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sprnklersplashes · 4 years

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heart of stone (3/?)

AO3

It’s an hour before Damian leaves. An hour of him hugging her and stroking her hair and her telling him everything she can. They try to spend some time normally, watching vine compilations on Janis’ phone, only it doesn’t feel right. Their laughter is forced and accompanied by a pit in Janis’ stomach, the hard reality staring them in the face. After one video she puts her phone away and Damian holds her tighter, resting his cheek on her head and lacing their fingers together. She lets herself sag against him, revelling in the comfort he gives her even if it can’t make this better. She bites the inside of her cheek as she wonders when the next time they hug like this will be or where they’ll be when it happens.

It’s going to be a long few months.

“You sure you’re okay?” she asks him as they stand at her front door. “With all this?” When his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, that’s when she truly feels the weight of it and it drags her down hard. She’s only seen that expression on his face a grand total of three times, two of which related to unpleasant memories of his father. And now once more, because of her. She bites back an apology.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” he replies half-heartedly before shaking his head. “Who am I kidding? Of course you’re going to be okay. You’re Janis.”

“I am?” she replies, smirking just a little.

“Yeah.” The crack in his voice doesn’t escape her notice. He play-punches her arm. “This cancer’s going to have a tough time trying to beat you.”

“If God wants me gone he’s going to have to come down here himself,” she jokes. Only it doesn’t land with him. His eyes widen, his hand around her wrist in a grip that’s sudden and panicked. It’s an old joke spoken in a new world and she realises that too late. “Sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t-” She grabs his tense shoulder, unsure of what else to do, and tries to be as reassuring as possible. “It’s okay. I’ll be okay, they’ve said I will.”

“I know.” He hugs her once again, crushing her in her grip and stroking her hair, his heartbeat fast against her chest. She wraps her arms around him, cursing at herself.

“Maybe the dark humour will take a backseat for now,” she whispers. He laughs at that at least, even if it’s short lived. He steps away from her just as his mom pulls up outside of her house, beeping her little car horn.

“My mom,” he says, looking from the car to her. “When do I tell her?”

“Whenever you want,” she replies, shrugging. “Not like we’re keeping it a secret.”

“Okay.” He pats her cheek clumsily as she opens the door. Before leaving, he takes one long look back at her, sadness clouding his eyes. She doesn’t let him know that she hates it. “You owe me a calzone when this is all over, Sarkisian.”

“It’s a date,” she jokes, her breath catching in her throat. Through the window in the door, she watches him run across the road, holding up shirt up over his head as the sky starts spitting, and climb into the passenger seat of his mom’s car. Her vision blurs as the car pulls away, her cheeks hot and her jaw clenched.

She doesn’t bother to hide it when she walks into the kitchen. She’s too tired and even if she wasn’t, what’s the point in it?

“Oh, sweetie,” her mom sighs, rushing up to her and pushing her hair out of her eyes. She rubs a hand up and down her arm, her lips rolled into a thin line. “How did he take it?”

“Fine,” she says. “I mean, not fine. But he’s… It’s a lot for him. But he didn’t storm out of the house or accuse me of lying or something messed up like that so I guess…” She trails off, the sentence running away from her. Is there a good way to take news like this? If there is, it would have been nice for her to know yesterday.

“Why don’t I make you something?” her mom asks again. “You want some coffee? Tea? Or one of those little mug-cakes you like so much?”

“I can make it myself,” she tells her, already tempted. She breaks out of her mom’s grasp and starts pulling stuff out the cupboards, the recipe crystal clear in her mind. She turns around, equal parts amused and annoyed at her mom hovering behind her. “I’m not going to burn myself on the microwave, Mom.”

“I know. Just, well, maybe you should be sitting down?”

“I can do it myself,” she repeats, despite her tired legs. She looks over at her again, annoyance beginning to win out. She spoons flour into her mug, white smoke puffing up before her eyes. “I’ll be fine, Mom. Besides I’m the only one who knows how to make them.”

They were Cady’s idea. Over the winter break last year, before it all truly went wrong, she had called Janis about this new recipe she stumbled upon on Pinterest, babbling excitedly about ‘little tiny cakes in mugs, how cute is that, Janis?’. She invited Janis over, insisting on testing out as many different recipes as her microwave would allow. There was something about the sight of Cady with a white handprint on her skirt and flour dusted across her nose like snowflakes that did certain things to Janis’ heart. She can’t be sure, but that might just have been the day she began seeing Cady in a new light and daring to imagine them as something other than friends.

The memory now only makes her heart clench. There are few things Janis loves in the world more than Cady Heron’s smile and nothing hurts her heart like when she’s sad. When her lips touched hers for the first time, she swore she’d never do anything to hurt her. She’s going to be breaking that promise tomorrow, even if it’s through no fault of her own.

She goes up to her room with a mumbled goodnight to her parents and an unexpected, quick hug from her dad. Maybe she should start expecting them, she thinks sadly as she trudges upstairs, one hand around her mug and the other gripping the bannister.

She curls up on her bed, too tired to sit up but too jittery to try to sleep. Besides, the sky is still orange out there and she refuses to go to sleep before the sun does. Despite herself, she feels strangely proud. Cancer or no, her sleep schedule is hers, at least to some extent.

She pulls her laptop over, squinting in its blue light, and opens Tumblr for a while, scrolling through likes and reblogs without any of it registering. She bounces through social media with twitching fingers, closing tabs not five minutes after opening them. Facebook is the worst; little green dots lined up at the side of her screen, each one able to contact her with the press of a key. The last thing she wants right now is a conversation. So she opens Twitter instead and lets the friends be mixed in with the strangers. She’s hidden as long as she doesn’t say anything and she has genuinely no intention to. No likes, no retweets, nothing but a stream of content she can half-focus on in a bid to forget herself.

It works, at least for a while, three jokes or art pieces for every “real person” who crosses her timeline. But her eyes are constantly drawn up to the searchbar against her will and when a post of Cady’s crosses her path, her eyes linger for longer than they should.

“Fuck it,” she mutters, typing her handle into the searchbar and tapping her nail against the mouspad. She’s not as strong as she looks, and recently she’s discovered that she’s really not that strong when it comes to her girlfriend.

Cady’s profile loads up on the screen, her profile picture of her hugging a lion at least putting a smile on her face. Cady rarely uses this, having only gotten it at Regina’s request and preferring to use platforms like Instagram, uncomfortable with Twitter’s character limit. 280 characters is barely enough to capture those beautiful thoughts of hers. But Janis scrolls through them anyway, not quite having realised how much she missed her until now, missed how she talks and thinks and the feel of her hand against hers. Scrolling through her Twitter is a poor substitute for having the real thing.

There’s a post from five days ago, of the two of them sitting in Cady’s backyard, her chin on Janis’ shoulder and Janis’ hand covering hers, the remains of ice cream around Cady’s chin. Cady’s mom had taken that on her daughter’s phone, the two of them lounging in Cady’s garden after she had been showing Janis her peonies.

Janis is almost taken aback by how she looks. She knows how she felt, exceedingly happy, dangerously close to in love and a little intoxicated, but also exhausted. Even though everything felt perfect and all she could ever want, in the back of her mind she was thinking about going home and collapsing into bed. Her skin crawls as she knows why she felt like that. The girl in the photo with the sparkling eyes and beaming smile has cancer. Her body was-is- falling apart bit by bit and she was none the wiser, enjoying summer sunshine and thinking about nothing other than how much she adores her girlfriend. How would she react if she knew that in a few short days, her life would be ruined?

She curses as she wipes away a tear. Hasn’t she cried enough for today?

She opens up a search engine, fear building in her chest, the hair on her arms standing up despite the warm air. She sits and watches the blinking cursor, the only sound in the room being the soft whirring of the laptop and her heavy, deep breathing. She doesn’t want to know, not at all. Knowing will only make it worse. She should just turn this thing off and toss it away before she does something she regrets. That’s what reason says.

She doesn’t listen to reason. Instead she listens to the one part of her brain that won’t shut up.

She types effects of cancer on relationships into the searchbar and closes her eyes tightly. If she can’t see the results, they don’t exist, right?

A high school senior using middle school logic. What’s become of her?

She clinks on the first link, squirming at the images that load in pieces on her screen. Hands clasped over a wooden table, two people looking into each other’s eyes with sincerity and sadness on their features. She’s never been good with emotions like that. Which is why she pushes them away, she supposes. Even the idea of sitting down carefully and Having A Conversation in hushed voices about such delicate, difficult subjects makes her want to vomit. Today was hard enough. Her parents are just lucky she loves them too much to do that.

