it between your body and Rita’s to make sure it wouldn’t fall over. “I tried to pay for take out and she flipped, said she wasn’t a charity case. I guess she just wasn’t ready for the whole gala thing.” You shifted on the bed, pushing yourself up to sitting so you could actually see your sister properly, “did…you and Raf ever fight over money?”

“It almost blew up our friendship.” She sighed, her arm still around you in an attempt to comfort you, “I know it’s not the same since we never dated, but he was about ready to drop me when I offered to pay his rent.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Rita took another bite of food, “his Dad was sick, they had medical bills piling up. I knew he was scholarship, so I offered…I’ve never seen him that mad in his life.”

“Well…you got through it…”

“Yeah. We agreed to never talk about it again. Now it’s the rule that we always swap whoever pays.”

“I just….I thought everything was going so good last night. Casey got along with everyone, like, Mom and Dad loved her, and now..it’s all blown up.”

“I thought you two were just sleeping together.” Rita offered gently, her expression changing when you turned to her with a light shimmer of tears in your eyes, “oh sweetheart.”

“We were….” You sighed, dropping your food into your lap as you curled against her again, “it was only supposed to be sex. We even set limitations if we were working a joint case to not cost either of us a loss. But..I mean…have you seen her?” Rita laughed, stroking at your arm softly.

“She’s gorgeous, I know.”

“And she’s sweet, and soft, and incredibly wonderful and there’s this whole side to her that I have yet to discover. She’s passionate, I mean the way she works her cases, nearly makes me almost want to consider swapping sides.”

“Sounds like you really like her.”

“Rita…I’ve never felt like this about anyone else before….and I hate it because I’m not sure if it’ll ever work because of our careers. But after last night I’m not sure if she would actually ever want to be with me. I mean, if she has that much of a problem with the whole money thing how are we supposed to make it through life? I can’t change who I am or where I come from.”

“So set limitations.” Her thumb swiftly moved to your cheek, swiping away the tear you’d hoped she hadn’t noticed, “you alternate paying, you….try your best to change your love language. I know it’s gotta be gift giving right now, but she’s not gonna respond well to that, so try to switch it up. Try to just talk about money less. I’m sure she was thrown by the yacht and Hampton’s talk too.”

“And what if I’ve ruined it all already?”

“I’m sure you haven’t.” Rita softly kissed your temple, “it was your first fight and you’re not even a couple yet. Give her the weekend to cool off and then….apologize, preferably in person. Just talk to her, lay things out on the table, you guys were both drinking last night, that always makes everything worse. Go in sober with a clear head and you’ll be able to sort things out.”

“You really think we have a chance?”

“Yes.” She mumbled over a bite of breakfast, “you balance each other out perfectly, and she did a pretty damn good job at the gala. Mom and Dad couldn’t love her more, as long as she’s not hurting you I like her, you have to admit, the two of you are pretty damn cute together too. Just be honest. I know us Calhouns hate it, but if you actually talk about your feelings you’ll end up in a better situation.”

“Thanks” You snorted, taking another bite of food and then you sighed.

“What?” Rita asked quietly.

“Nothing.” You murmured and she pinched at your arm until you looked up at her, again with tears in your eyes, “I just…I…I think I might love her….like actual, real love. It’s stupid I know, how could I possibly know that already, right? We’re not even actually together, but last night…the thought of losing her? It stung way worse than I was prepared for… and I really, really don’t want to get that hurt if she doesn’t feel the same way, or doesn’t want to try…”

“Are you sure?”

“I haven’t felt like this since Taylor in college….”

“Oh you fell hard.”Rita replied and you half sniffled into her arm.

You’d tried to deny your feelings as long as you could, especially with someone who worked opposite of you, but you could only do so much. Taylor had been your first love, your first real love that Rita had nearly coached you through the entire relationship, and she’d been there every moment as Taylor had broken your heart. Every ice cream binge, every tv marathon, every cry fest, she took care of you like the amazing big sister she was. You hated to admit something like this to her nearly twenty years later, but she was still your big sister, and you’d rely on her every day of your life, whether you wanted to or not.

“I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.’” She kissed your head softly, crumpling the breakfast sandwich wrapper as she tossed it to the bedside table, “how about we take the comfiest blankets out to the couch and spend the day watching ninety’s classics and eating pizza?”

“Sounds amazing.” You smiled.

“Good.” She poked at you side softly, “but please tell me you’re okay with a nap before because it is too early to get up.”

“Maybe if you weren’t out sucking dick in coat rooms you wouldn’t be so tired.”

“Y/n!” She scoffed, then rolled her eyes, “the only reason you could possibly know about that is if you were also in the coat room.”

“We were..” you winced, “and for what it’s worth Donnelly caught us coming out.”

“Yeah well Petrovsky caught us.” She admitted and you snorted into a fit of laughter.

“I swear those two camp outside with their drinks waiting to see who they catch.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they do.” She laughed, holding back a small yawn, slowly snuggling back into the bed as her eyes closed. “Now shut up so I can actually get some sleep before you make me wake up again.”

“Fine.” You half smirked, happy with the gentle arm that was thrown around you as she fell back into slumber. “Rita?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” She squeezed at your arm, “I know we give each other shit all the time but you really are my number one.”

“Same.”

Honestly it didn’t take long for you to fall back asleep, you’d always felt so much comfort in sneaking into your sister’s bed. While your parents may have been standoffish you didn’t shy away from crawling into Rita’s bed when a thunderstorm or nightmare woke you up as a kid, and you were more than thankful that that never changed as you aged. Her arm even wrapped around you as you rolled over, making sure you knew you were safe. As much as you may have sassed each other, or given each other shit, especially as adults, you loved each other beyond all belief, and you were constantly going to support each other, no matter what happened

**

You ended up spending basically the entire rest of the weekend at Rita’s apartment. You helped her go through her arguments for an upcoming rather violent rape murder case while she helped coach you through a conversation with Casey. By the end of it you were still nervous but felt a little bit better about approaching the topic and making it through unscathed, and hopefully with a positive outcome.

When Monday rolled around, you knew you had to pay a visit to the DA’s office anyway, so you opted to get there early in hopes to catch Casey in her office. She glanced up at the sound of a knock on her door, half of her expected it to be Rita since they had a trial starting the next week, and honestly, she was a little surprised to find you there instead.

“Hey.” You greeted softly, “you got a minute?”

“Yeah.” She put her pen down, flipping the file she was working on closed as you moved into the office.

“I brought your gross raspberry peppermint coffee…” you placed the tray down on the desk and then paused, swearing under your breath, “fuck…”

“What?” She asked softly, picking up the coffee cup.

“I”- you sighed, dropping down into a chair, “here I am looking like a dumb ass trying to show you I’m more than some rich bitch and the first thing I do is buy you something.”

“I…should have known better than to just spazz out like that the other day, I’m sorry.”

“Do you really think I’m a spoiled brat?” You grimaced, looking up at her. She blushed, awkwardly laughing.

“No. I mean you can be a bit of a brat, but not in that sense.” Now it was your turn to blush, “I knew you guys were rich, but like, I didn’t realize you were that rich. I mean, your apartments, a Hampton’s house and a yacht? I can’t even begin to imagine what your parent’s house looks like. I guess I was just…really overwhelmed, the alcohol just…made it worse.”

“Then no more galas.”

“The gala’s aren’t all that bad, I can deal with them.” She paused over a sip of coffee, trying to choose her next words wisely, “I guess I kinda freaked out….wondering if there was a spot in your life for someone like me.”

“Someone like you?” You leaned forward in the chair, “Case, when I see you, I see a bad ass, super powerful, passionate lawyer. I see a woman who knows her worth and isn’t afraid to back down until she gets it, I see someone who’s incredibly good at their job, hell you’ve got the highest conviction rate in the building! Why wouldn’t there be a spot in my life for someone like that?”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” You slouched back in your chair, “I’ve kinda had a crush on you since you were in white collar.”

“Really?” Casey felt her heart flutter at your admission, her cheeks suddenly feeling much warmer.

“Yeah…” you fiddled with the lid on your coffee, “I used to make Rita swap clients around so I got more cases against you….”

“Okay..that’s low key embarrassing.” She teased and you glanced up to her smirk with a glare.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I like you Case, and I’d really like to maybe try this out?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this timid.”

“Yeah well, Calhoun’s don’t like talking about feelings.” You sighed, “that’s half the struggle. When we were growing up it was always about treats or rewards, do good in school, get new clothes, graduate college, get a trip to Belize, win your first case, head to Tiffany’s for a shopping spree. It’s like..engraved in my brain that to show affection I have to buy someone something. I had to talk this conversation over with Rita like a closing argument to even get the words figured out.”

“Well for now, just stick to coffee, alright?”

“Sounds doable.” You smiled, “dinner on Friday? An actual, real date.”

“You askin’ me out Calhoun?”

“I am.” You flushed, “I know what I said the other night, but I’d really like this to be more than sex. If…you’re interested.”

“I am.” She smiled warmly, “Tramonti on fifth? Say, seven?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“And you asked, so you’re paying this time.” She teased and you laughed as you started to gather your things.

“You can cover it next time then.”

“Oho…assuming you woo me enough to agree to a second date.”

“Oh I think I can make a pretty compelling argument.” You shot her a wink as she stood, moving around the desk to meet you halfway through the room. Your hand was almost on the door knob when hers closed around your wrist, pulling you back to her.

“I’m sure you will.” She murmured, lips gently meeting yours and you sighed out in relief at the feeling. While there was still a long way to go, you were at least setting foot in the right direction, and right now, that was all that really mattered.

________ Taglist: @charabs @bisexualcrowley @dereksprentiss @natasha-danvers @ineedafinghug @veteranwerewolf95 @billiedeannovak @stardust-galaxies @laurenhope13 @randomthingssss @vivis-ghost-wife @imlike-so-gaydude @wannabe-fic-reader @gaylorrds @infiniteoddball @thatesqcrush @altsvu @disneyfan624 @svulife-rl @svushots @gay-ass-bitch @lesbianspacecowboy @delphineecormierr @venablemayfairgoode @whimsicallymad @mysticfalls01 @oliviaswifey @thatgaygiraffesquirrelgirl @cloudymd @swimmingstudentchaos891 @1000spices

#Casey novak #Casey novak x reader #law and order svu #svu #law and order #diane neal #seeing red #casey novak fluff #rita calhoun

[troubatrain]

afterglow - k. hayes

a/n: a repost from my old blog!

You were having the day from hell. You were late for a work meeting, which only ended in being berated by your boss for the third time this week. You were positive she was just trying to push you to quit, which is just wonderful. You’d barely been working there a year, and the thing that you sacrificed for that job was one of the hardest decisions you’d ever made. Then, in true New York City fashion, you were six blocks from a subway station and it started to downpour on your walk home. You finally walk into your apartment, kicking off your now soaked beyond belief heels, walking into your kitchen immediately and grabbing a bottle of wine out of your fridge. You sigh, pouring it and taking it into your bedroom.

The worst part of your day was still looming. You pull out a box, filled to the brim with the memories of your past relationship. You called Kevin a week ago, after running into Mika at the Starbucks a few blocks away from MSG. You remembered you had a box with his, and you offered it to him when he came to play the Rangers. You didn’t think you would even get an answer, and you knew Kevin left things everywhere and he’d just replace them like it never happened. You couldn’t even remember how many ties of his would go missing by the time he would come back from a road trip. But, Kevin answered that he would swing by and grab them after his flight landed. You hadn’t seen Kevin since the night you kicked him out of your apartment, far too livid at him to form words.

February 25, 2018

You were on edge all day. Kevin had mentioned to you when you started dating that he might not be in New York all season. You both decided to ignore that, pretending like it wasn’t happening until it was. You had only been seeing each other for a few months, but with Kevin, you knew it would be him forever. 

You stared at the TV in shock, mouth hanging open at the news.

Kevin Hayes traded to the Winnipeg Jets

You didn’t care what the Rangers had gotten in return, you didn’t care about how far away Winnipeg was, you cared that your entire world was just torn apart. You hadn’t been dating long at the time, a mere six months, which put you in a bizarre position about what the future would hold for the two of you. You sat in your apartment in the West Village, waiting for Kevin to make the short trip from Chelsea. 

“Babe?” You hear him unlock the door with the key you’d given him a month ago.

“You’re leaving,” You whisper lowly, not wanting to admit to yourself.

“Y/N, it’s going to be okay, we’ll work it out. You can come with me, in the off-season I’ll sign a new deal and we’ll start making a new home for ourselves,” Kevin says softly, baby blue eyes looking into yours as he kneels in front of you on the couch to get eye-level with you. 

“Kev I can’t just pick up and leave, I have work and a life here,” You tried to explain, you’d moved to New York when you were 18 and headed to NYU, bright eyed and full of hope, and stayed after graduation, building a career for yourself in the city. You loved New York, the culture, the atmosphere, and on most nights the people. You’d just taken your dream job, and you weren’t in any position to give it up.

“I can take care of you, come September we’ll be able to settle down somewhere else,” Kevin whispers, resting his large hand on your thigh.

“I don’t want that Kev!” You shout, not realizing your voice had risen, “I did all of this on my own, I’m not going to let you just take care of me, you know that.”

“Y/N what am I supposed to do? This my job, I don’t have a choice, I told you this might happen,” Kevin shouts back. 

He was right, he told you after your first date that he wasn’t sure if he would even be a Ranger for the rest of the season. His contract was going to expire and the team was in a rebuild, he knew if he had a good season he would be gone by the deadline.

“Kevin, I’m not that girl,” You start, you were upset and you were lashing out at Kevin for even asking you to leave New York, “I’m not going to follow you around and give my dreams for your job.”

“I’ve never asked you to be,” Kevin shouts back, “Can you be the kind of girl who’s there for me?”

“I’m sure you can find her in Winnipeg,” You deadpan, crossing your arms at him. It was the first time you’d ever fought, and most definitely the first time Kevin’s ever raised his voice at you. His face was red, veins popping out of his neck. He was mad, and you were mad that he couldn’t understand where you were coming from. Kevin was more traditional than you, and while it made him a gentleman, it made it hard for him to get that you liked to work.

“You want me to go off to Winnipeg and find another girl?” Kevin asks, his tone harsh, “It would make road trips fun again.”

His last words were muttered under his breath, but that didn’t mean you didn’t hear them. The second the words slipped out of his mouth, you both went silent. His sentence rocked your world. You never thought Kevin would cheat on you, he’d always made it clear to you that he was yours and you were his. But, the way the words fell out so easily made your skin crawl. You wanted to scream, cry, and fight with him for the next day - but you weren’t being given that time.

“Kevin, just go, I’m sure you need to pack,” You say, tears threatening to spill. 

He stands in the doorway, debating whether or not to leave, he looks at you defeated and walks out of your apartment. You sat on the floor of your apartment that night, tears flooding out of your eyes while you wore Kevin’s too big Red Sox hoodie that you loved so much.

--

You wipe a little dust off the box, it's been almost a year since that night. You’d seen Kevin, on the internet at least, not being able to stop yourself from Instagram stalking your ex-boyfriend. You unfollowed all of his friends, and most of his family - only following his sister just because you liked to see pictures of his niece. Which was fine, until she posted a video of Kevin trying to braid her hair when they headed to Winnipeg to visit, and you cried in the bathroom at work. You opened it, trying to even remember what was inside.

You pulled out a few of his hoodies, because his clothes were always thrown around your apartment. You laugh, pulling out the Patriots hoodie you’d borrowed after the first night you crashed in his apartment. You wore it on the walk back, ignoring hollers about the sports team on your chest while you weaved through the streets of Manhattan while you took a walk of shame back to your place. You hold the gray fabric in your hands, remembering the way it felt - soft like Kevin always was with you. You pull out a couple of his beanies, remember how many he would leave at your house and then just buy another because he forgot about it. You pulled out a few ticket stubs, random concerts you’d both been to that you tossed in there when you broke up. Then you hit the two small velvet boxes that you never stopped thinking about.

You pulled out the first box, opening it to reveal the necklace Kevin had gotten you for Christmas. It was so perfect, you were positive Brady’s girlfriend had to have helped him pick it out. You only tried to wear it once after you broke up, but the memories that flooded back when you put it on was too much. Then there was the other box. Kevin had gotten you the most beautiful ring you’d ever seen in your life for your birthday. He claimed it didn’t mean anything, but when his eyes sparkled when you slipped it on your left hand, to try it on in the restaurant you were in, you thought it may mean more than he was leading on. It was your favorite piece of jewelry, the ring was dainty and small just the way you liked it. You were surprised Kevin even picked it out, considering he lived by the motto that the bigger the better, but he told you he knew you needed it when he saw it in a shop window on a roadtrip in Chicago. You drop the box, hoping maybe he would give it to someone else one day, if there wasn't someone else already.

You hear your someone try to buzz into your building and you knew it had to be Kevin. You carry the box with you in the living room, buzzing him in and dropping it on the island in your kitchen. You sigh, hearing his heavy footsteps come down the door, opening it and letting himself in.

“Hey,” You say, your voice small.

“Hey,” Kevin breathes out, you were both nervous which you guess could be a good thing. He looked different, his hair was a little longer and his beard a little fuller. 

Suddenly, as if the universe decided to lay it all on you today, the power in your apartment shuts out, a loud crash of thunder following. You jump, feeling Kevin’s large hands on your shoulders when you do.

“Fuck, give me a minute,” You mutter, running into your room to grab some candles. You spread them around your apartment, lighting them until your apartment wasn’t completely dark.

“All of downtown is in a blackout,” Kevin says, reading the news on his phone, “Like all of it.”

You bite your lip, debating your options. You shouldn’t let Kevin go back out in this weather, and with no power on one half of Manhattan, it wasn’t a great idea. 

“You should stay, til this all blows over,” You offer, gesturing to your island where the box sat.

“That’s my stuff?” Kevin asks, opening the box and smiling at the contents. You watch them sift through the box, a wide smile on his face that could barely make out in the glow of the candles that littered your apartment. His hands gripped the same velvet box you dropped in just before he arrived.

“You should keep these,” Kevin says, “They were gifts.”

“Give them to someone else one day,” You whisper, sitting on your counter while you watched him, “That’s what you wanted right?”

You didn’t realize the words came out of your mouth. You’d been harboring this feeling of resentment for so long, your entire world was crushed in a matter of a night and you just wanted some closure. You thought you could get it by just giving him his stuff back, but it still wasn’t enough.

“I didn’t want that,” Kevin says back, “You said it first!”

“You asked me to be someone I wasn’t Kevin,” You say, your voice rising, “That wasn’t fair to me!”

“It wasn’t fair to me that I had to leave, but I did,” Kevin shouts, “And all I wanted was for you to come with me, because I love you.”

“Do you think that it was fucking easy to let you go? Or that I didn’t spend months of my life regretting it? Because I did,” You yell, tears welling up in your eyes, “Congrats Kevin you win, I was fucking miserable without you and the reason I stayed in New York isn’t working out.”

You stomp into your room, slamming the door and sliding down it. You finally just let yourself cry. About that fucking night. About losing the love of your life for some job that isn’t working out. About ruining your own happiness because you could just compromise once. Kevin knocked lightly on the other side, finally giving up after what was probably his hundredth time, sliding down the other side of your bedroom door.

“It was really lonely up there” Kevin whispers, loud enough for you to hear through the door, “In Winnipeg.”

Kevin talked for an hour. He talked about Winnipeg, how no matter what he did he couldn’t stop thinking about you. How he wishes you could have been there. He talked about his summer in Boston, mentioning how his sister got married and he wished you were there. He talked about how his mom asked about you all summer, but he just kept brushing it off because he couldn’t tell her it was his fault. Which leads up to now, where he is finally getting to the new city he set roots in.

“-I like Philly,” Kevin whispers, “You would too, everyone there is great. You’d love my teammates, and they’d love you.”

“Kev?” You finally say, your voice still trembling, “What happened to us?”

“I don’t know,” Kevin says back, his head tapping the door, “I didn’t mean what I said, I don’t know why I said it, but I didn’t mean it.”

“We were both upset, about everything,” You say back, standing up and opening the door, “I’m sorry for telling you to go find someone else.”

Kevin stands up, his hands finding both sides of your face to wipe away the stray tears that were left, “I’m never going to find someone else.”

“Kevin, I can’t pick up and run off with you,” You say, repeating the same thing you did a few months ago, “Just not right now.”

“Philly is barely three hours away,” Kevin counters, “I’m willing to do it if you are, because I can’t walk out of here without trying.”

You finally place your lips on his, soft and slow at first. But when your hands found the back of Kevin’s neck, playing with the hair that was starting to curl, you could feel him grunt into your mouth and you smiled against his lips because you knew it drove him crazy. That was the point, you knew everything about him because he was yours, and you were his.

#kevin hayes #kevin hayes imagine #my writing #nhl imagine #nhl imagines

[dyaz-stories]

Screaming Color — A SessKagu One-Shot

“The rest of the world was black and white... but we were in screaming colors”

Tagging: @shinidamachu @sailorbabydoll92 @sweetchcolate @clearwillow @zelink-inukag @cstorm86 @digital-art-monster @danycontreras90 @redflamesofpassion @lost-amidst-the-stars​ @eternalnight8806-3 @desiree239 @keichanz @ashleys-canvas​ @mustardyellowsunshine​ @meggz0rz​ @contacting-u​ @ramen---boi​ @superpixie42​ @kazeinori​

Also available on Ao3 and ff.net.

Prom night. Balloons suspended around the school gym in a desperate attempt to make it look a little more dreamy, not-so-dazzling lights, the one mirrorball the school owned, which had probably been purchased at the peak of the disco era, considering its looks, glitter on the floor, and bad music. Girls dressed to the nines and boys, well, making an effort, at least. Smiles, heartbreak, epic highs and lows of teenage romance.

And, standing by the drinks table, bored out of her damn mind, Kagura Kaze, art teacher in her thirties, chaperoning.

To say this wasn’t Kagura’s dream night would have been a complete understatement. See, when Onigumo, the school director had approached her to give her that job, she had had a moment of hesitation. It had lasted a second, if not less, as memories flooded her mind. When she’d been in high school, she was way too cool for prom, so she had never experienced it, and it made her— it made her somewhat curious, you know? Made her want to know what all the fuss was about.

Of course, the thought quickly vanished from her mind. Obviously, she couldn’t experience it as a teenager again, and while it might have been fun back then, though she seriously doubted it, there was no way she would enjoy it even the tiniest bit now.

But because of her hesitation, she’d lost her way out, and that was how she found herself, well, here.

“I’m standing right here, Manten.”

The teenage boy seemed genuinely surprised to hear her talk, and almost dropped the bottle of alcohol he’d been about to pour in the punch that was available for all students to drink from.

“Yeah, I know, I just—”

He just hadn’t thought she’d say anything. She’d heard that a lot tonight, and she didn’t know whether to be flattered or offended. It definitely confirmed that she was the ‘cool teacher’, a title she’d earned because she was, by far, the best dressed teacher in school, because she actually had some renown in the art world and also because, if she dared to say so herself, she was an a-fucking-mazing teacher.

