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lumosandnoxwriting · 3 years

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Her Matching Pair of Socks - George Weasley

Title: Her Matching Pair of Socks Pairing: George x Fem!Reader, Adrian Pucey x Fem!Reader (ish, not really) Summary: George will always protect Y/N, even if it means confronting his true feelings . A/N: for the anon who wanted George being overprotective of the reader who was being teased!! The house of the reader is unspecified b/c it truly doesn’t matter but I pictured her as a Hufflepuff as I wrote, please do with that what you will haha. Feedback is always welcome!!! Tags: @feltondarling @pandaxnienke @raerae27 @thefifthweasley

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“George? George?” Y/N asks, waving her hand in front of his face. She giggles as his eyes seem to refocus on the world and he smiles at her. “Were you listening to anything I just said?”

George nods as he searches his brain, trying to see if any part of it retained any of the things Y/N had been talking about just a second ago while he’d been daydreaming. Y/N is magnetic. She has warm eyes, a kind smile and the biggest heart George has ever seen. She draws people in with one look, and once she’s captured them they have no chance of getting away; not that they’d want to. Unfortunately for George this means he rarely gets a moment alone with her, which is something he so desperately craves. Y/N has been the star of George’s thoughts since the first moment they met when she had quite literally saved his ass.

He and Fred had just pulled a prank on a few Slytherins and were running away from Snape. They had split up at some point, and as George ran away he could hear Snape gaining on him. George was sure he was about to be caught when a hand grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him into an empty classroom. Y/N had simply placed her finger over her mouth and winked at him, and as soon as Snape ran by their hiding spot she’d burst out in a fit of giggles. George had never heard anything so beautiful, and he sat there with her for hours, sometimes talking, but mostly just watching her knit. Y/N is sunshine encapsulated, and George could have sat there for days, basking in her rays of light and warmth.

Fred had found him eventually and dragged him back to the Gryffindor common room, and George worried that he’d never see her again. But the next morning at breakfast the hat she had been knitting was sitting in his usual spot waiting for him, and when his eyes met hers across the Hall she winked. From that moment on George has been caught in Y/N’s magnetic field, constantly swirling around her but never quite connecting the way he wants.

“Were you? Then what did I say?” she questions with a grin, one of her eyebrows raising.

George’s heart melts and he leans in closer to her, resting his chin on his hand. “I’m sorry, love. I wasn’t giving you the attention you deserve. Tell me again.”

Y/N rolls her eyes playfully and puts her knitting needles down so she can ruffle George’s hair. “That’s okay, Georgie. It wasn’t that important anyway. What’s on your mind?”

“Just this Transfiguration assignment,” he lies. George isn’t quite sure why he hasn’t shared his true feelings with Y/N, and it’s not as if he hasn’t tried either. There have been quite a few times when his confession was resting on the tip of his tongue, but each time someone ended up being drawn to Y/N and stole her attention away. “McGonagall’s really giving it to us this term.”

“Maybe your assignments would be easier to handle if you didn’t wait until the last minute to do them?” Y/N suggests with a wink.

George’s heart flutters in his chest and he has to take a deep breath to calm himself down. “Ah yes, but if I didn’t leave my homework until the day before it was due then who would sit here with you and keep you company while everyone else is outside soaking up the last of the weekend?” George is sure that anyone Y/N asked for companionship would drop everything to sit with her, and he feels honored that she always chooses him.

“Now how can I argue with that?” she teases, picking her needles up once again.

Watching Y/N knit is one of George’s favorite pastimes. She’s tried to teach him a few times, but he always ends up just creating a big knot of yarn and using the needles as drumsticks. The way her fingers move mesmerizes George to no end and he loves watching whatever she’s making start to take form before his eyes. More often than not whatever she’s making somehow always ends up in George’s possession, not that he’s complaining. So far this school year he’s added two new jumpers, three hats, a scarf and half a dozen pairs of socks to his wardrobe. Every item radiates the same warmth Y/N does, and on days where he can’t have her to himself he puts something on and when he closes his eyes it’s as if she’s right there with him.

“Whatcha makin?” George asks, completely abandoning any attempt at finishing his homework. McGonagall will probably be shocked that he did any of it at all, and he doesn’t want to put her into an early grave by actually finishing it.

“A sweater,” she responds sweetly, not looking up from her work. “And before you ask, no it’s not for you,” she chuckles and gestures towards the skein of yarn she’s using. “Though you may recognize the yarn.”

The yarn Y/N is using is a soft lilac color with glitter interwoven throughout the soft strands and George recognizes it because he’s the one who bought it. He and Fred had ventured into Diagon Alley a few days before Christmas to check out the space they were thinking about opening their joke shop in, and the yarn had caught George’s attention from a window display. He spent quite a bit of money buying every skein the store had, but it was all worth it to him. Lilac is Y/N’s favorite color, and George would do just about anything to see her smile. He gave it to her on the first day back from break a few weeks ago, and he can practically still feel how tightly she had hugged him.

“Does look kinda familiar, I bet a world class bloke gave that to you,” he jokes. Y/N laughs, and it makes George’s stomach feel queasy.

“Best bloke I know anyway,” she compliments with a wink.

George can feel his cheeks heating up, and he’s thankful for the distraction when students start to pour into the Great Hall for dinner. He sighs heavily and starts to pack his homework up, disappointed that his time with Y/N is already coming to an end. “See you in class tomorrow?”

Y/N nods as she stands up, gathering her latest project into her arms. “Most definitely, Georgie.” She leans over and boops him on the nose, before turning away and heading towards her house table.

“Hello lover boy,” Fred greets suddenly.

George jumps, having been too focused on Y/N to notice his brother’s sudden presence. He glares at Fred as he plops into the seat next to George, and he smacks him on the chest. “Screw off.” Suddenly the tables in the Great Hall fill with everything needed for dinner, and George starts piling his plate with food. “You get everything we need?”

Fred nods as he does the same as his brother. “Oh yeah. We’ve got enough Chinese gun powder to level all of England. It’ll be delivered to the store next weekend. We can apperate to Diagon Alley from Hogsmeade to meet the delivery person.”

“Wicked,” George responds, a glint of mischief in his eye. Fred had used the secret passageway into Honeydukes basement to meet a guy who deals with explosives at the Hogshead Inn. They’re starting to put their plans together for their joke shop, and the first step has been to find decent suppliers so they can start producing some stock. “You take care of the other stuff I asked?”

Fred rolls his eyes and hands George a bag from Honeydukes. “Yes, you big softie. I got everything on the list, don’t you worry.”

“Thanks, prat.” George takes the bag from Fred and peers inside to make sure he actually did pick up everything George requested. Y/N’s sweet tooth is one of George’s favorite things about her and he’s always sure to have a stash of her favorites on hand at all times. “Where’s my change?”

Fred grins and pats his pocket. “Consider it my fee so you could spend the day staring at Y/N inside the warm castle, while I tread through a dark underground tunnel.”

“Whatever, drama queen,” George huffs with an eyeroll. He puts the bag down and starts to eat, turning his attention to Y/N. She’s sitting with her friends talking happily, and George can feel his heart rate increase as a smile spreads across his face. But just as quickly as it appears it vanishes, when Adrian Pucey comes up behind Y/N and taps her on the shoulder. He watches her nod as they talk, and when Adrian walks away he looks way too smug with himself.

“That didn’t look good,” Fred comments, nudging George with his elbow.

George shrugs, trying to seem like his stomach isn’t churning with dread. “You know how Y/N is. People like talking to her. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“What did Adrian want yesterday?” George asks Y/N the following evening, trying to sound casual. They’re sitting in the library working on a Potions assignment, and it seems like there has been a never ending stream of people approaching them to speak with Y/N. He’s been dying to ask her about Adrian, but he wanted to wait until they were alone.

Y/N bites her lip as she looks up at George. “He asked me on a date, actually. To Hogsmeade next weekend.”

“Oh,” George says softly. His stomach has dropped into the floor and it feels like he was punched in the chest. “What did you say?”

“I told him that I would think about it.” Y/N gives George a look and there’s an unreadable expression on her face. “Do you think I should say yes?”

The tips of George’s ears feel like they’re on fire, and he has to put his quill down so he can wipe his sweaty palms off on his school trousers. What he wants to say is no, that she should go with him to Hogsmeade instead, and then lean forward and kiss her. But instead he shrugs and says, “If you want to, I guess.”

“Oh, okay,” Y/N responds quietly, twirling a piece of hair around her finger. “Thanks, I guess.”

George refocuses his attention on his homework for once, hoping that the sound of his heart pounding in his chest isn’t audible.

The next day by lunch time word has gotten to George that Y/N agreed to go on a date with Adrian. It makes his chest feel hollow, and he avoids her gaze at all costs. He avoids her in the hallways and when she asks to study with him in the library George brushes her off, claiming that he already has plans with Fred. He can tell that she’s upset, and it breaks George’s heart as he walks away.

He’s never been jealous over Y/N before. Even though he craves her presence and would give anything to spend every moment of every day with her, George has never minded sharing her with others. He’s spent countless hours with Y/N where they never even speak because her attention is captured by other people. Whether it’s people catching her in a casual conversation, or someone who takes a seat with them for a deeper interaction. George has always been content to just sit there and watch her face light up as she talks about whatever topic is at hand. Even if he’s not around Y/N, he loves to watch her from across the room as she talks to people. He finds everything she does absolutely adorable, and Fred often teases him for how hard he swoons.

But the thought of Y/N being alone with Adrian fills his chest with so much jealousy it feels like he’s drowning in it. He knows he has no right to be jealous, he’s never shared his romantic feelings with Y/N, and she isn’t his girlfriend or even a girl he’s casually dated. She’d even asked his opinion on whether she should accept. And instead of doing the smart thing and just telling her how he feels, he’d basically brushed her off.

As much as George wants to avoid Y/N, he’s still stuck in her orbit, so on Wednesday afternoon during break he parts ways with Fred and heads over to Y/N. “Got room for one more?” he asks, grinning down at her. Y/N moves over but doesn’t say anything. George frowns as he sits down. “What’s got you down, clown?”

Y/N cracks the faintest smile before she lets it fall from her features. “Just wasn’t sure you were talking to me is all. You haven’t been around lately.”

“I’m around now,” George points out, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’ve just been a bit busy with Fred is all. You’re still my number one girl.” George’s heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest as he raises up one of his pantlegs. “I wouldn’t be rockin’ these bad boys if you weren’t.”

Y/N giggles as she looks at George’s sock, shoving him playfully. It’s neon pink and is truly the most offensive piece of clothing she’s ever seen. The yarn had been left over from a Christmas present she made for a young cousin a few years ago, and Y/N needed to use it up somehow. She originally planned on leaving them in her sock drawer for a few months before donating them to a charity, but the second George saw them he nabbed them from her, and he’s worn them quite a few times sense.

“They look wonderful, Georgie. Though I think it’s best you keep them hidden, they clash terribly with your Gryffindor tie and your fiery hair.” Y/N reaches up and tugs on a strand of George’s hair and he can feel his blood pressure spike.

“Well in that case.” George leans down and rolls up the cuff of both his pant legs, so a few inches of the socks are visible. “How do I look?”

“Ravishing,” Y/N says with a laugh.

It’s the most beautiful sound George has ever heard, and it sends a shiver down his spine. “Bet you wished you kept these for yourself now, don’t ya?”

Before Y/N can respond, one of her other friends swoops in to talk to her about her upcoming date with Adrian, and George sneaks away to avoid the heart break.

“Are you excited for your date?” Y/N’s friend Emily asks as they head towards the entrance to the castle.

Y/N nods happily, letting her eyes scan the crowd of people heading out of the castle. She gets her hopes up when she spots a shock of ginger hair bobbing above the crowd, but they evaporate when the person turns around and it turns out to be Fred. Y/N hasn’t seen George in three days, and his absence has been driving her crazy. She’s friendly with everyone but only has a few true friends, and she considers George to be one of them. She would even consider George to be her best friend, and it feels weird to not have spoken to him in a few days.

“What are you guys going to do?” Emily asks, pulling Y/N’s attention back to the present.

“Just have some butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks, hang out, talk. Nothing too super crazy. I don’t really know Adrian that well, so I think it’ll give us a nice chance to get to know each other.”

Y/N had agreed to meet Adrian there, so when her and Emily reach Hogsmeade a few minutes later, she parts from her with a wave and heads right into the pub. She grabs a drink at the bar before settling in at a table in the back corner. When Adrian is 5 minutes late Y/N brushes it off, figuring that he got caught up leaving the castle or lost track of time. When he’s 30 minutes late, Y/N has already ordered another drink, figuring that he’ll be there any minute. And when he doesn’t show up after an hour Y/N decides to throw the towel in and head back to the castle.

Y/N feels emotionally drained as she makes her way back up towards Hogwarts, and she blinks back a few tears. Even though she’s not particularly interested in Adrian romantically, it had felt nice to be asked out and she truly was looking forward to getting to know him more. She always gives anyone who wants it a piece of her day, and Adrian not showing up make her feel as if she’s been taken advantage of. Her plan is to try and forget this ever happened until dinner that evening.

Y/N turns around when she feels something hit her in the back of the head, and when she turns around she can see Adrian, Marcus Flint and Theodore Knott laughing amongst themselves. There’s a piece of balled up parchment on the ground, and Y/N tries to ignore their stares as she leans down to pick it up.

How was the butterbeer? Lonely?

Y/N’s cheeks feel like they’re on fire, and she quickly turns back into her seat, shoving the piece of parchment into her pocket. She forces her tears away as she tries to get back into the conversation going on around her, unable to stop herself from searching George out in the crowd.