She scrolls past sections about family and friends until the word ‘partner’ catches her eye and she stops. According to the article “cancer can be a difficult thing for couples to face” (yeah no shit). Little Miss Psychology who wrote the thing goes on to explain that “this can manifest in changing roles in the relationship” which again, no shit. The more she reads the article, the more she feels her time being wasted. There’s nothing she couldn’t already guess and most of it is for married couples with kids. Who’s going to take the kids to school, who’s going to pay the bills, who’s going to make dinner? Nothing that concerns her, nor should it for a long time.

She reads that cancer has a negative effect on their sex lives, and actually laughs. Sex was the last thing on her mind.

Then, near the bottom, it shifts from the practical to the emotional. Miss Psych explains that cancer can often cause “an inability to do leisure activities” and while that should have been obvious to Janis, it screws with her more than a little. Sure, she and Cady have quiet time in one of their rooms, but it’s always balanced by doing something else, trips to the mall or the movies, or going down to the zoo to see Cady’s beloved lions or the museum so Cady can watch Janis get lost in the art world. It’s the being with each other that makes it special, but going out like this keeps everything interesting for both of them. What do they become when that disappears?

With a shuddering breath, she pushes on, reading about how miscommunication can happen in relationships when this happens. Cady trying to keep positive could become dismissals in Janis’ eyes, or Janis keeping a mask up for Cady only leading to them stopping talking. And miscommunication is always the first step, according to Damian. Out of his three relationships two ended because they stopped communication.

And finally, “cancer can be a destabilising force for most relationships”. It’s one of the first things she sees and it’s the last thing she needs to see. There’s a lot she loves about her life now, or at least her life post-Spring Fling, and one of those is how solid it is. Steady friendships, or semi-steady in some cases, and a comfortable romance with Cady. For the first time in a long, long while she was happy without even trying to be.

She closes her eyes and turns onto her side, pressing her hand to her stomach. What must it look like in there now? According to the doctor, her body is producing more white blood cells and they can’t function and then something about her organs. While she should know better, the image of her blood turning white attacks her mind, something like white paint spreading through her veins and attacking her organs, turning them pale and hard and frozen. Maybe once it was done with her body it would bleed through her skin and show on the surface. Her body could become a statue from the inside out. Maybe if she stabbed herself right now, she’d bleed cold and white instead of red.

She shoots up, shaking the image from her head. Her heart is unsettled in her chest but she takes comfort in it, wild and erratic and alive. She pushes all thoughts of what’s happening to her out of her head, trying to replace them with anything else.

Unfortunately for her, the only anything else she can think of is Cady. Her only two options are her debilitating body or her debilitating love life.

Well, it’s not debilitating. Not really. Not yet anyway. Well, except for the fact that she hasn’t texted Cady back in two days. She’s not left her on read, but she’s no doubt left her worried. She’s always worrying, her Cady. Worrying that there’s enough food for everyone or that everyone at her place is having a good time or that her two friend groups will get along.

What will this do to her?

She opens her laptop again, fully aware of how destructive she’s being. But her mind won’t rest and checking the internet is just as good a plan as any. The article is still there when she opens it, the white light making her head hurt. Her stomach hurts more and more as she looks through the web and she’s sure it’s not because of the illness or the hastily-made mug cake.

“Cancer can be incredibly straining on the patient’s relationships,” the article tells her. “Often the patient will find it difficult to be a supportive and loving partner with the toll the illness takes on them.”

That’s the part that really sends her flying. The phone falls from her weak hands as anxiety takes over her body, making her hands shake and her chest tighten. She pushes the laptop away and pulls her legs close to her chest, pressing her forehead into her knees as she counts her breath, in for eight and out for eight.

Dumb as it sounds, she likes being someone’s girlfriend. She likes making people, particularly people she cares about, feel happy and warm and loved. It makes her feel worth something. Despite the front she presents to the world, she cares. She cares for fuck’s sake.

Cady deserves a girlfriend who supports her. One who is devoted to her and makes her life easier. Cady went through a lot last year, she wasn’t innocent in it at all, but she went through a lot. So many times she’s told Janis she’s excited to go back to school this year and just be normal. To study with her and walk to school with her and be her prom date.

‘Last year was like a shark tank,’ she had explained to her as they sat in the park, her head in Janis’ lap. ‘Next year I just want to float.’

The sharks might be gone, but Janis is bringing a whole tsunami.

It isn’t fair. None of it is, her parents have told her as much, but now it’s really not fair. Not to her and not to Cady. After a less than great first year, she deserves a better chance at real school life. She should have a girlfriend escorting her to prom, an old fashioned date-on-your-arm type of affair. They should dance under a glitter ball together while Janis whispers words of affection into her ears.

And then there’s the school side of school. Cady has so many college plans, big and lofty ones that require months and months of work. What will Janis be then? A distraction? Or worse, a burden. She’d never dream of demanding anything from her, but what if she can’t help it? Or if she doesn’t need to because Cady focuses on her anyway? What if she’s the reason Cady doesn’t make it? Her job as Cady’s girlfriend is to be her support system, her rock. If she can’t do that then what’s the point in them being together? Why should she have a girlfriend if she can’t give her everything every day?

It’s only when she finds her toy kitten twisted and wrung in her hands that she realises she’s spiralling.

“Breathe,” she whispers to herself. “Come on, breathe.”

Her mind clears as her heart slows down. Her worries don’t go away, but she can see them more precisely than before. She leans her head back against the wall, letting the air rush out of her. There is a solution to her problem, but it’s not one she likes. She guesses what she wants went out the window when her blood started acting like a dick.

After all, the best way not to hurt Cady with this is to just not be her girlfriend, right?

“You’re a moron,” she sighs, shaking her head. She stretches her arms and starts tugging on her pyjamas, tiredness taking over and dragging her eyelids down. She shuts off her laptop, avoiding even a glimpse at the article, and shoves it under her bed. In the quiet of her dark room, she can hear her parents murmuring downstairs and wonders, probably with good reason, if they’re talking about her. They talk about her a lot more than they used to. Years ago, Janis lay in this same bed listening to the same thing; anxious, inaudible conversations about her between people who thought she was asleep. Only thing is now, it hurts more. Guilt only gets worse with age. She drifts off slowly, her stuffed cat pressed into her chest, one thought coming together in her hazy mind.

She’s already hurt the three most important people with this. Can she really hurt Cady too?

*****

Her room is still dark when she jolts awake. Her eyes sting and she blinks heavily out of tiredness as well as getting used to the darkness. She knows why she’s awake before she even looks down or can feel anything. There’s only one reason she’d have woken up this early.

She switches on the light and finds her legs covered in sweat, small dark splotches on the sheets. Her top clings to her stomach and her hair to her neck, a feeling that’s uncomfortably and frustratingly familiar.

Her clock reads 4:30am. Groaning, she kicks her covers off and stumbles to the bathroom, rubbing at her bleary eyes.

Avoiding her reflection, she holds a cold cloth against her skin, her damp shirt handing over the edge of the bathtub. She can’t help asking herself, what if she had noticed this before? What if she had brought it up to her parents? She had just shrugged it off as nothing before. If she hadn’t, would they have caught it in time? Maybe this would be over sooner, maybe it would have been over already. If she had just paid more attention, she might be happy now.

She makes eye contact with her reflection, and the words ‘stupid girl’ ghost across her mind like the other her had whispered them.

“New level of self-deprecation,” she mutters, running the cloth under the cold faucet. “Blame yourself for… this.”

She settles herself in the bathtub and presses the cloth into her stomach and another to her neck, debating with herself if she should go get some ice from the kitchen. Ever the drama queen. She rubs at her heavy eyes, thankful that she has no plans for tomorrow. All her plans are cancelled for the foreseeable future, but at least there’s the silver lining of letting her sleep for longer. Karen must be rubbing off on her if she’s looking for the good parts now.

She’s almost nodding off in the bathroom, until the door open and her dad calls her name, shocking her awake and nearly giving her a heart attack on top of everything else.

“Dad!” she whispers sharply, stumbling out of the bathroom. Her dad’s eyebrows are shot up his forehead, his mouth hanging open a little as he looks at her with more alertness than she reckons he had a minute ago. He looks from the cloth in her hand to her damp shirt, confusion etched onto his features. “Dad I was just… I started sweating. I just needed to sponge off.”

“Okay,” he replies. “Do you… do you need any-”

“It’s fine.” She drops the cloth in the sink and moves to brush past him. “It’s fine, I’m okay.”

“Woah, woah, Janis,” he says, his fingers curling around her arm and his other hand on her chest. She stops where she is, avoiding his eyes. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

“No,” she answers with a shake of her head. “No I’m okay. I just need to go back to bed.” Her dad nods and brushes her sticky hair away from her face.

“How long as this been going on?”

“I don’t know,” she sighs. “A few weeks, I think. It’s not every night. I think it’s a side effect of the… of you know…”

“Ah,” is all he says. There’s an air of discomfort neither of them can brush off.