That would have come as a surprise to anyone, including her own self, just five years ago, when she’d gotten the job. She’d thought that would be the nail in the coffin of her creativity and of her already dying art career. She’d thought, and everyone around her agreed, that she would murder one of the young imbeciles she’d have to look after after just one day, and end up in jail, and if that didn’t happen, she would certainly die a long and boring death in the small high school of a small town, miles away from the city and everything she loved.

But, as it turned out, that had not been the case. She could, in fact, live without Starbucks, and she didn’t need to go shopping at high-end clothing stores every week-end.

Not that she could afford it these days.

As for teenagers, they were horrible, stupid, and hormonal, but some of them, sometimes, were also interesting. Those, she did her best to help. After all, Kagura liked talent. She took pride in her ability to spot it, even in its rawest form. She had thought it would make her bitter, to see these talented teenagers, with all their lives still ahead of themselves.

It didn’t. It just made her want to help them, and if that meant she had to do her damnedest to find scholarships they could apply to, well, she’d do that.

Other students didn’t complain about her class, either. It gave them an outlet for all sorts of emotions, and if there was one thing no one had ever said about her, it was that she was boring.

So it didn’t exactly surprise her, to hear that Manten had thought she’d let him spike the punch, but on the other hand— how did he dare? Did he really think she was that irresponsible? She wasn’t going to let teenagers get wasted on her watch.

“Give me the bottle, Manten,” she sighed, extending a perfectly manicured hand.

“But…”

“And tell your brother to come here and give me his,” she added, eyeing Hiten, who was watching the scene carefully, and who, of course, had sent his brother do his dirty job for him.

“Oh, Hiten would never—”

“You heard her, kid,” a deep voice growled from behind him. “Get it done.”

Manten immediately seemed to shrunk and disappear, which could have been a pretty funny sight, in different circumstances. The look Kagura gave to Inuyasha Taisho, P.E. teacher, was not amused.

“I was handling it,” she said dryly.

“Yeah, and I got it done faster.”

She had to resist the urge to snarl at him. Inuyasha was an alright person, but what an asshole he could be.

”Hey,” he said, clearing his throat awkwardly, clearly unaware of the less than charitable thoughts that were going through her mind, “you wouldn’t have happened to see—”

“I’ll tell you where she is if you get Miroku and Sango back from their break,” she interrupted him. “I want to take mine, and we need someone by this table.”

She didn’t add that they were probably making out. Miroku had taken two bottles she’d gotten from kids who also wanted to spike the punch — which showed that there was no coordination there and was very irresponsible of them, because what if they’d all succeeded, that would have been a disaster — and winked at her before leaving with the perpetually unimpressed Sango. Thinking back on it, she probably should have stopped him then and there.

She’d high-fived him instead.

“Sure,” Inuyasha shrugged, not realizing what he was probably opening himself to seeing. “So?”

“She took a group of lonely kids to the library.”

“Keh. Of course she would,” Inuyasha scoffed, but his dumb, soft smile betrayed his feelings. That was how he’d been tricked into being here tonight, too. Because, of course, ‘she’ had also volunteered to watch over the dance.

Another day, another time, Kagura would have loved to meddle in the slow-burn developing between him and the literature teacher, the lovely Kagome Higurashi, because they were so damn entertaining, definitely her favorite couple among the faculty, but if she stood there one minute longer, she was going to spontaneously combust or something.

“Good. I’m off.”

“Hey, wait a second—”

“Hiten, here!”

The teenage boy begrudgingly handed her a bottle of what she knew at a glance was a very, very nice wine. Those kids really had too much money and too little supervision for their own good, which wasn’t something she could fix. Wasn’t her job, either, but sometimes, it disappointed her a little. Gave her heart an unpleasant squeeze. Every year, how many of those kids graduated, about to jump headfirst into a shitty life that would never get better? How many of them had she failed?

That wasn’t something she ever thought about, before starting to work here. It wasn’t a pleasant thought by any means, but she didn’t hate it, either. It felt— needed. It felt like it was something she should have thought about before. Then maybe she could have made a difference sooner, maybe she would be doing a better job.

On the other hand, if she didn’t think about it, maybe she wouldn’t need a drink so bad right now.

“Mrs. Kaze,” a calm, even voice, called from behind her as she was just about to leave the gym, “may I ask where you are going?”

Kagura froze, closed her eyes a second, then turned around, a charming smile on her lips.

“I was just taking my break, Mr. Taisho,” she said, ignoring the way her heart was hammering in her chest, as it always did whenever she talked to him. “Care to join me?”

Sesshomaru Taisho rose an eyebrow at her offer, and she had to remind herself not to hold her breath waiting for an answer. She wasn’t one of the teenagers she was supposed to chaperone, dammit!

That was all his fault, by the way. He had no business looking this good. He hadn’t dressed up, exactly, but he was wearing a fitting white shirt, which underlined a nicely chiseled chest, and black pants, and that was enough to create the illusion. She knew, from the looks he was getting, that she wasn’t the only one feeling that way. His long white hair, which he usually tied into a ponytail, were falling over his broad shoulders, and she would have killed for that hair, but that wasn’t what got her attention.

No, she was entirely focused on his face. He had the type of face she would love to paint someday, and that was the first thing that had struck her about him, when she’d first met him. He was beautiful, sure, but beauty could be boring. With him, it wasn’t. It wasn’t just his sharp jaw, thin lips, straight nose and high cheekbones. He was much more than the sum of his parts, but Kagura was convinced that even without all of that, if she had met his golden eyes, if she had seen the intelligence behind it, she would have been irremediably lost, regardless of anything else.

Sesshomaru glanced behind him at Inuyasha, who was sullenly watching over the drink table where she’d abandoned him. The two of them were brothers, but you would never have guessed it from the way they acted with one another. There was a rather painful story behind that, which Kagura had heard from Miroku, but she knew better than to bring it up with the brothers, so she kept her mouth shut.

“I suppose I could,” he finally said. “Inuyasha knows better than to let Rin get in trouble.”

Another subject it was better not to speak on. Sesshomaru’s adopted daughter was the apple of his eye, and he was, perhaps, just a little overprotective. Some had tried to point it out to him, but they’d learned that he didn’t take kindly to comments on his parenting, something no one in school ignored, at this point.

Unfortunately — for herself —, Kagura had never been really good at not speaking her mind, and there was only so much she could hold back in one night, especially for the same guy.

“Rin’s perfectly capable of getting in and out of trouble if she chooses to. I doubt there’s much Inuyasha could do to stop her from doing that.” I doubt there’s much you could do to stop her from doing that.

Sesshomaru glared at her in silence for a few seconds, but that wasn’t nearly long enough for Kagura to regret speaking her mind.

“Why would Rin want to do that?” he finally asked.

“She’s sixteen,” Kagura shrugged. “She might want to… experiment.” Like with that Kohaku kid I’m positive you don’t know about. “Are you coming or what?”

Sesshomaru looked over his shoulder one last time, sighed deeply, then nodded. Kagura deemed to be an absolute win. He was by no means talkative, after all, and this conversation had gone well enough, considering who it was with.

“Let’s get to my room,” she said, tilting her head towards the door. “Yours is depressing.”

By that, she meant there was a plain, black board — because Sesshomaru refused to change it to a white one — and nothing else. Evenly spaced desks, one larger one for him, no books, no posters, no nothing.

“And yours is too full of useless things,” he replied, frowning ever so slightly. “You should throw them out as soon as you’ve finished that project.”

Kagura let out a horrified exclamation. She could never do that. She knew what it felt like, when someone threw out something you’d poured your heart into, and she didn’t see the need for her pupils to experience that just yet. Of course, she couldn’t keep everything, and at the end of the year, she did have to throw away things that were left, but it had never crossed her mind to do that during the year.

“My room,” she argued as the two of them walked through the silent hallways, “is pretty and the students are happy to come here. I doubt you can say the same thing.”

“I’ve never heard anyone complain.”

“That’s because they’re terrified of you!”

In the dimly lit hallways, she missed the half-smile that curved Sesshomaru’s lips while the two of them argued. Even if she’d seen it, she would probably have assumed she’d imagined it, and yet, it was there. Sesshomaru was enjoying himself.

With a frustrated sigh, she pushed the doors to her room and let him in, turning on the light to reveal a place she was genuinely proud of. On the walls hung finished products, on the tables, paintings were still drying, and on the shelves were the results of that time they had tried pottery. Inuyasha probably hadn’t been happy that she had used his ex’s contact information to find a teacher for that, but he hadn’t said anything about it.

He’d just hidden in the gymnasium all day.

“There,” she said, satisfied with the scene. Esthetically, maybe it wasn’t the most pleasing sight, but she could see all the efforts poured into this work. She knew what belonged to which student, by name. She knew which themes had felt the most personal to whom, she knew…

Ugh, she was getting all mushy now.

“Let’s drink,” she said, pulling out the two bottles she’d gotten off of Hiten and Manten earlier.

But Sesshomaru wasn’t listening to her. Instead, he stepped closer to one of the walls and examined it in silence. Kagura narrowed her eyes at him. What exactly was he… Ah.

“Fractals,” he said, a hint of surprise in his voice.

“Yeah, well, an assignment that was inspired by fractals,” Kagura said, rolling her eyes. She started tapping her fingernails on the wood of the desk she was sitting on. This was more embarrassing than she’d thought it would be. Not that she’d thought about it much, actually, otherwise she probably wouldn’t have done it. “Are we drinking or what?”

Sesshomaru looked at her over his shoulder.

“I do not think that is a very good idea. We need to look out for the students. We cannot do that drunk.”

Why did he have to be so reasonable all the time?

“Why fractals?”

Kagura pushed herself off the desk with a sigh and walked to his side.

“Well, I was looking into some geometrical things,” for no reasons whatsoever, “and I thought fractals were… an interesting theme. Most kids went for a mirror type of thing, but some took more interest in the snowflake shape and others on…” She sighed, but couldn’t quite contain her amused smile. “The Triforce, I guess.”

Sesshomaru watched her as she spoke. Kagura was always passionate about things. When she cared about things, it was obvious in her voice, in her attitude. Right now, her eyes shone as she examined her students’ project, her lips curved into a smile he knew she couldn’t quite control. She smirked, a lot, but she always looked like she was caught off-guard when she realized she was genuinely smiling.

“That isn’t a bad idea to get them interested,” Sesshomaru conceded, voice perhaps softer than it usually was. “To pick things they can— have fun making, I suppose.”

“Well, we don’t all have that luxury,” Kagura grinned, shooting him a wink. “You’d have trouble doing that, wouldn’t ya?”

Sesshomaru rose an eyebrow, and took a step towards her. Kagura tried to step back, only to realize her back was already against the wall. She swallowed as the tall, white-haired man leaned towards her, towering over her even though she was wearing high heels. Curse him and his stupid height…

“Is that a challenge, Kagura?” he asked, and God, his voice was doing all sorts of things to her.

She didn’t think he’d used her name before. She found she quite liked it.

“Might be,” she replied, lifting her chin defiantly. “I’m pretty sure even if you tried, you couldn’t get your students interested.”

Something dark briefly lit up in his golden eyes, and Sesshomaru sighed.

“You’re an impossible woman,” he said, possibly for himself more than for her.

“Yeah, I kind of pride myself on—”

Sesshomaru kissed her. At first, it felt brusque, his lips crashing against hers but remaining immobile, his body so completely tense against hers.

Kagura reacted immediately. She didn’t try to understand it, didn’t stop to consider whether or not that was a good idea. Before she could have any form of cohesive thoughts, she was pushing herself against him, her hands were in his hair as she pulled him down against her. If that took him by surprise, he didn’t show it. In a second, he’d pulled her away from the wall and lifted her onto a desk, where she promptly wrapped her legs around his waist.

She’d thought about this for years, wondered of what he’d taste like, how his body would feel against hers. His warmth, seeping through his clothes, was almost surprising, opposed to his  usual cold demeanor. His large hands, his long fingers, moved slowly, up her legs, then on her waist, as he took his time to discover her body. It was the clash of her passion, her impatience, and his slow deliberateness.

When he pulled away from her, she let out an annoyed whimper, but didn’t try to hold him back. Instead, she took in the sight of him in that moment, and it made her smirk. She liked the way he looked right now. Disheveled, shirt all creased,  tie half-undone, hair a mess. She liked the way his lips parted as he tried to steady his breathing. She knew that in a second, he would look as tidy as ever, but for now, she enjoyed a sight she doubted many people has set their eyes on before.

He cleared his throat and averted his eyes, and her smile widened. It only lasted a second before he did compose himself again, and when he looked back at her, it was gone.

“I think it’s time we go back. Shall we?” he asked, offering her his hand.

Kagura took it and jumped from the desk, quickly smoothing out her skirt. It wasn’t her first rodeo, and she knew she could make herself look perfectly presentable before she walked back into the gym.

“You should give that back to Hiten’s parents,” Sesshomaru added, pointing at the bottles she’d abandoned by the door. “He probably took it from them.”

She rolled her eyes. He just had to know everything better than everyone else, didn’t he? Fine. She would. Because, of course, it was the right, smart thing to do. It was just very annoying. Ugh. The things she was doing because she liked him…

She grabbed his tie and took to straightening it, and he went very quiet. His face didn’t express any emotion, but he didn’t have to for her to be able to read him. Pulling him forward, she planted a quick kiss on his lips.

“Watch out, professor,” she whispered huskily, “you have some lipstick there.”

Then she took a step back, winked at him, and disappeared through the door.

Sesshomaru spent long seconds there, regaining control of his breathing. He couldn’t explain to himself what was different about Kagura. Everything about her was fascinating. The way she moved, the way she talked, the was she smiled. She brought color to his mostly dull, black and white world, something only his adopted daughter had been able to do before. He had never really considered acting on — whatever it was he was feeling, until tonight.

Now he couldn’t stop thinking about when to do it again.

It was a shame the year was ending, but they’d both still be here for the next one. At the thought, his lips curved into a smile.

He would be looking forward to it.

Hiii, thanks for reading! I’m tentatively coming back on Tumblr so you might see more of me in the next days. I don’t think I’ll be engaging with any content from the sequel, at least for the time being though. Hope you enjoyed this piece I wrote while I was gone!

#inuyasha #sesshomaru #kagura #sesskagu #inukag #in the background sure but it still counts #inuyasha au #teacher au #inuyasha fanfiction #my writing #annnnd i vanish into the night again

[kanene-yaaay-o-retorno]

You’re a WHAT

Kanene’s Notes:

I’m weak for carzy scenarios  and glitter, so BOOOM!! Why don’t get these two things together??? :D)/ This fic marks the end of my break, I will be (trying to) going back to my old projects and probably won’t be writing for some weeks kjnhgfvghjkjhg. Wish me luck! <33

This wasn’t suppose to take so much to be written but I lost my PC and life got in the way :v   Buuuut! I manage to finish it and I already count this as a victory! xP

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* That fanfic has Remy and Roman. They’re friendos yay :3. Oh, and this is pretty crazy. Context: The morning after Black Friday when you’re grumpy and wanting to kick the society in the face. A LOT of swearing, Patton does not approve.  

* This characters do not belongs to me. They all belongs to the amazing Thomas Sanders in his series of Sanders Sides.

* Something around 2.900 words. -w-)b.

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any advice is very very welcome!

* Tô com preguiça de postar a versão em português brasileiro aaaa! Thankys for reading, my lollipops! Try and have fun with new hobbies, be safe, talk with the one that you love, drink water and sleep well! Byeioo!~

                             [~*~]

Roman thought himself as a really lucky human being. Unbelievable lucky.

 It wasn't due to the apartment where he currently lived - Too much dull for his personal taste and space, getting even smaller from the day he admitted a messy, sassy and with sleep problems roommate, since Roman just started his musical career and couldn't afford an own house yet. - or the fact that was finally able to pursue his dream after years and years of just picturing, painting this moment on his future, only to find out his fantastic breathtaking and incredible goals weren’t nearly close of the cold reality, at least for now (Who would know that, after umpteenth days of hard studying and training he would need years and years of experience in order to even START wondering in get out of his partial-time job on that Electronic Store) or any other reason someone would be able to consider himself a receptacle of pure, brute luck, enlightened by the spotlights of the good, pleasant destiny...

 ... Or at least the most pleasant it could be in the horrible and exhaustive middle of the night after a whole day filled with his attempts to survive and treat respectfully the unmerciful, dirty jungle that humanity was at Black Friday. Something around fifteen  hours working with massive hordes of unscrupulous zombies starved for a sale and able to even kill and die (more likely the first option) to get what they want and with souls (if they still got one) free of any slight sight of education, patience and morals to be inserted in a society which, as it seemed, was equally rotten as them. View point only proved as Roman was obligated to be working after his shift to "clean all the mess" - more like hide the bodies of exhausted warriors after such bloody battle. – the store because those sons of a...

 "... Bitch, YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING ME!!!!" The poor, frustrated employed shouted to nowhere specific, his face turning towards the sky, seeking in some way to show his all his hate to the cinematography - because this was too much coincidence to NOT be part of a movie or some random fanfic on the black hole that was internet - rain falling at full force leading the weather to became even more freezing as soaked them both with its cool, thick drops.

Anyway, what he was daydreaming about?

"Roman." Oh, yeah, the reason why he viewed himself as a truly lucky person. "My gurl, if you try to impersonate a fucking, dramatic, bitch crow in my ear even again, I swear in the name of my life juice bean that I'm going to KILL you with my bare hands and these sunglasses."

 At least his best friend since, honestly, diapers, who coincidentally was his roommate and even more coincidentally, his coworker was just screwed as Roman himself. Which automatically made the duo less screwed, however equally pissed off, something that neither of them discovered if that was a good or bad thing, yet.

 "Fuck you, Remy" Roman whispered between an tired yawn, too much tired to even think about some nickname or to put real heat in his words as he got instinctively closer to the other, the one called taking off his jacket and lazily throwing it over their heads, doing his best to cover they both with the small available black leathered fabric, the act intertwined with grumpy grumbling and motions which would probably slap Roman's face if he wasn't careful. "I'm the one who buys your coffee."

 "Having my incredible, unique personality in your life should be motivation enough for you to buy me the entire Starbucks Company, be glad I'm weak to your cute face and am going easy on ya."

 " 'Cute'? Excuse me, I'm the most handsome, hottest and fabulous man you will ever met in your lowly life, mortal."

 Remy snorted at this "Whatever helps you sleep at night, babe, but if it's going to be like that your ego soon will have to pay his part at the rent."

 "Well, this 'ego' here was the only thing between your highness and jail after stopping you from committing all those murders today."

 "Bold of you to assume I wouldn't use my contacts to hide the evidences." Their tune were already completely sleepy, bodies instinctively leaning onto each other as the words stumbled, mixed and almost lost themselves in the soundly wind as slipped from their lips. Roman just laughed.

 "Well, if by ‘contacts’ mean 'Virgil' good luck getting him out of his bed on his free day. You would became the fucking new King Arthur." Roman rubbed his eyes, trying to physically force his eyelashes to not close, a new yawn finding its way to his mouth. He didn't even know about what they were talking anymore.

 "I roll the dice to cast Badass Nerd Bitch."

 “Logan??”

 “He likes to study nature stuff, especially at night, I’m sure he already knows some good spots to hide bodies. Glasses.”

 “Glasses?”

 “Glasses.”

 “OMG, the anime character with glasses.” Roman stopped, his mouth wide open as if all the secrets of the universe had been revealed to him.

 “Exactly.” Remy extended each syllable, grinning smugly.

 “I’ve never-“

“THIS IS A ROBERY!!”

 The sentence, which appeared to came out from nowhere, cut the air in a harsh, sharp tune, breaking the barriers and tying them up in the same place in a frozen position and wide eyes staring astonished the hooded form and their unreadable features under the bad illumination of the light poles helped by the increased storm. The wind trespassed them, stirring their clothes and making the muscles shake both of the alone employees in the middle of a dark, empty street at the dawn, even if the dangerously shiny knife directed towards their direction still in a hatred silence. 

 “My.” Roman knew he probably should be afraid, the freezing feeling running across his veins and frightening his brain and actions as infected his words in an unspeakable terror impossible to ignore nor escape. “fucking.” However, the only thing that slipped through his next was the purest, deepest, truest... “ASS.” Indignation.

 Roman thought about a lot of things. He thought about running away, grabbing Remy’s arm and sprinting across the street, about scream in the top of his lungs the waterfall of swearing already racing half way to his throat and even about kicking the knife out of the other’s hands and then kicking him - with a couple of cool moves he saw in some actions films - together with their frecking audacity to try to rob him of all the people in the world. Roman, who asked himself if he would have enough money to eat in the next week with a concerning frequency, who wondered if this is the life he will have until the end of his existence, if he will ever be able to accomplish his dreams.

 His gaze changed to Remy, who was paralyzed, trembling between the poor light of the street and the massive rain. Roman swallowed. Everything was in his hands.

 For a piece of Roman felt the strange urge to spill to the figure before him the story of his life, all his tries, all his battles, his everyday fights to make his dreams real. Blow by blow. Day by day. A life destined to go after everything he wished to himself, everything he wanted to life, to experience, to savor, to do everything in his hands to ignore and one day maybe, hopefully forget all the ghosts - these ones always accompanied by those emotionless, sharp whispers - asking, doubting nonstop if he ever would be able to do all of this, if he was doing the rights thing, if it was really worth all of it.

 However, before the first word even slipped of Roman’s tongue or his mind came fully back to Earth, Remy was already positioning himself strategically between the robber and his friend, the currently only one with the leather jacket falling on his shoulders. However, Remy didn’t seem nearly soaked as he should be, and for a heartbeat, the same one which Remy moved his hands to his jeans’ pocket, his fingers touching and firmly holding something there, Roman could swear that the unexpectedly shiver running across his spine wasn’t due the cold wind.

 Nor the sentence hurled in the clouds.

 “You know what?? Fuck it.”

 And then he unsheathed his magic wand.

 Roman loved with the entirety of his heart all kind of magic, he could easily spend an entire afternoon (which he already had, by the way) listing his favorites movies, musicals and stories with that theme. That also could be easily said by the thousands and thousands of worlds, universes and lifes he invented – in and out of his head - about the subject trough his childhood and handful of teenage years, random ideas and inspirations appearing and dancing in his mind until nowadays. If that only wasn’t enough to convince someone then the umpteenth memories of mornings and afternoons bathed in the smell of books, rocked by the calm silene of the public library as he turned one more page, his back lightly aching by the bad position assumed behind the shelters, in a place he strategically found and claimed as his own Bridge to Terabithia, enjoying every moment as if nothing else mattered. Perhaps you wouldn’t even need to swim in such deep, ancient waters to find out his love, since at least fifty percent of his day was dedicated to shout, hummer or murmur Disney songs.

 However, as rays of pure energy  - shiny and kind of glittery one - involved and swirled from Remy’s, who now was floating a few centimeters above the ground, wand in stripes that got lighter and lighter, begging to spin faster around the aforementioned, creating a spere of a power stunning and big enough to stop the rain in the corner.