For the next week it seems everywhere she goes Adrian, Marcus and Theo are following a few paces behind. They never directly talk to her, but they talk about her loud enough for her to hear.

“Can’t believe she actually thought I wanted to go out with her!”

“How pathetic. I can’t believe it took her over an hour to realize you weren’t going to show up! What a moron.”

“She’s such a weirdo, no wonder she has no actual friends.”

It doesn’t help that George seems to be avoiding her as well. He doesn’t pass her stupid little notes in class anymore and when their eyes lock across the Great Hall he immediately looks away instead of giving her a cheeky grin. Every time she tries to ask him to come sit with her in the library he turns the other way in the hall before she catches him, and when she catches a peak of him and Fred outside pelting snowballs at Ron, he’s wearing his Gryffindor beanie, instead of one of her knit caps.

She misses George like crazy. He’s one of the only people who doesn’t want something from her. Most people only spend time with Y/N when they need to vent or ask her a question. George is the only person who is content with just sitting there with her in silence while they do their homework, or she knits. She could sit in silence with George for hours and just exist, so having him gone while also being tormented by Adrian and his gang has left Y/N with a deep ache in her chest and a pit of loneliness in her stomach.

Avoiding Y/N has to be the hardest thing George has ever done, and he once spent a week with his Great Aunt Tessie when he was 8. He craves her presence, but the thought of hearing about Adrian endlessly makes his stomach churn. Watching Y/N’s face fall every time he dodged her absolutely broke George’s heart, but he can’t stand to see someone else make her happy.

“You think she’s going to cry?”

George grimaces when he’s brought from his thoughts of Y/N and notices that Adrian and his goons are a few feet in front of him. Most of the school is in the Great Hall having dinner, but George didn’t feel like eating. Y/N had spent most of Transfiguration trying to get George’s attention, and ignoring her has left his stomach queasy.

“Reckon she might with how soft she is. Bet she’s cried herself to sleep every night this week.”

He has no idea who they’re talking about and he figures they’re tormenting some first year who is walking ahead of them. George is a little too far behind them to see who it is, but he decides to follow them anyway, in case he needs to intervene.

“What a stupid girl.”

Adrian’s words cut George deep. How could Y/N be interested in someone like him? George clenches his fist and starts to walk faster to catch up with them. He’s been wanting to smack Adrian and his smug face since the day he asked Y/N out, and this seems like a perfect excuse.

“Will you leave me alone!” Y/N shouts, and George’s blood runs cold. Her voice is shaky, and George knows that if she’s not already crying she will be soon.

Adrian, Marcus and Theodore stop in their tracks and cackle, and the sound makes George even angrier.

“Aw, poor pathetic Y/N has finally managed to stand up for herself. How cute,” Adrian taunts.

Y/N sniffles, and George can feel anger swell up in his chest. “Standing me up wasn’t enough for you, was it? Now you have to torment me about it too? Is that why you asked me out? So you could be mean to me?”

“Why else would someone ask you out? You’re not worth anyone’s time.”

George reaches them then, and he grips is wand tightly in one hand while the other grips the collar of Adrian’s shirt. He pulls him back sharply, causing Marcus and Theodore to take a few steps back as well. George takes one look at Y/N’s tear stained face and lets the anger in his chest consume him completely. “Leave her the fuck alone,” he spits, turning to face Adrian.

“Shove off, Weasley. Can’t you see we’re in the middle of something,” Adrian seethes, squaring up against George.

“Not anymore you prick.” George can hear Y/N crying, and he moves slightly to shield her behind his back. “Now get lost before I make you.” Adrian takes a step forward and George raises his wand, pressing the tip of it to Adrian’s throat. “Unless you want to end up in the Hospital Wing for the next three weeks I suggest you move along.” George’s jaw is clenched, and his voice is deep and dark. George doesn’t move until they disappear down the hall. Only then does he drop his wand and turn around to hug Y/N.

Y/N presses her face into George’s chest and lets out a few more tears. “Thank you, George,” she mumbles.

“Of course, love. I will always be there for you, you know that.” George squeezes her tighter and resists his urge to kiss the top of her head. Instead he rests his chin there, and his eyes flutter closed as he soaks in her warmth. “How long have they been bothering you?” George asks quietly when he starts to feel like himself again.

“Since last Saturday, after Adrian stood me up.” Y/N pulls away from George’s chest so she can look up at him. “How come you’ve been ignoring me, Georgie? I’ve missed you so much.”

George’s heart breaks, and he brings a hand up to wipe away the last few tears from her cheeks. “I’ve missed you too, Y/N. I was being an idiot, like usual.” He takes a deep breath to prepare himself for what he’s about to say. “I’ve liked you Y/N, for as long as I’ve known you. And after Adrian asked you out I got so unbelievably jealous that I couldn’t be around you, I couldn’t hear you talk about your date with him and how excited you were because just the thought of him being alone with you made me want to throw up.”

Y/N bites her lip as she considers what to say next. “You’d do anything for me George, right?”

“Of course, Y/N. Anything,” George confirms, cupping her cheek gently.

“Kiss me,” she breathes.

George hesitates for a second before he leans down and presses their mouths together softly. Their lips move together slowly, and George can feel his head spinning. His knees shake when they pull apart, and when George looks into Y/N’s eyes they shine brighter than the sun.

“Nice sweater,” George compliments as Y/N joins him in that Great Hall that Sunday. She giggles and does a little twirl for him and George feels like he’s soaring through the air.

“Thank you, my boyfriend gave me the yarn I used to make it.” Y/N leans over the table to press a kiss to George’s cheek before taking the seat across from him. She digs around in her bag for a moment before pulling out a pair of socks, knit from the same lilac material as her sweater.

“For me?” George asks, giving her a bright smile. He takes them from her excitedly and kicks off his shoes so he can pull them on.

Y/N laughs as George bring one of his feet up to show off the lilac sock, letting the glitter in the yarn shine. “Of course. What’s a sweater without a pair of matching socks?”

George leans over and kisses Y/N gently. “I’m always down to be your matching pair of socks.”

#George weasley #George Wesley imagine #gw #golden

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moccawithsugar · 3 years

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Few random notes about The Tower of Nero

(Spoilers ahead)

Nico. My poor boy Nico. Getting therapy from Mr. D was something I did not expect, but I’m glad he’s doing it. My baby deserves happiness.

The brotherly relationship between Dionysus and Apollo was something I did not expect either. I think I can finally understand better the god of wine and I’m glad for that.

Rachel and her brush will always be iconic.

Will is adorable. And the way he shines and then Apollo’s like “I’m so proud” and Will is there too flushed like “it’s not that I graduated med school with honors” and Apollo being a good dad for him like “I’ll be proud when you do that too” and I’m here like aawwwwww. But really, the fact that Apollo is proud that his son can shine is everything.

Will and Nico. They are so different and get along so good like wow. It’s amazing how they’re so perfect for each other. They know each other so much and they love each other so much and I love them so much.

There were two battle at camp Jupiter? Well, Percy and Annabeth are gonna stay in NYC. The battle is in NYC this time? Then Percy and Annabeth are going to San Francisco 😅 My babies deserve a rest.

Stelle is going to rule the world some day.

The cows... That was... so weird...

Also they mentioned Venezuela and I’m so happy for it.

Nico can kill just by touching people... WOW.

Meg is a little queen.

Her encounter with Nero was so heartbreaking but she was so brave...

Poor Lu.

“Nobody hits my boyfriend and nobody kills my dad”. Again: I love you, Will.

Apollo being sweet with his children was adorable. The compliment to Kayla and the cute little talk with Austin made me cry.

Also the other three new kids in the Apollo cabin meeting their dad. And Austin introducing them to Apollo like “they are the children you sired years ago, you probably don’t remember but now you do, you’re welcome” 😅 Also how do they know they’re Apollo’s children? He couldn’t have claimed them. Another god did for him? They’re just too good with arrows or medicine and make it too easy to deduce?

The other gods can watch him in a proyector in the hearth’s fire... Like, since when have them been watching him and laughing and betting against him? Since his trials started? That is so cruel, they’ve known Apollo for thousands of years. Hermes disappointed me so much, I really liked him. I expected no less from Ares tho. Also Poseidon was just there bored to the core and yawning like... You had that punishment before once too! And with Apollo! You know how it feels, you should care. I want to think maybe he was just too tired (if gods can get tired) because of the rebuilding of his palace but honestly what are the odds? The decline in Poseidon’s character is very sad.

Apollo walking to Python almost unarmed and alone was so brave. He couldn’t have gone like that in the first book and I’m so proud of him, he has grown so much.

“I missed the shot. Don’t even pretend to be surprised” I was not, Lester. At least you tried.

RIP THE ARROW OF DODONA! IT WAS A FAITHFUL PROJECTILE TO THE END! APOLLO MUST FALL BUT HE WILL RISE AGAIN!!!! HAIL HIS LAST PROPHECY!

Ehh did I mention Artemis? No? Well... ARTEMIS ARTEMIS ARTEMIS ARTEMIS ARTEMIS!!! The best goddess!! She was so worried 🥺 begging Zeus to forgive Apollo 😭 and screaming to Aphrodite... She’s so awesome I just can’t.

The description of how Apollo and Python fall to chaos was amazing. I never thought Rick would touch the subject of Chaos but it was great. The perfect end for Python and (of course) the perfect timing for the goddess of Stix to appear. At least she saw that Apollo has really learned the lesson. He must be true to all his promises from now on, specially the most important ones. He will remember. And the fact that Zeus can’t see to the Chaos? Sweet.

The way Apollo wept in his sister’s shoulder broke me. Poor guy, he has been through too much. And Artemis was there just so happy that he’s back and well and alive :’) she’s the best. “Not a cuddler, my sister. But she allowed me to hold her hands” aaawwwwww. Also the way she dressed him up into a dress was the most sibling-relationship-thing I’ve ever seen in a god/goddess 😅

“The gods awaited” is such a good phrase. Almost as good as “Release the Kraken!”.

I can’t stop thinking about the image of the tiny gods with Mickey Mouse voice “Welcome to Olympus!” 😂😂😂

“Wisdom, comes in handy” omg Athena.

If I thought before that Zeus was bad well now he seems even worse.

Why was Hera crying over Jason? Was she really grieving? Why? Doesn’t she hate every one of Zeus’s children? What did I miss?

The fact that Zeus doesn’t care about his son’s death 😒

Apollo visiting every single one of his demigods friends :’)

Hazel and Frank are finally free of their curses and living life like never before :’) I’m so happy for them.

Reyna seems so happy now with her bff Thalia hunting that damn fox. Also “no puedes decirle mamacita a una mujer, ¿entendiste?” was perfect 😅 I need more of Reyna and Leo speaking in Spanish.

Calypso enjoying school? Adorable :3

How doesn’t Apollo know if Georgie is his daughter or not? He’s a god now, he should now. He knew Thalia’s age just by looking at her, just saying.

I need lots of stories about the Hunters of Artemis, specially about what happened at the end with that fox.

The fact that Apollo knew Artemis was the only one there actually happy to have him back... And the wink at the end... I’m just obsessed with these twins ok?

Apollo bringing blue cookies to Percy was adorable. And Percy doesn’t know what to study, he just knows it has to be something with the ocean. I’m glad to see he doesn’t think about his phobia anymore. And Apollo’s concern about if Percy and Annabeth were going to share a bedroom or no 😅 hilarious. But that’s none of your business, Apollo. Annabeth told you herself.

Piper is bi! 😱 She’s finally happy (even missing Jason tho, don’t misunderstand me) with her partner and Apollo is so happy for her and she’s so happy for him and wow :’) too much cuteness.

The part with Meg was the most emotional. He even appeared a unicorn for her. “Will you come back?” “Always. The sun always comes back” and that’s the last sentence he says and it’s so beautiful 😭

The last paragraph killed me. It does every time I re-read it. Apollo I want you to know that I’m smiling on you too. Specially on sunny days. I’m very proud of you. We’re friends now indeed, and I’m glad for it.

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mishasminion360 · 3 years

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We’ll All Float On

An It: Chapter 2 epilogue

Warning: Language; mentions of trauma and therapy; coming out of the closet; angst; fluff. You know what? Everything. It’s got everything.

A/N: I wrote this ages ago immediately after seeing the movie, but I’m just getting around to typing it up and posting it. The remaining members of the Losers Club deserve all the happinesses life can dish out. And in this house we ship Reddie!

Derry, Maine, 2017

Maybe coming back there wasn’t the best idea. After all, the last time they’d all gathered at that particular restaurant it had been a disaster, a God damned nightmare, and Mike had sworn to himself that he’d never eat Chinese food again. But as he gazed into the bubbling waters of the aquarium (this time tranquil and free of severed heads), his worries began to subside. And when the second of the Losers finally arrived his fears vanished completely.

“Jesus, isn’t there anywhere else to eat in this town?” Mike turned to see Bill Denbrough sling his jacket over the back of a chair and offering him a wide grin.

“Man, you grew up here, too, Bill. You should know that the answer to that question is a resounding ‘no’.”

The two men embraced with a hearty laugh, things already felt so much different than before.

***

Beverly gazed up at the glowing neon of the Jade of the Orient as Ben wrapped an arm tenderly around her waist.

“How does it feel to be back, Mr. Hanscom?” Bev asked, leaning into him.

“A lot better now that I’m not saddled with this overwhelming sense of dread weighing on my chest.”

Beverly circled both of her arms around Ben’s muscular torso which 28 years ago had not been so muscular. “Well, now the only thing resting on your chest is me.”