“I’m fine, really,” she says, pulling his hand off her as gently as she can. She dares look up at his face for a minute, the two of them feigning composure of the other. “I’m done. You can use it.”

“Do you need anything?” he asks again. “New clothes, some water?”

She shakes her head, even though her throat is painfully dry.

“I can get new PJs in my room,” she tells him instead. “Good night, Dad.”

“Bonne nuit, petite fille,” he whispers in his native French. Although it’s short-lived, she manages a smile.

Back in her room, she pulls off her shorts and tosses them away. She may well run out of pyjama shorts thanks to this. After a second’s thought, she tosses her t-shirt away too and pulls on another one that’s a little too big for her. As she slides into her bed, she wishes her dad hadn’t mentioned water. Even though her throat cracks and she holds back dry coughs, she won’t ask for more than she has.

When she’s half asleep though, her door slowly opens, and when she wakes more minutes later, there’s a full glass on her night stand. It makes her smile, and it lasts longer this time around.

*****

Hours later, she wakes stiff and sore and nowhere near as refreshed as she should be waking this close to noon. As she curls into a ball and presses her face into the pillow, a wave of self-pity crashes into her chest and fills her lungs. Self-pity is probably her least favourite feeling out of all of them. Anger is an old friend and can be righteous and satisfying. She resists sadness more, but at least that can be reflective and healing. What does self-pity do for her? Doesn’t give her an outlet, doesn’t change anything. She just sits there and wallows in it, hating it more and more with each second until the anger wins out and she throws the covers off.

She leaves her phone switched off for as long as she can. She shuns technology entirely except for the TV, looking at the screen blankly with Maxie in her lap. Even her dog seems to know something’s wrong, either with her body or her mind. He presses his head into her stomach and looks up at her, eyes bright and wide and heart-meltingly cute, all the while whimpering quietly, his little paws tickling her stomach. Janis kisses his nose and it makes her feel a little better.

She goes up to her room and starts getting dressed, not wanting to spend the rest of her day in pyjamas. She’ll probably be doing that a lot a few weeks down the line. Possibly a few days down the line, she realises. Her shirt in her hands, she looks over at the calendar on the wall. Tomorrow is circled in red glitter pen and a little skull drawn in the box, ‘senior year’ written in black glitter pen above it. She wrote that weeks ago, end of July or beginning of August, back when it mattered.

The school knows now. Her parents called them up and told her the day after they found out. Janis, against her better judgement, sat against the bannister upstairs and listened in on it. There wasn’t a whole lot to listen to on her end; just a lot of ‘thank you’s and reiterations of what they’d been told in the hospital. What she would have given to have been a fly on the wall on the school’s end though. To hear every word about how sorry they were and the endless support they were offering to Janis and judge how much they meant it. North Shore’s not a bad place, especially since the end of Spring Fling. There are worse schools. But that doesn’t mean she trusts it. Trust is easy to eradicate and hard to win back.

Regardless, they’ll tell everyone tomorrow. They have to. It might be in a special assembly, or during morning announcements. Maybe they’ll take her friends out of class one by one and break the news to them gently. Or just assume they already know. They’d be a quarter right in that case.

Her phone is still dead on her nightstand. She picks it up the way you’d pick up a live grenade and holds it gingerly in both of her hands. Her reflection stretches before her in the screen like a funhouse mirror. She’s not felt quite so afraid of her phone since she was 12, but now she’s not scared of what people would say to her. The opposite really.

She turns it on after an eternity and places it on the floor until it stops buzzing. One message from Damian, asking how she’s feeling and if she wants to hand out, followed by a yellow heart. Three from Cady, one good morning text, one photo of her hamsters and one asking if she’s okay. It’s harsher than anything she’s seen from her before and the worst part is she has a feeling that’s only the beginning. It’s still polite and careful, asking Janis to talk to her “whenever she’s ready”.

That may take a while, Cady.

Her chin rests on her knees, her nails digging into the sides of her legs and her jaw tightly clenched. Her breaths are long and shallow. She’s not exactly a stranger to difficult conversations. Between coming out and telling them about Regina and telling her parents she wants to major in art, she could make a walk of fame of them if she really wanted to. But none were like this. They could all end in good things and they all did. Nothing good could come of this, not for her and certainly not for Cady.

She dials the number slowly, despite having never dialled a number in her life. Like if she takes longer, she’ll get a better idea. Or this will all end if she waits long enough.

Shouldn’t she know better now, she thinks as she presses call.

“Hi!” Cady picks up on the second ring, sounding out of breath, like she’d ran to pick it up. She can almost picture her just from the sound of her voice; brown eyes wide, maybe twirling the ends of her hair. Or sitting on her bed, her hand buried in a pillow and feet anxiously tapping the floor. She hates herself and this isn’t even the worst part. “Um, hey, how are you?”

There’s a tiny spark of warmth in Janis’ chest, in amongst all the fear. She’s missed her voice so much.

“Um, yeah,” she replies, aware she’s not actually answering her. “No I’m-I’m good.” As her mouth runs dry, she starts worrying if she is even able to talk right now. Near silence stretches between them, broken only by Cady shifting on the other line and her parents talking below her. As she tries to find something, the idea of just hanging up and throwing out her phone crosses her mind and she can’t quite dismiss it.

“Did you go to your hospital appointment?” she asks, a calm tone taking over her voice. “How was it?”

“Oh,” is all she can muster up. “It was…” Horrible. The worst day of my life. Ruined my life. I wish it had never happened. I haven’t been happy since. “Fine, I guess.”

“So you found out what was wrong?” she asks. The question forms a rope, tightening around her neck.

“Yeah. It’s not important.” Just slightly life-altering. She lets go of her wrist, shaking out of her cold hand. She flexes her fingers, words coming out of her mouth thoughtlessly. “I need-I need to talk to you.”

“Okay. Should I… should I be worried?”

Yes.

“I don’t know,” she replies. She pushes herself to her feet, legs shaking, and pulls her sweater around herself. She bites hard on the inside of her cheek. Her main priority out of this is Cady not hearing her cry. “Caddy…”

She closes her eyes and mouths a silent apology before continuing.

“Caddy, I think we need to take a break.”

Cady stammers on her end, nonsensical, meaningless sounds that do nothing but fill empty space. Janis bites into her fist as tears begin running down her face. It builds up in her chest instead and it aches. Is this heartbreak? Is this what they mean when they say it? She’d always taken it metaphorically. Turns out it’s literal.

“Take a break?” Cady echoes. “Janis I don’t-what do you mean take a break.”

“I mean-” She takes a deep breath, hoping that the sniffle sounds like allergies. “I mean, we’re going into our senior year, Cady. That’s a lot. You’re looking at math college, I’ve got a lot to do for art school, I think it’s best if we-if we just pause it.”

She can’t hold it back. She puts the phone on the bed, the covers blocking any sound and presses her face into a pillow, letting herself cry into the fabric. It’s not much, just enough to let herself breath again. It doesn’t stop hurting or even hurt any less, but she can speak again.

“Janis? Janis are you still there?” Cady asks, muffled by her covers. “Janis?” She picks it up and throws herself off the bed, walking in a continuous circle.

“Yeah I’m here,” she says, her throat raw. “Sorry Maxie was being a dick.” She crosses her fingers behind her back.

“Janis I just want-I just want to understand,” she says. Her own voice shakes a little and it’s a knife against her ear. She’s probably pacing the room, a frown on her lovely face. Janis slaps herself on the cheek like she can slap the image out of her mind. “Janis we can make this work. Loads of people date in senior year-hell, Karen and Gretchen are. Aaron was a senior year-”

“You’re going to use Regina and Aaron as an example of couple goals?” she snorts, an unkind edge in her voice that tastes vile on her tongue. Hurting Cady is more painful than the cancer will ever be, yet a part of her wonders that if she’s a bitch now, this will end faster.

Thankfully, she still has some integrity.

“That’s different,” Cady huffs. “That’s Regina. You and me… we’re you and me.” There’s a long sigh on the other end and Janis can imagine her rubbing her forehead like when she’s debating a math problem. “Janis lots of couples date in senior year. Rachel Hamilton was still with her girlfriend last year. They’re still together now. And I know-I know you’re worried about stuff, I’m worried about stuff, but if we stay together at least we can-”

“Cady!” She jumps at her own voice. She’s never heard herself as sharp as she was just there. Her voice echoes around her and cuts her skin. She lowers herself onto the bed again, her limbs weak. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Cady assures her. She doesn’t deserve this level of gentle. Not from her. “It’s okay let’s just talk this out. Maybe we could get Damian-”

“No.”