 The silence resulting from the lack of the storm didn’t had the opportunity to fill the moment, being obligated to give its space to a soft, intense melody whispered in their ears. The notes standing some more moments in the air, the beating following the changes in the shadowed figure inside the spere. Hesitations taking over the loud, quick heartbeats when the song finally stopped.

 The power’s spere finally exploded, the impact leading to an unbelief and intensive force push both human meters away.

 “Get. Out.”  Remy’s tune still the same, his form – Now adorned by a gleaming crop top, his fluttering skirt over shorts floating in synchrony with the veils which surrounded his clothes and wrapping his arms, the ending spreading in the air as a bunch of angry powered and fancy snakes. - even with the new vestments full of glitter (this probably would be a hell to get off, later) still the same, his gaze, powerful – a new meaning pouring from this word – strong, still the same. But yet…

 Yet his wide eyed, heart hammering in his chest friend since he could remember found himself struggling to connect the same Remy who he had known – if he could still say that? -  all his life with the same being who gleamed dangerously before him.

 The magic wand danced in a quick flick and a trash can came of what seemed nowhere to hit the wobbled and absolutely terrified robber, who fell with a soft thumph in the ground, unconscious.

 “-man, Roman!!! Don’t just stay standing there like a tree, help me here, gurl!” Suddenly the called snapped from his own sea of thoughts, submerging and astonished blinking in Remy’s direction. The rain started to fell on them again, and when their eyes met, when Roman saw the same guy who spent afternoons climbing trees and pretending they were knights and dragons attacking or saving the world, when he recalled the silent sleepovers where they just sat near of each other enjoying the mutual company, the grumpy mornings in their apartment, the comfort hugs, the looks full of words, the smiles filled with meaning, the friendship stuffed with so many, many memories... 

 Nostalgia. The feeling that everything was changed albeit something… something important always stayed. Roman felt, truly felt it and fixed his glare into that brilliant – quite literally - glare adorned with a ‘I’m about to punch your cocky face if you keep fucking narrating every freaking second of your life, ya bitch’ he realized... 

 It was Remy.

 He took a deep breath, moving closer and gradually relaxing as the aforementioned focused in trying to lift the guy, swearing more frequently than raindrops fell from the sky.

 “Remy?”

 “Yeah?”

 “First crush.”

 The other stopped, frowning confused. Roman didn’t quiver, feeling he deserved some sort of answer. At least about this. “What?”

 “My first crush. Who?”

 “Kovu.” Remy maybe was a bit cold hearted, maybe he wasn’t the best with human interactions or knew exactly what Roman wanted with that… but he knew Roman enough to realize this was important. Essentially when the said seemed to relax, his form untensing itself and being allowed to get closer of the magic being.

 “Okay. Okay, okay…” Roman took a deep breath, grounding himself. Their gaze met, his next words coming a little calmer. “Okay.”

 “Please don’t make me sing that serenate you made for him. I’m gonna fucking quit.”

 “Oh, shut up!! Our first love is something special, mister I-Can’t-Choose-Between-The-Beast-And-The-Beauty.”

 Remy decided to ignore the words, slightly lowing his sunglasses with his special Judgmental ‘Bold of you to assume I have enough shame to be mocked’ Look. Roman just flipped in his direction, taking advantage that the other’s hands were occupied.

 It was still Remy, with a whole more of style and glitter – Why are there so much glitter here?? - but it was just Remy. Like just any other day.

 Before he even realized, Roman was already at his friend’s - and as it seems a magical being - side, helping him to carry the robber’s body to somewhere dry so he wouldn’t die of hypothermia.

 “Why don’t you- Ouch!! My feet, dammit!” His breaths came out as puffs, the effort leading to his already exhausted muscles only protest even more and very much probably curse him later with sore movements for the audacity to transport anything heavier than a pen. “Why don’t you use your... Wizard magic or something to carry him??”

 “Oh. My. Gosh. Roman, you are sooo intelligent, why aren’t you in Harvard? Ow! Ow! Ow!!” Remy’s sarcasm was cut when the other kicked, or did his best to with their actual position, him in protest.  “Homophobic.” He exhaled a mix of irritation and a snort, receiving a playful punch in his arm by their inside joke.  “I’m your Fairy Godmother, brainless. Unless it was you laid in this stupid, cold ground I can’t use my magic anymore... Except if this is someone of your family but I doubt-”

 “Wait, wait, wait, WAIT!!! YOU ARE MY FAIRY GODM-”

 “No, no way, nope, we are NOT having this conversation right now.” Remy, the Fairy Godmother let go of the unconscious body in a way that probably will make the guy wake up sore, perhaps with a concussion even, directing his index finger in Roman’s direction in a deep, determined stare full of darkness and things that Roman could swear would make Remy be expelled from the group of Friendly Fairy GodmotherS  or whatever... thing he was inserted. “Let me tell you what we are doing right now: We are going to home, change our clothes then I’m getting coffee and you will get sleep so I don’t have to face nor care about the freak consequences of my damn actions.”

 ...

 “That...” Roman stop, as if was considering his next words. Remy’s face just scrunched in a bigger, firmer frown. “That would be hella scary if you didn’t look like someone who just stole a store of glitter and got attacked by the gay, glitterly, shiny fairies who protected the place.”

 “Go fuck yourself. I’m locking you outside when we get there.”

 “Noo, please don’t! My evil stepmother didn’t let me go to the prince castle and now I need help! Crying emoji, crying emoji.” Roman mocked, imitating sad sobs and sniffles as quick his pace to follow the other, who flipped him.

 “I’m this far from knock you out with my magical wand and then you will see who is the evil stepmother.” His wand gleamed in warning, the red color getting mixed and trembled by the fast movements of his veils, one of them getting dangerously next to Roman’s face, who cleverly got silent for some heartbeats, the sound of the rain slowly calming their heartbeats and rocking them, the tiredness gaining the space which, piece by piece, was being unhanded by their adrenaline.

 They arrived home, both still quiet, feeling free as a relieved sign left their lips. Remy threw his soaked jacket in some dark corner, the bed being the only thing which was allowed to take over all his thoughts and will. 

 An awed gasp echoed behind him and he immediately regretted his move.

 “YOU HAVE WINGS????”

 Before his eyelashes closed, the shiny of the wand disappearing gradually as an ungodly amount of sleepiness gained complete control over his body, relaxing each one of his fibers and as a warm, magic good feeling fills every single cell in his being, Roman wondered if ‘Fuck it’ was the name of Remy’s spell.

#Remy #Roman #Magical beings #Sanders Sides #Oneshot #Sanders Sides AU #Alternative Universe #Tw robbery #Tw knife #I mean the robbery doesn't kind of happen but- #Remy and Roman are tired af #do not mess with them #Comedy #Tw Swearing #Like #A lot of swearing. It's Roman and Remy we'retalking about here #Kind of crack fic #Magic #Human AU but with magic #:DD #Kanene's Fanfic #Kanene's Art #English fic #This is kind of crack fdghjkilokjhyg #Glitter #A lot of it #WINGS #:DDDDD #Remy is a magic girl fight me #Bit of fluff

[lonestarbabe]

Holding Out For a Hero

Chapter 1: Where Have All The Good Men Gone

When T.K. Strand was eight years old, his father died on 9/11 with the rest of his fire station, and T.K.’s life forever changed. Luckily, in his grief and anger, T.K. found music, which gave him an outlet and kept him out of trouble… at least enough to keep him alive. At the age of sixteen, T.K. was propelled into stardom and with the grief and anger still very much alive within him, he began to use drugs, alcohol, and one-night stands to cope. As one of the most popular pop stars alive, T.K. has been accustomed to screaming masses and fanatical adoration but his manager, Judd, and best friend, Marjan, seem to think T.K. needs someone to look after him. T.K. doesn’t want another bodyguard, not after the series of uptight tightwads he’s had, but when he’s introduced to buff, sweetly handsome Carlos Reyes, T.K. begrudgingly decides that he can put up with a little eye candy hanging around (but it’s not because he needs someone to look after him, definitely not…)

T.K.

“I don’t need a bodyguard,” T.K. refuted, petulantly crossing his arms over his chest, but Judd gave him a sharp “don’t argue with me” look. The look usually didn’t go very far. After all, arguing was one of T.K.’s favorite hobbies. Though, he rarely took arguments too seriously. Mostly, they were just for sport, but this time T.K. knew to shut up, at least while Judd lectured him.

“Come on, this is my job to look after you. Let me do it.” Judd adjusted his wristwatch, still not used to the heavy metal Rolex that Grace had gotten him. She’d told him maybe it would him look like an actual manager because looking at Judd, you’d pick a barista from Starbucks as the talent manager over Judd.

Judd’s flannel shirt and blue jeans set him apart from not just other managers but also most of LA. Originally from Texas, Judd may have been a high-profile entertainment manager, but he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a suit to work. If you squinted, you might mistake him for a hipster, but Judd would snarl if anyone ever called him that (he had no beard or weird coffee). Lumberjack would be less offensive (again, no beard or no ax). Cowboy would be better than redneck. He might even take cowboy with pride.

While he was still very much a Texan at heart, Judd had followed his wife, Grace, out to LA so she could chase her dream of being an actress. Considering that Grace Ryder was going to be in what could be the summer’s big blockbuster, the move had paid off and things were going well for the Ryders. T.K. was just relieved that for the last five years he’d had Judd on his side. It was good to have someone who cared, even if T.K. was still a fuck up (because that was inevitable).

His former manager, Misty, had been a robotic woman who cared more about her pantsuits than her clients. At sixteen, he’d signed on with her, and from the start, she’d wanted more than T.K. was willing to give. Albums, tours, books, perfume lines, signings— she’d wanted him to do it all, but T.K. never got a moment of rest. She manipulated him and used all his youthful optimism against him. At first, it had been fun, but then it was just exhausting. Misty had cracked T.K., and she had made music a chore, but it wasn’t like T.K. knew anything else. He felt trapped. He wanted to love music again, but he knew he couldn’t do that with Misty breathing down his neck. Misty wasn’t evil. T.K. had good times with her even if he couldn’t keep up with her demands. She’d helped him start his career. She’d taken a chance on him. Nevertheless, she wasn’t good for him. She was too concerned about her own desires to pay proper attention to his. He needed someone who saw him as an actual person rather than a problem.

Now, Judd had the unenviable job of trying to piece a broken kid back together, but Judd didn’t seem too dismayed by the task. He’d been doing it for five years, after all. T.K. had come to Judd after a long search for the perfect manager, and it had been a cosmically right fit. Marjan Marwani, T.K.’s best friend, had actually been the one who had found Judd, and she still held it over his head that she had found him the best manager on the planet. He really loved his best friend even if she liked to taunt him mercilessly.  

In the time that he had been T.K.’s manager, Judd had been patient with T.K. He worked so hard to keep T.K. vaguely functional. Judd actually cared for some reason. Unlike Misty, Judd wasn’t the kind of manager in it for the money. He’d even suggested that T.K. take a break whereas other managers would have tried to keep their top-earning talent working as much as possible. Judd wouldn’t care if he didn’t get another dime from T.K., but T.K. was too stubborn and too lost to take time from the spotlight. He needed music in his life.

“All celebrities of your caliber use bodyguards,” Judd explained, his accent muted slightly by LA influences. When he went home to Austin, Judd’s voice always reverted to its original sound just like T.K. always sounded most like a New Yorker when he was in New York. “It’s a security risk to let you go running around alone. I know you like your independence, but when you have as many fans as you do, things are bound to get out of control.” T.K. suspected Judd was less worried about fans than T.K.’s behavior.

“Yeah, and I’ve had fifteen bodyguards in the past six months alone. I think that’s quite enough.” The last thing T.K. needed was another big slab of man following him around with a faintly disapproving look. His former bodyguards all tried and failed to keep a neutral expression when they worked for him. They’d been discreet, but he could always see the way their eyebrows scrunched, and lips pushed together with a nearly inaudible grunt. Even when he was drunk and higher than the moon, T.K. could see the disdain or, worse, the pity, in their eyes. He was just another teenage star turned adult fuck up. He wore the badge as proudly as he could even though he hated himself for becoming an out of control stranger.

“You know I’m not happy with your revolving door of bodyguards. It’s a major hassle, but I’d rather hunt down schmucks willing to deal with you than for you to get into trouble. Believe it or not, I prefer you alive.” T.K.’s heart flipped at the sentiment, and for whatever reason, he felt touched. The warm feeling sent a surge of anxiety through his body because somewhere along the line he’d learned concern was dangerous. He fidgeted in his seat, trying to retain his cool demeanor.  

T.K. rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Dad,” he said before he could think. The joke scratched against T.K.’s tongue like sandpaper. He hadn’t used the word dad in… well, he couldn’t even remember how long. Since his dad had died, T.K. had always the term father to refer to all dads. Dad was too personal, so he usually saved that word only for use with his own father, whose memory had become terrifyingly blurry in T.K.’s mind.

Judd grunted, an affectionate, slightly exasperated grunt. You could tell a lot about Judd’s mood based on his grunt. Grace always joked that he had a language composed all of grunts. “Someone has to look out for you.” Because your dad is dead.

“I don’t want to be protected,” especially not by his big brother of a manager.

“Yeah, well I can’t trust you to quit your self-destructive shit. Sometimes I wonder…” Judd trailed off shaking his head. His voice had quivered, softer and more hesitant.

“What? Wonder what?” He was already starting to feel defensive.

“Never mind, kid. It doesn’t matter.” Judd bit his bottom lip, knowing that he had almost said too much. His eyes were concerned, which made T.K. feel angry more than loved. He didn’t like when Judd tried to give him “much needed guidance.”

“No, tell me, what is it?” T.K. hated being coddled and kept out of the loop even if it was for his own good.

Judd looked at the picture of Grace on his desk. Emotions were more her thing. She’d be much better at this, but T.K. was worth making the effort when need be. “It’s not something you’d want to hear.”

“I don’t care. Tell me.”

Judd sighed, worrying that this thought would do more harm than good, but it had been growing in his mind for a while. He took a deep breath. “Sometimes I wonder if it doesn’t matter to you if you live or die.” T.K. eyes shot up to meet Judd’s. He wasn’t sure where this conversation was headed, but he didn’t like it. Yet, he couldn’t retreat from it because he’d been the one to press Judd to tell him what he was thinking.

“I’m not suicidal.” It wasn’t like he was going to jump off a bridge or something. “I wouldn’t try to kill myself if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Maybe not. I’m not exactly the best person to talk about all this stuff but seems to me that you wouldn’t mind dying if it happened to you.”

“That doesn’t make sense, Judd,” but it did. T.K. knew exactly what Judd meant, and it scared him how close to the truth Judd was.

“I just think that it doesn’t scare you that one night you could overdose, and I think you’re playin’ Russian roulette with your life, half-hoping that maybe you won’t get lucky.”

“Psychoanalyzing is for shrinks.”

“Yeah, I know, but it can’t be healthy to be so unconcerned about your own mortality.”

“There wouldn’t be much I could do about it if I died, so I don’t bother worrying about it.” T.K. thought about death sometimes. He’d even imagined himself dying, but it wasn’t in a weird way he didn’t think. Everyone thought about it. Him maybe more than others.

“No, I guess not, but I’m just saying that it seems to me you’d be okay if it just ended, relieved even.”

“Not to get nihilistic or whatever, but there’s not much to live for is there? But it’s just like going to work. Each day, you just gotta do it.” Life, even the glamorous life of a superstar, could be a monotonous jumble of highs and lows, but T.K. had learned that there wasn’t much he could do about it. He had to keep trudging along even if he didn’t know where to or why.

“Man, I don’t know what to say to that, but I think you’ve got it all wrong. Life isn’t that grim.”

T.K. backtracked. “I didn’t mean to suggest it was. It isn’t all bad, really. It’s not like I always hate it or anything. I do have fun. I have my pick of men, and I get invited to lots of parties.” T.K. smirked. “I’m sure you’ve seen some of the viral videos.”

“Getting so wasted you can’t remember how many fingers you have ain’t fun.”

“You’re just lucky none of my sex tapes have been leaked, but let me tell you, they’d do real well on Pornhub.”

“Keep those to yourself. The ‘I only have six fingers’ video was enough of a nightmare.” It should have been humiliating, but T.K. had just laughed when it had come out. His management team had been clucking like hens, but something so silly wasn’t worth all that headache, so T.K. just reminded that everything that happened to him was one big cosmic joke.

“I don’t even remember that night honestly, but that’s the fun of it, Judd—forgetting all the things you normally have to remember.”

“Yeah, well, how ‘bout trying to remember a little more.  You’ll forget yourself if you’re not careful.”

“As long as I don’t forget how to carry a tune, I think I’ll be okay.” As long as he could still got on the stage and do his job, he’d be fine.

“You’re more than a singer.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be. Life would be so much better if you only had to be one thing.”

“I want you to slow down on the partying.”

T.K. laughed. “And you think a bodyguard can help me with that? Yeah, right.” T.K. didn’t believe he needed a bodyguard at all. He was a big boy, and he wasn’t going to wilt just because a crowd gathered trying to get his attention or he drank a little too much. Bodyguards were basically just pieces of furniture who turn into stone walls when danger struck.

“He’ll make sure you make it out in one piece. I’ve picked a great guy.”

“That’s what you always say.”

“I mean it with this one.”

T.K. exhaled, still not thrilled about the idea of having someone follow him around. “What’s his name?”

“Carlos Reyes, and I think he’s just your type.”

“My type?”

“Trust me. He’s the kind of guy you’d like. He’ll keep up with you.”

“Oh yeah? Another bald forty-year-old? You know that those Mr. Clean types really get me going. It would be really hot to see my reflection on one of their shiny heads. Narcissistic goals.”

“You better bet careful, T.K. One of these days someone will think you’re serious.”

“I am. That dude three, no four, bodyguards ago took me way too serious. I think he actually thought I was into him.”

“I think Aaron quit just because you kept calling him a sexy Mr. Clean.” Judd shook his head, smiling a little.

“I think that guy’s suit was glued to his body. He didn’t even try to fit in. Bodyguards should be discreet. Plus, I got homophobic vibes from him. Like the kind of guy who will say he’s fine with gay people but then ask who’s the woman in the relationship.”

“The new guy isn’t like that.”

“So, if he’s not like Mr. Clean, what is he like? Hot? Eighty years-old? An actual robot?”

Judd gestures a zip across his lips. “You’ll see his pretty face soon, Rockstar. He starts tomorrow.”

“Maybe give me a week. I need some me time before I’m shackled to a piece of meat. ”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” Judd was decisive, “But no, you cannot have a week. I’ve already told him he could start tomorrow.” He left no room for arguments.

“Fine.” T.K. stood up from his chair, letting it teeter unsteadily with the force of him pushing it out behind him. The chair settled, all four legs back on the ground. T.K. took a breath. “I guess I better enjoy tonight, then, before this guy comes in to try to tame me.” T.K. winked. “Many men have tried. Very few have succeeded. Like Miley Cyrus would say, ‘I can’t be tamed.’”

“Don’t tell me you want to get on a wrecking ball for your next video?”

He shook his head. “That’s not controversial enough for my taste. Full frontal nudity or nothing. The wrecking ball would just get in the way.”

Judd didn’t feed into T.K.’s joke. He gave T.K. a firm look. “You’ll call me if you need a ride home?” Judd had long ago made it clear that he was always available if T.K. needed him, no questions asked. T.K. had never taken him up on that offer.

“I’m not the kind of fuck up who crashes his hundred-thousand-dollar car. I know to hire a driver if I’m going to drink,” among other things, “or I’m sure I’ll find a nice young man to take me home. Or old. I’m not that picky.”

Judd gave him a disapproving look because T.K. liked to jump in bed with people who didn’t give a damn about his wellbeing. “That’s what I’m worried about. One of these days the young man, or old one, won’t be so nice.”

T.K. liked that thought. Good guys weren’t his thing, after all. Sweet guys were cute, but they always seemed unobtainable, especially with how much T.K. expected of his men. He liked them tough, sometimes even mean. He liked to watch them fight for dominance. He liked to watch them puff their chests and try to pin him down. He liked to roll them over and tease them with his lips and tongue. He liked to give in just as much as he liked to resist. “Even better.”

#my fics #911 lone star fic #911 lone star au #911 lone star #tarlos #sorry I wanted to put this on here before the next chapter #I am a mess #Elise Writes #my writing #Season 1

[purplesurveys]

1051

Are you between the ages of 30 & 40? I still have to get through nearly another decade to get to that decade.

What was your favorite Saturday morning cartoon growing up? My favorites were The Wild Thornberrys and Little Bill, both on Nickelodeon. My sister and I also enjoyed this wacky show called The Upside Down Show but it wasn’t a cartoon.

What was your favorite toy as a child? I liked any toy that had a lot of buttons or features within it - dollhouses, kitchen sets, cash registers, toy phones, anything that could make me test how much it could do.

In High School did you wear acid washed jeans? No. It’s not a style I would be drawn to, then and now.

How much was a gallon of gasoline when you first started driving? I don’t know; I never paid much attention to gas prices, honestly.

What was your first car? It’s a 2014 (or 2015?) Mitsubishi Mirage I’m still using today, though it was my dad who paid for it and he’s the one who takes it out for oil changes and stuff.

Who taught you how to drive? My dad taught me a few times around the neighborhood, but he also enrolled me for like three classes in a driving school so that I got to learn how to drive in a highway.

What was your high school mascot? Both of my schools didn’t have any. My university does have a nickname for our varsity teams, but we’re simply just ‘Maroons’ and not an animal like what I usually see.

Did you go to your Senior Prom? We had a junior prom, nothing for senior year. I was invited to go to the senior ball in another school by Mike, though. That feels like ages ago; everything is so different now.

What did you do after graduation? After my high school graduation I went straight to college like most kids here. After graduating college, I immediately started looking for jobs; I landed an internship after a month and got absorbed into the company two months after.

What was your first job? I’m currently working as an associate at a public relations agency. This is my first job and for now, I’m content in staying in this career. This is where I set out to be when I was in college and I don’t feel the need to change paths any time soon.

What did you want to be when you grew up? I wanted to be an astronaut more than anything else, but I remember also wanting to be a firefighter or a vet.

Any posters on your bedroom walls growing up? I had a handful of wrestling posters that my mom was never a fan of. It was never her business since it’s my room, but she always made it the case.

Do you remember the first time you drank a beer? It may have been at Marielle’s debut, five Julys ago. She served beer at the afterparty of her 18th birthday party, and I think I had taken my first sip then.

Did you ever try cigarettes? Yeah, I started this year actually. I’m about to reach my first anniversary of trying my first cigarette :/ I don’t have a lot of them though and I haven’t smoked since like February or March, I think.

How did you spend your summers growing up? At home. My parents were always busy with work, so I had no choice but to myself occupied at home. Luckily I had siblings and cousins, so we were always playing with each other. My summers were never productive until I was in college, when I started making the effort to go out more.

If you could change anything from your teenage years, would you? Ahh idk man I wish I wouldn’t have spent as much time by the computer as I did, and maybe hang out with friends or something instead. < Yeah this hits the bullseye pretty much. I was a very introverted teenager. Not to mention the internet and social media started to blow up during my tween/early teenage years, so I was hooked to my laptop and kept people away as a result. I didn’t start feeling like a teenager until I was 16, when I gained friends and got invited to more stuff.