She hoisted herself up on her toes to lock her lips with his and Ben smiled into the kiss. “Easy now, Mrs. Hanscom,” he murmured. “Time and place. Time and place.”

“Get a room you two, before I lose my appetite.”

The lovebirds extricated themselves from each other’s arms to gape at the bespectacled man who’d approached them.

“Seriously, how the fuck is it that the two of you look even better than you did last year? And what the fuck am I doing wrong?”

“Beep beep, Richie!!!” Ben and Beverly cheered in unison as the pulled good ol’ Trashmouth Tozier into a bear hug.

“All right you two, lay off,” Richie laughed as he shrugged his way out of their embrace. “Don’t touch me, you don’t know where I’ve been.”

The three linked arms and strode to the front door of the restaurant like Dorothy, Scarecrow and the Tin Man sauntering down the yellow brick road.

“Alrighty, fellas,” Bev said, never afraid to take the lead. “Let’s do this thing.”

***

“Hello and welcome! How many in your…oh.”

The hostess trailed off as she took in the trip before her. Oh, she remembered these three, and the rest of their strange little gang as well. The last time the six of them had dined there they’d nearly destroyed their finest dining room. She didn’t need to open up a fortune cookie to know she’d be cleaning up more shattered dishes and splintered furniture that night.

“Right this way,” she said, clearing her throat. “The rest of your party is expecting you.”

Volleying quips and sharing in quiet giggles, Bev, Ben, and Richie followed the hostess as she procured their utensils and menus and led them to their seats.

“Where is your sick friend? The small man who is allergic to everything? I don’t believe he’s arrived yet.”

The trio immediately fell silent. She’d been referring, of course, to Eddie Kaspbrak. Bev would had to have been blind not to notice Richie’s face fall and his body sag with an unspoken sadness at the mere mention of their late friend. Reaching behind her without looking, she grasped Richie’s hand tightly in her own and her stiff shoulders relaxed when she felt him squeeze back in thanks.

“He’s, um,” Ben paused as a he searched for the right words. “He’s one of the reasons we’re here tonight.”

***

Mike and Bill were already engaged in an animated discussion about something or other and hadn’t even noticed the others approach. Ben gazed wistfully at the joyful pair, admiring their exuberance and allowing it to overtake him as well before removing the padded mallet from its place and offering it to Richie. “Care to do the honors?”

Bill and Mike’s conversation was abruptly silenced by the thunderous echo of a gong and Richie’s announcement.

“This meeting of the Losers Club has officially begun.”

And just like that all of the pieces fell into place. The little family was whole, as it would ever be, once more.

***

“Shit, Mike, you actually went to Florida?” Richie guffawed before taking a pull from his beer.

“Mm-hm,” he responded through a mouthful of lo mein.

“Fuck, why?”

“It’s like I told you when we were kids. It’s just a place I’d always wanted to see. Now I’ve seen it.

“And?”

The other five eyed Mike in anticipation of an exciting story, but he merely shrugged. “It’s about as magical as you’d expect.”

“Yeah, I told you you’d hate it,” Richie snickered.

“It wasn’t all bad. I did meet a nice gal in Jacksonville.” This was met with a chorus of juvenile “oohs” and a salacious whistle from Bill.

“What was she, like, 70?”

“Don’t be such a smart ass, Rich,” Mike chided, waiting until Richie once again had his lips poised at the edge of his glass of booze before finishing his sentence. “She was 80.”

The gang hooted as Trashmouth Tozier choked on his beverage. Bill clapped his coughing friend firmly on his back before lifting his own glass.

“If Richie here can keep it down, I’d like to propose a toast.” The others followed suit and hoisted their drinks in the air. “To those we lost. To Stan and Eddie.”

They smiled they’d all been wearing throughout the evening finally began to falter as silence engulfed the room. After a moment of quiet hesitation, Bev tapped her glass against Bill’s.

“To Stan,” she said with a grin that took all of her strength to muster.

“To Stan,” they all repeated before clinking glasses and taking a swig.

“To Eddie,” Ben cheered, and the others parroted with a little more pep. All but one.

“Rich? You okay, man?” Bill turned to his left to see the usually boisterous comedian staring stoically into his half poised glass, his brow furrowed in concentration as if he was searching the bottom of his beer for something he’d never be able to find.

“To Eddie,” he whispered at last, clinking his glass against all the others.

***

Though Florida had been a bit of a dud, Mike did find happiness traversing other states, even other countries. Thanks to a little help from Bev’s keen eye, Ben had just designed, and would be supervising construction for, a swanky new chain of hotels. Richie’s third Netflix special would be available to stream by the end of the week. Bill’s latest book had just been nominated for an award and talks had already begun regarding a big screen adaptation. And all that good news coincided with the birth of his first child, a son named Georgie.

It certainly seemed that none of them could be considered losers anymore.

***

Another blanket of uncomfortable silence settled upon them as the waitress plopped the plate of fortune cookies in the center of the table.

“Enjoy,” she chirped before adding in a whisper, “and my boss has insisted that I ask you lot to please refrain from destroying any furniture this time.” To that end she left them to partake in their potentially hazardous desert, and the group eyed the plate of novelty snacks with trepidation.

“Okay, who wants to be the first to crack one of these suckers open?” Richie asked. “By the way, not it.”

After another moment or two of hesitation, Mike finally reached for the plate. “I got you all into this mess last time, so I might as well start making up for it. Since Eddie can’t be with us, I’ll be this evening’s designated risk analyst.”

He cracked a cookie in two and, popping one half inside his mouth and discarding the other on the table, withdrew the small slip of paper.

No blood, no milky eyeballs, no critters from another hellscape of a world. The only thing inside these cookies were fortunes. Mike read his without a sound, and he could feel the others watching him intently.

“If that fucking thing says ‘guess’ or ‘Stanley’ or ‘could’ or ‘not’ or ‘cut’ or ‘it’, I swear to God I’m fucking gone.” Richie laughed but failed to hide his growing unease.

Mike grinned as he read the fortune again, this time out loud. “‘The world is big, but time is short.’”

“Well that’s much less terrifying,” Bill sighed. “I’ll take that as a cue to dig in.”

Bill devoured the cookie and then vocalized his fortune. “‘The ending is the most integral part of the journey’.”

“Would you look at that,” Richie guffawed, clapping Bill on the shoulder. “Even a shitty cookie has offer it’s two cents about your lousy endings.”

“Fuck you, Trashmouth. My last two novels have ended quite nicely, thank you very much. Just ask my Booker Prize nomination.”

“I’d rather ask the award itself when you win it.”

Bill rolled the slip of paper into a minuscule ball and flicked it aside. “If I win it.”

Richie shook his head. “When.”

Bill patted Richie’s hand as a sign of thanks. “You know, I’ve actually been thinking about taking a step back from all the doom and gloom thriller stuff to take a swing at writing children’s books.”

“You’re kidding!” Bev exclaimed with a bark of laughter.

“I’m serious. I kind of thought it would be a good way for Georgie and I to bond. I write a story, then we read it together. You know?”

Ben leaned back in his chair and snapped his cookie in half. “Bill that’s…wow. That’s quite a change. Good for you, man.”

“What does yours say, honey? Bev asked, eyeing the slip of paper between her husband’s fingers.

“Yeah, honey. What’s it say?” Richie leaned toward the two of them, batting his eyelashes dramatically and resting his chin in his hands as the pair flipped him off at the same time.

“It says ‘he who builds the dreams of others should not neglect his own’.”

“Well, that’s oddly specific,” Richie said matter-of-factly. “You know, because you’re an architect? You build things….yeah, I’ll shut up now.”

“First time for everything,” Ben grinned.

“I want to read mine next,” Bev chimed in, holding the small piece of paper primly between her fingers. “It says ‘the smallest changes make the biggest difference’.”

Mike rubbed his chin in thought, nodding his approval at the depth of Bev’s fortune. “Anyone want to wager a guess as to what it means?”

Richie snapped his fingers as his eyes lit up. “Well, by jove, I think I’ve got it, gents,” he exclaimed in an overblown, piss poor excuse for a British accent they hadn’t heard him use since they were kids. “I do believe it means that if our dear friend William here could slightly alter his crummy endings, some of his books might actually make for a halfway decent read.”

Bill glared at his wisecracking friend. “Tozier, if you make fun of my writing one more time, I swear to God-“

“Don’t blame me, man. It’s the cookies that have it out for you!”

“I don’t think it has anything to do with Bill’s books, Rich,” Ben smiled just as Bill smacked Richie in the back of his head.

“I think it means that something small can have a huge impact on your life,” Bev clarified. She scanned the faces of her companions to see if any were catching her drift.

“What, like, a new haircut?”

“Or a baby, Richie.” Ben’s eyes twinkled when he grinned.

“Right. Or like-wait, what?”

“Bev that’s….are you really….?” Mike stammered happily.

“Three weeks along,” she confirmed proudly. “You guys didn’t think it was a little weird that I’ve been drinking water this entire evening?”

Bill leapt from his chair and threw his arms around the expectant couple. “Ben! Bev! This is amazing news! Congratulations!”

“Yeah, congrats you two crazy kids,” Richie added before Mike inquired if they’d been considering names yet.

Bev leaned into her husband affectionately. “Well, of it’s a girl, Ben has graciously agreed to name her after my mother, Elfrida. We’d call her Frida for short.”

“Beautiful choice, Bev,” Mike praised, taising his glass and taking a celebratory sip. “And if it’s a boy?”

The Hanscom’s looked silently, almost nervously at each other before answering, some sort of unspoken agreement passing between the two of them as the rest of the Losers looked on.

“If it’s a boy,” Ben finally said, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he’d even been holding, “we’d like to name him Eddie. Edward Stanley Hanscom.”

Richie instantly felt a lump form in his throat, and he had to cast his eyes downward to ensure that no one could see the pain that burned behind them. He chewed his lip quietly as he struggled to reel his unraveling emotions back in. When he looked back up his eyes immediately found Beverly’s. She searched his face silently. Hopefully.

“He would have loved that,” Richie finally croaked. “They both would have.”

Mike and Bill were too choked up to speak, so they just adamantly nodded their agreement.

“Alright, I think I’ve had about as much sentimentality as I can take for one evening.” Ben turned to Richie and tossed him a fortune cookie. “Come on, funny man, make me laugh. What does yours say?”

Richie made a big manly show of crushing the cookie in his hand before extricating the fortune from the rubble of the snack, and as he read it to himself his face blanched.

“Oh, this should be good,” Mike snickered, noticing Richie’s sudden discomfort. “Don’t keep us in suspense, Rich.”

He felt a wave of nausea overtake him as he read and re-read the small segment of paper. The clown was dead, he knew that, but this fortune felt like another of his cruel tricks. Richie felt as if he were being mocked all over again.

Love doesn’t come only once.

“Rich?” Beverly asked softly, her gentle voice cutting through the harsh buzz of white noise in his ears. Nuh-uh. No way in hell was he reading this shit out loud. He didn’t have the stomach to explain it to them. Not yet. Not like this.

“I, uh, I guess my new special’s gonna bomb,” he coughed. “It says ‘a career change can set you on your true path’.”

The others eyed him skeptically and he feared they’d seen through his fib when Ben at last said, “it’s probably for the best, Rich. You’re not that funny anyway.”

Richie mouthed a silent “fuck you” and the tension dissolved into laughter.

***

The first to arrive, the leave. Mike stood and slipped his jacket from the back of the chair, shrugging into it as he said, “I don’t know about you folks, but jet lag and alcohol do not seem to be mixing well for me. Any of you care to continue the conversation back at the townhouse?”

“You read my mind,” Bill said, polishing off the dregs of his third beer before following Mike’s lead.

“Me, Ben, and the Lima bean here,” Bev said with a Pat of her stomach, “would be more than happy to take you up on that offer.”

“I’ll handle the check,” Bill said, already removing his wallet from his back pocket.

“Slow your roll there, Stephen King,” Ben said, reaching for his own wallet. “I’ve got this one. Really.”

“Let’s at least split it. I don’t feel right about you taking the whole thing.”

“Girls, girls, you’re both pretty,” Bev interjected. “I’ll pay it myself if it keeps this from turning into an all night debate.”

Bill turned to Richie, who hadn’t moved an inch. “Well, maybe mr. big shot comedian here would like to contribute.”

Richie still made not a move to stand. He simply sat and stared at the collection of dirty dishes littering the table, gazing so intently that he could potentially shatter one of the plates with a single thought.

“Yo, earth to Trashmouth. You okay, man?”

Richie licked his lips nervously; his mouth had gone inexplicably dry and he struggled to dislodge his voice from his throat.

“I’m not ready to, uh….guys we can’t leave yet.”

The tone had shifted once again and a far sense of dread took hold of each of the Losers. Bill tried to laugh through the unease. “You planning on spending the night here, Richie?”

“You guys, I came here tonight to say something and, God dammit, I’m gonna say it! I just need…just give me a sec.”

Richie Tozier spent so much of his time joking around that the rest of the gang often forget that he was even capable of being serious. He felt sadness and fear just like the rest of them, and it was clear at that moment that he was scared to death.

He was gripping the edge of the table so hard that his knuckles paled. Beverly slid into the chair next to him and took one of his hands in her own. He was shaking terribly.

“Richie, what’s wrong?”

For what was probably the first time in his life, Richie couldn’t bring himself to start talking. Tell them, Tozier, he commanded himself. Just tell them. They’re your friends, man. They deserve the truth. You owe it to them, and to yourself. To Stan. To…Eddie.

“Sweetie, you’re scaring us,” Bev whispered. “Talk to us, Richie.”