“You’re right. Bad idea,” she says lightly. “Look Janis, we’re all stressed about senior year. But we don’t need to jump to anything yet, right? We can just take it easy and if it gets too much-”

“It’s already too much,” she replies. She’s not lying. Cady just doesn’t know. “Cady I’m sorry but it’s already too much. I can’t deal with a relationship now. It’s- it’s not you.” Her nails dig into her palm. “There’s just too much happening in my life for a girlfriend now. I mean, I didn’t think it would last as long as it did.”

“You didn’t?” And if pain were a sound, it would be Cady’s voice. Breathless and cracking, the two words shaking. If she had punched her right in the face it would have hurt less than what she just said.

Congratulations, Janis. You just did exactly what you wanted to avoid.

“Not like that,” she whispers pathetically. “Just… I think it’s best for both of us if we end it here.”

“Okay.” There’s a finality in that one word, a line drawn under everything they had these past months. Nothing could have prepared Janis for this. “Okay fine. If that’s what you want, then fine. We can end it here. I’ll see you tomorrow then, maybe.”

“Thank you.”

She’s not sure if Cady heard the end of that. The dial tone rings in her ear, loud and unending. She keeps it there because in a weird way it’s like keeping Cady there.

She got what she wanted, didn’t she? After all, why should she be Cady’s girlfriend right now when she can’t be what she needs? This is all for the best, isn’t it? Now Cady can focus on school with minimal distraction and Janis can go through this without dragging more people down with her.

“Fuck that,” she says in a low voice. Her chest rumbles as her breathes suddenly get quicker, her fingers curling inside and out. Fuck that. It’s not what she wanted, not at all. She wanted a senior year with Cady. For her to slap Janis away as she tries to distract her from homework. To greet her with hugs in the mornings and hold hands with her in the afternoon. Her visions fall apart in front of her and roll away, stopping her from building even a daydream to keep her going. Her nails scratch at her scalp as she pulls on her hair, a dull throbbing rising in time with the dial tone’s steady beeping. As she bites down on her cheek, she doesn’t know if she’s imagining the metallic taste in her mouth, if it’s blood or just her own cocktail of anger and shame and grief.

It keeps building inside her, rising like a tidal wave and filling her lungs, her mouth, her ears. Much like the hard conversations, these feelings aren’t new to her, rage and anxiety are long-time companions. Lately she’s started turning to the people around her when she’s feeling like this, heaving learnt the value of a support system, but her parents are busy enough and she can’t face Damian with this and drive a wedge between him and Cady who is incidentally the person she wants to talk to the most but she doesn’t have Cady anymore because she just broke up with her and Cady doesn’t even know why, and all Janis has is that stupid ringing dial tone-

“Oh shut up!” she yells, chucking her phone across the room. It bounces against the wall with an audible ‘thump’ and falls to the floor. At least the ringing stops. She her head hits the mattress, bouncing a little before going still. The ringing from the phone has entered her head instead and has seemingly no intention of leaving no matter how tightly she closes her eyes or how hard she covers her ears. Her nails leave indents on her skin and her fingers tangle in her unbrushed hair.

“Janis?” She doesn’t even hear her door opening above the noise in her head. Her mom hesitates as she enters, unease evident in her hunched shoulders and flitting eyes. “Janis I heard you yelling-”

“I’m fine.” The words are dull and heavy and hold no semblance of truth. She forces herself to look over at her mom. At least her eyes are dry. “I just talked to Cady.”

“Oh, baby,” she sighs sympathetically. The bed sags as she sits down, her hand covering Janis’. “I’m sorry hon. I know that can’t have been easy.” She just nods, a heavy weight pressing into her chest. She doesn’t cry and wonders if she’s used up all her tears in the past two days. Her mom’s hand moves in a small, gentle motion on her shirt; it’s comforting to her and it soothes her frantic mind. So why doesn’t she like it?

“Mom,” she begins. “No offence but I… I just want to be alone.” She can’t miss the sadness in her mom’s eyes no matter how hard she tries. The hand grows slower and lifts from her back. “I’m sorry, just-”

“It’s okay, Jan,” she says, pushing herself up. She stands over her, the picture of the doting mother. “We’re just downstairs if you need anything.”

“Mom.” Janis manages to push herself up by a mere fraction. Her mom halts right where she is, turning around so quickly she should be accompanied by a whooshing sound effect. She also can’t miss how bright her eyes are, ready to attend to whatever Janis needs. “Um… can you pass me my phone? It’s… it’s on the floor there.”

The request is so tiny and not at all suited to her mom’s hyper-focus. Not to mention how weak and pathetic her voice sounds. It doesn’t belong to her body, her towering frame that even cancer can’t take away from her. Her mom nods, smile on face, and hands it over to her.

“I… I threw it across the room,” she admits, gesturing with her chin. “At the wall.”

“That’s okay,” her mom says. Something about the careful tone doesn’t sit right with Janis, but she’s too drained to care. “If it’s broken we can just get you a new one, okay?” Her hair moves against the fabric of the covers as she nods. “See you later, kid.”

When her mom leaves, the door stays open slightly, no doubt on purpose. She doesn’t have the energy to get up and close it.

Tomorrow should have been the first day of her senior year. Instead it’s the first day for everyone but her. They’ll all be preparing for the unknown, but while her friends prepare for SATs and college choices, she’ll be preparing for IVs and blood tests. They won’t want to get out of their beds, and she’ll be confined to hers.

Janis rolls onto her side, her phone laying dark beside her. No new messages, not from Cady or Damian. The former probably doesn’t have anything to say to her and the latter doesn’t know what. He’s been giving her a lot of space since she told him. She runs her finger across the cold glass, gliding smoothly across until it finds something that shouldn’t be there. A ridge that runs against her fingertip. She’s almost certain what this means, and last week she would have been freaking out and throwing curse words around. Now she just sighs and turns on her phone to assess the damage.

Her lockscreen is, of course, a photo of her and Cady, taken by none other than Damian. The two wearing their pyjamas at a sleepover they had at Damian’s, a night of movie-musicals, Cady’s hair in a messy side braid and her head on Janis’ shoulder and Janis pressing a kiss to her head. An hour ago it was the perfect picture, and one of Janis’ favourites. Now there’s cracks running through the screen, small ones at the top poking through her hair and over her eyes, and a longer one that slices between her and Cady. They’re not too bad. Nowhere near bad enough to warrant a new phone. But they’re there and they’re all Janis can see.

#mean girls broadway #mean girls fanfic #cadnis #janis sarkisian #cady heron #damian hubbard #cadnis fanfic #paint by numbers #janis x cady #fic: heart of stone #hey look! some cadnis! actual cadnis! whee!

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skeletorific · 5 years

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I donated 5 Ko-Fi's for one of your lovely match ups please! Thank you I am short and a little chubby with a million freckles and super fluffy short blue hair. I like to bake, make art, read, cuddle, play guitar, and daydream. My favorite thing is to make others happy and smile. I like puns and witty banter. I also don't mind a nice play fight every once in awhile. I have depression, anxiety, and ADHD. I am very protective, kind, and a good listener. I am also stubborn and withdrawn at times.

Hi! Sorry this took so long, I had a busy day of travelling yesterday. Thank you so much for your generous support!

Three matches jump out at me

Blue (US!Sans): He loves your freckles and hair so much! He loves running his hands through it, and your freckles remind him of the stars, which is a definite plus for any variety of Sans. He also enjoys your hobbies. Blue loves music and baking, and is always more than enthusiastic to support the artistic talents of his s/o. Just…do everyone a favor and double check that he’s following the recipe if he bakes with you. Also he loves playfighting more than anything.

Beyond these surface level things, Blue finds himself drawn towards your general personality. Kindness and a desire to make people happy are things that draw him in, because its how he approaches life himself. He appreciates someone that does their best to make everyone’s day a little brighter, while his own upbeat attitude and unexpected tenderness can help get past your more withdrawn stages. And for all his protests at Stretch’s bad jokes, a Sans isn’t a Sans if he doesn’t have a secret weakness for puns. He may complain, but he’s fighting a smile the whole time.

Blue can also, surprisingly, relate to you at some of your lowest points. Though most who know him would be surprised to hear this, Blue struggles with massive amounts of anxiety, and while I’m still working out whether or not he has ADHD he definitely relates to the hyperactive tendencies of the disorder. This allows him to understand more fully what you’re going through, as well as giving you insight into his darker side that pretty much no one but Stretch has seen before, which draws you closer as a couple.

UT!Sans: Sans relates deeply to that desire to make sure everyone else is laughing as a contrast to how low you can get sometimes. The regulars at Grillby and the customers at Bones and Brew all know him as a guy who can be relied upon to consistently lighten the mood. Yet each night he goes home and wrestles with his own internal shadows and insecurities. Its that shared split that draws you closer and allows you to understand each other deeply.