Do you remember your first time? Yeah, it was during one of my 18th birthday celebrations and she was around.

Ever look back and wish some things were still the same? I do it a lot these days. I do try to stop, because I don’t know what I can gain out of doing so anymore, and because there’s always the danger of being left behind from looking back too much; but most days I can’t help it.

After high school - straight to college or straight to work? University, because you kinda need that credential where I live. It’s unfair, but it’s our reality.

How much did you make per hour at your first job? We don’t really calculate that here...I’ll try to do math for y’all lmao aka Google it, which says I make $2.34 an hour. Wow when you put it that way, it really does not sound high :/ I’m honestly okay with my pay though. I live with my parents so I contribute to the bills and stuff now, but even then there’s more than enough left for me. Favorite home-cooked meal growing up? My grandma’s kare-kare. It was/is always reserved for special occasions; and out of all her grandchildren I was also the one who got attached to the dish especially as I got older, so eventually kare-kare also became the family’s ‘Robyn is coming over so we better prepare this’ dish. I think I’m her only grandchild that she has an allotted dish for, so that makes me feel special :)

Favorite place to eat out growing up? The local Burger King, back when it had a play place for kids. 

Did your parents live in a different country before you were born?: No, they have always lived in the Philippines. My mom has always wanted to migrate but my dad shoots it down every time.

Do you have a preferred coffee brand?: When it comes to coffee, no. I wanna try out everything. But when it comes to coffee shop ambience, Starbucks all the way.

Have you ever dated someone who was terrible with money?: No. I remember Gab as always being very cautious, responsible, and conscious about money. Her parents sustained her debit card and I’m pretty sure they always gave her a little bit extra, but she never took more than her weekly allowance from the ATM.

If so, how did it affect the relationship?: Money was never an issue, mostly because the money we received during the course of our relationship wasn’t even ours lol; we both received set allowances from our parents. If one of us was running out of cash, we never hesitated to cover for each other first, and we never pressured one another to pay back immediately.

How often do you paint your nails?: Never. 

Do you know anyone who's related to a current or former world leader?: Yeah, I went to high school with a relative of Duterte. She’s super secretive about it, which is pretty understandable. I’m friends with/went to classes with people who are grandchildren of senators and other politicians as well.

Do you do your own taxes, or do you hire a professional?: ...I have no idea how to do that...I always just assumed it’s already taken care of when a part of my salary is deducted lol. I may have to ask my parents about this, whoops.

What is something you don't have any natural talent for?: Anything to do with music. Reading it, playing it, singing, writing songs, etc. Also art and anything to do with creativity.

Did you watch this year's Eurovision?: Ah, my favorite time of the year to mute all my overseas mutuals on Twitter at one point lmao. No, I never caugtht up with it.

Have there been any periods in your life that could be described as being chaotic?: Senior year was a big chaotic war zone. The death of my grandpa and my first breakup coincided with all the crucial college entrance exams. Speaking of college, it was also a period of a lot of heavy decision-making due to me having to make choices of what course I wanted to take in every school I applied to. I barely cried during those few months and it still shocks me to this day how I did it. That was the most I’ve been on autopilot.

What is something you frequently forget?: Where I place my car keys and/or glasses last.

If I looked in your fridge right now, what would I find?: Bread, eggs, a bunch of condiments, butter cheese, vegetables, leftovers, and the grazing box I received from my workplace yesterday. I’m sure there’s more, but I haven’t really stopped and stared at our fridge for a while now.

How do you feel about your body?: I used to feel fairly confident about it; like it was never an issue with me. But truthfully, after being dumped, I’ve started to feel insecure over everything about me.

Who is someone you would like to get to know better?: My teammates at work, Bea and Ysa. They both seem like cool and funny people both in and out of work, and I’d love to get to hang out with them.

If you had to move to a new city, where would you move?: Idk, just somewhere with a lot of opportunities to try new things and meet new people.

Have you ever traveled on a double-decker train?: Nope. I’ve never been on anything double-decker, if I remember correctly.

What's your opinion on assisted suicide?: [trigger warning] I’ve looked into it, but it’s a dead end where I live. That’s all I’ll say, as I don’t want to give others ideas.

At what point do you consider a relationship to be 'long-term?': Fuck if I know anymore. We reached six years and it was a point where I was comfortable and didn’t feel the need to doubt anymore; everything turned out to be a lie in the end. I don’t know anymore. I don’t think about these things anymore.

What jobs did your parents have when you were growing up?: My dad has always been a chef, so he went through all the ranks throughout my childhood until he finally got an executive position when I was in high school. I remember my mom being a receptionist.

Do they still have these jobs? Or different jobs? Or have they retired?: My dad is still in that career path but he doesn’t cook in the kitchen anymore, or at least as much as he used to. He does all the menu planning, evaluating, etc. My mom has shifted to becoming an executive secretary, but she’s still in the hotel industry.

Do you own any winter sports equipment?: I don’t. There’s no reason for me to have any.

Do you have a cell contract plan, or are you on a pre-paid plan?: Prepaid.

Would your parents be okay with you dating someone of another race? I can definitely see my mom reacting, but I know she knows I won’t let her get away with saying anything mildly offensive. My dad would just go on with his life and will care more about the fact that I’m seeing someone, lol.

Do you like when friends stop by unexpectedly? No. Schedule it ahead and let me know. I’m not always mentally okay and them showing up as a surprise might just make me more stressed than grateful.

Where are the following people and what are they doing: mom, dad, sibling(s), best friend, significant other, ex, and last person you kissed? My entire family is under the same roof in their bedrooms, either sleeping or having just woken up. Angela is in Parañaque, probably at a cousin’s place; no significant other; I have no idea where my ex, and also the last person I kissed, is. She doesn’t really have anything to do with me anymore.

How strong are your feelings for the last person you kissed? They’re there. I’d still take a bullet for them if it comes down to it, the usual shit. Let’s move on.

What was the last thing someone else bought for you? My workplace gave me a grazing box as the company Christmas gift.

If your parents looked in your purse/book bag would they find anything you don’t want them to see? What about your bedroom? Do you have anything hidden in there? My vape pens. I came home from Starbucks last weekend and my mom thought my breath smelled like cigarettes and she almost got super pissed until I was able to convince her the only thing I put in my mouth was coffee, so I know my 22 year old, employed, self-earning ass would for sure still get in trouble if I was discovered to be vaping.

How close are you to the last person you hung out with? Can you be your complete self around them? It was the first time I met them and they are also my bosses, so I can’t exactly be my complete self around them yet. I had to act super reserved and to essentially make a good impression first before I start whipping out my jokes or whatever.

If you decided to call your ex right now, do you think he/she would answer? How would the conversation go? No, she’d reject it and tell me to text instead. If she was feeling snappy she would also tell me I’m no longer in the place to contact her that way. Sigh. Who is she anymore and why is she so different from the person I was with?

Are you attracted to the last person you exchanged numbers with? No.

Is music a daily part of your life? It’s not. Videos, more like.

Yellow nail polish: yes or no? Bright or neon yellow is a no, but I suppose more muted shades like mustard yellow can work for me.

What do you think of country music? Eh, not a fan. I would skip it in a second, and I never think about it.

Have you ever ended a relationship but wish you could’ve kept it a little longer? I’ve never ended a relationship.

Did you go to your high school’s graduation? Yes...that’s not an event I would’ve wanted to miss out on lol. That was a nice day. My grandparents came to watch me, and we had dinner at a revolving restaurant after.

If you could live the last three months over again, is there anything you’d change? Everything went to shit exactly three months ago, so this hits home very hard for me. Yes, I would change a lot of things for life not to have gone the way it has.

Who was the last person to message you on Facebook? What would you do if that person told you they have feelings for you? My mom. I would be creeped out and tell my dad immediately.

How did you feel when you woke up today? Melancholic.

Who was the first person you talked to today? What did you talk about? I haven’t talked to anyone yet today. I was thinking of replying to Aliyah’s comment on my Facebook post, but in the end I didn’t think a response was necessary.

When you apply your make-up, do you do it in a specific order? I don’t wear makeup.

Did you do anything sexual last night? No.

Do you think the last person you Facebook messaged is a virgin? She has three children, me included.

Did any of your friends lose their virginity before they were 16? If so, did you feel pressured to do the same? I don’t think my friends did, but I probably know other people who did. My baby asexual ass definitely didn’t feel the pressure. I was even scared shitless for my first kiss when it came time for it and I had kept putting it off that night.

Has someone of the opposite sex made you smile today? No.

Does it matter to you if your significant other smokes? With my previous relationship, it did in the beginning; eventually I just stopped caring.

Who was the last person you had a deep conversation with? I think it may have been Andrew.

Do you like where you are in life right now? No. I don’t know if a new year would make it better, or if it would help give me a healthier mindset. I just have to wait and see.

Do you hate it when there is a fly around you? Very much.

Is your mom overbearing? She can be.

Is there snow where you live? Never.

#survey #surveys

[thejanewestin]

Gravity, chapter 1 (Mirandy)

Andy Sachs was not a scientist. 

 She felt that this was an important point to make, particularly in the weekly staff meetings, when the scientific editors’ discussion of the latest endosymbiont or cytokine or whatever devolved into semi-hysterical PubMed searches and emphatic data-set thumping. Eventually, after they’d worn themselves out squawking at each other, they’d turn to her to tie-break. 

 “Guys,” she’d say. “I am not a scientist.”

 But she was the managing editor, and despite having a pay grade significantly below that of the Ph.D.s in the room, it somehow fell to her to figure out which of the six nearly-identical Figure 1s to use. 

 “Your problem is you’re too capable,” Trixie said, examining the underside of her coffee mug with an expression that was half interest and half revulsion.

 “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Andy closed her laptop and scrubbed both hands over her aching eyeballs. “Are you ready to go?”

 “What do you suppose this is?” Trixie held the mug out to Andy, bottom-side first, where a wad of something grayish-blue was firmly affixed.

 Andy made a face. “Walt’s gum,” she said.

 Trixie shuddered. “I was afraid you’d say that,” she said. She reached over and put the mug onto Walt’s desk. “That dude is a sociopath. I can’t believe I dated him.”

 “Stop.” Andy let Trixie pull her to her feet. “I can’t handle any romantic navel-gazing tonight. I need ravioli.”

 They stopped at Trattoria Giulia on the way home, stomping their feet on the cracked sidewalk in a vain defense against the icy night wind as they waited at the window. 

 “Whoever thought a spaghetti counter was a good idea—” Trixie started.

 “Was a genius,” Andy finished, tearing into her bag and finding a breadstick. She crammed half of it into her mouth while they walked the rest of the way home. 

 “SVU?” Trixie asked, once they were ensconced in their apartment. 

 “Nyet,” Andy said, finding a spoon in the pile of dirty dishes in the sink and wiping it on a dish towel. “Too tired. Going to eat ravioli in bed and pass out.”

 Trixie flopped on the couch. “Suit yourself.”

 Andy managed to splatter minimal tomato sauce on the bedspread, which was pretty good for ten o’clock at night, she thought. She scrolled through emails as she chewed. Submission, submission, submission, submission. The journal was pretty successful, even though its impact factor would never break the threes. And she liked her job. It wasn’t the hard-hitting journalism career she’d envisioned when she’d graduated from college, but it was good, satisfying work. 

 It was a little funny, actually, that she’d taken such a roundabout route to end up right back in New York. It had started with a little job in Boston—editing press releases for a medical journal—and when she and Nate had ended it a year later, she’d moved back to Ohio. A colleague from the Boston journal had put a good word in for her in Cincinnati. Eighteen months after she’d started, the whole publication had moved to Queens, and they’d taken her with them. Trixie’s claim that she was too capable had served her pretty well, all things considered, and she’d been promoted to managing editor just before her thirty-first birthday.

 Submission, submission, submission. All things that could be handled at the office tomorrow. She scrolled faster. 

 And then she saw a name. 

 Andy’s thumb slammed on her phone screen so hard she accidentally minimized her mail app. “Fuck,” she muttered, opening it again, and there it was, in bold Helvetica Neue. 

 Every cell in Andy’s body seemed to turn to ice. 

 EXTERNAL, the email said. Submission. 

 And the name above it:

 Cassidy Priestly.

 ***

 They’d be twenty-two now. It was hard to fathom—her brain had put them into a kind of temporal lock, freezing them eternally as bratty twelve-year-olds. She’d spent more time than she cared to admit Googling Miranda, but she had sort of forgotten about the twins.

 Cassidy didn’t have a LinkedIn, but Caroline did. She was following in her mother’s footsteps, apparently—her current position was listed as Photography Intern, Elias-Clark. She looked like a younger, freckled Miranda, all cheekbones and chin and that aquiline nose. Heavy eyeliner. No smile.

 Andy flipped back to Cassidy’s submission. It was a PDF, too small to read on her phone, so she put the ravioli container on her nightstand and reached for her laptop. Cassidy was the first author, so she would have done the bulk of the writing. The last name listed was a Ph.D. at Columbia. It was a name she’d seen in print a number of times, although never at Cellular Function. 

 Andy read. For a moment, absorbed in the text, she allowed herself to forget the paper’s author. It was a descriptive study on regulatory kinesins in microtubules, and although it was quite a bit more specialized than what the journal usually published, the writing was good and the design seemed solid. She skimmed enough to decide which of her colleagues should review it, deidentified it, and forwarded it to Rashad. Her hands, she realized, had become ice-cold. 

 She felt nervous. 

 It was a strange, foreign feeling, like someone had whooshed her consciousness back into her twenty-three-year-old body. She felt exactly like she had for the entirety of the almost-year at Runway, and she knew exactly why.

 Miranda.

 She wouldn’t be the one to decide whether or not the paper would be accepted—that was Rashad’s job, and he’d review it blindly, without knowing the authors. But it would be her name on the letter. She could just imagine Cassidy presenting a rejection to her mother. Would she remember Andy?

 She wondered, briefly, if it was possible to recuse herself from a submission, as an attorney might recuse herself from a case in which there was a conflict of interest. Oh, God. If the paper got rejected, she was going to have to quit her job. 

 No. She shook herself. What was she thinking? Cellular Function had nothing to do with Runway. There was absolutely no overlap between scientific journals and fashion writing. Miranda reigned over Elias-Clark, sure; her reach might even extend to print media beyond New York. But Andy would bet her left pinky that no one in her current sphere—besides Trixie, of course—even knew who Miranda Priestly was.

 She swallowed her anxiety with a few more bites of her now-cold ravioli. Old habits, it turned out, died hard. 

 She showered, turned off the lights, and climbed into bed, but sleep was a long time coming.

 ***

 The paper did not get accepted. 

 Andy had known it wouldn’t. Upon closer reading the following morning, it really was too specialized for their applied-science journal. More suited for Experimental Cell or Developmental Immunology. Three weeks after she sent it to Rashad, she got the email back that it had been rejected. Fuck.

 She copy-pasted the rejection template into an email reply to Cassidy and her coauthors, staring at it for a long time as she chewed on her thumbnail. It was a good study. It would surely be accepted at a different journal, and she could come up with four or five off the top of her head. 

 Cassidy’s mentor would know that. She was undoubtedly accustomed to rejections, and would have a list of next choices to which the article would be submitted. 

 And yet.

 It wasn’t exactly forbidden to deviate from the standard reply, nor was it exactly forbidden to give recommendations for future submissions. But in her seven years at the publication, Andy had never done so; had never seen the need. Now, though, she wanted to, and she had the uncomfortable realization that it wasn’t because she worried about Cassidy’s disappointment. 

 It was because she was worried about Miranda’s.

 She didn’t want Miranda to see Andy’s name at the bottom of that letter and think that Andy was responsible for her daughter’s failure to appear in the journal she’d selected. After all this time, after everything Miranda had put her through, she didn’t want to let Miranda down.

 She sent the template off to Cassidy, just as she’d done for the past seven years, with no additional commentary or suggestions.  Then she did something that was either exceptionally kind or exceptionally stupid: she opened her personal email and sent Cassidy a message. 

 Dear Ms. Priestly:

 Thank you for your submission to Cellular Function. Although your work was not accepted, the writing was — what? Andy thought. Good? No, it was better than good, although Cassidy’s youth and inexperience showed. The writing was more than acceptable. Please consider submitting to the following journals.

 She listed the five she could think of—she had friends at three of them—thanked Cassidy again for her work, and sent the email before she could think better of it.

 Probably exceptionally stupid, she decided, immediately after the soft whoosh of the message zooming away. She had no doubt that her boss would have something to say about her endorsement of journals other than their own. 

 She wondered if Cassidy would tell Miranda about it. The thought made her feel unsettled and uneasy—and, although she didn’t like to admit it to herself, just the tiniest bit hopeful.

 ***

 Cassidy’s reply that afternoon was just one sentence, and Andy’s burst of laughter was so loud that Trixie jumped and glared at her.

 ANDREA SACHS IS THAT YOU?

 Well. Maybe not so stupid after all.

 It’s me, she typed back. Surprised you remember.

 The response this time was almost instantaneous. Of course! Harry Potter! Are you still in the city? Let’s have coffee. And her phone number. 

 The immediate familiarity, such a stark contrast to her mother’s standoffishness, took Andy slightly aback. At least the brevity was familiar. 

 Sure, she sent back. Which was why, two days later, she was sitting in a Starbucks on the Columbia campus, waiting to greet someone she had thought she’d never see again.

 Cassidy arrived at precisely five-thirty, saw Andy at once, and beamed. “Oh my God,” she said.

 Andy got to her feet. Cassidy didn’t quite hug her, but she took Andy’s hand in both of hers and pulled her in for an air-kiss near Andy’s cheek. The residue of high society, Andy supposed.

 “I can’t believe it’s you,” Cassidy exclaimed. Her blue eyes were sparkling behind outsized tortoiseshell glasses. Her bright copper hair had been cropped into a shaggy lob, and she was wearing clothes that Andy was fairly certain Miranda would hate: a gigantic Columbia sweatshirt, leggings, and beat-up Ugg boots. A messenger bag with a seat-belt strap was slung over her shoulder. She looked every inch the graduate student. 

 “I’m sorry about your paper,” Andy said by way of greeting.

 Cassidy waved a dismissive hand and dropped into the armchair across from Andy’s. “Don’t worry about it. Aisha has a publication plan that’s sixteen journals deep for everything she puts her name on.”

 Andy felt a little silly at that, since in her mind’s eye, she had only really seen the disappointed face of a young adolescent. “Oh. Good,” she said lamely.

 “Your email was so nice,” Cassidy added quickly. “I really appreciated it.” She slid her bag off her shoulder and dropped it on the floor, and as she did so, Andy saw the flash of a small diamond on the ring finger of her left hand.

 Cassidy followed her gaze, and for a moment, Andy saw the impish twinkle of so many years ago. She held her hand up and waggled her fingers. “Two months ago,” she said, grinning wickedly. “He’s an engineer. Mom was pissed.”

 Andy laughed, even as something in her chest twinged at the mention of Miranda. “I can only imagine.”

 It was a nice visit—really nice, Andy thought, after Cassidy had left for class. She’d learned a lot about the twins’ lives. Cassidy was, as she’d assumed, in a Ph.D. program in microbiology. Caroline had graduated from the Tisch photography school. They didn’t live together, but their apartments were three blocks apart, and Cassidy was thinking of moving in with the fiancé after her lease was up. 

 What she didn’t mention—what Andy desperately wanted to ask, but didn’t dare—was anything about Miranda, other than a brief roll of her eyes when she mentioned “cohabitation.”

She didn’t say if Miranda was still in the townhouse, if she’d remarried, if she was happy. She’d be fifty-six in November; was she still the formidable figure of a decade ago, or had she softened with age?

 Cassidy hadn’t said; had carefully avoided the topic at all. Andy had the feeling that there was a lot about Cassidy’s life these days that Miranda didn’t know. So she doubted, very much, that Cassidy would mention their meeting to Miranda.

 And she couldn’t quite decide if that knowledge brought relief or disappointment.

 ***

 Cassidy texted her the following week—favor to ask. It turned out she was writing two other papers and wondered if Andy would look over them before she submitted, if she had time. 

 Andy didn’t have time, but she had liked seeing Cassidy and wanted her to do well. And she had to admit, it gave her a sort of gleeful satisfaction to see the apple falling so far from the polished-gleam tree. 

 They met two more times at the Starbucks, this time for revisions. The engineer fiancé, Patrick, stopped by the second time. He was sweet to Cassidy, and cheerfully greeted Andy, and for a moment Andy remembered how in love she’d been with Nate at twenty-two. She hoped Patrick and Cassidy would last. 

 The fourth time they met, Cassidy arrived looking pale and terrified. “I’m sorry—” she got out, just before the door swung open and Miranda stepped inside.

 Andy froze. 

 The Chanel sunglasses rotated slowly and stopped at Andy. One eyebrow crept up. 

 “I don’t know how she knew it was you—” Cassidy hissed, as Miranda took slow, deliberate steps toward them. Her cheeks were bright pink. “I’m really sorry.”

 “Andrea.” Miranda’s voice, cool and aloof, unchanged in ten years. 

 Andy realized she was standing. When had she stood up? Her heart was hammering so hard she could feel it in her toes. 

 Miranda looked—well. Miranda looked amazing. It was still cool enough, in early April, for outerwear, and Miranda’s black fitted coat cut a silhouette far too classy for a college campus coffee shop. A white silk scarf was knotted at her throat—Hermès, no doubt. Her lips were pale pink, a shade entirely at odds with her terrifying deportment. Heads turned. 

 “Miranda,” Andy managed to say. Her voice sounded strangled. 

 Miranda lowered herself elegantly into the chair next to Cassidy’s, as though it was completely normal for the editor-in-chief of the biggest fashion magazine in the industry to be hanging around with graduate students and aspiring playwrights. She tipped her chin down just a little—just enough for Andy to meet her ice-blue gaze. “So you’re the mysterious proofreader,” she murmured, her expression entirely unreadable. 

 Cassidy collapsed back into her chair and put her face in her hands. “Why are you like this,” she groaned.

 Miranda appeared not to notice. “Sit, please, Andrea.”

 Andy sat. 

 “Cassidy, bobbsey,” Miranda said, removing her sunglasses and placing them on the crumb-dusted table, “be a darling and get Mummy a latte, won’t you?” 

 “Oh my God,” Cassidy said, with an adolescent flounce, but she got up and went to the counter. 

 Andy couldn’t think. Literally couldn’t think. How many times had she imagined this scene—reuniting with Miranda, apologizing for her phone-tossing temper tantrum and for her epic Parisian storm-out? Garnering Miranda’s forgiveness? Maybe, heaven help her, even earning a little of Miranda’s respect for the place she’d carved out for herself in publishing? She was, after all, an editor now too. 

 But despite herself, she was just sat here, dumbly staring at the woman whose presence loomed so large in her life even now, and she couldn’t think of a damn thing to say.

 Fortunately, Miranda didn’t seem to require much of a response. Or any, for that matter. 

 “Cassidy’s happiness is of utmost importance to me,” Miranda said softly.