“I’ve been seeing a therapist,” he finally blurted, the words tumbling out with the gust of a breath.

The others glanced from one another, unsure of how to respond, until Mike placed a comforting hand on Richie’s shoulder.

“That’s nothing to be ashamed of, Rich. Shit, after everything we went through last year…” He trailed off as Richie shook his head fiercely, eyes screwed shut.

“I’m…um, I’m….gay.”

And just like that it was out. His “dirty little secret”. His painful truth laid bared before him for his friends, for the world to see.

“I’ve been having a really hard time accepting myself and….and processing all of these feelings. Especially after….after Eddie….” The rest of the words died on his tongue. He couldn’t bare to finish the sentence. It had been a year since he’d lost the only man he’d ever loved, but with each passing day the wound reopened. The pain was always fresh.

“Oh, Rich,” Bev cooed. She stroked his hair and pulled him close, already a loving mother in the making. “We know, honey.”

“You….what?”

“Richie, we know,” Bill confirmed. “We’ve always known, man.”

Richie could hardly believe his ears. Was it even possible for someone to be in so much pain but still find it possible to smile?

“Why the fuck didn’t any of you ever say anything?”

Ben slipped an arm around Bev’s shoulders and placed one of his strong but gentle hands over Richie’s. “Because we didn’t care, Rich. Who you loved didn’t matter to us. Because we loved you.”

“We still do. We’re your friends, Trashmouth,” Mike added. “We figured that, someday, you’d tell us when you were good and ready.”

Richie snatched his glasses from his face to rub his eyes as his vision went blurry. “I would have told you all a lot sooner, I think. But then we all left and….and we forgot. I forgot.”

Beverly laid her head against Richie’s shoulder. His trembling had only grown worse.

“Do you think….do you think that Eddie knew?”

“Eddie’s death hit us all pretty hard, Richie, but we could see how deeply it hurt you. Much more than any of us. We understand why now,” Bev soothed. “We all know how much you loved him, and we’re just so sorry that you’ve had to deal with all these feelings by yourself.”

He didn’t want to cry in front of them. Not again. But Richie had never been a good fighter, so the tears eventually won. Just like that day in the quarry one year ago, his friends held him as his body convulsed with harsh wracking sobs.

***

After his good healthy cry, Richie excused himself and snuck off the pay the check before either Bill or Ben had the chance to protest.

“So, I think Richie is definitely going to need another drink. How about I go grab a couple six packs and then meet you all back at the townhouse?” Bill offered.

The gang nodded their agreement as they all began filing out of the dining room and toward the front door. Suddenly, Richie came barreling past them back to the table.

“OhShitOhShitOhShitOhShit,” he chorused as he frantically snatched up as many napkins as he could that hadn’t already been soiled.

“What happened?” Ben inquired, quirking one perfect brow.

“I bumped into a guy at the register.”

“A guy?” asked Bev. “Someone you know?”

“Nope,” Richie responded, clutching two fistfuls of napkins. “And I literally bumped into him. Now he’s wearing his takeout as a suit.”

Richie rushed past them all again in a mad rush to clean up the mess he’d made.

Mike rolled his eyes. “Looks like Trashmouth has got quite a way with the fellas, doesn’t he?”

***

Cozy in the townhouse, they laughed some more, drank some more, and reminisced some more. They listened intently as Bill read aloud some of the rough passages he’d scribbled out for Georgie’s book. They helped Mike chart a course for his next adventure: a traditional backpacking trip across Europe. Richie offered to tag along if they could make a pit stop in Amsterdam for some weed.

As for Richie, the happily married Losers offered him some helpful advice for his next encounter with Don, whose number he’d been rewarded with after mopping up his spilled sweet and sour chicken. The very Don he’d promised himself to call when he returned home and felt good and ready to make a move. And Richie was starting to feel that “ready” may actually come sooner rather than later.

And as the week long visit neared it’s end, as their time together came to a close, the five collectively came to the realization that they were far from the losers that Derry had shaped them to be. But then again they never did feel like losers when they were all together.

#it ch 2 #the losers club #epilogue

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winryofresembool · 4 years

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Things We Lost in the Fire, ch 7

aka Caleo uni au

Fic summary: Calypso starts studying at a new university, but to her annoyance her new flatmate is a loud mouthed mechanic who also likes to sneak his dog in whenever. But as she learns to know him better, she realizes they might have more in common than what she first thought. Eventually, even the darkest secrets come out…

Chapter summary: Leo and Calypso start opening up to each other.

A/N: A Caleo centered chapter! This is a short one but I think it's important to show a casual conversation between them (smth RR doesn't do enough in his books tbh).

Thanks to Cris for betaing!! Without a further ado, please enjoy and remember that even the shortest comment can make me happy!

Characters in this ch: Leo, Calypso

Words: 1275

Genre: romance & hurt/comfort

Warnings: none

previous chapter / next chapter / AO3

...

“Where are you going with all those things?” Calypso looked at Leo curiously a couple of days after the makeover incident. He was carrying several bags full of various machines, his safety goggles that were often on him even when he wasn’t working resting on his curly hair and a determined expression on his face. “That looks heavy. Can I help you?”

Leo had learned to carry heavy loads through the years but he was still thankful for the offer. “I guess you can, before one of these bad boys fall.” Calypso took one bag and was surprised by how heavy it was, yet Leo had still tried to carry all 3 on his own.

“As for your question, I’m going home for the weekend again. I can do a lot of the smaller projects here but Jo has a way better space and way better machines to do this work,” Leo explained.

“Who is Jo?” Calypso asked, not remembering Leo mentioning that name before.

“She’s one of my adoptive mothers,” Leo said nonchalantly like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Calypso furrowed her eyebrows slightly. “You were adopted? By two mothers?”

“Yep, I was. Got a problem with that?” Leo asked, putting the bags down and crossing his arms.

“Oh, no, no!” Calypso shook her head. “I didn’t mean it like that! I was just surprised because… I don’t know, when you said ‘home’, I pictured you, um, with your biological family. You’ve never mentioned being adopted before. Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“You never asked,” Leo said, his face remaining neutral. Calypso couldn’t help but wonder if he was still feeling uncomfortable because of what happened the other day. “But my current family is still more normal than any of the other families I’ve seen so far.”

“I see. Uh, I hope I’m not crossing some boundary but… what happened to your biological family?” she asked, but quickly added: “If you feel comfortable telling.”

Leo sighed, taking the bags from the floor again before answering. “Dad left mom when he found out she was pregnant, mom died, my dear aunt made sure no one else in the family wanted me… End of story.”

“Sorry, I had no idea… That’s a lot to go through for anyone…” Calypso wanted to touch his shoulder or do something else to gesture that she was there if he wanted to talk, but some emotional barrier stopped her from doing that.

“Yeah, well, I don’t like pity. It is what it is. Shit happened but I’ve gained a lot too. Jo and Emmie are honestly some of the best people I’ve ever met and Georgie is like a sister to me.” Leo could have continued that rant longer, wanting to say how they had basically saved his life and how he had felt he belonged somewhere for the first time in seven years when they had adopted him, but the mood had already gotten weird enough.

“If it makes you feel any better, I know a lot about unstable families too,” Calypso said then, stopping Leo’s track of thoughts. “My parents aren’t exactly the nicest of people. Especially my father. Sometimes… sometimes I wish that I didn’t know them.”

Leo sensed the hurt in her voice, and he didn’t ask more. Instead, he decided they had been moping long enough now and attempted to lighten the mood in his own way.

“I hope you don’t think that way about Uncle Leo, though,” he said, giving her a lopsided grin. “Would be pretty awkward to be flatmates otherwise.”

“You’re weird,” Calypso said but looked down to avoid eye contact with Leo. “Why do you call yourself uncle?”

“Just for fun! Besides, my weirdness is growing on you, isn’t it?”

“Nah,” she said, but Leo noticed her mouth was tugged slightly upwards.

“It so is,” he teased.

“Whatever, Uncle Leo.” Calypso said with the most sarcastic voice she could muster.

“When you say it like that, it sounds pretty bad,” Leo protested, making Calypso smile even wider.

“That was the purpose!” she announced.

“Ouch! That hurt.” He clutched his chest.

Calypso just laughed at him. The joke seemed to have helped in lightening the mood and the rest of the way down to Leo’s car went in a comfortable silence. Calypso was focusing on the road in front of them so Leo got an opportunity to observe her for a moment, making a mental note to make her smile and laugh more often. Somehow, it seemed to be contagious because suddenly Leo felt like laughing too.

“Hey. Thanks for opening up about your past,” Calypso said when they stopped in front of Leo’s car, a red Opel from the 1990ies that he himself had fixed. “I’m glad you trust me enough to tell me that.”

“No hay problema!“ Leo exclaimed as she lifted the bags into the back of his car. “I figured you’d hear it from Piper at some point anyway because she can be a blabbermouth… And I guess you two are friends now?”

Calypso considered the question. “Yeah, I think so! I mean, err… this may sound weird but I’ve never really had close friends so I’m not 100% sure how all of this works, I’m still figuring it out… But I would probably call us friends.”

Leo wanted to say: “running away from your foster homes and living on the streets doesn’t exactly gain you friends either” but with the new found peace they had reached he didn’t want to break that. “I know the feeling. Before I met Jason and some others here, Festus was my best friend.”

Suddenly Calypso felt bad about getting so mad at Festus (and Leo) about her desk.

“That reminds me, when you see him, could you apologize to him? For me yelling when we first met?”

“So, you’re more ready to apologize to a dog than me?” Leo asked, but not seriously. “Where’s my apology?”

Calypso had an urge to roll her eyes. “Oh you big baby, you don’t deserve one. After all, you’re the one who was responsible for him.”

“Har har.”

Calypso’s voice softened. “I do still appreciate you fixing it. It looks nice now.”

“Did you just compliment me?” Leo asked with amusement. “Super sized McShizzle must have done something right, then!”

“Watch out for your head, it might not fit into the car,” Calypso said, this time only making Leo laugh.

“Looks like I’ve managed to bring out a whole new side of you. Or are you always this sassy?”

“No, definitely just with you,” Calypso stuck her tongue out at him.

“Well, I’m honored. But now I should get going, Georgie is probably already staring from the window waiting for me.” Leo sat down in his car, tapping the wheel impatiently but leaving the door open so they could hear each other.

“Aww, a doting big brother too! I’m learning a whole lot about Leo Valdez today,” Calypso said with a teasing tone.

“Laugh all you want, I’m proud to be her brother!”

“It’s fine,” Calypso said, knowing something about being a sibling herself. “When will you be back?” she asked before Leo closed the door.

“Whenever Argo II decides it’s time to return,” Leo said mysteriously.

“Argo? Don’t tell me you named your car after that ship in Greek mythology?”

“I might have. Well, see ya!” Leo said, leaving Calypso baffled. She wouldn’t have thought Leo knew the myths that well. So full of mysteries, that one. Calypso couldn’t help but think that even though she knew a bit more about Leo now, she felt even more confused than before.

#caleo #leo valdez #calypso #heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the olympians #trials of apollo #my fics #caleo uni ai

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boneles-ss · 4 years

Text

*!!!!!!SPOILERS FOR JUST ABOUT EVERYTHING!!!!!!*

Things about the Magnus archives (mostly season 5) and it’s fandom that make my lungs collapse with the sheer amount of serotonin that floods my entire body when I see them

The fact that no matter what you do or how good of an artist you are Jared Hopworth will always look like a blobfish

Anytime Jon has an ace ring I literally combust

“ACAB” vs “I am gay” werewolf wife (also please I need more basira art please I need it please she is beautiful plea—)

Breekon and Hope: these homies have been happily married as a joke and as a fuck you to Peter and Elias for over 300 years

Tim “Kool-Aid Man” Stoker

The 15th fear: Teenagers (+I’m about to throw hands with a 13 year old)

Jonny Sims had to kill off the only canonical brain cells in the pre-canon and the first season (rip Sasha and Gertrude)

SIMON FUCKINH FAIRCHILD WHAT AN ABSOLUTE MADMAN HES BEEN MY FAVORITE AVATAR SINCE WE MET HIM AND HE KEEPS GETTING BETTER I DONT KNOW WHY IT TOOK HIM YEETINF HIMSELF OUT OF THE SKY TO LAND ON HIS ASS IN FRONT OF THE LITERAL MOST IMPORTANT COUPLE IN EXISTENCE FOR EVERYONE TO REALIZE HIS POTENTIAL AS A COMEDIC GOLD MINE THANK YOU FOR NOT KILLING HIM JONNY SIMS HES JUST A USELESS IDIOT GRANDPA BIRD RAT STUPI

WTGFs Georgie and Melanie, blind, fearless, and WILL kick your ass

*sounds of brutal pipe murder*

Here is a alphabetized list of why you cannot and frankly should not kill me: 1) it’s rude. Thanks, The End. Jon: “fair enough” Martin: *pikachu face*

“You fear the Dark when you’re a CHILD and then you GROW UP to have more MATURE fears, like a TRIPPY MERRY-GO-ROUND WHERE YOU STEAL PEOPLE’S EXISTENCES”— Jonny Sims

Jonah crying on a dramatic couch in the panopticon and listening to tik tok-assigned theme song on repeat as his only source of self-esteem because even his god thinks he’s a bitch bastard

The “We Actively Know He’s Probably Listening and We Still Love to Disrespect Elias” gang

Jon but brian david gilbert

The Home of Phobia https://bugeyesandstumpy.tumblr.com/post/622671728278126592/remember-the-lonely-house-with-uncomfy-chairs-in

He was subjected to the ultimate fear of Being Known

martin the murder cheerleader martin the murder cheerleader martin the murder cheerleader

+Helen the godawful “listen to Martin :D!!” couple’s therapist and queen of the jonmartin fanbase (I especially love all the theories about her she’s very fun and spooky)

“Hello? Hello hello??? — phone guy Annabelle Kane

Nikola being HORRIFIED at the fact that Jon doesn’t moisturize

Martin “I’m traumatized, my new boyfriend is a monster, I love him so much, and I’m about vicariously to go feral” Blackwood.