You of course share a sense of humor, and while he’s less likely to take initiative on physical affection and cuddling his happy to take his cues from you. His favorite thing is letting himself doze off while you noodle around on the guitar next to him in bed or doodle. He likes seeing that face of concentration and feeling completely at piece. Also he loves that hair and that bit of extra squish you have.

When you’re feeling more withdrawn and stubborn he’s also very good at overcoming it. Sans has a way of winning people over to his side without them even realizing, just slowly making them laugh more and more until they forget why they were annoyed in the first place. If you genuinely need some space for a while, though, he’s also more than willing to respect it.

Lucky (MT!Papyrus): Man, my mafia boys do not get much exercise…have I ever said that Lucky has a thing for musicians? Because he absolutely does. Chances are that’s how you hooked him in in the first place. Even a few notes are enough to have him on the player like a moth on a lamp, and once he realizes how cute and sweet you are he finds himself falling hard and fast.

Kindness is a rare virtue in Mafiatale, and as someone who has a lot of it to give Lucky immediately latches onto your general good will for others. He loves watching you make people smile, no one more than him. He delivers all the affection you could desire. After all, Lucky’s an old school romantic, and makes up for his chaotic work schedule with plenty of flowers and wooing. His favorite thing is just holding you on the couch, silently tracing patterns in your freckles while you talk about your day. He wants to keep that smile safe more than anything, and does his best to help you through any low periods caused by your depression or anxiety.

Your phases of stubbornness or withdrawal can be harder from him to deal with. Lucky is a creature who thrives on lots and lots of physical affeciton, and it can be hard for him to not take it very personally. It can often make him clingier, which can only make you more angry. Still, he’s always more than willing to apologize when he oversteps his bounds, and is willing to learn how to help you deal with it better. And, when you genuinely need him to, your mafioso is always ready to win you back to his side and take you out dancing.

Feel free to DM me or reblog with your choice (feel free to choose any one, two, or three of these boys), and then I’ll get started on your drabble! Thank you again!

#ko-fi and kisses #us!sans #sans #mt!papyrus #matchups #skelething is broke and doing commissions

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sorio99 · 5 years

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On “Filler” And Steven Universe

(Or, “How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love Good Cartoons”)

Note: The following is a repost of an essay I previously put in a reblog of my own post. In this essay (and yes, I’m pretty sure it actually IS an essay), I disprove, or at least attempt to, the very idea that Steven Universe has “filler” episodes.

Enjoy my ramblings.

Alright, well let’s start with what filler actually IS.

According to TvTropes, “Filler episodes are entries in a generally continuous serial that are unrelated to the main plot, don’t significantly alter the relations between the characters, and generally serve only to take up space.”

The idea is most common in anime, since they usually have a certain number of episodes they need to do per season in a short time and, more often than not, are adapting manga that doesn’t have enough material for whatever point they’re at in the story. Obviously, SU doesn’t have either these problems, since it’s not an adaptation, and everyone can agree that “getting episodes out too quickly” is not a problem Steven Universe has EVER had.

Now, technically, you could argue that Steven Universe has a lot of episodes that are “unrelated to the main plot”. In particular, episodes like “Shirt Club”, “Restaurant Wars”, and “Onion Gang” are detached from the Diamond plot-line, don’t establish anything about Steven or any of the Gems, and generally play no role in the larger plot. However, they are INTEGRAL in the key story of the series, for three big reasons.

1. Respite Episodes With Less Tension

One could argue most actual filler falls under this banner: breaking up the intense action-filled and emotionally draining episodes with Breather Episodes with much lower stakes. “Restaurant Wars” is a good example of this; while the two episodes either side of it, “Beach City Drift” and “Kiki’s Pizza Delivery Service” aren’t particularly crucial to the story, they are much more intense. BCD is the second time Stevonnie has played a consistent and major role in an episode, and it had some very intense imagery, along with a very important emotional lesson. KPDS established more about Steven’s powers, and had similarly intense imagery and lessons. By splitting them with the lower stakes “Restaurant Wars”, the show manages to keep things relatively calm while still bridging between the two episodes.

Granted, this isn’t helped at all by CN’s sporadic airing of episodes; while binge-watching or even a weekly schedule could benefit from lighter tension episodes, when there’s only about 7 episodes in a year, more often then not the breather time is however long it takes for the next episode to air, so I can sort of understand why people would be peeved when one of a handful of these episodes is meant to be of lower importance. Of course, even then, there is…

2. The Establishment of Normalcy

Let’s say the only book you’ve ever read was “Finnegans Wake”. You probably wouldn’t understand it, but you’d also probably be confused when you tried talking to people about it. They might say “Oh, why isn’t it more like normal books”, to which you might respond “What, are other books not like that?”

It’s a very sloppy analogy, but the point is, when there is no establishment of the norm, attempts to violate said norm fall flat.

For example, the episode “Onion Gang” does quite a few things, but one of the things it does best is establish how the characters are normally, especially how they interact. It establishes that, under normal circumstances, Steven sits around at home, sometimes playing silly games with his friends. It shows that Onion usually causes trouble, either alone or with friends, and that while he is largely enigmatic and doesn’t care much about consequences, he does have some sense of morality and does genuinely care about certain people in his life. This is important, because it means later on, when things change drastically, we can get a sense of how different things are. So, in an episode like “Doug Out”, where we see Onion freaking out over thinking something is chasing him, the audience might get a clue that, even though Steven and friends might assume it’s just Onion misinterpreting the three of them, there must be something more to his panic. After all, Onion wouldn’t just freak out over nothing!

Which actually brings me to, in my eyes, the most important factor in all of this:

3: Characterization and Character Development

Technically, both ideas could be referred to as “Character Development”, but the most generally accepted definition of that is “changes within a character’s actions or mindset brought on by either sudden or gradual changes”, rather than “establishment of a character’s personality, goals, and past”.

Now, both episodes I’ve talked about have done this for the citizens of Beach City. “Restaurant Wars” is the clearest look we’ve gotten at the relationship between the Fryman family and the Pizza family. “Onion Gang” establishes Onion’s usual activities and mindset, as well as cementing Steven’s usual loneliness. But the clearest example of this, and how people overlook it, is in “Shirt Club”.

“Shirt Club” is, by all appearances, completely superfluous to the show. The Gems make two appearances, Steven stays mostly the same with whatever small changes occurring being basically ignored later on, and the plot of the episode is largely inconsequential. You could skip over this episode and not even realized you missed anything, which I imagine is the reason it was pushed to Season Two, when the StevenBomb forced them to set three Season One episodes later on. HOWEVER, I would argue that, despite seemingly being the most unnecessary of the three episodes, it was the most hurt by this change in air-date. Why?

Because this episode completely explains Buck Dewey’s character arc.

Think about it. The first time we see much of him, it’s as a member of the “Cool Kids”, in the aptly named “Lars and the Cool Kids”. He’s a bit standoffish, mostly cool, but also with an air of unpleasability. The very next time we see him, it’s in “Joy Ride”, where he and the other “Cool Kids” take Steven out for a night, and want to help him out. Buck himself is the one who gets Steven from his house, and he seems to be much kinder to Steven than previously shown*. So, what happened?

The answer is, “Shirt Club” happened. We see Buck try to “help” Steven drum up support for his father’s new business, while obviously making fun of his art and “innocence”. We see him get brought back down to Earth, by Steven giving him a taste of his own medicine in the form of shirts made of Buck’s old art. We see him learn his lesson and even sort of apologize for his hurtful actions and words.

This one episode is extremely important, because it shows a turning point, from the Cool Kids just being “the Cool Kids”, to actually being Steven’s friends, individually and as a group. That makes “Joy Ride” so much more satisfying-it’s not just some of Steven’s neighbors sticking up for a kid they like, it’s Steven’s friends actually standing up for him, and proving they understand on some level what he’s going through. All this was almost ruined, because they decided/needed to air “Shirt Club” AFTER “Joy Ride”.

*Note: I am aware that, in “Lars and the Cool Kids”, all of the Cool Kids were fairly friendly with Steven, but they were still depicted as being somewhat rude, at least to Lars, so I still consider it a disconnect.

CONCLUSION

Look, I understand the frustration some people have. Steven Universe has suffered from far too erratic a schedule over the past few years, through no fault of its own. So, when one of the few episodes you might get for months ends up not really affecting the major plot in any major way, it can be a little disheartening.

But Steven Universe isn’t just about the major plot, or the few main characters, or even any one specific theme. It’s an ensemble piece, taking place in Beach City, and the daily goings-on of its citizens and the minor events in their lives are just as important, at least to Steven himself, as most of the conflicts going on with the gems. And, considering how often those citizens end up a part of those conflicts, it’s pretty darn important to get an idea of what’s going on with them, even if it’s just as respite from the greater drama of the series.