 Well, duh. “Right,” Andy said blankly. 

 “She is an extremely driven young woman.” Miranda’s eyes darted momentarily toward her daughter, who was now nibbling on a pink cake pop as she waited for the latte. Then they fixed back on Andy, “And her drive has taken her into a field about which I know very little.”

 I’ll say. Still, Andy was surprised that Miranda was willing to admit any gap in her knowledge, no matter how obvious. She tried to keep her expression neutral, to avoid reinforcing Miranda’s assertion and possibly causing offense. 

 “You, Andrea,” Miranda continued, not quite meeting Andy’s gaze, “are in the unique position to influence my daughter’s career more than I.”

 Ah.

 So that was it. Miranda wanted to make sure she didn’t fuck up Cassidy’s trajectory. Of course that was what it was. She had no interest in Andy’s apology, no interest in Andy’s life. 

 Caught between dismay and indignation, Andy straightened her spine. “Look, Miranda,” she said, “I may not be walking the red carpet, but I’m good at my job. I’m not going to crash her plane into the mountain, okay?”

 Something that looked like surprise flashed across Miranda’s face, but before she could respond, Cassidy appeared at her elbow. “Your latte, your majesty,” she said, setting the cup onto the table. 

 Miranda’s expression morphed into a gracious smile. “Thank you, my love,” she said, reaching for her sunglasses. “I’ll let you two work, shall I?” She stood without a second glance at Andy, taking her coffee, and kissing the air beside Cassidy’s head before gliding out the door to her waiting car.

 Cassidy looked mortified. “What did she say? Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

 “It’s fine.” Andy’s heart rate was starting to come back down into the normal range. “Don’t worry about it.” Although she still felt flushed and angry at the implication that she was going to —what? Get Cassidy blacklisted from Cell? Keep her from a tenure-track position? 

 “I’m sorry,” Cassidy said again, miserably. 

 “Seriously,” Andy said. “Stop. Let’s just finish this draft, okay?”

 ***

 Andrea,

I would appreciate a meeting. Wednesday at The Modern, 8pm?

 “What the fuck,” Andy muttered.

 What did that even mean? I would appreciate a meeting. “Well, I would appreciate a raise and an extra six weeks of vacation,” Trixie said, when Andy spun the laptop toward her emphatically. “Are you going to go?”

 “I mean—” Andy flopped her hands helplessly at her side. She didn’t particularly relish the idea of an encore of the Starbucks conversation. At the same time, the brief interaction had reminded her why she sought—why she craved—Miranda’s approval way back then. 

 Of course, a few other things had come to light in the past few years, as well.

 After she and Nate had reconciled and she’d made the move to join him in Boston, he had been so happy. The new job. A bigger apartment. He’d brought her flowers every week on his way home from the restaurant. Andy had blamed her diminishing interest—and libido—on depression: she’d been unable to find a position with any of the local newspapers, not even in Classifieds, and she refused to call Runway for a reference. Miranda had already handed her one favor and she would not be further beholden. When she finally landed the little position at the medical journal, she did feel better, but something with Nate had been irrevocably lost. 

 There was a girl at the journal. Her name was, improbably, Logan, and she had close-cropped hair and graceful wrists. 

 Andy would gaze at the ceiling while Nate groaned and sweated against her, and she would think about those wrists. She started to close her eyes when Nate kissed her. The feeling of his stubble against her skin made her flinch.

 Nate wasn’t obtuse. “Is there someone else?” he’d asked.

 No, of course not, she’d said, and there hadn’t been, even though her thoughts had wandered long ago to arms, and shoulders, and the brush of short auburn curls against the curve of a downy neck.

 He asked, and she protested. Again and again, for months, until one day he stopped asking, stopped trying to touch her at all. When she told him she was leaving, he didn’t look surprised.

 She kissed a woman for the first time two days after her twenty-sixth birthday, both of them happily tipsy in the middle of the dance floor of a downtown Cincinnati nightclub. Andy hadn’t even gotten her name, but the following morning, lying in bed with a screaming hangover, she thought a lot of things in her life had just become a whole lot clearer.

 It had taken Trixie’s droll observation after her third date in a week—“You definitely have a type”—to make Andy realize that there was a huge, terrifying reason that she had tried so hard to curry Miranda’s favor.

 “I wanted to sleep with my boss,” she told Trixie over the phone, at three in the morning on a Wednesday. 

 Trixie’s voice was thick with sleep, but she sounded shocked nonetheless. “Cheryl?” she said.

 “No.” Andy put her hand over her eyes. “Miranda.”

 “Oh.” The shock dissipated. “Yeah, dude, you and everyone else.”

 Andy blinked. “Really?”

 “Yes.” Trixie sounded like she was rolling her eyes. “Hot and mean? Duh. I’m going back to sleep.”

 ***

“So are you?”

 Andy blinked. “What?”

 Trixie pointed at the screen. “Going to meet Miranda.”

 “Oh.” Andy turned the laptop back toward herself. “Um. I don’t know. I guess so. Yeah.”

 “Good thing you have two days to make up your mind,” Trixie said, sounding amused, and turned back to her own computer.

 Would she go? Of course she would go. Any uncertainty was pretense. 

 She sent back one word.

 Yes.

#mirandy #wip #janewestin writes #miranda priestly #andrea sachs #andy sachs #the devil wears prada #fanfiction #work in progress

[simptasia]

hc questions 5, 6, 7, 26, 44 & 47 for any or all of the science team members if you want? :)

oh bless!! thank you!! i’ll go with My Beloved Three, as usual, the sci trio

Cleanliness habits (personal, workspace, etc.)

my hcs on this have wobbled over time but overall i imagine dan, char and miles are all like, fairly, neat. tho they all have a tendency to leave papers around

and miles doesn’t make the bed as much. cuz imagining miles napping in rumpled quilts is a very cute mental image. hair disheveled

i think a good term for whats going on with dan and char is Organized Chaos. they’re both scientists (and a musician) for heck’s sake. it doesn’t look like they know what they’re doing but they do. but ur not gonna walk into their house(s) and be like “ugh gross what the fuck”. it’s nice. dan tends to make the bed

and i imagine dan keeps The Rat Room (yes, you heard me) immaculate because you reeeeeeally want that area to be well cared for

as for personal, lets get this out of the way, none of them are yucky. but dan is showering the least, just due to absent mindedness and hyperfixation. like ya really get into a project and then suddenly oh fuck i need a shower. but thats relative. he’s not a stinky gross boy. i imagine miles washes the most because like, he has body piercings and those GOTTA be cleaned every day, especially the downstairs one. miles values his dick, he don’t want an infection

also its amazing how much more you shower/bathe when you have a partner. or in this case, two partners. in general and for sexy purposes. hell yeah

well thats enough of me picturing these three showering, moving on

Eating habits and sample daily menu

its odd how often i’ve pictured these people eating together

dan: eats the least (and for once that isn’t a skinny joke, he could eat cake every day and he’d still be like that) because for the most part he doesn’t have much of an appetite. he eats what he needs, with random bursts of being really hungry (it’s a neurodivergent thing). i imagine he has a extra fondness for pasta and can put a surprising amount of it away when he wants to. tho typically for ease, he’ll stick to noodles. he takes his coffee mild and decaf. i hc him as a vegetarian due to not being able to process meat. his body also cannot handle alcohol and the one time he tried it he needed to be hospitalized. his ice cream preference is vanilla with chocolate sprinkles. or honeycomb. favourite vegetable is capsicum (which he’d call a bell pepper because he’s american), favourite fruit is pineapple. on that note he likes pineapple pizza. overall he eats simple but isn’t against trying new things. he has a very neutral disposition towards food

char: of the trio, i define charlotte as the Loud Passionate One so obviously being a big eater goes with that, likes a big breakfast (eggs, sausages, sometimes french toast!), sometimes skips lunch when she’s working at the museum due to focus, has a ravenous sweet tooth (i haven’t been subtle that i’ve made her ADORE chocolate but in general i see her liking sweet things), she can handle eating less tho because she’s gone on plenty of expeditions and such. so i think she eats a lot under normal circumstances because, like, she can. i don’t think i need to tell you what her ice cream or starbucks preferences are, do i? takes her coffee with three sugars, two coffees and creamy. likes mochas and hot chocolates too. with marshmallows. naturally, her fave kind of chocolate is galaxy because she is an English Woman. another fave of hers is cadbury’s creme eggs. but lest you think Good Lord Sapphire This Woman’s Entire Body Is A Sugar Molecule, don’t worry she does eat well. like veggies, fruits, meats, she’s fine. of meats, she has a fondness for fish (i have no further information, im terrible with fish. but she’s a pom, so...). favourite fruit is pear, favourite vegetable is peas. likes a bacardi, or rum and coke

miles: he eats a “normal” amount but he’s a grazer. which means, not so much Set Meal eating than eating/snacking thru out the day. he takes his coffee black, no surprise, but with sugar! see, its a metaphor. for him. likes fried eggs and hash browns. his fave food is very cheap mac and cheese. i think in general he really likes cheese. he doesn’t have complicated tastes, like, he grew up poor. he likes seafood (in particular fish tacos) but not lobster as he discovered when he got cashed up. he likes salty food but likes sweets too, in particular i can imagine him snacking on m&ms, skittles, gummi bears. little things. doesn’t have a fave vegetable because he doesn’t care enough, to him veggies are things to eat so you won’t die. doesn’t hate him but isn’t excited to eat ‘em. fave ice cream is mint choc. he’ll drink whatever (except for vodka) but is used to beer. thinks pineapple on pizza is an abomination, espech since he really likes pizza otherwise. i consider him a food opportunist, like, oh theres food here? yoink. or like, oh hey, if everybody else is eating, i’ll have whatever’s going on

....i feel like whenever i write hcs about these guys my brain takes on their tone. like, that was a lot of short, eh whatever, sentences for miles there

Favorite way to waste time and feelings surrounding wasting time

dan:

- reading (really depends on how you define Wasting Time). also he composes music and when he was alive, that was considered wasting time (ugh)

- sometimes even just doing hobbies or work or whatever, even then, he tends to have this feeling of never doing enough due to his Perfectly Healthy And Supportive Upbringing [seethes] so uhhhh basically, anxiety? like this was a dude raised to think anything other than his work was a waste of time. it didn’t exactly work but a decent amount of that Pressure has to still sit with him

char:

- watching tv, espech star trek

- not a waste of time if you’re enjoying yourself

miles:

- card and board games (weren’t expecting that, were ya? i’m not saying that's his Fave Thing To Do, but he considers that a good chill out thing to do. something to do when ur bored but you don’t feel like watching tv or having sex)

- “it’s something to do”

Do they have any plans for the future? Any contingency plans if things don’t workout?

dan:

for original lifetime dan, it was Do Science, Make Mom Proud (tiny voice: and maybe spend the rest of my life with charlotte. if i’m lucky. maybe. please? love?) cuz i imagine dan, although very focussed on the future, actually doesn’t think/care about HIS future. i just don’t think he cares about himself enough

limbo dan is like Make Music, Love Charlotte. which is fair. and then Love Miles on top of that. so yeah, just wants to be a good musician and husband. and one day, father. with char actually in his life in this world, thats def on his mind. he won’t bring it up tho, he’ll wait for her to mention it :3

(dan’s canon contingency plan for things not working out is hydrogen bomb)

char:

alive char, like, ADVENTURE! ISLAND! SOLVE MYSTERIES! that makes it sound like she’s a fucking scooby doo character. i mean, her Goal was to find the island and find out what the fucky duck is going on. she did that. and overall his goals seem like adventure/career orientated. i hc that this version of char never intended on getting married or having kids. she wasn’t Against the ideas and she’s certainly had romances but she was more thinking of other things. (that and i think deep down char thought nobody would ever wanna marry her)

in limboverse There Is No Mystery but she still has her great job(s), that is she works at a museum and i think she goes on expeditions sometimes. so theres that, she’s got the great career. really, her Plan for the future in this world is live the live she couldn’t before. she (and dan!) died young so they’re gonna like, actively adore each other and get married and have kids. and also miles is there. ha, that sounded so rude. she loves miles too. (besties/fuck buddies turned Hey You Wanna Join Me And Dan’s Relationship and miles like... yeah sure)

miles:

step one: get money to fill gaping hole of sadness in chest

step two: ????

step three: die

and even my limbo miles whomst i’ve put with dan and char doesn’t have any plans for the future, besides like, do his job and maybe become a dad again (context: i hc that miles had two kids with richard when he was alive). so he’s still chilling but without the depressing ache of loneliness and bitterness

so basically long story short for all of them (in limboverse): Love & Family

Superstitions or views on the occult?

ohooo i like this one

dan: didn’t grow up believing in magic and such (which is super ironic because his mother is a fucking other) but he has a very open mind. i think he’ll believe it if he’s thrust into the situation. it’s interesting really, dan is known as the science guy and that's great but he’s super fucking accepting of not science shit. tho of course, he’s not seeing the island time travel as magic but science. but more importantly, he regards miles’ powers with zero doubt or questioning. he doesn’t even seem confused, he is absolutely on board with miles being able to talk to dead people. this all implies miles told him off screen and dan believes him

so basically he’ll accept whatever is presented to him as true

which honestly, is what a good scientist is like. the trope of the scientist character who is ultra non believing of the supernatural, even when they’re seeing it before their eyes, is annoying. like, you know the ones? the ones who get angry about it. the overly skeptical scientist. hate that. dan is not that

and his character arc includes embracing free will over destiny so there's that

char: she’s not superstitious and doesn’t believe in magic or the supernatural at all. tho thrown into bizarre situations she’s like ???? but has to accept it. and she KNOWS something is up with the island. she knows its different. i just mean, under normal circumstances she’d regard magic stuff as funny nonsense. i hc that char, in living life, doesn’t believe miles can speak to the dead. really fucking weird this isn’t addressed in the show but hahaaaa they wasted char! anyways and like, if presented with the concept that dan’s brain damage is being healed by the island, she’d look confused, say thats impossible but she’d think on it

what i’m saying is she’ll rule out magic concepts at first, on reflex. but would grow to accept them, especially with stuff she knows/has repressed

she doesn’t believe in ghosts, psychics, visions, magic healing and all those exist in her world, so it’s all a matter of experience

miles: WELL WHADDYA THINK

actually it’s funny. miles has magic powers but he’s 0% superstitious and i imagine outside of his own powers, he really doesn’t believe in the occult. i hc that until he personally proved otherwise, he grew up thinking he was mentally ill. and once he realised it was true, thought he was some kind of freak

and he’s incredulous when he finds out hurley has powers too. tho miles, being miles, does roll with the punches a lot in the show, he’s skeptical when it comes to hurley's power. and i find that interesting. also i fucking love how when hurley describes his power, miles says “thats not how it works”, like ???? babe???

but overall his attitude on the island is like “well. this is happening”

i do think thru his life, despite his power, he doesn’t believe in All Magic or occult or whatever. i also hc that he attracted those kind of people who are REALLY into astrology and auras and stuff like that and he found them exasperating. (i think he’d be a lot more okay with it if it was claire who was talking about astrology and palm reading with him. he’d be endeared when its her)

and i think he thinks other psychics he’s met or seen on tv are straight up bullshit. he can believe he has it but he’s skeptical of other people. just assumes they’re scammers. hell, he was a scammer. who just happened to have the power. he was like “well i have this, i may as well get some use outta it”

oh and in limboverse, they all kinda have to accept their situation. and they take it with ease due to appreciating getting happier lives

How do they express love?

a dan who loves you will pet your face and look at you like ur his entire reason to live. a char who loves you will squeak at your jokes and will never once let you feel bad about yourself. a miles who loves you is sorry he isn’t better at this stuff but he really is trying... sure we can cuddle if you wanna, that’s cool v///v

the dan and char we saw in the show was them holding back and i find that very amusing because they were HEART EYES AS FUCK for each other and so affectionate and so soft hearted, like oh my gosh. canon show dan/char is them when they’re pining... when they’re not even a couple (yet, damn it)

imagine them at full power

i figured it out, dan/char couldn’t be an Official Couple because then jeremy davies and rebecca mader would have destroyed us all, especially me

anyways. they’re both very protective of each other. they... they touch each other a lot. like a lot for people who aren’t dating and whomst don’t think the other one loves them. like char is surprised when dan says he loves her. that fucking astonishes me. HE’S NOT SUBTLE. char are you okay???

dan is more open about the love than char, seeing as he said it. and double downed on it. char i feel was holding back for different reasons than dan. dan was holding back (fucking barely) because of eloise’s Love Will Only Bring Pain upbringing, which’d give somebody a serious complex. so he was adverse to actually pursuing a relationship AND i figure he thought “she wouldn’t wanna be with me anyways”. but char i imagine, a deep seated insecurity and need to be defensive, but also! dan was like REALLY mentally unwell before the island. and that's the dan that char knows (and loves) but she’d feel guilty if she pursued anything with him. like she’s taking advantage of a brain damaged person

ah fuck i went on a big thing about why they didn’t become a couple instead of like.... the question. how do they express love? like they did in the show. smiles, touches, longing gazes, protectiveness. they would die for each other

as for miles, how does he express love? Not Well. at first

whoever is the first person he fell in love with (i imagine richard), he was not good at... being open about that. i don’t think miles is good with love. lived his life pretty detached/bitter about the concept, which i imagine is due to having cynicism about life and death. everybody you love is gonna die, so why bother? (his mom dying hit him pretty hard) so uhhh its gonna be... baby steps

slowly becoming more open about liking somebody, becoming more affectionate, more... uh, couple-y (and later throuple-y). it’d take time and he will always be miles, but hey, he gets there. he’ll still always have his snark but he won’t be a Genuine Asshole to people he loves. heck, i imagine he’ll be downright soft in the right situation. and he can be gentle and kind. he’s a salty boy not a cunt

but i digress. basically he’s a little “yeah, yeah, i love you too, shut up” about it but he does have that soft gooey center. basically those who know him, and love him, know his true heart. it’s just a part of being miles “defensive walls” straume

feels love (and even that takes him a while to realise, cuz he hasn’t been a romantic relationship kinda guy, most of his life his relationships have been a Just Sex thing), not Great at like... Doing Love, you know what i mean? but like once he’s used to it, he can be quite a tender little pudding cup, actually

#asalesbian #lost headcanons #BRUH I WROTE SO MUCH #SOOOO MUCH #sometimes i hold back #but this time i took the chance to go on some tangents and such #i really enjoyed this!

[hawkypoo]

At some point in Clint’s career, his reputation had gone from carnie turned mercenary turned hero, to glorified babysitter of dangerous reforming assets. He’s good at it, of course. Being an exemplary judge of character comes with the territory of having a shitty, tragic backstory overflowing with both figurative and literal backstabbing. His entire youth was a painful lesson in distinguishing good hearts from good actors, a skill that had landed him a Red Room recruit as both a best friend and greatest field partner. So yeah, Hawkeye has sharp eyes for things other than a bullseye. 

But this— Standing outside Stark’s monument to male inadequacy at unholy hours of the morning with Starbucks, unwashed jeans and bed head? This sucks. Staring up at the tower, he mentally runs through the pros of turning around and going anywhere else. It’s a list that runs longer than the Nile and is chock-full of amazing things like sleep, cuddling Lucky and remaining mentally sane. But then, a traitorous and responsible corner within his mind reminds him that he made a promise to Captain America and there’s no way in hell leaving is worth facing a patented disappointed Steve lecture. 

A groan rolls through him, vibrating through lungs and against his windpipe, louder and longer than socially acceptable— But damn it, he’s got a lot of frustration to express and the suits who side-eye him as they pass can kindly fuck off. Unable to delay the inevitable any longer, he follows a crowd into the shiny behemoth of concrete and glass. Then, before he can even finish formulating a plea to the universe, he’s arrived with a ding and flashing lights, Friday’s voice cheerily greeting the Avenger.

A step forward, the doors shut behind him and now it’s definitely too late to run. He trudges down the hall, slurping on the handcrafted diabetic nightmare in hand, intentionally loud. Just as he rounds the corner into the team’s common room, he spots tell-tale red hair ducking away from view, her nails digging into the bicep of a concerned looking Rogers. They don’t even stay for introductions, which— Rude. However, there is also a level of trust in the act of abandoning their fellow Avenger with the world’s most renowned sidekick turned assassin. For that, at least, he finds it in himself to be grateful.

With a shrug, the carnie continues on. Migrating to stand in front of his newest undertaking, he stops just short of the arm-length danger zone.   “You must be the Buckaroo everyone’s making a fuss about.”   Pausing to inhale more of the frappa-fuckin’-whatnot, Clint takes a moment to consider the other. Footage from the fight between Cap and his BFF had been enlightening, but nothing compared to actually seeing James Barnes in the flesh. Because, yeah, the man reeks of danger like gym junkies reek of bad B.O.— But, the look in Bucky’s eyes mirrors that of Natasha’s during her first months in SHIELD custody. That mind-control rehabilitation cocktail of emotions that seems to be a trend with Russians in his life. He has to stomp out an instinct to immediately become protective, which is— distressing.

Casting a shit-eating grin at the reason he’s out of bed this early, he decides to just be himself and hope to not get brutally murdered today.   “They forget to give you shampoo, or is greasy the hot new bad-boy look? Not that I don’t dig it, kinda suits you.”

@newfistofhydra​ | plotted starter

#newfistofhydra #newfistofhydra | 001

[dolansmith]

Thoughts on the “Trisha Drama”

I’m going to preface this with my previous thoughts of both sides. I didn’t know who Trisha was until after I found out about the vlog squad about a year ago. I didn’t mind her, i thought she brought out an interesting perspective to the group. Then I thought she was literally off her rocker. 

I loved the vlog squad bc I found them in a really difficult time in my life and they kept me from getting too deep into a depression. While I saw some of their mistakes, I saw the best in them all and hoped for change or at least some kind of accountability. 

This is gonna be really long and idk if anyone is even gonna read this/care lol but Im just so frustrated with a lot of the people that are into the vs. Like after really looking into everything that happened, I felt kind of ashamed to be backing the vs bc they’re doing some fucked up stuff tbh. 

So lets do a basic rundown of mistakes made. 

Mistakes in their public relationship:    -Trisha: made sexual jokes about jason’s friends, started arguments about her insecurities instead of starting a conversation.     -Jason: made sexual jokes about girl’s a decade younger than trisha (and 2 and a half decades younger than him), would complain about having to go do things trisha liked doing and would pout the whole time  (i.e. disneyland and a couple of the hamilton viewings), would egg on trishas insecurities, literally dumped her on a daily basis and call her crazy when she voiced said insecurities and then would basically get back together within an hour and practically give everyone whiplash, also talked about her weight and eating habits CONSTANTLY (fucking dick)    -David: inputted himself in their relationship, recorded their fights and encouraged their toxic behavior to both his friends and his audience

Mistakes in the “official” breakup:    -Trisha: talking about jason’s ex and kids, comparing david to ted bundy (a lil wild but tbh not that big of a deal bc no one actually believed thats what she meant but anyway), the brandon thing (we’ll come back to this)    -Jason: continuing to make jokes about fucking a 19/20 year old despite his gf saying she didn’t like it, not putting an end to David “pressuring him” to making said jokes, the brandon thing    -David: ignoring his “friend” when she said not to put something in his vlog, putting his image and career first

Mistakes after:    -Trisha: constantly going on rants about david and Jason.    -Jason: staying in contact with trisha secretly. (ill get back to this too)    -David: putting his image above all else. 