Manuela’s tiny, evil sun https://bugeyesandstumpy.tumblr.com/post/622776071826325504

And last but certainly not least because they’re what started this whole tumblr spiral (hahahahahahaha) and deserve honorable mentions

“I want. Another. Divorce”

the kayaking trip

And all the ensuing chaos

(If anyone ever sees this as I’ve never posted anything of my own before, please feel free to add your own favorite things if you want, I probably missed some good ones that I will also be adding as everything gets closer to imminent sobbing :)

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himbowelsh · 4 years

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Could you #75 from the intimacy prompts for Luztoye?

intimacy prompts ( accepting! )

75. talking about each other’s boundaries

“So,” Joe finally says, because it’s been too long without George saying anything at all, and the silence is starting to get painful. “You gonna tell me what the hell’s going on, or do I have to guess?”

“Guess away, Joe,” is all George says. His tone is flat, clipped; he’s still staring out the car window as the dark streets zip by, arms crossed over his chest.

“I’m all out of guesses,” Joe counters. His eyes are trained on the road, just so he won’t have to look towards the passenger’s seat. The tension in the car is heavy enough without George’s glower reflected back at him.

Christ, for someone who never gets pissed off...

Even as the thought crosses his mind, though, Joe knows it isn’t true. George... gets annoyed plenty. He gets annoyed with people on a daily basis, and doesn’t keep his mouth shut about it. George’s annoyance is loud, sarcastic, biting, but somehow never cruel. His anger’s different. Maybe it really is that he just doesn’t get angry that much, or he doesn’t show it, but George Luz’s anger seethes underneath his skin. He bites it back, jaw tense and shoulders stiff. He gets quiet, his gaze flickers down and goes dark, and it’s impossible to tell exactly what he’s thinking. That’s a rare thing with Luz. He’s always glad to speak his mind, until he’s got nothing nice to say.

When Joe’s angry, people fucking hear about it. When George is angry, most people don’t even know it.

Unfortunately, Joe isn’t being given that option right now, because George’s fury is leaking out, and there’s nobody for it to spill onto but him.

“If some shit was bothering you that much, you shoulda said something. Then and there. I’d have ended it.”

“Yeah, bet you would’ve.”

“So why the hell didn’t you —“ Joe cuts himself off, forcing his own frustration back. Too harsh. Now now. “Why didn’t you say anything, George? How’m I supposed to know if there was something wrong with the restaurant, or the server, or the goddamn food —“

“Nothing was wrong with the food —“

“So why the hell are you angry?”

George exhales through his teeth and says nothing at all. Joe’s head pounds; he can feel a vein in his temple pulsing.

“How the fuck am I supposed to know something’s bothering you if you don’t tell me?” No, that’s not right — Joe always knows when something’s bothering George, because he can’t help paying attention to him, and knows him too damn well. When something’s bothering George, it’s obvious to anybody close enough to him.

The what is the problem, and that what is a giant fucking wall between them now, building itself higher every minute.

“Was it —“ Fuck. Joe sighs. “Was it me? Did I fuck up somewhere?”

George does a double take. “What — the hell, Joe, no. Wasn’t you.”

“Well, then why don’t you just come out and say it? How the hell am I supposed to —“

“You just said you’d have —“

“But I don’t, so just tell me!”

“Oh, wow, the king of communicating his emotions is ordering me to open up? Holy shit, I better jump on that!”

If Joe’s blood pressure gets any higher, he’s gonna crash the goddamn car. “You know,” he finally says through gritted teeth, “if you didn’t wanna come out with me tonight, you shoulda just said.”

A long moment of silence passes; the only sound is the engine humming steadily beneath them. Finally, George shifts in his seat, turning to look directly at Joe.

“You really think that’s why I’m pissed off right now?”

He doesn’t raise his voice — because George never raises his voice in arguments, just gets smaller and darker and more closed off, until he pulls away completely — but his words cut like a knife anyway. Joe’s fists tighten around the steering wheel. A few seconds is all it takes; then he’s pulling off the road, a succession of terse movements bringing the car to a stop in the parking lot of a closed store. There’s no one around. Above head, the streetlights illuminate rows of empty spaces, spilling out into the night. They couldn’t have found a more private place if they were trying, and Joe’s too pissed off to try anything right now, besides not raising his voice or punching the steering wheel.

When he finally turns, George is glaring back at him. That’s fuckin’ something, at least. He’s admitting he’s mad, instead of brooding about it like a kid who just got grounded.

“I’m listening,” is all Joe says.

George mutters a curse under his breath, shaking his head but not looking away. Even if he wanted to, Joe wouldn’t let him. His leg bounces restlessly, one hand playing with the seatbelt strap like he needs something to do, while the other curls and uncurls in his lap. Another thing about George’s anger — it’s restless.

Finally, he manages to find the words. Rather than the usual Luz verbal burst pipe, these are deliberate, hand-picked from the simmering pot of his fury. “Maybe you’re okay with folks saying whatever the hell they like about you, Joe, but I’m not. I’m not.” His hand balls into a fist and stays that way. He’s not looking into Joe’s face now, but his gaze is like twin laser beams, dark and searing where it bores into Joe’s chest. “I dunno why you didn’t just reel around and punch both those guys in the mouth.”

It takes Joe a minute to connect the dots. The guys wrapping up their meal a few tables away from them, right after the waiter’d brought George a second drink. They were talking loudly — Joe had no interest in overhearing, but he couldn’t help it — and mentioned something about “crips”. Talking about… well, they’d been saying a lot of shit, none of it kind. Talking about disabled veterans right in Joe’s earshot — and for a second, yeah, he imagined what it’d feel like to send the bastards’ teeth flying.

But the moment passed quickly, leaving nothing in the two loudmouths’ wake but a sour taste in Joe’s mouth. Maybe their food didn’t taste as good as it should’ve… but not long after that, George started to shut down, and Joe was more worried about him.

“That’s it?” he can’t help blurting out. Then, at George’s fierce glower: “Wait a minute. They didn’t say shit about you. You got all your limbs.”

“They were talking about you, Joe. Or guys like you.” George’s voice is low and fierce, harder than Joe’s ever heard it. “Thought they were real smartasses. I shoulda been the one who knocked their —“

“Whoa!” That’s not like George at all. Even in his darkest moods, he’s never violent. “The fuck does it matter?”

“Why doesn’t it matter to you?”

Something in his voice is desperate. One look at his face, at the way the white of his eyes are showing, and Joe knows this goes deeper than a few asshole remarks in a restaurant.

With the utmost care, he reaches over, settling his hand atop George’s tense fist. “What does it matter to me,” he says, “what a few fuckers in polo shirts think of my leg? They don’t have respect for the guys who found for their right to drink martinis at fuckin’ golf tournaments, that’s their problem. I’m not gonna pick a fight in the middle of a nice restaurant, on a date with you —“ He gives George’s hand a squeeze. “Cause’a some asshole strangers. They don’t matter to me. This here — right now? This life, my job, you? That’s what matters. It ain’t worth jeopardizing nothing.”

George stares at him. In the dim light, his eyes are darker than Joe’s ever seen them, more intense.

“So you can just… swallow your pride like that?”

“Ain’t like you can’t.” Plenty of people have run their mouths off in front of George before, and he’s just smiled through it. If George didn’t take jackasses with grace, Cobb wouldn't have any teeth left in his mouth.

“But that’s different, Joe! It’s different when it’s me. People wanna say shit about me, fine, see if I give ‘em the time of day. But you…” His fingers twine through Joe’s and tighten, enough to crack the joints and push the bones together. Instead of wincing, Joe squeezes back. “When I hear people say shit about you, I don’t wanna take it. You don’t deserve that.”

“And there’s plenty you don’t deserve, too. Like working long hours at that goddamn office, with Sobel breathing down your neck. You don’t think I don’t wanna punch the guy every time you come home with a new story to tell?” Joe exhales through his nose. “But it’s your fight, Georgie. When you fight it’s up to you. If you need me there, I’ve got your back… but it ain’t your responsibility to fight for anyone else.”

“But—“

“If they’re helpless, sure. Do I look helpless to you?”

Joe crooks a brow. George huffs a laugh, ducking his head as if unwilling to give Joe the satisfaction of it.

“If someone can fight their own battle and decides not to, it’s their choice.”

“And I get it, Joe. Really.” George’s grip has loosened now; he squeezes Joe like a reassurance, not a lifeline, and it’s a relief to see most of the fury drained from his eyes. The last, most important thing Joe knows about George’s anger: it never lasts long. “But you deserve to have someone fight for you.”

“Fight with me. Not for me.” Joe’s free hand comes up, thumb brushing along George’s stubbled jaw. Finally, a hint of a smile —- and with that, the last of the tension balled up in Joe’s chest unravels, falling away.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll always let you take the first punch.”

“Best part of any fight,” Joe says, and George full-on grins at him. Not his usual beam, by any means, but… it’s a start.

“Maybe,” Joe broaches, massaging gently along George’s cheekbone, “we can talk things through more often. Things like this.” It feels like an important conversation to have had, especially because he’s come out of it understanding George a lot better. “I don’t wanna see you get punched defending my damn honor.”

“Nah,” George replies, leaning into his touch. “I'll never let anybody ruin this pretty face for you.”

Joe, who firmly believes broken noses give a face character, still wouldn’t have George’s face any other way. His gentle touch wanders to George’s temple, stroking back the stray hairs there; for a moment, he considers the kind of man it takes to fight for someone else quicker than you’d ever fight for yourself. He already knew he was in love with George Luz… but damn, if he doesn’t like to be proven right.

“Don’t go stoning me again,” he mutters. George’s eyes, chocolate-soft and tender, gleam are him.

“Don’t let me stay pissed for too long, and we’ll call it even.”

#luztoye #george luz #joe toye #my writing #this kinda devolved into me imagining how george and joe are like/how different they are when angry #we see joe angry plenty but we don't really see a pissed off george #even with sobel #even with dike #even with the guy who shoots chuck #he gets annoyed but his anger seems to be a much quieter thing #and george is 200% not the sort of guy who makes a big deal over insults towards him but will go FERAL if its the people he cares about #one of the few things that can make him really angry #joe's got a lot of rage but he's smart about it #Anonymous

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maximumbob-universe · 4 years

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For a while, Skeeter Davis was one of the best known artists in country music. For a short time, she was a pop star. Although rarely talked about today, Skeeter was one of the first female performers to hit pay dirt following the breakout success of Kitty Wells. Her given name was Mary Penick, which she changed after teaming with Betty Jack Davis to form the Davis Sisters. They toured on package shows, but a recording contract with RCA put the pair on solid ground, leading to lucrative bookings. The big time came quickly, as their recording of "I Forgot More Than You'll Ever Know" topped the charts in 1953, but then tragedy struck. Skeeter was seriously injured in a head on car crash that took the life of young Betty Jack. Skeeter tried to continue the act with Georgie Davis, Betty Jack's older sister. The new partnership produced some good records, but the tight bond formed by Skeeter and Betty Jack never materialized with Georgie. Soon, Skeeter was on her own.

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She got some essential backing from Ernest Tubb, who added her to his touring show, and she continued to record for RCA with limited success. Producer Chet Atkins began having Skeeter overdub her own voice, creating an in studio harmony sound that wold revive her career. As the fifties became the sixties, Skeeter began a run of hit records that included "Set Him Free", "Last Date" and "Am I That Easy to Forget." Her recording of a pop song "The End of the World" became a runaway hit in 1963, becoming the only single to ever make the top ten in four different charts: Country, Pop, Easy Listening and R&B. The follow up was a girl group ditty written by Gerry Goffin and Carole King. "I Can't Stay Mad at You" made the pop top ten. The British invasion ended her pop hit making days, but she continued to record country hits for the balance of the decade.

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She would continue to record and perform on The Grand Ole Opry for the rest of her life, but her success would be limited. She passed away in 2004, losing a long battle with cancer. In the final analysis, Skeeter has to be seen as an important figure in country music. She came to prominence just as women were breaking barriers in the genre, creating a bridge between the hard edged honky tonk music of the early fifties and the smooth pop style of The Nashville Sound the following decade. For all she did for the music, she deserves a place in the Country Music Hall of Fame. Hopefully someday Skeeter Davis will be properly honored in that hallowed hall.

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andimackfaneditsss · 7 years

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Get to Know the Friendom Tag

i was tagged by @the-suitelife-of-disneychannel and @thesubtextmachine :) This is coming out a little late because I’ve been preoccupied with Carmilla Series updating everybody as they film the movie but since I am also a HUGE fan of Andi Mack I thought it deserved my attention again, too. Especially since there’s going to finally be a new episode tonight!!