So, no. I don’t think Steven Universe has “filler”. If you don’t like an episode, just say you don’t like an episode or, just maybe, actually explain your problems with an episode. But don’t write it off as “filler” just because it didn’t focus on what you wanted it to.

If you want everything to give you exactly what you want, just stick to fan fiction. Trust me, they’ve got all the continuous unrelenting drama you could ever need.

#steven universe #Steven Universe spoilers #steven universe critical critical #IE being critical of those who are critical of steven universe #essay #sorio writes #shut up sorio #sfw #self repost

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sixvisxpacem · 6 years

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Dear Vrains fandom,

It really saddens me to say this, but by now, I really feel as though the Vrains fandom doesn’t yet know how to properly appreciate and support its content creators.

I know that in the initial stages, the Arc-V fandom (which also still has some learning to do itself) wasn’t being better about this either- just as I also know that taking the step of actually speaking up about one’s love for a creator’s content can be a daunting one.

However, just like the content creators, too, are continuously doing their best to keep posting despite the lack of feedback not making them feel good about it, I believe it’s about time the fandom got over its fear of ‘saying the wrong thing’ as well, meaning...

Next time you see a creator’s post you enjoy, please consider reblogging it rather than just liking it- and leaving something nice in the tags that is not just !!!/beautiful/Wow or commentary not even related to the work in question- just to show your appreciation and give something back to the person who must’ve spent hours creating the work you are currently enjoying, and let them know you want them to remain a part of your fandom.

I believe artists have been receiving the worst treatment in this regard as many people appear to think that a massive number of likes equates genuine support and validation. People also seem to think the same about artists who actually do get a fair number of reblogs, but next to zero comments in their tags or otherwise. But no, exposure alone, too, isn’t the same as their effort being recognized and appreciated, so let’s discard that misconception once and for all.

Now, I can really understand how difficult it can be to comment on a piece of art if you are neither an artist yourself nor know anything about art in general, so here’s a ‘Yuusaku style’ 1) 2) 3) list containing some tips from a person (= me) who a) is no artist and b) has next to zero understanding of art in general:

1) From my personal experience, the artist probably won’t care if you use the wrong terms or have to resort to clumsy paraphrasing if you can’t think of any term- really, just try to not worry about this part at all and just go ahead and ramble. As they probably have lots of people clueless about art looking at their pieces irl too, chances are incredibly high they can very easily guess what you’re trying to tell them, and they’ll be happy that you took the time to write a comment despite your lack of knowledge on art.

2) If tip one still seems too daunting to you, just skip it entirely and move to the subject depicted itself. I believe it is pretty easy for this fandom to agree that making theories and analyzing the amazing cast of your favorite show is one of the most important and enjoyable aspects of a person’s fandom experience, so just talk about that instead when commenting. Does an artist’s piece depict a theory you are fond of? Tell them. Tell them about your own interest in the theory and comment on the aspects of their piece related to it. Are you amazed by how in character the artist’s depictions are? Always tell them and point to the specific parts of their depiction that make you think that way- is it the characters’ body language, their expression, the way they interact? Anything works. After all, it’s not just writers who consider ICness one of the highest compliments they could receive. Oh, and if the charcter in question is your fave too? Normally, people grow fond of characters and ships for a reason, so if your personal reason for having come to love your favorite character or ship is reflected in the piece of art you’re looking at, you should absolutely tell the artist.

3) Be subjective. If you are not able to judge the artist’s style and techniques and are not too well-versed about the meta surrounding what they decided to depict- who cares? Any reason you are currently enjoying their piece is worth putting into words. Just talk about your own personal reasons for liking their piece, and the artist will be happy- no matter how ‘superficial’ these reasons may sound to you, the artist will want to hear about them. After all, consuming art will always be a personal experience too, and everyone will have a different and unique one, and the artist will be curious which thoughts and feelings their piece inspired in you.

With a tiny bit of practice, I’m positive everyone (not talking about people suffering from severe anxiety, though, because in their case, their mental wellbeing is more important) could make it to the point they can comment on an art post comfortably- and that everyone involved (non-artists included) would be a lot happier too because in the end, it is bad for the entire fandom if creators start leaving in masses, so please consider listening to me here.

And please also consider supporting a creator regardless of whether they are ‘fandom popular’ or not because it’s their work itself that should matter to you rather than the ‘benefits’ of getting on a ‘fandom celebrity’s’ good side. Chances are you would really miss their pieces if they stopped sharing them with you.

(And yes, it is true that I’m technically not a fandom member myself, but I do have enough Vrains posts on my dash on a daily basis to know this is a huge problem. After all, the Vrains fandom has so many talented and dedicated content creators, and it really would be a shame if they left because people don’t let them know they belong. )

#Vrains #Yu-Gi-Oh! Vrains #Yugioh Vrains #YGO Vrains #Yugioh #reblogs are very appreciated tbh :D

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constant-calum · 6 years

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Watercolors (Brandon Arreaga) ~ Chapter 4: Rembrandt

Summary: 17 year old Amina Parker was far from a blank canvas, but he still managed to make a finger painting with her love.

A/N: It’s been 85490 years...and a girl still can’t get a reblog out here...wow

Part Three Part Five

Amina was not looking forward to lunch on Friday. It wasn’t because she didn’t want to see the boys, but rather, she didn’t want to see Brandon. But as she approached the table, this time with Zane in tow, it seemed as though nothing changed. Nick stood to greet her with a hug, almost squeezing her to death. Amina found it comforting.

“What’s up, chicas?” Edwin called, waving a french fry around.

“Hey, guys.” Zane practically sang.

It was unfair how pretty Zane’s voice was. Just by hearing her speak, you could tell she was an amazing singer. Amina’s voice was a little deeper, definitely raspier. She wished she had the clarity and presence in her voice that her best friend had always possessed.

Much to her dismay, Amina found herself sat in between Brandon and Nick. She tried to block Brandon out as much as possible, admittedly still upset about their encounter yesterday. It was hard, though, because his nose wasn’t buried in his sketchbook like it usually was. He actually seemed engaged in the conversation.

“Yo so guys, I saw Miss Herrera in the hallway today, and I seriously considered taking spanish again just for her.” Brandon said.

“B, you already speak spanish,” Austin pointed out.

“I know, but she’s just that fine. When I say I would risk it all…” Zion fist bumped Brandon from across the table.

Zane looked confused. “Wait, you speak spanish? Like fluently?”

Brandon nodded. “I speak it at home, so...But still, Eggwin is way better at it than me.”

“Once I leave the building,” Edwin explained. “No english for me.”

Amina was surprised, and oddly attracted to that fact. She was in love with the spanish language. She wasn’t oblivious to the fact that the boys were attractive before, but learning that about them instantly bumped up their attractiveness levels.

“Speaking of leaving the building,” Austin interjected. “Y’all are still good to come to mine for the Friday night tradition.”

Both Zane and Amina nodded as Austin pointed at them. All of the boys smiled, except for Brandon, who looked confused. Amina smirked to herself. For once she was apart of something special, and it made her even happier that Brandon had no idea.

“Wait, you guys are coming tonight?” He asked.

Amina couldn’t stop herself from snapping back. “Yeah, is that gonna be a problem?”

Brandon looked Amina dead in the eye, and she could tell exactly what he was feeling. It was a possessive, white hot anger. Well less angry, and more competitive, Amina felt. This was a stare down that Amina was not going to lose. She cocked one eyebrow as a slight moment of silence passed. For Amina, it felt like an hour, when in actuality, it was only a second or two. Eventually, Brandon cleared his throat.

“No, no problem.” He looked to Zane. “It should be fun.”

Amina felt Nick squeeze her thigh under the table as everyone began speaking again. It was low, closer to her knee, but it still made Amina jump. She turned to him, and he looked extremely confused.

Everything okay? He mouthed.

Amina nodded, placing a hand on his bicep in reassurance. The last thing she needed is for the guys to know how Brandon had treated her. Maybe she had been overreacting yesterday, but what he said was still rude. In her mind, that was even more reason to keep her distaste for Brandon to herself. She had only been apart of this friendship for two days; it was no time to be causing drama.

Amina half-heartedly picked at her black eyed peas that her mother had packed in her favorite gold glittered thermos. A sudden wave of anxiety crashed over her as she thought about the reality of her friendship with the boys. It had only been two days; why did it seem as though years had passed already? The boys provided her with a sense of comfort that took years for her and Zane to establish. She didn’t know how to feel about that.

Across the table, Zane leant into Zion’s side, the two of them fitting like puzzle pieces. Amina couldn’t help but be a little jealous. Of course, she was happy for her best friend, but at the same time, everything always came so easy to Zane. At any given moment, she could have any boy she wanted. That was never the case for Amina. So now, to see Zane easily falling into a relationship was making Amina’s heart clench. She knew it would be a long time before she had anything like that.