Now we’re going to get into some uncomfortable hot takes. I’m gonna get a whole lotta hate from stans but tbh idc anymore

The Brandon Thing (I’ve done some digging since her video exploding at Jeff): 

   -Brandon began a relationship with a high schooler. She was underage the first time they had sex. There’s receipts and timelines set up. I’d recommend Petty Paige’s Youtube video on it for specifics.     -Lot’s of vs fans say she only brought it up when her and Jason ended so that meant she didn’t really care, but I’d like to point out that she has stated (on more than one occasion) that she voiced her thoughts on this multiple times to the group in Private and no one cared. Y’all are always going on about how she should say whatever she has to say in private but when she does and is ignored, what then? Just a thought.     -Let’s also bring the rest of the vs up in this. How come none of them ever said anything? They’re the ones still out here tolerating him. Pretty hypocritical. I’m not gonna aim anything at the girls bc none of them have Brandon in their videos but the guys? Jeff, Jason, David, Todd and I think Scott too, have all had Brandon in at least one video. They’re out here talking shit about Trisha amongst each other but are friends with a predator? Lmao Okay, cool. 

Jason Keeping in Contact for months: 

   -This was dumb.     -As someone who has suffered from mental health issues and has been in a mental hospital and suffered from attachment AND abandonment issues, Trisha would’ve been better off had Jason ended things and kept them that way. Instead, he ended their public relationship and friendship. He kept her a secret from even his “friends” and then dragged on their “friendship” for months. For what? He should’ve just given her her things and closure and kept it pushing.     -On that, why did he keep her belongings for so long and refuse to give it back until she said something public about it? He ignored her calls and texts about her very expensive things for weeks. Then she made a video calling him out on it, and she got her stuff back.    -I’m seeing a pattern here, aren’t you?

The Jeff Thing (did some digging on him too...by digging i mean google):

   -This one makes my blood boil for several reasons. ESPECIALLY AFTER TODAYS VIDEO. It rlly put everything into perspective omg.     -The starbucks story that Trisha told was the same everywhere: ‘I saw Jeff at Starbucks and said hey. He ignored me and was such a pussy he left his order at the counter after having paid.’ His masculinity is SO FRAGILE that he twisted it into ‘I’m not gonna be fake with someone who fucked over my friend. Can’t fuck them up either tho lol’ and ‘i’m not gonna make shit easy on you, i’m gonna make them feel weird’. What a baby lmfao    -His assault joke rubbed me the wrong way. I know Jeff’s schtick is the whole “I was in jail for a few months and I was a drug dealer I’m big and scary” blah blah blah. Listen, I’ve met men that have been in jail longer (he was in for only 4 months he once said I think) and had worse upbringings than he did and HAD to do some of the shit Jeff was doing (which lemme remind yall, was on his own accord). The men that I know that have lived similar and worse lifestyles than Jeff, would never and I REPEAT NEVER, make a joke about assaulting a Woman over “fucking my friend over”, when the situation was what it was. Which was: an exposé, basically. That’s some petty shit, it’s for the birds. (Also, Todd and Jay’s jokes about the assault joke? Ain’t it. They were just as bad as Jeff’s original joke.)    -Do y’all know what Jeff’s been to jail for? He tried to assault someone that worked at a 7-Eleven after he and his dumbass friends were fucking around in the store and got yelled at and ended up assaulting a woman walking by.     -He also talked about her mental health issues. Maybe he wasn’t talking about her specifically, but it was REAL specific. He said that it was crazy that a “psychopath” that’s been in a mental hospital still had a platform on youtube. That they shouldn’t have one. Trisha made a really good point of, “some could say the same about your time in jail.” Because they could. And mental health can be managed. So can your outrageous anger issues, Jeff. This was really ignorant on his part.     -I also want to remind everyone about the time he said he didn’t understand how men could be sexually harassed. That all you had to do was say no.    -He says he likes to “make things awkward” and make everything a joke when really he’s just being ignorant and doesn’t want to get real hate when he gets inevitably called out

Trisha’s “Dirt”:

   -Trisha doesn’t know anything that the rest of us don’t. We’re just all IGNORING it. Why? Bc David’s charming and Todd and Jeff are pretty? Ridiculous. This is the last vlog squad post i’m going to make because I’m done. So the following is going to be a rundown on the “dirt” on them that made me come to the decision that I wouldn’t be supporting them anymore. I’ll also put my own thoughts and comments underneath in case y’all are curious. Staying silent about these situations is the same as complacency.     -Brandon Calvillo: Covered this but to reiterate, he dated a high schooler and slept with her/dated her knowing her age. He then lied about it in a video to cover his tracks.           *I am well aware that she was months from being 18. This doesn’t make it okay. What does a 26 year old have in common with a 17 year old? And just because this is the first girl we know about, doesn’t mean she’s the first at all or even the last.     -Durte Dom: He was accused of assault at vidcon.            *This hasn’t been confirmed. But it also hasn’t even been discussed. This girl is getting hate from vs stans and the vs have stayed silent. I can understand not wanting to show attention to people who make accusations for clout, but assault is serious and should at the Very Least be acknowledged privately or legally bc it could be considered slander. Don’t let your fans (or your friend’s fans) do your dirty work.      -Jeff Wittek: He has major anger issues. Makes jokes about assaulting women after actually having assaulted one in the past (accidentally but doesnt take away from what he did) and has made jokes about sexual harassment against men not being viable             *tbh he has a “pretty white boy complex”. Meaning he knows that he can say and do what he wants and most people will let it slide bc he’s a pretty white boy. No education needed.     -Jason Nash: Is friend’s with a predator, is quite possibly setting an awful example to his kids, namely his daughter.          *Listen. I’m a feminist, a woman should be able to decide what to do with her body after she turns 18. But being groomed and hit on by grown ass men when you’re barely legal, ain’t it. If you want to and feel ready, there’s nothing anyone can do to stop it BUT 9.9 times out of 10, that fucks a woman up in the future. One day, she is going to see her dad hitting on a 19/20 year old Tana and see that her dad’s  26 year old best friend dated a 17/18 year old and lied about specifics and might think that’s normal and how men should treat her. I won’t support that shit.

And as for all the other member’s of the vs, they either don’t care enough about what their friends or friends’ friends are doing, or they’re not bothering to even consider it’s happening and that isn’t cool either. 

Be better. 

As for Trisha, she’s had her own faults and fuckups, no doubt about it. I’m not a big fan of her content but i FELT for her. Her name has been dragged through the mud because of this more than anything else and it doesn’t sit right with me when her only real fuckup in THIS situation was bringing the ex and kids into it the way she did. Everything else either could have been avoided or she had a right to say to the public since they put everything about the relationship out in the open as much as she did. If Jason and David had reached out and admitted their own mistakes and asked her to stop talking about them online the way she was, she probably would’ve chilled out. What happened, what they and their fans (us) have done has been nothing short of traumatizing, no doubt. The way these 30 year old boys (Jeff, Todd, Scott and Jay) are reacting to her? They’re the real joke if we’re being honest.

Note: I’d also like to say that if you do still support them and have differing views than I do, I’ll respect you and your views no matter what. Everyones entitled to their opinion and thoughts. These are just mine. 

#trisha paytas #vlog squad #jeff wittek #david dobrik #jason nash #durte dom #brandon calvillo #scott sire #most of these men are manipulative af #as much as i love zane matt and heath #they dont speak up either #neither do any of the women which is borderline heartbreaking #rant #I did my best to make everything clear but if theres any confusions or questions or if you just wanna have a discussion about it lmk #Discontinuing Speak Now.

[artificialqueens]

as the stars align 8/? (branjie) - rujubees

A/N: hollywood enemies to lovers au; 3.3k - also on ao3

As the few weeks of movie promotion unfolded, Brooke and Vanessa still hadn’t restored their relationship to what it used to be, but on a professional level they were better than ever. In every interview they were bouncing off of each other, lighting up the camera, the fans and the press already pronouncing them a dynamic duo. A video of the two of them playing Co-stars for Cash had even made the top twitter moment a couple of days, a sight which had almost given Vanessa a heart attack when she saw it.

It was fun, but it made her miss their true friendship more than ever. Since the moment they shared over her coming out, there hadn’t been a single interaction between them that wasn’t on film, or on a stage, or witnessed by outsiders.

There was only the premiere left, and awards season should they be so lucky to be nominated, and after that they’d have no reason to see each other unless they actually got their shit together and made their friendship work. It was dumb as hell to let one night get in the way of how far they’d come.

So if Brooke wasn’t going to be the first to reach out then fuck it, Vanessa would do it herself. That hoe wasn’t about to get rid of her so easily. After a few minutes of internally debating with herself, she decided to call Brooke before she lost her nerve.

“Vanessa, oh my God, is everything okay?” Brooke greeted her worriedly, thankfully picking up after only two rings.

“Yes! Yes, everything’s fine, I’m just bored, my girls are out of town. Sorry to blindside you like that babe,” Vanessa replied, trying sound as cool and platonic as possible. The ‘babe’ probably didn’t help her case there, but she let it slip out anyway.

“Yeah, off-days are weird,” Brooke laughed.

“You wanna, uh, grab a coffee or something?”

Brooke confirmed that she was down, and Vanessa hurried to make herself as presentable as possible in the short time she had. She put her dark curls up into a messy bun, applied some light makeup and decided that her favourite oversized hoodie and some tights would do.

Half an hour later, she was sat in Starbucks opposite Brooke. It had been a while since she’d seen the other woman without the professionally applied makeup and her hair done, and she looked straight up adorable in her fluffy turtleneck and jeans.

“Damn, I needed this,” Brooke said, sipping on her black coffee.

“I know. Bitch, I slept like a baby last night, but I swear I’m still exhausted after this months crazy-ass schedule. I need a nap for like, a week.”

Brooke nodded agreeably.

“Same, but I’m so restless. It’s like I don’t even know what to do with my time off.” Vanessa knew the feeling — it was hard to escape the feeling that she should be doing something, especially right now with her career reaching new heights. Every day was supposed to be a hustle.

“Well you can always hit me up, girl,” Vanessa said offhandedly with a grin. Brooke swallowed and didn’t smile back — maybe she was also thinking about the last time they spent proper, one-on-one time together — and Vanessa felt her mouth going dry. No, this was bad, very bad, no one person should have this much of an effect on her. They needed to be better at being friends.

“So, why’s the premiere happening in London anyway? Were all the LA theatres booked or somethin’?” Vanessa inquired, wanting to quell the nervous energy, even though she already knew why.

“Well, we only get one premiere. And Katya’s insisting that we all deserve a vacation away from LA.”

“Vacation is a weird word to describe five days in the UK shivering my pussy off,” Vanessa huffed. In reality, she was kind of looking forward to the trip — she had never been to Europe before, and she could see herself spending part of December living out her Love, Actually daydream.

“Don’t lie, you’re excited,” Brooke smiled. “Besides, you’ll have me there to keep you warm,” she winked.

Vanessa flushed at Brooke’s comment, perplexed as to why she was still going there after blatantly rejecting the idea of anything sexual between them only weeks ago.

Brooke kept up her flirty nature for the rest of their meeting together, and Vanessa felt like she was balancing two alter egos — the cheerful facade she was putting on for her company (which was surely unconvincing), and her spiralling inner monologue that was just trying to work Brooke out.

The mystery and iciness had been part of what had drawn Vanessa to Brooke Lynn, but right now she really wished she was more of an open book.

—

“I’ve ruined everything, Nina,” Brooke flopped onto her bed with a sigh, unable to care about the piles of clothes beneath her that were now being squashed. “I’m the dumbest person alive.”

“Trust me, I know. We share five brain cells between us, and I possess four of them,” Nina quipped unsympathetically as she attempted to organise Brooke’s packing for London.

“I’m serious you bitch. I literally can’t stop fucking up. I told myself that I’d done enough and that it’ll be a miracle if she even wants to be friends with me anymore, but then she said the sweetest words on how I shouldn’t feel pressured to come out and I swear to God…” Brooke trailed off, not wanting to divulge how she’d flirted with Vanessa in the cafe to no results. She felt like she’d promised herself, everyone she knew and their mom to keep things strictly friendship between the two of them, knowing that was all Vanessa was after, and yet —

it was as if there were small roots of hope growing inside her that just wouldn’t die, no matter how much she refused to water them, no longer allowing her mind to entertain the fantasy.

“Is this the part where you admit that you’re not over her?” Nina asked with a smirk. Brooke groaned in defeat — it wasn’t like lying to Nina or herself had gotten her anywhere thus far.

“Fine. I love her, is that what you wanna hear?” It came out like word vomit, and Brooke felt tears prick her eyes.

“My, my. The Ice Queen is thawed,” Nina pronounced ceremoniously, her faux shock exaggerated. Of course Nina would treat this as a goddamn improv exercise.

“Fuck you, Nina. I love her, I’m literally in love with her, what the fuck. Help me!”

“Aww, you can’t stop saying it. It’s pretty cute honey,” Nina giggled, plopping herself down next to Brooke on the bed. She started to rub comforting circles on Brooke’s back as Brooke’s tears began to fall.

“I’ve made such a mess.”

“Go from the start, B. I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think. You were always a pessimist.”

Brooke took a deep breath.

“On Halloween, when you forced us to talk, it was just… awkward. So I told her we didn’t have to discuss what happened between us, we should just leave it at that, and she agreed it was for the best, and then she looked so sad and I knew she regretted it ever happening because Lord knows what we used to have isn’t ever coming back…” Brooke burst out, feeling like a rambling, sobbing disaster of a human being. “Press was fun and we had that moment after Tatianna’s interview, and then we got coffee together and I thought things were going back to normal. And maybe they were, at least until I started flirting with her and made everything tense all over again. She’ll probably never act like that with me again, even in a friendly way, because it carries so much more weight now and she won’t want to give me the wrong idea…”

Nina handed her mug of tea, and Brooke didn’t think she’d ever been told to shut up in a more tactful way.

“Brooke, love. Have you ever thought that maybe the reason Vanessa was so upset on Halloween was because you essentially rejected her and shut her down before you guys could even properly discuss what happened and how you both feel?”

Brooke shook her head, frowning. There was no way that Vanessa actually wanted to be with her.

“Well, I think you should consider it. And you know I wouldn’t want you getting your hopes up for no reason. But it makes sense, Brooke. She was hurt by what you said but she was trying. But then you started flirting with her again, and now she’s confused.”

Brooke felt pathetic as her eyes sprung more waterfalls, competing with Niagara over which could be the most impressive tourist attraction. Both possibilities were bad — she’d either hurt Vanessa by ruining their friendship, or hurt her by breaking her heart.

“I know you find it hard to believe. But you deserve to be loved, Brooke. Vanessa would be lucky to have you.”

“I have to talk to her. For real,” Brooke said as she buried her face in tissues.

“Yes. But first, you have to pack.”

—

Brooke was going to talk to Vanessa.

But it had to be the right time. She didn’t want to contact her before London and risk everything going haywire before the premiere, so she would wait.

The days leading up to the trip were torture, and the flight to London was also a slog. Vanessa had looked strangely lonely as they’d waited in LAX, surrounded by her manager Ra’jah and the rest of their party, and Brooke wondered whether she missed Silky and A’keria. She assumed they wouldn’t be in London until later, if they were coming to the premiere at all. Perhaps Vanessa even missed Matt.

She’d sat by herself on the flight, a couple of rows in front of Brooke. Brooke had wanted to go and sit with her so badly, but with Asia to her left and Michelle to her right — locking her in conversation — it was hard to get away. When she finally slipped off to check on Vanessa, her co-star had fallen asleep, looking more soft and peaceful than Brooke had ever seen her, and Nina gave her a pitying passing glance on Brooke’s way back to her seat.

When they arrived at Heathrow airport, they were exhausted, though some of the group were still in good spirits, excited and delirious and somehow still finding things to laugh about as they whizzed through customs at a speed that Brooke had become used to after all her years of fame.

Brooke was too tired to socialise. She ushered Nina into one of the hired cars that was there to pick them up, and she definitely didn’t pick that specific one because she’d seen Vanessa get in it with Ra’jah already. And she certainly didn’t let her eyes flitter between the scenery outside her window and Vanessa, who was even prettier than the London skylines; a picture perfect view herself.

As they neared the centre of the city, Christmas lights became more and more abundant, and Brooke felt soothed as she noticed the creases and frowns in Vanessa’s face melt away.

It scared Brooke how much Vanessa’s happiness could make or break her own.

When they got to the luxury hotel they were staying in, it was gone midnight. Brooke checked her phone for the first time since landing and noticed few-hour old text from Yvie saying that her and Scarlet had made it to London— most of the cast and crew would be flying in individually, but Nina and Ra’jah had decided to work with Michelle, Asia and Katya’s plans in order to get a hotel discount. Or because they clearly thought Brooke and Vanessa’s idea of a relaxing vacation was spending five days with each other and their former bosses. Brooke didn’t particularly care to think about the reasoning right now, she just wanted to go to bed. Even though it was only four pm or so in LA, their flight had been in the early hours of the morning and she’d been unable to sleep on the plane, so she’d lost count of the hours she’d gone without rest.

“We have a slight situation,” Asia said as she walked over to the group with a grimace, the receptionist in tow.

“This is so embarrassing, and I am so sorry for any inconvenience, but it appears we have only reserved six rooms for your party instead of seven, and the rest of the hotel is fully booked for the next two nights,” the attendant said, young and clearly nervous. Brooke wondered how often he had to endure the repercussions mistakes likely made by others. She knew that the most practical option would be for two of the ‘single’ people — her, Vanessa, Nina, Ra’jah and Asia — to double up for the two nights they wouldn’t all be able to have their own rooms.

“Of course, you will be compensated for this error, and I can recommend other hotels within a walking distance if you should prefer…”

“Y’all couldn’t pay me nothin’ to go outside again tonight,” Vanessa piped up.

It was cold as hell and the more minutes they spent discussing this, the more minutes Brooke wasn’t in her bed.

“I agree, I really just wanna go to sleep,” Brooke chimed in.

“So will you two be okay to share?” Nina asked her, sounding perkier already, and Brooke would’ve sworn it was a set up if Nina hadn’t been as surprised as she was to learn of the mix-up.

“Uh, sure, if it’s okay with Vanessa,” Brooke said awkwardly. “Or you and I could room together.”

“I’m an old lady, Brooke, think of my back,” Nina spewed possibly the biggest load of bullshit Brooke had ever heard. Brooke rolled her eyes, knowing Nina was having the time of her life with this.

“Looks like we’re having a sleepover,” Vanessa confirmed, Brooke smiling cautiously in response. The receptionist apologised profusely once again and began handing out their keys —

“Nina, what the hell,” Brooke said under her breath as she stood close to the other woman.

“This could be exactly what you need, Brooke. You know you need to talk things out, you said so yourself.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to trap her into a conversation in the middle of the night in a foreign country,” Brooke hissed.

“Let’s go, roomie,” Vanessa called. Brooke sighed, as she tried to rack her brain and pinpoint the exact moment her life became such a fucking cliché.

—

Vanessa could deal with sharing a room with Brooke. She wasn’t thrilled by the idea, but it was only for two nights, and who knew whether they’d even make it to bed tomorrow with all the partying that was bound to occur after the premiere.

They each filed into the elevator, and when half the group started wheeling their cases out a couple levels up, all Vanessa could think was of course they put Brooke and I on the highest floor. All that was left was for the two of them to get stuck in the lift, alone, and to not be rescued until hours later. Vanessa held her breath the entire ride up, only letting it out when the doors closed on the floor below theirs, and Asia and Nina were still hadn’t left them.

“Now, remember Nina and I are right around the corner, and I have the hearing of a bat. So no funny business, you two,” Asia grinned cheekily. Vanessa wanted the ground to swallow her.

Brooke gave Nina a goodnight hug, and then the two of them walked silently a few doors down to their room.

Vanessa fiddled with the key card, trying to get it to work, but it was stubborn and Vanessa was faltering under Brooke’s gaze.

“I hate these damn things,” she stressed. Brooke took it from her, accidentally brushing her fingers in the process, mumbling an apology. When the light went green and the lock clicked open on her first try, Vanessa rolled her eyes in the darkness.

The room was cute — fairly spacious and mostly white with mahogany and burnt orange accents, the decor matching the warmth of the festive lights which sparkled outside their window. Vanessa had been disappointed when they’d arrived in London to the bitter cold yet none of the snow, but the shimmering river view was even more special than any kind of winter wonderland she’d conjured up in her mind.

“Fancy bath we got in there,” Brooke stated a few minutes later as she stepped out of their en suite, probably just to break the ice.

She was in a matching tank top and shorts, and Vanessa forced her eyes to stay on her face as much as they wanted to drift over Brooke’s long legs and soft cleavage.

“You sayin’ I smell or are you offering?” Vanessa deadpanned. In her hazy state of mind, she decided two could play at the game Brooke had started.

Because that was all Vanessa was to Brooke. A game.

Brooke wanted to tease and flirt and play with her, but she didn’t want her.

“Ha, you wish,” Brooke replied coolly, her voice slightly stilted. Apparently the day’s travels and the night’s hotel shenanigans had left the both of them tense. “Just letting you know it’s there, if you’re interested —”

“Well, it should put that on it’s dating profile,” Vanessa joked, feeling victorious when Brooke chuckled softly in response. “But for real girl, I’m beat, so unless you wanna be dragging my drowned corpse out tomorrow morning…”

“And get the bed to myself tonight? I’ll take it,” Brooke smiled.

“Bitch. If this is the last time y’all see me alive, it’s on you,” Vanessa stuck out her tongue, heading into the bathroom to get ready for bed.

When she returned, Brooke had already closed the curtains and snuggled herself under the covers, her face lit up only by the light of her phone screen and the dull glow of Vanessa’s lamp.

“Hey,” Vanessa said quietly.

“She lives.”

The bed was big, much bigger than Vanessa’s double in her own apartment, and she climbed in the opposite side to Brooke, her heart physically aching at how content she felt lying beside her.

How right it felt, despite the last time they were in a hotel room together being under such different circumstances.

Even the roars and sirens of the bustling outdoor streets were unusually comforting.

“Vanessa?”

Brooke’s tone was questioning, and so faint Vanessa almost missed it.

“Yeah?” Vanessa whispered.

Brooke took so long to reply, Vanessa wasn’t sure whether she’d heard her either, or if she was even still awake.

“I…”

“Are you okay?” — worry was growing in Vanessa’s stomach and she wanted so badly to reach her hand across the distance between them.

“I just… I miss you. I’m sorry, I’m being dumb, I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Brooke spoke so sadly and Vanessa knew she was crying even without seeing her face.