Favorite Andi Mack character

I said it before and I’ll say it again, Buffy IS me when I was a kid and even now. (Actually what I said was that I relate to her, but still.) I am the type to get competitive over even the littlest of things if someone so much as jokingly mentions a challenge over - say, finishing a bottle of water in under 2 minutes. You might be kidding, but I can assure you I AM NOT. A challenge is always accepted. I feel like I sometimes make my life one of those 5Gum commercials. I’m that competitive over literally everything. I am just so extra. But Buffy isn’t my fave character because she has this flaw, I love her because she’s struggling to see how this can be a bad thing - how it’s even a flaw. I was the same way when I was a kid. I didn’t understand how being this way can alter your reality, making you feel like you’re the only one who knows how to play the game and people need you to win and if they think different then hope they learn their lesson when they lose. Not wishing for them to lose, but actually believing they will by not having you there to win for them. I’ve grown, I’ve learned, I keep it in check now. But I still remember the times I didn’t have it in check which made me grow into a different person eventually because I realized I was ruining every game by trying to be the best in it instead of just having fun w/ friends and family. The mentality of a person this competitive is you think you’re the star of the show, which I think is an awesome belief to give a secondary character because it makes them an actual person: our friends and family may be secondary to our story but they have a story, too, and in that one WE are secondary. It’s - like with everything else in Andi Mack so far - very real. I can’t wait to see Buffy recognize her flaw and not necessarily “overcome” it but learn to channel it to be a better team player, not a player better than the team.

Is that your all-time favorite? If not, then list that here:

I don’t think I can pick just one character like I can a ship (hollstein 4ever!!) but I’ll try to name a few all-time faves at the top of my head (and from the bottom of my heart):

Laura Hollis (Carmilla Series) REASON: because like Buffy Driscoll, Laura is flawed and driven and real. There are missing girls at her University and her new roommate who turns out to be a vampire and has been assigned the same room because the school doesn’t even bat an eyelash at Laura’s former roommate having just up-and-vanished, may actually have ties to what’s been going on but no actual knowledge of what’s really happening. She believes because she’s the only one who cares enough to not let the weirdness and everything absolute sketch slip under the radar, she’s the only one who can do anything about it. She cares way too much about everyone, so much so that she forgets to remember (really think about) who she can trust. But she would willingly give her life for every friend that has ever walked into/out of her life simply because she just loves people and cares so much about everybody. Even hardcore villains who she definitely needed to kill - she still feels bad about killing them, despite the fact they would smile at the sound of murder they organized. She’s flawed but freaking inspiring!

Buffy Driscoll (Andi Mack) REASON: read my answer to the first question of this tag.

Wilson Kirsch (Carmilla Series) REASON: he’s a freaking puppy who doesn’t deserve what he’s been through when all he’s ever wanted was a bro! He just needs a really good friend and I wish I could jump through my screen and wrap him in a hug.

Benny Weir (My Babysitter’s a Vampire) REASON: he may have caused a lot of trouble because the world allowed a HUGE nerd to have magical powers - so what did it think was going to come of that?! But - but - but, he was also the solution to fixing the trouble almost 90% of the time. He’s flawed, just like many characters I love, but he’s a dork who just wants to live out his dreams of being a wizard and - accidentally raises the evil dead pets of the entire neighborhood in the process of trying to win over a girl through his newfound abilities. And he’s there for his friends, and if that calls for enchanting a cologne to be a love potion for his best bud to finally win over his hot babysitter (sounds weird but I promise if you watch the show it’s not what you think) - then he’ll do it!

And now for some honorable mentions I’m compiling them because if I go on and on explaining why I love these characters then this post will be longer than I intend for it to be: Matska Belmonde (Carmilla Series), Melanippe Callis (Carmilla Series), Theo Straka (Carmilla Series), Cyrus Goodman (Andi Mack), Andi Mack (Andi Mack), Bex Mack (Andi Mack), Daphne Diaz (Stuck In The Middle), Georgie Diaz (Stuck In The Middle), Riku Harada (D.N.Angel), and to end this list Kaori Fujimiya (One Week Friends).

Favorite Andi Mack cast member?

Probably Joshua Rush atm, but then I’ve seen some pretty funny tweets from Lilan Bowden. So...maybe Lilan? How ‘bout I break the rules and - just kidding! I’ll pick one... Definitely Lilan. Sorry Josh!

All-time favorite cast member? If not, list them:

Elise Bauman! She seems so cool to work with, very fun and chill. Must be all the yoga.

Honorable mentions ofc: Natasha Negovanlis, Shannon Kook, Kaitlyn Alexander, Kira Kosarin, Matt O’ Connor, Chloe Grace Moretz, Atticus Mitchell, Lia Marie Johnson, Allison Scagliotti, and to end this list Jeremy Shada.

Original reaction to the show:

I was excited to see more Asian rep, for sure! But I seriously thought the BIG secret was that Bex “her older sister” would be moving back home and that that would stir up some fun adventures and trouble. I was utterly shocked - just, in literal tears when the reveal happened. It hooked me. I’d never seen that sort of story-line on a Disney Channel show. I was sure it’d be something different, pure and at the same time mature, and THAT interested me. Yes, the fact there’s no laugh track is the same reason I loved My Babysitter’s a Vampire, why I love Stuck In The Middle, but that was just the cherry on top of the wonderful eye-catching rainbow shimmering unicorn cake this show was going to be...and is!

Current reaction to the show:

It’s slowly developing the characters a bit more - which is always great - and teasing out more issues that can potentially be fully brought to light and commented on (hopefully) in the next season, because I really wish they talked more on the issues with Buffy. Her hair being “too big”: it could have been said that that was a little bit racist that comment right there? And how about how Buffy was concerned with who said she “wasn’t girly” and why she was so bent on helping Cyrus become “2.Bro”? Yes she’s my fave character from the show but I’m saying this also because I don’t want them to be bold enough to shout into the void, silencing the crowd, and then shrink into the dark shadows of the corner behind them not wanting to go on with their groundbreaking statement. These are real issues that can be deeper analyzed but I get that they are kids and kids often don’t think about a problem facing them philosophically but rather directly. So to them it was just, “What? How can that even be possible? Hair too big? Huh?” I just hope they go deeper next season, just a leetle bit deeper is all I’m asking. But it’s getting better and I still very much like it, and the Friendom. I also just have one more request: CAN ANDI PLEASE PLEASE PRETTY PLEASE WITH A CHERRY ON TOP FINALLY CALL BEX HER MOM LIKE CAN THEY JUST HAVE A REALLY NICE BONDING MOMENT AND ANDI JUST SMILES TO HERSELF BEFORE SURPRISING BEX WITH A “NIGHT, MOM” OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT PLEASE?!

Favorite Andi Mack plot line(s):

The kids’ lives away from school most definitely, but that isn’t just one plot line. Andi’s sister is actually her mom and her mom is actually her grandmother, Cyrus’s parents are divorced shrinks who both remarried shrinks, Buffy’s mom is overseas. Not gonna lie I will be a tad disappointed (okay a whole lot) if we don’t get to see a really touching moment where Buffy’s mom just shows up at their doorstep, finally home; if Cyrus’s gossip shrink of a mom doesn’t have consequences for gossiping to everyone about her clients’ private lives and has to look for a new job (could that even happen?); if Bex doesn’t become a total “mom” over the kids and just steps back one day and is like “oh wow I’m asking all of them how school was and cutting crust off of two sandwiches out of the three I made because Buffy likes the crust on - wait what?” And I don’t even know why I really want to see this happen but I really want to see this happen: Andi’s, Buffy’s, and Cyrus’s parents all coming together to hang out and eventually become friends. I just feel like Bowie will return and when he does, he and Bex should have friends their own age to go out on the weekends with. Maybe that’s just me tho...

Least Favorite Andi Mack character:

It’s waaaaaaaaay too easy to say Tiffany (Amber), and it’d also be a little lazy at this point. She’s so clearly meant to be the antagonist. It’s the only character they gave us to hate... Or is it? My least fave Andi Mack character is (I’m sorry to all the shippers out there who see him with Buffy or to anyone who just likes this character) Marty from the Party. Look, he was pretty sexist in the episode “She Said, She Said” where Buffy was happily surprised to find out she was the fastest in track and then he followed that up w/ “fastest girl” and said “by a minor biological reality” that men and women were not created equal and how the fastest woman would never beat the fastest man. I’m normally not one to jump up at these remarks and go “AAAAAAAAAHHHHH SEXISM!!!!1!!″ however the way they ended that subplot with us just seeing them take off in another random race Buffy initiated and then cutting away entirely before we get to see who wins that time? I didn’t get much closure. And I also feel that witty banter and slight sexist remarks aside, Marty just needs to be developed more. So he’s my least fave Andi Mack character rn atm. I don’t hate him I just like him the least.

All-time least favorite character? If not, list them here:

We’ll be here all day (maybe all year long) if I delve too deep into my all-time least fave characters. So, some more honorable - or, infamous? mentions: The Dean, Baron Vordenberg, and Theo Straka (i know he’s also one of my fave characters but that’s because he’s such a good villain it’s hard not to love that he exists, I mean he’s not even a vampire himself and yet he’s so evil) (Carmilla Series), President Snow, Gale Hawthorne, and President Coin (The Hunger Games), The Vampire Council (My Babysitter’s a Vampire), Mark Jefferson (Life Is Strange), and finally to end this list Victor Alvarez (Netflix’s Original Sitcom One Day at a Time).

Upcoming Andi Mack episodes I’m worried about:

A couple of things. Not so much the episodes because as a whole they’re always good, but I am worried about developments within each episode...ones yet-to-be-aired and ones yet-to-be-filmed.

1) Andi and Bex’s relationship as mother and daughter really not strengthening and instead they just go on as if they’re still sisters.

2) Andi never calling Bex “mom”...I think it should come first before she calls Bowie “dad” because there’s already a bond between her and Bex and so it should be a lot easier to do that first.

3) Cyrus coming out. Or Jonah. Either one even just questioning who they actually like. Because when Disney had aired that one episode of Good Luck Charlie with the two moms, people went nuts and so I’m kinda hoping they don’t ignore exploring this plot line when/if it happens because of the backlash they had from the moms who claimed they were “enforcing gay agenda on the children.” Liking who you like isn’t something that can be taught really but like religion can be fed in unhealthy, brainwashing amounts like if you were to preach over and over again to someone every day for years “You’re a Christian so confess your sins you sinner” or “You’re gay just admit it already” even if they don’t follow that religion (or any religion) or aren’t that sexuality for sure; however, all that Disney is trying to do is be inclusive and not preachy. Just btw, I know a six year old who was happy to say that he has a boyfriend. Kids are growing up and if your kids aren’t gay they’ll be exposed to other kids who either support it and talk freely about it or who actually are gay. Nbd.

4) Buffy not realizing her flaw (being overly competitive) and not getting it in check so that she can be a better team player and even make some new friends on her track team.

5) Jonah not breaking it off with Tiffany (Amber) for his and everyone else’s mental health. Their relationship is not a good one and she is so nasty to all of his friends, he’s such a ball of sunshine who doesn’t need to be with a girl who will insult and disparage his friends behind his back. Oh yeah and cHEAT ON HIM. WHICH SHE TOTALLY IS!!!

Welp, I guess that’s all there is for me to say. I hope you’ve all gotten to know me better and I don’t know who to tag so I’ll just leave it up to any of you that follow me to pick up this tag for yourself and tell the Friendom a little bit about you! :)

#andi mack #get to know the friendom #andi mack fandom #andi mack friendom #disney channel #fandom #friendom

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sickasallhell · 7 years

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Viktuuri Wedding Headcanons

Welp, like most people on here, it seems, I’m at the very bottom of the very deepest level of Yuri!!! on Ice hell, and loving every second of it. I can’t stop fantasizing about Viktor and Yuuri’s wedding, and I can’t get much else done at the moment, so here, have my headcanons about it, lol:

Phichit is Yuuri’s best man, but really he winds up becoming more of a crazy amalgam of the sassy gay wedding planner and overeager maid of honor stereotypes. (He also calls dibs on being in charge of the photography, obviously.) He goes full ham Bridezilla for Yuuri, who himself is totally fine, aside from nerves. No one particularly minds, because Phichit is, rather unsurprisingly, kind of fantastic at all the wedding stuff, but they are all scared shitless of him, whether they admit it or not.

Chris is Victor’s best man, and predictably throws what is quite possibly the lewdest bachelor(s- everyone conceded to a joint party because Viktor and Yuuri are just too goddamn inseparable, and Viktor in particular would sooner die than miss any event in which Yuuri might give a repeat performance of his GPF banquet shenanigans) party that anyone in the world has ever attended, or ever will. Yurio tried to get out of it, but wasn’t allowed, and wound up thoroughly traumatized. He got his revenge, though, by getting trashed in the hopes of being able to forget everything that had transpired, and then puking all over Chris’s shoes.

Axel, Loop, and Lutz gleefully share the role of flower girl, while Yurio is made the ring bearer, which he is vocally and violently fucking indignant as all hell about, but once again, is not allowed to back out of. Viktor, Yuuri, and Phichit were all very insistent that he had to participate somehow.

Georgi sobs uncontrollably throughout the entire ceremony and uses up an entire box of tissues and Yakov’s handkerchief.

Leo DJs the reception, and does a fabulous job. Phichit gives him a somewhat lengthy playlist of super corny romance songs that he demands must all be played at some point, but otherwise says he trusts Leo’s judgement, and no one is disappointed.

During dinner, Phichit surprises everyone with a video montage of Yuuri and Victor’s lives, featuring as many embarrassing clips and photos as he could get his hands on, naturally. At first, Victor has no idea how he even managed to get most of the ones of him, until the end credits roll, complete with Phichit’s extra-special “thank you”s to Mila, Yakov, and Yurio. His loud, tearful accusations of betrayal faze none of them. Mila points out that it wouldn’t have been fair to only embarrass Yuuri, Yakov claims that this is well-deserved and frankly very merciful payback for all the years of strife Victor has put him through, and Yuri just laughs evilly, sporting the most delighted, shit-eating grin anyone has ever seen. (“Hey, you were the one who said that I had to participate in your dumb wedding. If you don’t like my method of participation, that’s not my problem. Be careful what you wish for next time, stupid old man!”)