Austin’s house was on Mendham Road, only a few short blocks from where Amina lived. If he was wealthy like Nick was, his house sure didn’t show it. Amina kind of liked it though; it made her feel less alienated about her own family’s financial status.

They all decided to drive to Austin’s house together, squeezing way more people into Nick’s car than legally allowed. The boys all busted through the front door like they owned the place. Amina couldn’t tell if it was because they were all so close, or because that was just the nature of the boys. Amina and Zane hung around the back, shutting the door quietly behind them.

The two followed the group of boys down the main hallway. Austin peeked into a room that Amina assumed was the kitchen to say hi to someone. As Amina passed the room, she took a glance in and saw a short brunette woman fussing over some cake batter. She was adorably petite, and humming to herself. Amina thought that made her even more adorable.

Eventually, the group ended up in the basement. Nick, Edwin, and Brandon were all squeezed into a small, black leather couch. Zion and Austin sat together on a matching loveseat. Coming down the stairs last, Amina and Zane scanned the room for a place to sit. Not spotting one, they both made a move to sit on the ground.

“No, no, no,” Edwin protested. “You ladies are not sitting on the ground. Here, one of you take my seat.”

Austin got up along with Edwin, and sat on the ground. “And one of you sit here.”

Smiling to herself, Zane went to go sit in Austin’s place next to Zion. Amina mentally sighed, once again finding herself in between Brandon and Nick. She was beginning to really dislike Brandon, no matter how pretty or cute she thought he was.

Austin turned the tv on to an animated show that Amina didn’t know the name of. She was surprised when no one complained, but she assumed they all went by the rule of “his house, his rules”. A small nudge to Amina’s shoulder caught her attention. She looked over at Brandon.

“What?” She whispered, trying not to interrupt the group.

“I’m sorry.”

“For?”

Brandon rolled his eyes, sighing a little. “You know, for being an asshole in the art room. You didn’t deserve that. So, I’m sorry.”

Amina wouldn’t have believed him if it weren’t for the glint in his eyes. He looked genuinely sorry, even though Amina didn’t want to believe he was. She thought about earlier, and how she didn’t want to be the problem in the group. She found it in herself to smile.

“It’s okay. Just don’t do it again,” She joked.

When he smiled back, Amina felt that familiar rush in the pit of her stomach. Brandon was honestly beautiful. His sharp jawline and pronounced nose created an almost model-like aura, but his black framed glasses made him seem impossibly nerdy. Amina thought he was the physical embodiment of every sexy nerd-next-door character there has ever been. It made Amina feel like there was a sinking hole in her stomach. She loved and hated the feeling.

The group spent the next hour or so watching the tv show, with the occasional laugh or comment from Austin. Amina looked over at Zane and Zion, whose faces were so close that they were practically breathing the same air. Zane smiled, causing her dimples to pop out. Zion placed an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to bury her face in his neck.

Nick was the one to break the relative silence. “Yo, it’s almost 6. Time to head out?”

Amina looked up at him from where her head was lolled to the side. He shot her a wink. Edwin stood up, stretching as Austin turned off the tv. Brandon was quick to get off of the couch, and he even extended a hand to help Amina stand as well. She took it with a shy smile, feeling her cheeks begin to heat up. For once in her life, she was grateful for her darker complexion.

The walk to Burger King was short, only because the group took a shortcut through the woods, which only Zane and Amina were opposed to. They ended up getting there a little after 6:15, which Amina thought was the perfect time for dinner. Her stomach growled at the thought of it, as they all waited in the long line.

“Mimi,” Zane called. “Shit, sorry. I mean Amina. Pops gave me the money for us so tell Mama I got it, ok?”

Amina nodded after rolling her eyes at the mention of her nickname. The boys, like always looked confused.

“Y’all are related?” Nick asked.

Zane chuckled in response. “No.”

“But you said Mama, and Pops…?” Austin looked like he was desperately trying to put the pieces together.

“I call her dad Pops,” Amina explained. “And she calls my mom Mama. It’s just because we’re almost like a family, despite not being actually related.”

“It’s a person of color thing,” Zane said when Austin still looked semi-confused.

Edwin laughed loudly. “Nick and Austin are our honorary POC. They still got stuff they gotta learn.”

Everyone laughed. Amina was starting to be able to piece out the roles of everyone in the group. Zion was the heartbreaker, the pretty boy who was always with a girl. Edwin was the dad, with all his corny jokes and sassy side remarks. Brandon was the shy, quiet, artistic loner of the group. Austin was the wild child, adventurous and outgoing. Nick was a little harder to decipher; he seemed kind of just the glue to hold everyone together.

Where Amina and Zane would fit in was still unclear. Amina knew that she was alone in this feeling, though. Zane was malleable. She could fit into wherever she was placed. Amina, on the other hand, could never change herself to fit her surroundings. She was always just who she was, even if it didn’t fit who she needed to be. For once in her life, Amina prayed that the people she was around would only need her to be who she truly was.

Nick threw an arm around Amina’s shoulders lazily, leaning on her for support. Amina chortled. “Well hello to you too.”

“Hey Mimi.” Nick smiled.

Amina sighed and rolled her eyes, looking to Zane right behind her. “Look what you did, Zane. Now everyone thinks they can call me Mimi. I think it’s only right then for me to introduce them to your household nickname.”

“Amina Nicole Parker, I swear to god I will fucking kill you.” Zane threatened from under Zion’s arm.

“Eh I think they should know. So tell me, Shu-shu, how does it feel?”

Brandon practically choked with laughter. “Shu-shu? Where in the hell did that come from?”

Amina cocked an eyebrow, smirking to the group. “When Zane was little, I’m talking about months old, her mother used to say she looked like a little dumpling.”

“And then my Pops,” Zane continued. “Who always takes things too far, started calling me his little shrimp shumai. Eventually he just shortened it to Shu-shu. And that’s been my nickname ever since.”

Zion cooed. “I think it’s cute.”

“Mimi and Shu-shu...sounds like anime characters,” Austin added.

Brandon happened to catch Amina’s eye as they both looked in each other’s direction. He sent a soft smile Amina’s way, and she felt her heart hit her pelvis. A warm tingle shot up the back of her neck, causing her to send an overly enthusiastic smile back. When she realized how weird she must of looked, she cursed to herself. Why did stuff like this always happen to her? All she wanted was to give a cool, cute, calm smile back, and instead she was all crinkly eyes and exposed teeth. God damn it.

“Next in line!”

#escritos #arreaga #watercolors #brandon arreaga #prettymuch #prettymuch fanfic #prettymuch imagine

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yunjiparkx · 7 years

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Get to know me tag 2.0 👀

Tagged by @jimiinnah 💕

- Appearance Short and really thin (my mom said i need to put on more weight but i think i am really fat lol). 153.5 cm, i wear glasses cause i can’t see without my harry potter glasses, long arms and legs but short/small body proportions. uhh i have thigh gaps and look a LOT like a nerd. born with a tan skin (like my dad💓), my eyes actually kinda big but bcs i always sleep late since i was a kid, panda eyes are one of me now, making my eyes look small and tired 24/7 of times. I have a resting bitch face so it makes me looks angry or upset most of the time ouo (if you guys see me in real life, you’ll hate me -seriously). my nose is kinda small??? I am plain; my friends said i’m like a piece of wood bcs “thin and have no ups nor the jibooty”. i have slightly thick lips and a small face :)

- Personality i love to make things over dramatic (cAPS ALL OVER THE PLACE), when i involved in a fight or someone makes me angry, i always forgive them (and all people i know) before i go to sleep every day. my expressions scream my emotions ouo i do get annoyed easily, i love dramas (yall see me reblogging dramas in the ji.k tag so 🤷‍♀️ ), when i was 12 i got a nickname ‘Princess Joker’ (we never knew a Harley Quinn) because i’m ‘funny’... but i’m not that funny now ouo NEXT i am really awkward, if you chat with me on tumblr... we will stop talking like in a month bcs i’m not good at making or keeping up with conversations (i am so sorry for everyone in my dm ;; thank you for taking your time to talk with me but in the end i just fckd it up and... we just don’t talk anymore :/ ) okay, but on a serious note, if you ever hit me up in the dm, i can chat for 2-3 days but to keep it for weeks? nope, sorry (i dont even chat with my best friends 🤷‍♀️ ) lastly, i think about someone actions when they did something bad(?) bcs i was once depressed, so i think i started to think any possible reasons if someone does bad things to other people just because i did bad things when my mind once messed up too

- Ability i have basic korean (still trying to learn so i can talk and understand more of the words but i can have a decent conversation👀) i can rap, sing (but a more average) and really love to dance. my studies are okay despite being a lazy ass and fangirling 24/7 a day (my mom said bcs i got my dad’s DNA eue that’s why i’m slightly smart but i don’t think i’m that smart like my classmates). I have basic editing skills; photos (real basic) and videos (this is decent meh) oh i know how to gifs too ^^ i can do arts that involve colors because i can’t draw well, but if i put my heart into it i can do some decent drawings.... i think... my mom said i’m an all-rounder (or in armys dictionary: Golden) except for any science related things (i still dont know why i am a pure science student wth) If i saw juniors that has any bts related merchandises, ill go straight up to them and shamelessly go “YO WHO’S YOUR BIAS?” 😂😂😂 i can counsel people apparently (it doesn’t look like it... but i can.. weirdly o.o) sometimes my prediction come true (sometimes ok) that is all i guess... idk anymore aaaaa i have 0 ability jahsgfdakshbcadjs oh wait- i can fangirl, and very good at it eue

- Relationships For now, married to my finals. if my results next year is the worse than my two big exams; we are getting a divorce on that very day

- Hobbies Read fanfictions, going through the ji.k tag on tumblr, watch youtube bcs i have no life, dance

- Experiences uhh sometimes i have panic attacks because i tend to overthink things(?)