She’d been rejected, flirted with and now missed by this woman all in the space of a few weeks and the rational part of her brain was telling her that Brooke was just tired, she was in an unfamiliar place away from home and she would break Vanessa’s heart even worse if she made promises tonight that she couldn’t keep tomorrow.

Still, her hand searched for Brooke’s anyway, intertwining their fingers as their bodies stayed separate, her other thumb feeling Brooke’s cheek out and wiping away her tears.

“Let’s not talk about this tonight, okay? But I swear we will. And you know I ain’t a liar,” Vanessa vowed. She felt Brooke nod into her hand.

“Goodnight, Vanessa,” Brooke sighed as Vanessa turned her back to her, but shuffled closer, letting Brooke’s arm drape over her body.

“Goodnight Brooke.”

#rpdr fanfiction #branjie #as the stars align #rujubees #lesbian au #enemies to lovers #friends to lovers #angst #smut #fluff #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #concrit welcome

[gets-romantic]

I Dream of You So Often It’s Like You Never Leave

Loving you is so easy, I can do it in my sleep I dream of you so often it’s like you never leave

Mac's been having dreams about Dennis since he left.

Mac wasn’t really sure how often most people had sex dreams, but he assumed that only one in a good week was a little excessive.  Waking up at four in the morning every few days and having to more or less wake up so he can jerk off and finally fall back asleep seems like a little much and he was way fucking over it.

For the third time in a week he bolted up in bed, sweating, with his heart trying to hammer its way out of his ribcage.  Jerking awake to the feeling of hands creeping their way down his chest and a mouth doing a number on his neck wasn’t as awful as he wished it was.  In a way, he thought that it would be easier if he hated it. Maybe that way his subconscious could get the message and stop pumping it all into his psyche.  It was Freudian, really, which Mac did not care for, Freud was just a little science bitch who spent his whole career trying to justify why it was totally chill that he wanted to fuck his mom.

He woke up hard, painfully so, and angry about having to get up to take care of it.  He splashed cold water on his face and shaking his head when all was said and done to try to clear his thoughts, to try to not remember that to get off he mentally continued what he saw in his dream.

Sometimes his dreams were about Dennis.  Okay, most of the time they were about Dennis, probably about nine times out of ten.  Once Mac had dream-fucked this cute new barista at the Starbucks down the street, but he considered that more like a fluke than anything else.

The dreams weren’t even always about sex, or at least it didn’t always start that way.  Last week he dreamt that he and Dennis had been out for their monthly dinner, and it was all so painfully normal , he could have sworn it was real.  Then they’d gotten back to the apartment and had what felt like absolutely mind blowing sex.  If Mac was being honest, some similar things had happened after getting back from the dinners, but his subconscious amplified it all.  

A few had no sex at all, surprisingly, once he dreamt that he was walking home late at night, tired and cold, and when he unlocked and opened the front door Dennis was sitting at the table.  He looks up when Mac enters, pushing an old chipped coffee mug away from him. Mac is stunned, unsure of what to say, whether it was Dennis or some weird ghost or hallucination thing. “You,” he starts, taken aback and confused.  “You’re back.”

“Of course I am, dumb ass,” Dennis smiles, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.  He gets up, walking towards where Mac was standing in the doorway, door still wide open to the hallway.  Dennis grips the door, easing it close, pushing Mac further backwards until his back is up against it, and Mac lets him.  Dennis settles his hand on the door to the left of Mac’s head, the other on the door knob, boxing him in.

“Why?”  The only word Mac’s shocked voice manages to force out.

“You didn’t really think I’d just leave like that, did you?  Of course I came back, I’ll always come back, Mac.”

There’s a sinking feeling in his chest, it was entirely hollow, until it fills again with something that feels like hope.  Like yeah, there’s no way Dennis would run away and forget about him , he thought, and he wants so bad to believe him that he almost did.

Dennis’s hand finds its way from the doorknob to his shoulder, sliding over to flatten down the collar of his peacoat (God, it looked good , maybe he should look to buy one in real life).  “I missed you,” he says, his voice is soft and with no edge.

“I missed you, too,” Mac answers, gripping onto Dennis’s waist, like he knew exactly what to do, and pulled him closer.

Dennis grins wide, it’s near contagious, and Mac can’t help but smile back.  Dennis reaches up and lifts Mac’s chin with a gentle nudge. His eyes scanned over Mac’s face before leaning in to kiss him, soft and sweetly.

Mac hated that one the most, it was recurring, too, and if he sees it for a third time this month he might scream.  The sex ones were easier, it was easier to remove Dennis from the equation and just assume it was because he missed him (in a totally platonic bro way), and also wanted to have sex, and the two were in no way related.  He could go on a hookup app or to a bar and pick up some guy and have a stand in for Dennis for the night, but the emotional bullshit made the water a little more murky.

He tried that once, he downloaded Tinder after Dee told him he just need to fuck to feel better.  Mac had hoped to God that she was right. He had planned to meet up at a bar on a Wednesday night with the first guy he hit it off with on the app, who Mac is pretty sure was named Ethan.  Ethan was nice, tallish with a twink body, wearing tortoise shell glasses, a button up, and a cardigan. He was sweet, and had an apartment really close to the bar, which was convenient and probably planned on his part.  The sex was pretty good, too, but hook ups didn’t seem like the answer to his problems. When everything was said and done, and they were lying down on Ethan’s bed still tipsy from the bar, covered in sweat and chests heaving, Mac didn’t feel any better.  There was a few minutes of silence, when neither of them were sure what to say to break the heavy stillness.  

Ethan sighed  “So, uh, that was good,” he said, tentatively.

Mac didn’t reply, and when Ethan turned to him, he was crying.  It was embarrassing as all hell. He didn’t know what to do, and just froze.  This had never happened before, during hookups with men or women or whoever, or really sex in general, he was too much of a badass.  Ethan seemed equally off guard, but held Mac as he sobbed, neither entirely sure why or even what was even happening. On the inside Mac wanted so badly for the floor to open up and swallow him whole, but despite the embarrassment it was nice.  The feeling of strong arms around him made him feel safe, and when he closed his eyes he imagined it was Dennis holding him. He left before Ethan woke up the next morning, and tried hard not to cry on a 7:00am subway surrounded by everyone on their way to work.

Sex was something where he could find a stand-in for, but all the lame emotions were more complicated.  No matter how hot a guy he meets at a bar is and no matter how good the sex is, it can’t replace the feeling he gets in his dreams when Dennis says he would never be gone for good, never leave him like he did.

If the dreams could just fucking stop maybe then Mac could move on.  It was obvious that Dennis had, they hadn’t spoken on the phone yet this month, longer than that since Dennis had been the one to call first, and he hadn’t even replied to Mac’s last text message from three days ago.  The hard part was that his subconscious was keeping the memory of Dennis alive and well, every night in his head it was like he had never left. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had dreams (regular or sex related) about Dennis before, when you spend so much time with one person it’s not surprising, but nearly every goddamn night? Really?  It was a bit excessive, he had to admit. He was stopping himself from accepting that Dennis was gone and if his brain could just give it a fucking rest maybe he could really get the message.

Dennis wasn’t coming back, he made that painfully clear, but it wasn’t easy to just turn off twenty years of feelings in an instant.  Mac deep down had always known that Dennis would never return anything he’d ever felt, and that he could never seem to will that into existence.  He needed to find a way to get over Dennis and feel something for someone else for once in his life because this just wasn’t cutting it. He’d never managed in the past few months to get over the thought of just walking into the apartment one day and Dennis sitting at the table on his phone, or watching TV on the couch just like he’d never left.  The recurring dream of that exact thing didn’t help, but he couldn’t stop holding his breath whenever he swung open the front door, wanting so fucking bad for things to be like they were before. The apartment felt too big for just one person, it was empty and lonely.

The next night, Mac fell asleep early, probably sometime around midnight after drinking too much too early in the night he had just decided to call it quits.  Not being able to drink for as long throughout the day made him feel 100 years old but his tired bones were craving sleep like it’s oxygen and who was he to deprive them any longer, it doesn’t take long until he’s under.

After hours of a peaceful, dreamless sleep (thank you, alcohol), a weight sinks into the other side of the bed.  It’s jarring, feeling someone else’s beside you when you live alone. Mac scrambles around the bedside table trying to turn on the light, and knocking his phone and an old coffee mug to the floor in his wake.  In the glow of his bedside lamp he makes out the shape of someone else beside him, waiting for his eyes to adjust. He thinks that maybe this is the end, maybe someone broke in and he’s about to be stabbed to death or have his throat slit or something way more gruesome than that.

“Dennis?”  He blurts out in shock.  “What the fuck?” The volume and pitch of his voice raising.  He was 90% sure this was real.

“Shut up, Jesus Christ, I just got off a redeye,” Dennis groans burying his head into the pillow to hide from the light.

“No way, dude!  What are you doing here?”  Mac nearly yells.

“Come on, man, I’m so tired, just go to sleep.”

“You sneak into my room in the middle of the night, get into my bed, I thought you were going to kill me!  I’ve got the right to ask a few fucking questions!”

“Fine!  You want answers?  Fine!” Dennis groans, rolling onto his back and propping himself up on his elbows.

Mac’s taken aback by how easily Dennis gave into his request and finds himself stumbling over his words.  “What are youーwhat? Why?”

“Why am I here?”  Dennis clarifies. Mac nods, still dumbfounded and unable to make his words make sense.  “I just had to leave, at least for a bit.”

“So, what?  You just up and left in the middle of the night?”

“I told her my mom was sick and I had to go back to Philly right away, and I just guessed you wouldn’t have changed the locks.”  Dennis leans back down, turning onto his side towards Mac and closing his eyes, assuming the conversation was over.

Mac pauses for a moment, trying to process everything that’s happening in his foggy, tired brain.  “But, your mom is dead,” Mac says, like that’s the part of this he didn’t understand.

“I know,” Dennis answers, not bothering to open his eyes.  “But Brian’s isn’t. Or maybe she will be in a week, I’m not sure yet.  Are you done yet? Can I just fucking sleep now?”

“No!  Dude, come on!  What are you doing in my bed?”

“The other room doesn’t have one, dumb ass.”  He sits up more this time, glaring at Mac for continually interrupting his rest.

“Oh, yeah, right.  But, like, you made that whole show of leaving, that everything was over, and now, what?  You want to just march back in here like nothing happened? You can’t do that, you can just decide what life you want depending on the day!”

“It’s not like that!”  They were both nearly yelling now, Dennis sat cross legged across the bed from Mac, he sighed and put his head down in his hands for a moment.  It had been months since he’s been this close but it still feels like he’s a million miles away. “I thoughtーI thought I was doing the right thing, being responsible and going to go be a dad, but I just don’t think I can fucking do it.  I thought that it would make me happy, all that nuclear family bullshit, just like it’s supposed to, but it doesn’t! I look at her and I feel nothing, and I look at that kid and I justーI feel nothing .  That’s not what it was supposed to be like, man, and I don’t know.  I don’t know,” his voice softened, he sounded so small, staring straight past Mac into the darkness, the small IKEA bedside table lamp barely giving off life.  He took a deep breath, recollecting himself and looking back to Mac. “How did you know?”

“Know what?”  Mac asks, everything Dennis was saying was all over the place and it left his head spinning.

“How did you know you were gay?”  Dennis’s voice is soft and unsure, like if he spoke to loudly he’d disrupt the still air that made its home in the two feet between them.

Put on the spot, Mac isn’t really sure how to put what he feels into words but decides to give it a shot anyways.  “It’s complicated, I guess. I don’t know, every relationship I’d had with a woman felt kind of empty, but I had no idea what I was missing and just thought that it was like that for everyone.  Eventually I kind of just realized that that just doesn’t make that much sense, like, why would everyone put so much effort into faking happiness all the time, you know? And I guess I just picked up on how much more attention I paid to dudes, like thinking about what they’d feel like and shit.  You can’t make a life out of what you think you’re supposed to do.” He decides to gloss over how much he wrestled with religion and morality over that time, it wasn’t something he felt like he needed to get into now, and it wasn’t something he wanted to talk about yet. At all.

Dennis nods absentmindedly, deep in thought and weighing what Mac had said.  The longer the silence stretches out, the heavier it feels. The tension is palpable and Mac feels like if he reached out he could grab it in his hands.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and Iー” He takes a deep breath.  “I think that I should try… doing stuff with a man.” His words are careful and painfully deliberate, almost like he was proposing some type of clinical study.  Like it was a hypothesis he needed tested, the scientific method was tried and true and he needed empirical evidence.

“That’s okay, man.  We can make you a Tinder profile or go to a bar tomorrow, or something, there’s one I’ve been going to in the east end recently, it’s not technically a gay bar but it’s one, like, unofficially.”  Mac is trying so hard to look and sound like he didn’t just get the wind knocked out of his lungs, life was throwing him a curveball tonight. His head was spinning and he was trying so hard to keep his cool, no matter how badly he wanted to reach out and grab Dennis by the throat and kiss him like he’s wanted to since he was 16.

“No, not with a stranger.  I think I need to kiss you.”  Dennis’s eye drilled holes into Mac’s skin.

“Oh, uh, okay.”  He might be legally brain dead.  Unsure of what to do or say, he just stares back absolutely stunned.

“Okay?  Then, can I?”  This is probably the most Dennis has asked for permission before making a move, not in a dubious way, more that everything is often just more nuanced.  Probably the most Mac had ever been asked. Now? Right fucking now?

“Yeah,” he manages to force out.

Dennis leans in, painfully slow, reaching up to place a hand lightly on his shoulder.  Mac places a hand on his jaw, gliding his thumb over Dennis’s cheekbone. He takes in the look on Dennis’s face, his eyes are wide and uncharacteristically innocent.  He’s so beautiful it hurts to look at him head on sometimes, like he’s staring straight into the sun. Mac leans forward to meet Dennis somewhere in the middle, covering his mouth in a kiss so soft it should be illegal. It’s gentle and unsure, neither knowing how far they should take it.  Dennis tasted like every feeling he’d had for him in high school, everything that he’d pushed so far down inside himself hoping that they’d disappear. But that’s the thing about feelings, isn’t it? They’re messy and don’t like to be contained in tiny tupperware containers shoved to the back of your brain.  Like all the times he’d gotten off to Dennis’s videotapes and lied to himself that it was about the women in it and not because it was Dennis, but lying to yourself is tiring and Mac could only have kept it up for so long. Eventually everything started to boil over and he realized that maybe he’d get off to those because it was a dude in the videos, more specifically it was Dennis.

Mac pulls back, wanting to gauge Dennis’s reaction.  Suddenly feeling very naked when the cold air sweeps across his bare chest, wearing only a pair of plaid boxer shorts.  He doesn’t get far before slides an arm around his shoulders, pulling him firmly forward until they crash into each other again, Dennis runs a hand through Mac’s hair, pulling gently.  Like Dennis can’t seem to pull away, like he knew what it was like to breathe now and Mac was the only source of oxygen in the room. Mac moves his hands conservatively, unsure if there’s an invisible line in place, and trying very hard not to cross it.  He settles his free hand on Dennis’s waist, rubbing small circles into the worn fabric of his pullover sweater; it was an old one, the colours were faded and the sewn on appliques of Dennis’s university logo had frayed in its twenty year lifespan.

“Here, you canー”  Dennis breathes out, cutting himself off by lifting the hem of his pullover, encouraging Mac to touch his skin.  His skin is incredibly soft, Mac’s hands run up his waist and over his ribcage, loving the feeling of Dennis shivering under his touch.  One hand strays from Dennis’s waist, grabbing his ass through his sweatpants and pulling his hips forward making Dennis’s breath hitch.

Reluctantly, Dennis pulls back far enough to take off his sweater.  Mac runs his hand over Dennis’s flushed and heaving chest, his lips are wet and open, breathing hard.  Dennis leans forward, shifting so he’d straddling Mac’s lap, forcing him back against the wooden backboard.  They’re way closer now than before, chests pressed firmly together. When they kiss again it’s different than before, the new angle and position allowing it to be deeper and dirtier than ever.  Mac slides his tongue into Dennis’s mouth, gliding it across the back of his bottom teeth before biting into his bottom lip, pulling it towards himself. The sounds Dennis makes are things he would never let others know about outside of this one moment, it made them powerful, Mac would do anything to keep him making such beautiful noises.  He wasn’t loud or anything, but would softly gasp or sigh or moan in such a way that Mac could feel himself growing harder with every one.

Dennis rolled his hips, grinding down on Mac’s partially hard cock.  Mac groans at the new contact, muffled by Dennis’s mouth on his, he grabs at Dennis’s ass with both hands, pulling him impossibly closer as he chases that contact again.  After a second letting his hands dip below the waistline of Dennis’s sweatpants, feeling his warm bare skin.

“Can I?”  Dennis breathes out, still unsure of what’s okay, if either of them needed to tap out.  He slips a finger or two into Mac’s boxer shorts to hint to what he wants. “I want to get you off.”  He leans closer to Mac’s ear, his voice dropping half an octave and slowing, groping at Mac’s cock through the thin layer of cotton.

“ Fuck , yeah, God, yeah, go head.”  The words fall out jumbled as Mac loses more and more brain functions to the sensations.  He would let Dennis do anything to him right now.

They shift around slightly, allowing Mac to lift his hips enough for Dennis pull down his boxers, before kicking them to the floor somewhere.  Dennis resettles himself on Mac’s thighs, his weight holding him firmly in place. He places a hand on Mac’s throat, pausing for a moment to scan his face and Mac would kill to know what he was thinking.  

In that moment, Dennis was absolutely breathtaking, his pupils were blown and his lips were slightly parted and shiny with spit.  Mac doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything more beautiful, every sunset, constellation, and forest fire there’s ever been rolled into one.  He didn’t want it to end, he never wanted to have to move his eyes from Dennis’s face.

Dennis drags his hand from Mac’s throat down his chest painfully slowly.  The anticipation is agonizing when his hand grazes down his abs. Mac’s breath hitches when Dennis’s hand wraps a hand around his steadily hardening cock.  Mac swears to God he saw a slight smile creep its way onto Dennis’s lips for a split second when he sees Mac start breathing heavier in reaction to his slow, steady pumps.  He spent so much of his life thinking about Dennis’s lips, mesmerized, he raises a hand to Dennis’s jaw. Dragging his thumb over his cheekbone, Mac gently tugs at his bottom lip, opening Dennis’s mouth slightly, Dennis presses a gentle kiss to the pad of Mac’s thumb.  So soft it should be illegal, he shouldn’t be allowed to do that while straddling his friend’s thighs and jerking him off. Mac’s other hand holds firmly in Dennis’s hair, pulling him forward into a nose-breakingly hard kiss, pulling his hair harder than strictly necessary in a way that has Dennis moaning softly and breathing harder.

“Fucking, God, Jesus,” Mac breathed in the small gaps between their kisses.

“That good?”  Dennis grins smugly, he already knew the answer.

“Yeah.”

Dennis pulls away, sitting back on his heels for a moment, taking a deep breath and running a hand through his hair.

“Heyーc’mon man,” Mac complains at the loss of touch.  Catching his breath, he leans back towards the headboard.

“Oh, shut up.”  He hadn’t resuming the previous speed of before, his hand was just ghosting over Mac, teasingly gentile.  Dennis brought his lips to the side of Mac’s neck leaving marks he knows will be there tomorrow, sucking hard on the sensitive skin there like he was a vampire.  The thought makes Mac laugh. “What? What are you laughing at?” Dennis’s voice is concerned, he stops stroking Mac completely, leaning back to scan his face.

“Nothing, it’s justーyou’re like a fucking vampire, dude,” Mac’s still giggling a little, rubbing a hand on the side of his neck, the skin’s sore and tender in the best way possible and still wet from Dennis’s spit.

Dennis glares at him, trying hard to keep that serious look before a grin breaks out on his face.  “What? No, I’m not.” His smile was vibrant even in the dark. “And don’t call me dude when my hand’s on your dick.”  His laugh broke the heavy tension in the room, like whatever was happening now was normal, just the next logical progression of whatever their relationship was before.  And maybe it was. Maybe the way they’d been before made this inevitable.

“Whatever, man,” Mac says, knowing saying that would probably annoy Dennis as much as ‘dude’.  Dennis pinches his thigh. “Hey!” He protests.

“Shut up, Jesus Christ, do you ever stop talking?”  Dennis never gives him a chance to respond, kissing him hard before Mac even had a chance to think of something snarky or sarcastic to say.  Usually he knew just what to say to push Dennis’s buttons but the feeling of his tongue in Mac’s mouth made him lose most brain function. And when Dennis starts pumping his cock again, occasionally sliding him thumb over the head, there goes any brain function he had left.  Familiar feelings well up inside him deep inside, the edge drawing near.

“Dennis, shit, Jesus, fuck,” Mac groans all in quick succession, trying to get Dennis’s attention and convey the message.  “I’m gonnaー” he says, cut off by a moan.

“That’s it, baby boy,” Dennis near whispers, their foreheads pressed together.  It was all so painfully happening. “That’s it, come for me.” That was the straw that broke the camel's back.

“God, Dennis,” Mac groans as he comes, spilling onto his stomach and Dennis’s hands.  He says both words in the same breath like they’re the same thing. Mac tries to catch his breath, reorient himself, their foreheads still pressed together, breathing in each other’s air.  Dennis stroked him for a moment or two longer, stopping before it really starts to hurt, and wiping his hand onto a towel strewn onto a chair near Mac’s bed.

He brings the towel to Mac’s abdomen, looking up to his face, seemingly for permission.  All Mac’s limited brain function can think to do is nod. Dennis wipes off his come softly and more carefully than Mac thought he was capable off.  For some reason this felt more intimate than when Dennis was jerking him off, or when his tongue was halfway down Dennis’s throat.

When the ash seems to have settled, Mac takes note of how hard Dennis still is, and what kind of best friend would he be to leave him like that?  Really, it was only fair to do something to take care of it.

He settles himself on the floor, directly between Dennis’s thighs, pulling off his sweatpants.  Dennis’s eyes were dark, carding a hand through Mac’s hair, gently encouraging him forward. Tentatively stroking Dennis’s cock a few, trying to refrain himself from licking his lips. His mouth was fucking watering thinking about putting Dennis’s dick in his mouth, about how long he’s thought of this, how long he’s wanted this.

Mac takes it in his mouth, slowly inching his way down to meet his fist at the base, trying hard not to choke.  Dennis’s hand in his hair pulls tighter, pulling Mac further onto his cock until he chokes.

“Shit, shit, sorry,” Dennis says when Mac pulls off, coughing a little.

“Hey, it’s fine, bro,” Mac tries to reassure him, wiping spit off his chin and stroking Dennis’s thigh.

“Don’t callー”

“Don’t call you bro with your dick in my mouth?”  Mac cuts him off, taking Dennis back in his mouth before he can reply.  It was satisfying to have the final word for once.

It wasn’t long before Dennis’s hands were tight in his hair again, and he was moaning his name like it was some kind of prayer.  Probably the first time Dennis had prayed in his life. Mac puts all his effort into doing it right, trying to make it the best blow job he’d given in his fucking life.  It wasn’t the longest one he’d given, Dennis seemed to be close already. His jaw was starting to ache but he could never stop, everything he’d wanted since high school seemed to be coming to fruition, he probably would keep going if he got stabbed.