A small, temporary ice rink has been established at the reception venue, and Yuuri and Victor’s first dance as a couple is actually a pair skate, of course.

It’s hard to tell whether he means it as retaliation for the unflattering photos and videos, or whether he’s just being his usual, innocently tactless self, but Viktor casually steps on a hell of a landmine when he cheerfully asks Yurio how he and his “date” (a.k.a. Otabek) are enjoying the party. Otabek winds up having to physically restrain Yuri to keep him from strangling Viktor. (However even with Otabek’s considerable advantage in size and strength, an angry and embarrassed Yuri is a force to be reckoned with, and he does manage to land one good kick before Otabek can pull him away and calm him down.)

Though, it’s also possible that Otabek might not have tried quite as hard as he maybe should have to hold Yuri back, because he might possibly have also been feeling a tiny bit embarrassed and spiteful, because Viktor really could be a tad obnoxious sometimes……..and also because he might have been ever so slightly considering maybe, just maybe, trying to find a chance tonight to ask Yuri out for real, and Viktor had definitely not helped boost his confidence at all. (Just how the hell was he supposed to interpret that reaction, exactly?!)

After a few awkward minutes and a glass of champagne each to help settle their nerves, though, both he and Yuri calm down and wind up having a great time. Otabek can’t even be bothered to feel rude about agreeing for once when Yuri complains about Viktor, and they basically end up just talking and laughing the whole night.

(Though, unbeknownst to them, Viktor, Yuuri, and Phichit are all watching with fond amusement and gossipping about how cute they are, although Yuuri does scold Viktor for teasing them. Viktor and Phichit choose to ignore this, too busy discussing a wager over how long it will take for it to become official.)

Mari, Sara, Mila, and Georgi all dive desperately for the bouquet….and wind up fumbling it right into Guang Hong’s lap, who picks it up on reflex and then screeches at what he’s done. Leo, who had been trying to get a shot of the action on his phone, not only drops his phone, but trips right off of his DJ platform and kind of just….lies there. Luckily, Yuuri was one of the only people who seemed to even notice- most people are still focused on the beet-red and stammering Guang Hong, the miffed girls, and the once again sobbing Georgi (and Mickey, who is crying tears of relief that his sister missed. She smacks him upside the head, while Emil just laughs and tries to calm both of them down.) He discreetly snaps him out of it and helps him up, and Leo resolves to send him an additional wedding present later on.

Unfortunately, Phichit also not only noticed, but somehow managed to react quickly enough to snap a picture of his spectacularly inelegant tumble and subsequent dazed sprawl- that boy does not miss anything, damn. He proceeds to tease him mercilessly about how he’d obviously “fallen head over heels” for the other boy. Leo only manages to keep the pictures off of social media by threatening to pack up right then and there, and throw a huge wrench in Phichit’s perfect wedding plans. If anyone else notices that he and Guang Hong can’t even look at each other for the rest of the night without blushing, well….at least no one mentions it to Leo.

Seung-gil does not understand why he was even invited, or why he accepted said invitation, but it’s clear to him now that it was a stupid idea on both counts. Yuuri tried to hug him again, twice, and Sara keeps trying to catch him and get him to dance with her, and he is rapidly running out of excuses, hiding spots, and dignity. (Having to exchange apologies with a very flustered Minami, after the boy had accidentally kicked him in the face, because he had been hiding under a table was a definite low point in his life thus far. He’d managed to talk his way out of it by claiming he’d lost a contact lens, but still.) He wonders how long he has to stay before it’s considered socially acceptable to leave. (In the end, no one knows when it even happened, but sure enough, by the time the party is winding down, they finally notice that Seung-gil is already gone without a trace.)

The next day, pictures and videos from the wedding are already spreading across SNS like wildfire, mostly courtesy of Phichit and the triplets, of course. Almost everyone who was there is online gushing about how sweet and beautiful and perfect it was, and how the reception was the most epic party ever, and how the whole thing was basically just the best fucking wedding that it could ever be humanly possible to have, and the fans are all eating it up and just going absolutely nuts. (JJ and Isabella are positively green with envy, and pretty much triple the amount of lovey-dovey posts on their own accounts, but nobody outside of JJ’s fan club really notices.)

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omfgtrump · 5 years

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All The President’s Baristas

Thank God the Shutdown is over. Wilbur Ross can stop being perplexed about why F.B.I. agents needed to go to food banks; members of the Coast Guard can take those big ticket items off eBay and go back to apprehending drug smugglers and saving idiots who go boating in hurricanes; and furloughed workers can assess whether their time off from work was quality vacation time-maybe a trip to Disney with the family? And most importantly, The Don can get his hair coiffed for the “to be determined” State of The Union address that will deliciously be determined by Nancy Pelosi. (‘Please, pretty please, I did what you asked. Why can’t I make my speech as scheduled? Pretty please with a cherry on top!”)

The Don went from “no cave, no cave,” to folding like a lawn chair. Pelosi, a mother and grandmother, has plenty of experience dealing with children when they tantrum and that’s how she played it with The Don. She just said: No!

It wasn’t bad enough that The Don had to give in and open the government without a single penny for his cherished wall, but the F.B.I. showed up at Roger Stone’s home in Florida. Stone’s electronic devices were confiscated and he was hauled in to court and indicted on 7 charges. That’s one pretty bad day in Trumplandia.

youtube

Usually, when someone from The Don’s world gets indicted it is only a matter of time that Sarah “Hucksterbee” Sanders issues a statement claiming that the individual indicted is someone they barely knew; or in other words, was just a “coffee boy.” These days “coffee boy” is so old school and I wish they would get with the times and give them the credit they deserve and refer to them as baristas.

So let’s look at some of the baristas that have served up special brews during their association with The Don.

Stone was relegated to barista status the day after his arrest when The Don tweeted: ‘Roger Stone didn’t even work for me anywhere near the Election! WITCH HUNT!’

And sources have leaked that it is only a matter of time that The Don will recirculate an old trope 2008 nickname which labels him a “cold-stone loser” whom I would never have anything to do with because I only win. I guess Stone’s choice of brew would be “Stone Me Cold Brew?”

The iced coffee would come in mugs with Hallmark style quotes such as:

“You are a rat. A stoolie.” “I will rip you to shreds.” “Let’s get it on. Prepare to die.” (This was all said to Randy Credico, a Stone accomplice, who cooperated with the Special Prosecutor.)

The mugs would also feature an adorable dog (Credico’s) and in homage to the “Wicked Witch of the Wizard of Oz” a threat to “take that dog away from you.” And to add insult to injury, Credico’s dog is a therapy dog. I ask you: How low can one go! Shit, that’s some Cold Brew!

There will also be a special edition mug that has a photo of the tattoo Stone has of Richard Nixon on his back with the quote “I am not a crook.”

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I am so tickled that Steve Bannon (another man The Don barely knew!) has reentered the conversation after a world tour of fomenting dystopian right wing revolutions throughout the world.

The Don made it clear that Manafort’s shenanigans had nothing to do with him.

If you recall, The Don’s former adviser told the author Michael Wolff that he thought the Trump Tower meeting was “treasonous.” Yet he had no problem cooperating with WikiLeaks, according to the Stone indictment. He is apparently the “high-ranking Trump Campaign official” who asked Mr. Stone on Oct. 4, 2016, about future WikiLeaks releases. Three days later, after the first stolen emails from Mrs. Clinton’s campaign chairman, John Podesta, were released, one of Mr. Bannon’s associates texted Mr. Stone, “well done.”

So in honor of Steve we present “Burnt Roast”, a special blend for those who like their beans extra roasted or “well done.”

Let’s move on to the Paul Manafort. As a bonus, we get to bring back another oldie but goodie, former White House Press Secretary, Sean Spicer. If you recall he announced to the world that The Don’s inauguration was the most well attended ever despite photos clearly showing that Obama’s was much more bigly.

He also said claimed that Manafort played a “limited role for a limited amount of time.” Wrong! Manafort did not play a “limited role” in the campaign. He was involved with the campaign for five months, serving as campaign chairman for three of those months until he resigned in August of 2016.

Manafort has been convicted of numerous crimes and faces many years in prison. In his honor, we introduce the “Jailhouse Brew”, aka, Cafe Oleg (Derapsaka.)

And what about Georgie Papadopolous, the original ‘coffee boy?’

Michael Caputo, a former Trump campaign aide said this of Georgie:

“The guy was — he was the coffee boy,” “I mean, you might’ve called him a foreign policy analyst, but, in fact, you know, if he was going to wear a wire, all we’d know now is whether he prefers a caramel macchiato over a regular American coffee in conversations with his barista. He had nothing to do with the campaign.”

I wonder if the FBI served up some caramel macchiato while Georgie was lying to them regarding his interactions with Russia-linked contacts, including a promise of “thousands of emails” and “dirt” on Hillary Clinton.

And then there is Mike Flynn the ‘who’s he?” former National Security Advisor and Michael Cohen, the “he worked for me for 10 years as a legal counsel but did nothing for me” baristas.

Soon it will be Don Jr.’s turn to fact the music and The Don has already prepared a statement: “He’s not my child!”

Guess they are going to have to open up a few Starbucks in prisons in order to put all these baristas to work.

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usnewsaggregator-blog · 7 years

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Senator’s 1995 resignation followed years of sexual misconduct

New Post has been published on http://usnewsaggregator.com/senators-1995-resignation-followed-years-of-sexual-misconduct/

Senator’s 1995 resignation followed years of sexual misconduct

Paige Wagers had her skeevy encounter with the hardest-working tongue in Washington, D.C., in 1975, a few months after she finished college and went to work as a clerk for U.S. Sen. Bob Packwood.

She knocked at his office door one day. Here’s what she said happened next:

“Sen. Packwood was alone, and he immediately closed the door and did not say anything to me, but grabbed me and had me pinned backwards with my back to the wall. And before I could say anything — I was very shocked — he stuck his tongue in my mouth and was French kissing me, without ever asking me or saying anything … It took some force to get him to stop.”

The 21-year-old was far from alone in being set upon by Packwood.

SNL blasts alum Sen. Al Franken for sexual misconduct

Over a 25-year Capitol Hill career, the Oregon Republican smeared his saliva on dozens of others. And his “skirt problem” — the dismissive synonym for sexual assault in a political milieu — was an open secret.

Politicians accused of sexual harassment or assault

His loutishness was uncloaked when a freelance journalist talked with dozens of women whom the married Packwood had assaulted with unwanted kisses, gropes and more.

After denials, the senator was hoisted on a petard of own words — an exhaustive, preening diary transcribed by a secretary from daily dictation that began in 1969 and continued until smoochy got his comeuppance in the 1990s.

Decades later, amid a firehose of similar allegations, the case stands as a template of the difficulty women have in calling out criminal sexual behavior by men empowered by fame or status.

After the Roy Moore debacle, it’s clear the GOP has lost its soul

Packwood was a political boy wonder. Elected to the Oregon legislature at age 30 in 1962, he won a U.S. Senate seat just six years later.

Rep. Patricia Schroeder (D-Colo., third from left) leads other female house members and women who content they were targets of uninvited advances from Packwood on Capitol Hill in July 1995.

(DENIS PAQUIN/AP)

His political ideology would make him as rare as a unicorn today: a progressive Republican.

He supported abortion rights and equal rights for women. He counted Gloria Steinem among his fans. In 1979, Planned Parenthood gave Packwood its highest honor.

Progressive women loved his politics. And he tried to love them all back.

Cuomo aide sexually harassed woman for nearly a year: suit

He ordered aides to load his Senate and campaign staffs with attractive young women, like Paige Wagers.

Packwood’s “skirt problem” was well known around Washington.

(Denver Post/Denver Post via Getty Images)

When she complained to a supervisor about being accosted, he shrugged and advised her to avoid spending time alone with the senator.

In 1992, Florence Graves, a Boston freelancer, spent months compiling a dossier of Packwood’s alleged assaults. She found 40 women who said they were his victims — 10 former staff members, a few journalists, hotel clerks and miscellaneous state employees.

Graves was turned down again and again when she pitched the explosive story to newspapers and magazines. Finally, the Washington Post paired her with an investigative reporter and agreed to publish their account — although the story was held until Packwood was reelected to a fifth term in November 1992.

Harvey Weinstein had list of names to fight sex assault accusers

He swore to Graves that he was as innocent as an altar boy.

Senate Ethics Committee Vice Chairman Sen. Richard Bryan (D-Nev., right) gestures toward a stack of the committee’s report on the investigation of Packwood in September 1995. Committee Chairman Sen. Mitch McConnell (R-Ky., left) accused Packwood of “offensive, degrading” and illegal conduct and said he should immediately resign or face expulsion.

(John Duricka/AP)

“I just don’t make any approaches,” Packwood said. “It’s simply not my nature with men or women to be forward.”

When the story named names, Packwood skinned back.

“I never made a pass to anyone who was not receptive,” he said.

Clarence Thomas is confirmed to the Supreme Court in 1991

But among his accusers, the most damning assertion came from his estranged wife, Georgie, who left him after 27 years.

Packwood resigned in September 1995, but remains a powerful figure in Washington.

(MARK WILSON/ASSOCIATED PRESS)

“I have been aware of these allegations for many years,” she said. “It does not come as any surprise to me.”