- My Life All are great now💜 i’m happy even though there are some holes here and there, but i’m okay :)

- Random Things I had written fanfictions... but i’m not writing anymore. I’d done a graduation video on behalf of the school (aka the principal) for my batch for our graduation day and many of em’ got emotional esp me :’) i am really close with my brother but we don’t really look the same, so many people mistook us as a couple if we go out. I always number 5 in class during my exams. While writing this, i am actually watching Masterchef USA S3 because i just found out about Christine. The Librarians are the reason I continue being a librarian in my school. My first non-kpop group that i love genuinely is Fifth Harmony (since Worth It), now i still in love with my Camila; she’s a great artist, check her out💜 I don't use make up but i enjoy watching make up videos, km moments make me cry every single time, i really love Jeongguk; okbyeeee

Sorry for the delay💜💜💜 Thank you💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

#윤윤 태그

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pebblesandjamjam · 7 years

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Critical Jam #10: We Must Be Better

Welcome to Critical Jam, J.A. Micheline’s monthly column on criticism.

There are many painful things about being a marginalized critic, but there is one truth to which I keep returning: it is the loneliness that hurts the most. It’s the thing that makes you tired, the thing that makes you feel futile. It occurs whether your work gains traction or whether it languishes in silence. You can get a hundred thousand retweets, a million reblogs, nine job offers, or just cold hard cash and still, the feeling is the same: I am by myself. I am the only person who will do this work. If I don’t do it, no one else will.

This feeling is amplified in smaller pools. One can generally count on the fact that someone will cover issues and ideas within major cultural phenomena--blockbuster films, top 40 music, and so on--but as fanbases and social cache shrink, so too does the certainty that you can take a break, that someone else will have your back, that you are not the only person holding things together.

Immediately, I’m sure it reads as vanity. In part, it must be. “It’s all down to me” is a statement that reeks of self-importance and self-aggrandizement, certainly, but that doesn’t really mitigate its truth. Whether the notion reads to you as a hero complex or an utter nightmare is entirely dependent upon your understanding of the extant support. If other people really will lend a hand, then your presumption just exists to make you feel important. But if time and time again you’ve found yourself in the same situation, time and time again you’ve waited for someone else to step in only to find a few half-hearted grimaces--well, what conclusion are you meant to draw?

This silence happens for many reasons. Apathy is the easy one, but I don’t have much interest in investigating apathy for the moment; someone else can write another piece about oppressor-class complacency though the arguments have been out there for ages. Sometimes, there’s a desire to help but a lack of certainty and/or confidence with regards to the ‘how.’ Semi-recently, I was in a situation where I asked a white male friend to help me defuse a situation because I was exhausted and he froze--not because he didn’t care or want to help me, but because he didn’t know what to say.

This happens often within criticism. Marginalized critics find themselves left out to dry by their peers--not because the rest of us do not care in the broadest terms (as evidenced by the pat-on-the-back we give ourselves after clicking the ‘retweet’ button on someone’s work), but instead because “we didn’t know what to say.” For issues outside our wheelhouse--or, really, issues in which we don’t face oppression--we don’t have enough confidence, enough knowledge to step forward and shoulder the burden. We aren’t black, so we don’t have a good handle on black semiotics. We aren’t trans, so we don’t know enough about trans rhetoric. We aren’t indigenous, so we aren’t familiar with the narratives of settler colonialism. We don’t know what to say, so we decide that it is better to say nothing. It’s better not to run our mouths about things we aren’t fully informed about; it’s better to let marginalized people speak.

The desire to cede the stage to marginalized people is admirable, but often it does not come with a full interrogation of either motive or end-result. It is excellent in theory but can be increasingly painful in practice, depending on the size of your critical community. Shifting the burden of intervention (critical or otherwise) to a small handful of parties in the name of providing a platform to the unheard is a fine ideal that results in the sheer exhaustion of marginalized people, especially those who happen to be fewer in number within their community. Made comfortable by the excuse of ‘making space,’ we let our peers write and tweet and podcast and blog themselves into exhaustion rather than taking the next logical step: not just learning from their work, but also sharing the load as much as is possible.

We must build critical communities that do not leave its most vulnerable more vulnerable. While they are more than capable of speaking for themselves, we must begin to recognize the difference between making room for their speech and forcing them to the microphone over and over until they are hoarse. We must be pro-active in the protection and support of our marginalized peers.

Simply put: we must be better.

But what does ‘better’ look like?

The best answer is one you’ve heard before: active efforts to increase visibility of marginalized critics on a variety of platforms. If there are 80 black people each writing for 80 film publications--or, even just eight each writing for eight--there is less likelihood that the burden of addressing anti-blackness will fall to the same individual consistently. The sense that “if I don’t, no one will,” is mitigated by sheer force of numbers. This would require publications to actively seek out marginalized voices in explicit, pro-active terms, with safety nets built in as the array of available and interested voices expands.

But you know this.

You’ve heard this before. Representation matters. Hire more marginalized people. Et cetera, et cetera, and so forth. It’s true. All of it is true and must be addressed, but this is the part in the conversation where a large swath of us stop listening. Because we do not have hiring or editing privileges at our publications, or because we just run our own blogs, or maybe because we just like to tweet criticism every now and again, our sense is to nod sagely about the need for more marginalized voices in more platforms without actually interrogating our personal role in the creation of community and the support of our marginalized peers.

This is not a chastisement, so much as a statement of fact when it comes to general understanding of how individual action results in and reinforces cultural and community norms. Even if the sea-change of hiring/recruiting takes years (and it should not, really, if a critical mass of publications decides to make it a genuine priority), there is nothing stopping each of us from being better today.

So the question, again, but more specific--what does ‘better’ look like on an individual basis?

To me, better looks not just like numerous cis critics picking up when one trans critic is too tired to go on, but settler critics realizing how tiring it is to be a Native critic, learning more about Native politics, and introducing settler colonialist criticism into their work on a regular basis, regardless of whether a piece is capital-P problematic.

To me, better looks like active critical involvement and intervention in areas outside of our own personal oppression.

To me, better looks like help.

If--and by ‘if,’ I mean ‘when,’ --we notice that the same handful of critics (or, worse, the same lone critic) are or is having to address the same topics, then this behooves us to also begin addressing it ourselves. It may be that we do so clumsily. It may be that we do so incorrectly. It may be that a marginalized critic takes us to task for our clumsy, incorrect, and perhaps ignorant attempts to address these topics.

But our desire not to make mistakes, not to be clumsy, not to be incorrect, and, in a semi-related fashion, our desire to protect our reputations as critics cannot take precedence over the need for our marginalized peers to be protected, supported, and validated. We can afford those losses if the result is the end of loneliness, exhaustion, and self-destruction for our more vulnerable colleagues.

A final set of points: as much as criticism is art--often some mystifying combination of eloquence, delicacy, and brutality--it is also, as you know, work. And the skills of your marginalized peers at identifying certain themes and structures, while certainly partially a result of lived experience and personal sovereignty, is very much a matter of effort and praxis, of getting good at handling a particular line of argument simply because they must.

Don’t be fooled by seemingly flawless motion. Intrinsic skill and experience is involved, but much of it is muscle memory. That marginalized critic you love and respect likely had to take a lot of haymakers and uppercuts before they learned to See them coming. They might make it look easy and, some days, it may very well be, but energy is finite.

And the reward for being good in a fight can’t be the condemnation to do so alone, forever.

Previous: Psalm for the Newly Anointed

Next: What We Talk About When We Talk About Scanlations

Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this piece, feel free to click here and buy me a coffee or follow me on Twitter at @elevenafter.

#criticaljam #criticism

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