Dennis came with a groan, covering the bottom half of Mac’s face.  Dennis takes a few deep breaths before starting to laugh almost, a smile wide on his lips.

“What?”  Mac questions.

Dennis grabs Mac by his sore jaw, harder than necessary probably.  “You look good like that.” He swipes his thumb across Mac’s cheek.

“Shut up.”  Mac’s faces goes red, wiping it off with the towel used previously before letting it fall to the floor somewhere.

His knees click when he stands up, feeling ten years older instantly.  Dennis is laying half on his bed, legs still splayed over the side. Mac sits on the edge beside him, falling back to mirror his position.

“So, did you get the answer you were looking for?”  His voice sounded raw.

“Yeah,” Dennis answers after a beat.  Mac feels like that’s an answer enough and knows that it’s not his place to pry and doesn’t expect Dennis to say anything else.  “I’m gay.”

Mac nods, they stare at the ceiling in silence before slowly migrating into bed, pulling back on boxers and sweatpants like it’s no different from other times they’d shared a bed.  It was just like the other times, really, except Dennis kissed him again before settling his head on Mac’s chest and an arm around his waist.

The morning came quickly, or more like 10:30am came quickly.  When Mac woke up, one of his arms was around Dennis’s waist and they were impossibly close.

The gravity of what happened really set in, last night he knew in the back of his brain there was always the slight possibility that it was some insanely detailed sex dream no matter how much more real it had felt in the moment.

Dennis stirred, taking a deep breath, and opening his eyes.  “Hey,” he says, voice rough and sleepy.

“Hey,” Mac answers pulling him closer.

The morning seems to follow the routine of their lives before Dennis had left.  When they finally get out of bed an eternity later, Dennis goes to shower and Mac makes a fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen.

It’s also so painfully regular, like nothing had changed at all in the past few months.  Like Dennis had never left.

When he gets out of the shower, Dennis walks into the kitchen in his old university sweater from the night before and boxers.  Mac pours him a cup of coffee, leaving it black like he likes it, that goddamn sociopath.

Everything was normal, except when Dennis took the cup of coffee, he gave him a quick kiss as a thank you.  That wasn’t normal yet, per se, but Mac could definitely get used to it.

Read on AO3

#oh shit ive done it again #my writing #mac x dennis #iasip #it's always sunny in philadelphia #so this is a thing now i guess

[shxrirogers]

When Love Falls- Tom Holland x Reader (Repost)

Summary: A mutual visit to the same park in New York City resulted in Tom fantasizing about being in a relationship with you. The only problem? He saw you, but you didn’t see him and you left before he worked up the courage to introduce himself. Now, Tom is faced with a particularly troubling dilemma: How is he supposed to find you again in a city of eight million people when he doesn’t even know your name?

Word Count: 2,719

Warnings/Triggers: None, just lots of fluff!

Author’s Note: Hi, everyone! After nearly a year of taking a fanfiction writing hiatus to focus on school and learning more about the craft of writing overall (I’m a creative writing major in school), I finally decided to revisit and edit my old fics using the new tools I’ve gathered in my classes. I plan on doing this for all of my writing to produce and publish the best art I can for you guys, so be on the lookout for some more pieces here soon! But, in the meantime, I have to thank @bicaptain​ for proofreading and providing constructive criticism for all four drafts of this fic that I had. I appreciate you, L!

Most normal relationships nowadays begin with a simple “hello” while standing in line to check out at the grocery store or liking a post on someone’s Instagram page. A dinner and movie date might ensue, or a long thread of DM conversations before a “going steady” label or a change in one’s social media bio to “in a relationship.” It’s the twenty-first century for Pete's sake; for a relationship to begin any other way would be peculiar and out of sorts.

But, to be fair, when had Tom Holland, or his life, ever been normal?

For him, your relationship began the moment he first laid eyes on you. He was filming a project in New York City for a couple of months during the summer and rented an apartment on the south side of the island, just a train ride away from the apartment was a dog park he discovered and frequented with Tessa, his Bull Terrier. The grass in the park was emerald green and well fertilized; oak trees that had to have been planted more than one hundred years ago spanned the perimeter of the park, extending up and into the open air, cutting jagged edges out of the atmosphere, begging to be climbed and explored. 

Which is exactly what Tom decided to do.

\What compelled him to perform such a task, he would never figure out, but he decided to blame it on a combination of his amateur parkour abilities and his boyish nature that was always poking at him to explore new places, no matter the risk or cost. On the first day he had a break from filming, he left Tessa at home so he could place his complete focus on the tree-climbing; he threw the hood of his sweatshirt up on his head and hopped aboard the subway for the short ride.

It was only natural of Tom to choose the tallest, most fruitful tree in the park to begin scaling once he got there. It probably should have proven more difficult than it was to get to the spot he decided he was going to make his own, but his early-twenty-something stature swung him up and about rather easily. The spot that he chose had multiple sturdy branches that sprouted out in all directions and provided the perfect nook to lay his blanket down and settle in with the book he brought, a book that certainly challenged his dyslexia but was too thrilling not to try and work through it. All was well for a couple of hours, what with the light breeze caressing his face and the warm sun shining through the leaves onto his skin, and he felt invisible, invincible, and at peace. He would have almost gone as far to say he was untouchable, even, like the anxiety of his career and the constant pressure of having to be something for someone all the time had completely disappeared. Tom was about thirty-seven pages into the mystery plot, thirty-seven pages into his blissful isolation, when the soft humming of an old Blink-182 song by a strong voice floated up into earshot. 

That’s when he peered down and saw you.

You were making yourself comfortable with your own blanket and book at the bottom of the trunk. Your golden retriever, Winston, was laying contently beside you. That damn Blink-182 song had been stuck in your head for days ever since you walked past a hole-in-the-wall bar that was hosting their annual emo night, and no matter how much you sang it, some notes on the pitch, others off-key, you couldn’t let it go. So, it followed you here as you settled under the very tree Tom was nestled in to get a head start on an assignment for school and allow for Winston to get out and enjoy the fresh air, but because of the overgrown branches and monstrous-sized leaves, you didn’t know he was there. You sat contently for a time combing through your work as Tom’s mouth grew increasingly more dry while looking at you. He knew he shouldn’t have been doing that, watching you while you were completely ignorant to his presence, but he was drawn to your aura, the radiating confidence, and gentleness that simultaneously oozed from your pores. He’d never experienced anyone like you before, and certainly not under these bizarre circumstances, either. 

How long his attention was gauged on you, he didn’t know, but when he snapped out of his lovestruck daze that had drool falling from the corner of his mouth, he realized he was watching you pack your bag and untie Winston from the tree to go on your way. Tom should have done something, damn it, but the thought of making himself known to you shrunk his confidence down to minuscule size and caused him to freeze. What in the world could he have possibly said: Hi, I’ve been watching you from up in this tree for hours and I think you are the loveliest girl I’ve ever seen, and I mean this in the least creepy way possible? Piss off. He could never. You wandered down the park trail and out of his sight and Tom’s heart fell at the realization that he’d never see you again.

If someone stuck a probe in Tom’s brain and used a projector to cast his thoughts on a loop, that person would only see you. You began to invade every aspect of his life: Tom closed his eyes in the shower to shampoo his hair, and there you were behind his eyelids. He passed an extra on set with a hair color similar to yours and his vision suddenly blurred. He heard your Blink-182 song in his dreams and woke up to believe you were right next to him in bed, curled up and sleeping soundly. It was the spaces between moments where you came to fruition-- sat next to him on the subway as someone else left the car, working behind the counter at the Starbucks on 8th Avenue right as walked out of the door with his coffee, passing him on the staircase as he made the climb to the floor of his apartment. You were there until you weren’t. A moment in time Tom couldn’t hold onto, a figment of his imagination that flashed before him and dissipated before he could resonate that he wasn’t actually looking at anything at all.

“You’ve got it bad, bro,” Harry stated over FaceTime one evening after twisting Tom’s arm behind his back to get him to explain why he couldn’t hold a proper conversation with his younger brother. “You saw that girl one time and you’re so preoccupied with her that you can’t even talk to me for more than thirty seconds before trailing off and drooling on yourself.”

“I am not drooling!” Tom protested although he couldn’t be sure, so he turned away from the camera to swipe at his chin just in case. No drool. A bastard, Harry was.

“You might as well be. You talk about her like she put the constellations in the sky herself.”

“C’mon, dude, you’ve got to give me a little bit more credit than that.”

Harry began fiddling with the cord of the headphones he was using to talk to Tom. “Hey, I didn’t say it was a bad thing to feel this way about someone, man. I just think you need to learn a bit more about her to ensure those feelings are constituted. Maybe you should, like, make yourself known to her first and say hello. Don’t keep looming over her head and ogling at her like a fucking weirdo.”

“Just how do you expect me to do that, Mr. “I Know Everything About Love?”

“Well, for starters, have you considered going back to the park to find her? She may be a frequent flyer.”

Tom sat silently, his eyes wandered off his phone screen in embarrassment.

“Ok,” Harry sighed, feigning annoyance. “Let’s start there. You should head to the park on the same day and time as before and make yourself comfortable near where you first saw her. I mean, this is a total shot in the dark and you really might never see her again and end up alone forever--”

“Dude!”

“--Or, you might just get lucky and see her again. But bro, a bit of advice: If you do see her, the only way you’re going to form any kind of relationship with her is by making sure she knows you exist. Say something to her if you see her.”

And somehow, by some crazy twist of fate, when Tom followed Harry’s advice and settled himself in his same spot in the same tree on another day of rest from filming, you showed up shortly after to settle in your same spot under the same tree. Tom couldn’t believe it. He was genuinely at a loss for words. The sound of your familiar humming of the same Blink-182 song gave your presence away before the sight of you did, and just like last time, he froze in his spot, eyes fixed on you, mouth slightly agape. To hell with the novel he was reading; you were far more pleasurable a sight to lay his eyes on than any story could have ever been, and he immediately began to wrestle with the incredibly creepy task he was performing. He just needed to go down there and say hello, to introduce himself as Harry said, but because fear was coursing through his veins, he simply watched you again for as long you were down there. This time, you were on the phone with your mother, and through this Tom was able to gather a shocking amount of information about you, including your mother’s name, your middle name, the latest summer classes you were taking at Columbia, and the fact that you have three younger brothers, just like Tom has, who seem to be knee-deep in their fair share of shenanigans, just like Tom’s brothers would be. The similarities between your two families made him smile, but before he was ready to see you go, you were up and on your way again with Winston, the connection Tom felt a fleeting moment he wished he could make tangible and wrap his fingers around forever.

For the next few weeks, Tom stayed up in the safety of his tree where he knew you wouldn’t find him. Every other Tuesday seemed to be the day was when his filming schedule opened up and allowed him to find you at the park by the tree. Every other Tuesday, for the next couple of weeks, Tom would fight to work up the courage to talk to you, and every other Tuesday for the next few weeks, he would lose. This was how he came to practice calling you his own.

However, for you, the relationship began a bit differently.

You’d been coming to the dog park with Winston on a bi-weekly basis whenever you didn’t have to be in summer classes or at work. You would have liked to have visited more often; a one bedroom apartment on campus wasn’t conducive with the lifestyle of an energetic five-year-old golden, but you made do with the free time you had and Winston wasn’t the type to protest. There was a particular tree you’d grown fond of (no pun intended) in the park for its sturdy trunk and strong frame, as well as the sweet shade it provided on humid New York summer afternoons, and you made it your temporary squatting place on the days you could make it out there.

On a Tuesday in mid-June, you settled down in your usual spot with a blanket to rest on and a bowl of water for Winston to lap up when he needed. The moment your back fell against the tree, you huffed, livid and nearly sick over the prospect of failing the physics test you took earlier that day. Science was never your thing to begin with, and why the hell did a liberal arts university require so many science classes of you to graduate, anyway?

It was a particularly windy day, so the constant rustling of the trees didn’t seem out of place against the bright blue sky, but it was about forty-five minutes into mindlessly scrolling on social media to distract yourself from your troubling emotions that you realized something was off: A shadow that was shaped oddly like a man was stretching across the grass in front of you. You peered over the top of your phone to look for the source of the shadow that was accompanied by the feeling of eyes blazing into your skin, but before you could stand up to search for the person that was causing your hair to stand on end, you felt a sharp object clip your shoulder while it fell to the ground. 

“Ow!” You shouted, your hand immediately crossing over your body to cover your already-bruising skin. The object bounced a couple of feet away before flopping inanimately, and it took you a couple of glances to register what had just come down on you.

“A book? What the-”

“Oh my goodness, sweetheart, I’m so sorry!”

A boyish voice with an English accent coming from above interrupted the expletive that almost rolled off your tongue, and you looked up to see that it belonged to a man scurrying frantically down the tree. You started to stand while the man’s sneaker-covered feet landed on the grass. He began dusting off his jeans until he realized you were cradling yourself in pain, and within that moment he came to your rescue, apologizing profusely.

“I was up in the tree reading and my leg began to fall asleep, so I shifted my bum and the book slid off my lap and fell onto you before I had a chance to catch it! Please forgive me, miss, it was a sincere accident.” That boy was telling lies and you knew by the way his pupils dilated with every inhale of breath he took between his long-winded sentences. Even so, though, his dilated pupils were swimming in golden brown irises, and as his palms grazed the bare skin on your arms to offer some kind of assistance for your injury, you felt your skin warm at the touch and the adrenaline in your bloodstream settle.

“Were you…” you paused, trying to process the fact that the shadow that had been observing you moments ago substantiated into someone rather handsome and quirky, “Were you up there watching me the whole time I’ve been here?”

“I, uh...See, well, I, uh--” 

So that’s a yes. “Have you been watching me the entire time I’ve been coming here?”

“No! Absolutely not. You see, I, uh, I heard that Blink-182 song you were humming and I… uh… I rather like that song, and so I, well, I…uh--”

“You’re a really bad liar, you know.”

The boy stopped stammering and sighed. “I know how incredibly creepy that sounds, but I promise I wasn’t stalking you. Every time you left the park, I didn’t follow; I had no idea where you were heading home to. I only observed you when you were under this tree because I was so enamored by you… Oh my gosh, this sounds so awful. Jesus…”

You giggled and felt your cheeks blush. “Is that slightly creepy? Yes. Absolutely. But is it also oddly endearing? You bet.”

The boy’s shoulders dropped in relief at the sound of your laughter as he extended his hand out to you. “Anyway, my name is Tom. I should have told you that the first time I saw you here. I apologize for the scare and for the bruised shoulder.”

You took his hand and gave it a firm shake, the warmth radiating through you again. 

“Y/N.”

“‘Y/N,’” Tom repeated. “Nice to officially meet you.”

“Likewise-- Er, uh, sorta.”

You both laughed and took a seat on your blanket.

“So, Tom, have you always had a knack for climbing trees? You seem to be pretty good at it, seeing as how you got so far up I couldn’t see you.”

He broke out into a grin. “Oh, love, you don’t even know the half of it.”

Xx.

If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting my plan to go to grad school and earn my MFA in creative writing by donating to my Ko-Fi here! All of the money will go toward graduate school expenses.

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x you #ton holland x y/n #tom holland fluff #harry holland #tom x reader #tom holland writing #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #fan fic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #marvel fan fiction #marvel fan fic #spider man #peter parker #homecoming #spiderman: homecoming #spiderman homecoming #reader insert #original fic #original fanfiction

[number9robotic]

9-24-19 Update

 The long-awaited sequel to my 9-22-19 Update!

(plugging my newest pic as an artist tax)

Short version: I’m in physical danger right now.

Long version: My relationship with my parents are breaking down significantly because changes to plans of my living situation, my inability to cope with my depression, anxiety, and other mental/emotional compromises, and the resulting inability to do anything outside my comfort zone like finding a proper job/source of income or going to school. 

As a result, my mom over the course of a few days have been physically threatening me (in public, no less) to send me back to my home in Vancouver while also shaming me for ruining their lives, and I feel legitimately unsafe being in my own home because I don’t know what they’re gonna do to me. All while this happens, my ability to stay motivated as a creator is really being tested.

Fuller version is below this line because I don’t wanna flood the feed and my account with walls of unpleasant text:

Please read my 9-22-19 Update for full context and backstory, there’s a lot of text and I don’t wanna retype it all.

1. THE REAL-LIFE CIRCUMSTANCES GOT WORSE

Yesterday as I was in my weekly therapy appointment, my parents had a renegotiation with each other about that plan I mentioned for my dad to come here and basically repeat the process of my legal anchoring to LA away from my home in Vancouver. Even though I responded with a (resigned) “sure, I’ll do it for you,” suddenly my dad made a conscience decision and told my mom that he changed his mind, because he’s really concerned about my mental well-being and the complete stagnation of my life because of my time here in LA.

This... didn’t go well with my mom, because as usual, this is ultimately about her, I guess. Later that evening, she took me to a Starbucks because she wanted to talk with me about something important, partially as a result of her indeed getting her travel permit document that day. She told me she also talked to her lawyer earlier that day, who said that as it stands, while the case isn’t expected to be finished until April 2020 at the earliest, I’ve technically done all I need to do to be declared a resident of the US, and my job is effectively done. Combined with my dad’s newfound desire to not keep me here any longer, I was told that I could return home.

buuuuuuuuuuuut

She was VERY clearly not happy about this. Despite being the one who decided to talk about this publicly, she had a very loud meltdown as she was explaining this and decided to erupt all of her frustrations not just with herself, but also of me. 

To summarize her very long and confusing tirade, she started to outright force at me “JUST GO BACK TO VANCOUVER! GET A TICKET AND MOVE BACK TOMORROW! JUST GO!!!!”, yet was simultaneously also venting about how much damage this would do to HER and her career; that my lack of presence is a sign of failure on her part as a parent, because she hasn’t been able to get me to go to school or a “real” job or even learn how to drive. Keep this one little bit of info in mind. 

A third argument she was trying to convince me of is that the return to Vancouver for me is only going to fuck ME up, because she doesn’t believe that me returning back to a comfortable place where I’m familiar with and am actually able to get around using public transit (which is so much better than LA, it’s not even a fair comparison) would be better for me and my personal health. She also said that Vancouver’s ability to help me with my mental health is so much worse than that of LA... which... that’s incredibly laughable on so many levels, the least of which is the fact that we spent a several-month assessment process to apply for job assistance because of my autism, only for the result to me to deem me and my autism diagnosis as invalid, but whatever, I guess... 

I responded by telling how incredibly irrational she was acting in her hysterical state (again, in a very public area) with her a bunch about what I felt would help me through this, which I’ll talk about later. Reason not now is because she promptly forgot about it and this morning, SHE DID THE SAME THING AGAIN. This time she invited me to talk at a different Starbucks, asked me about my future, and then had ANOTHER very public meltdown screaming about her and my life problems, but this time it was at a time before McDonald’s stopped serving its breakfast menu.

Once again, she slammed me in my inability/refusal to try anything that would apparently help justify me being here in LA, me ruining her life no matter where I go in the world, and also threatening to send me away to Vancouver. This time I just had to outright leave the conversation because she was getting violent this time; I’m currently typing this in a library and she hasn’t found me yet. This isn’t an entirely new feeling, but currently I am legitimately scared for my future and physical safety.

2. EMOTIONAL HEALTH AND PARENTING

I (re-)explained to her that my problem with all of these personal development hurdles -- my inability to try anything where it feels like the failure of which will be utterly emotionally devastating -- is because I flat-out do not have the ability to deal with it. The entirety of grade school and post-secondary have collectively been the most emotionally devastating times of my life to me, I failed my written exam that’s the first step to get a driver’s licence 5 TIMES, and I have a smattering of emotional, communicative, mental, and physical hinderances preventing me from finding work.

And here’s why that affects me so much: my parents are not emotionally supportive. Mom and dad have outright admitted that due to “Chinese parenting”, “it’s just not my personality”, “I don’t know how to help reassure you” they don’t wish to help me with my emotional problems directly, often times finding it to be the job of others they can then shunt that duty off to, such as therapists, psychologists, counselors, or others. This ignores the fact that my meetings with them are weekly, whereas my greatest exposure to other people come from them, my supposed “loved ones”. I feel like I should be able to go to them for emotional strength. I do not, either because they aren’t capable of or just simply don’t want to be that.

Just to note how little they care about my feelings, I came out to them as nonbinary a few months ago, explained to them what that actually means, that I don’t like my pronouns or birth name at all, and asked for them to respect that. They have yet to comply despite me broadcasting my discomfort constantly, because they simply won’t “get it”.

Yknow... as someone who’s failed a lot in life... I can safely say that the resulting emotional wreckage isn’t fun. 

The thing about being emotionally wrecked is that without any reliable source to go to like family or friends, my only solution is to just wait for my depression to pass... which if anyone knows anything about it, you’d know it’s super-unreliable and can take either a week or a month for me to feel better again, and is incredibly destructive. What I’ve recently realized is how much it utterly fucks with my perception of time and continuity -- depression cuts off my ability to feel anything significant or optimistic, including my ability to perceive a future worth looking up to. As a result, I feel like I’ve wasted A LOT of time in the last few years because nobody has been able to help me with that, at least in my actual time of need.

I’ve made this point to my parents many times throughout the year, and I’ve been desperately trying to communicate to them that the easiest solution to my mental trauma? To actually be there emotionally as loved ones; to help me through that potential sense of failure that I’m so afraid of experiencing again, and for them to comfort me as their child.

This request has pissed off my mom on multiple levels: the first I established already is that she’s constantly claiming she doesn’t know how to/isn’t capable of doing it because “it’s just not me” or “I’m not white mom” or some other crap. The second however is where things got super-confusing: she was also offended that I would ever think that she doesn’t support me on that level, and shared me a bunch of wechats to our extended family supporting my minor hobbies, even though they’ve been sucking really bad (again, please consider my patreon, this is a super-hard time to be motivated as a creator)

So I was like... “You ARE capable of being emotionally reassuring! I want to actually hear it myself!” because she almost never expresses positive emotions; it’s either complete ambivalence or negative frustration. She continued to express negative frustration at this, and at that point I just gave up because at this point it struck me that she just outright doesn’t want to help me with it because she felt like she can shunt the duty to someone else... even though she’s pissed about having to pay them therapy bills to do so. Ugh...

3. EVERYTHING BITES

To summarize: this entire breakdown and my future is emotionally fueled not about my needs like my dad wished, but about my mom’s, who believes that it is far more simple for me to be sent back to Vancouver at her blatant behest, and for me to just “get over” my depression and anxiety to do all the shit she expects me to do which she also believes me to be incapable of doing, than to just... be a caring parent who expresses positive feelings.

And during all of this, she’s also shaming me as a failure who ruins her life no matter what I do.

I am... so exhausted... and it’s super-difficult to stay motivated as a creator these days as a result of it. Fuck, I barely feel safe returning home either in LA or in Vancouver, because I know my mom hates me for it.

I still don’t have friends, and I still have depression and anxiety... and I can’t even ask my mom to be there for me in my time of emotional distress... thanks.

#vent #art #artist #need help #artists on tumblr