As the Department of Justice weighed criminal charges, Packwood faced scrutiny by the Senate Ethics Committee, chaired by a young Kentucky senator, Mitch McConnell.

The ethics probe dragged on for two years as Packwood parried over release of his voluminous diary. He submitted some portions, including descriptions of how he got “just the right amount of bounce” in his combover hairdo, but redacted hundreds of entries concerning his sexual cavorting.

Adopted Calif. teen convinces boyfriend to kill parents in 1975

In the midst of this, William Safire of The New York Times played the Fox News role as the conservative scold who had the accused pol’s back.

Maura Roche (seated right) was among the women accusing Packwood of improper advances in September 1995.

(DON RYAN/ASSOCIATED PRESS)

In June 1995, when the Justice Department said Packwood would not be charged, Safire crowed that the senator had been exonerated. He called the Senate’s ethics investigation “pure McCarthyism” and ranted that the committee had “raped the privacy of every American” by demanding Packwood’s diary.

“Bob Packwood deserves an apology from this committee for a two-year ordeal of undeserved ridicule,” Safire declared.

But Packwood was caught in a web of his own dumbfounding (if exaggerated) words in the sexed-up diary entries. He boasted of “22 staff members I’d made love to and probably 75 others I’ve had a passionate relationship with,” of copulation on his office rug with “a very sexy woman,” and of sympathy sex with a lonely hearted staffer as an act of “Christian duty.”

Boston man who couldn’t face rejection shot girl 6 times in 1967

In one of his final entries, Packwood acknowledged “perhaps overeagerly kissing women.”

McConnell saw it differently, accusing his colleague of a “habitual pattern of aggressive, blatantly sexual advances, mostly directed at members of his own staff or others whose livelihoods were connected in some way to his power and authority as a senator.”

Facing expulsion from the Senate just 10 weeks after Safire’s screed, Packwood resigned in disgrace.

But he didn’t slink away from Washington. He went into lobbying and, in 1998, married Elaine Franklin, his former chief of staff. At age 85, he’s still a player in D.C.

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firstjustgoin · 7 years

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Other Women’s Boyfriends I’ve Loved

2003

When Georgia first tells me that she has a boyfriend, it’s between the last two stalls in the girl’s bathroom. I can only see her shoes dangling through the crack in the stalls, her gold high-tops and rainbow socks with the scalloped edges that I’ve always wanted but knew I could never pull off.

I think she’s telling me now, between pees, because she doesn’t want to see my face, or maybe she doesn’t want me to see her’s –– how the dark reds must have crept up her cheeks and into the curves of her ears.

“He’s super cool. Nothing like you think he’ll be like because, you know––” She’s referring to his tendency to wear his pants belted right below his butt, with Christmas or Halloween-themed boxers ballooning out above them or how he carries a skateboard with him everywhere but never rides it. “Yeah, okay,” I say but inside I’m thinking bitch. It’s not a word I’ve used out loud yet but it’s been used on me: just once in sixth grade when Johanna was waiting behind me to drink from the water fountain and I took too long or something so she shout-whispered bitch loud enough for the whole hallway to hear and start cackling.

The toilet flushes and then the door next to me creaks open and I realize that I’ve been just sitting here not saying anything for thirty seconds, maybe longer. I pull up my striped pink and white leggings over a pair of My Little Pony underwear I won’t even wear to sleepovers just in case anybody sees. Georgia’s layering on cotton candy lipgloss and making intense eye contact with herself in the mirror when I leave the stall so I just wash my hands quickly and mutter, “See you at passing” and let the bathroom door swing closed behind me.

Zack starts hanging with us at lunch, once or twice a week and it’s the first time I’ve ever eaten with a boy so I never knew how disgusting their eating habits were. He brings over two or three slices of sausage pizza and then drowns each slice with what he calls “special sauce”: a combination of ranch dressing, ketchup, and mayo. It makes me want to barf into my tuna sandwich, but Georgia –– a girl who forced me to have British tea parties until we were 11 –– just sits next to him, twirling her hair and laughing at all of his dumb jokes.

The first time I hear him tell her that he loves her is after school by the bike racks. We’re waiting for the bus and he’s just fiddling with the wheels of the skateboard I’ve still never seen him ride. We’re about to board the bus and all of a sudden they’re making out right in front of me –– their thick, messy tongues jousting between gaping, open mouths –– and then when they finally pull apart he looks right at her and says, “I love you, Georgie.” Bitch, bitch, bitch, I think all the way home until it doesn’t even sound like a word anymore.

They break-up and get back together more times than we have pop quizzes in math class. During one of their off times, Zack turns to me during the one class we have together and says, “Damn, what do you think Mr. Carlson did over the weekend? He looks like he got eaten and puked out by my cat.” I’m kind of shocked that Zack’s talking to me at all, especially since he just walked past me rubbing the shoulders of his sobbing ex-girlfriend less than an hour ago. But when I look at Mr. Carlson, I break out into a fit of laughter. His hair is moving in a million directions like it’s been electrocuted, his eyes are shining red, and his collared shirt is crinkled up too. He looks exactly like cat puke.

Zack starts laughing too and before we know it Mr. Carlson is standing right next to us saying, “Is there something you’d like to share with the class, folks?” and we shake our heads back and forth as hard as we can and say, “No sir” while biting the insides of our cheeks to keep from laughing again.

After that, we’re always laughing about something during 6th period History class. When Georgia tells me that they’re back together I say, “Yay! That’s awesome!” but I’m still thinking bitch like a metronome in my head, this time because I’m not even sure if she deserves him. He’s got dark green eyes and one of the few kids our age who’s managed to nearly escape puberty without any pimples or acne scars. He starts showing up in my dreams, laughing and smiling with his eyes looking right at me.

It’s almost Christmas vacation and Georgia and I are sitting in her kitchen looking at Florida Keys guidebooks in preparation for the family vacation I’m tagging along to.

“Hey, Nell,” she says quietly, her eyes still glued to the page about sea life off the Florida coast.

“Yeah?” I say, my mouth half-full of Cheerios.

“What if I told you that Zack’s gonna come with us? To Florida? That wouldn’t be weird, right?”

Wouldn’t be weird, right? I can’t say anything else but no so I shake my head and say, “no” when what I really mean is Yes, bitch, it would be weird and I hate you for even asking.

But I don’t say that, I don’t say anything not then and not for the whole four days we’re lying on the beach crisping up like toast left too long in the oven. I don’t say anything because Georgia’s weaving her fingers in his and sharing virgin mango daiquiris with the same curly straw and whispering “I love you” and rubbing up against each other when they think I’ve already fallen asleep.

2007

Emmanuel leans back in his chair while Ms. Neusen is looking the other way and whispers to me, “Hey, you got a piece of gum I can cop?”

I giggle nervously and fumble through my backpack looking for a loose stick of gum that isn’t coated with the crumby leftovers of the many extra large bags of Doritos I’ve been stuffing in my face in the car before pulling into my driveway. I find a clean stick and hand it to him wordlessly, afraid to make eye contact for fear that my face will erupt in a firework of pink hues.

When I finally get the courage to look up at him, he’s unwrapping the stick of gum, eyeing it with his dark brown eyes nestled below thick black eyebrows. He pops it in his mouth so casually like he’s doing a commercial for Trident. He turns back to me and smiles wide and says in a light singsong, “Nell rocks my world” to nobody but me.

I’m sprung.

I trace his full name into the tops of my desks during every class. Emmanuel David Díaz. I actually look forward to 1st period English. I toss and turn in my sleep on Sunday nights, imagining how he’ll saunter through the doorway into our class the next morning, his shaggy brown hair waving behind him like a cape.

You might not think to look at him, the quarterback of the football team, always surrounded by a hive of boys with small heads and large biceps, but he has real thoughts and feelings and maybe it’s because I’m currently living in a cesspool primarily devoid of both those things, but it makes me love him even harder.

Usually it starts real quiet and then builds. A quick nod and a “hey” when he slides into his desk next to mine. Ms. Neusen will say or do something ridiculous –– like attempt to use household appliances as metaphors for Romeo and Juliet –– and we’ll cover our mouths to mute the laughter and turn to each other with eyes wide.

“You think she practiced this one in the mirror this morning?” I say.

“Maybe to her husband over breakfast?” He says.

“I’m sure the dog had to sit through at least one rehearsal,” I say, before the giggles become too intense. I cover my face with my hand and turn away. He can’t see me like this.

Too sprung.

I’m an A student, honors English, but when I’m slouching in the back of Ms. Neusen’s first-period English Lit class with Emmanuel, I’m the class clown. Second and Third quarter report cards bewilder my parents. Turns in above average papers always on time, but does not know when to stop socializing in class. Smart but often insubordinate.

“Every single character in Shakespeare’s plays are insubordinate,” I say to my mom when she corners me in the kitchen while buttering my toast, “She really doesn’t give us very good role models.”

“Honey,” my mom sighs, her face stuck somewhere halfway between disappointment and bemusement, “Most of the characters in Shakespeare’s plays end up dead. I don’t think she’s trying to give you role models.”

I don’t tell her it’s because of a boy, the boy; the boy who has been taking up major real estate in my poetry journals for the last seven months and counting, the longest a boy has ever taken up residence there.

Cuz that boy can make a hill look like a giant mountain

he can make a flower look like a room filled with roses

like the sunshine has just come out after the storm.

When we’re exchanging jokes at the back of the classroom, it feels like we are levitating in a world without gravity, without reality. But then the bell rings and my stomach drops because I know what’s waiting for us right outside this door.

Leaning up against the lockers –– black choker around her neck, dark eyeliner painting her face, wearing a short black jean skirt –– is Louisa, Emmanuel’s girlfriend. She smiles when she sees him, wraps her long thin arms around his neck and plants a thick, wet kiss on his lips. His hands travel from her back down to her ass and I stand there for a few seconds too long, unable to remove my eyes from her tiny, little ass.

Louisa and Emmanuel are the couple everyone loves to spin stories about, no matter how true or false they are.

“I heard she went down on him in his mom’s Escalade on the side of the highway.”

“I heard they had sex in Conor’s dad’s pool after everybody passed out.”

“But she’s been fingering that foreign exchange student in the girl’s locker room during gym class.”

I stumble upon these glimmers of gossip like a peek into a portal to a world I can’t understand -– Escalades, oral sex, kegs, pool parties –– all of it pieces of him I never see in the back of Ms. Neusen’s 1st period English class. I can visualize this world only because of how I actually spend my Friday nights: cuddled up with Marisa and Ryan in The OC or Blair and Serena on Gossip Girl. When I imagine Louisa and Emmanuel having sex in a pool, it’s a villa overlooking the Pacific Ocean. When I imagine Louisa fingering a foreign exchange student, it’s in the coat check room at the Met Gala.

But when I’m sitting in the back of the class with him, I don’t tell him that’s how I spend my Friday and Saturday and Sunday nights. I don’t tell him that I line my eyes with black charcoal every morning only to rub it off before walking outside or how I listen to The Pussycat Dolls more than the Red Hot Chili Peppers. I slouch and chew contraband gum and laugh at all of his jokes, trying to cultivate that illusive low-maintenance personality that will make him realize that I see deep into his soul in a way none of his slutty girlfriends ever will.

2011

Wyatt and I met a couple years back at Freshman orientation, a hopelessly awkward time when everyone’s pretending they’ve had more sex and gotten drunker and have more cool friends from high school than they actually do.

Wyatt didn’t have any time for that shit, which I respected though couldn’t exactly emulate. He was part of a pack of boys, wild and rabid, on the hunt for frat parties they could get into and I had developed a bit of a reputation for sneaking into them. Total fluke. After a hot streak, my luck dried up and they went off wandering for the next party hopper to whom they could affix themselves.

But Wyatt stayed. On Friday nights when the rest of the dorm floor ventured off to find upperclassmen to buy them booze, we climbed up through the dense forested hillside next to campus and smoked weed, talking about the end of the world. It wasn’t imminent or anything, but when you’re a college freshman, riddled with anxious energy to know more than you do, talking about the end seemed fitting.

We’d stay up there until all the was left at the bottom of the bowl was ash and the early morning fog started descending from the sky. Then we’d stumble back down the hill grabbing blindly for branches when we tripped over tree roots and rocks.

After those first few months of college where you cling to whoever’s close by, we found ourselves flung to the opposite sides of campus: me staying up in bio labs late into the night instead of getting high and him jamming in underground shows in whatever band he was in that month. I’d get the occasional last-minute text invite for a while until even those dried up and then we’d nod to each other in the library and chat about whatever professor was killing us that semester, but never broached the subject of the inevitable apocalypse or even the destruction of the coral reefs.

We’ve reconnected recently, now that we’ve got a mutual group of friends who all get together to do improv together. I still can’t believe I’m in a college improv group given how much it used to scare the shit out of me in high school. Whenever I’m up on stage with the spotlights staring coldly back at me and I hear someone yell, “Give me a random word!” I freeze up and think for a second that I’m fifteen and part of some cruel practical joke.

After a big showcase event, we find ourselves squished together on a fraying, floral couch with god knows how many substances soaking into its cushions. Someone passes me a joint and we just turn to each other and start laughing and fall right back into it again.

“You read the story about the bees?” He says, his mouth turned downward but the creases along the edges of his green eyes betraying the laughter bubbling up.

“Oh yeah, fucking scary shit. And how about North Korea’s nukes?” “Fuck, I know. People are saying with what’s-his-face dead now that we might be able to intervene but I don’t know.”

“I know!” And we both crack up. He’s still the only person I know who can talk about worldwide nuclear warfare while laughing.

“Hey, babe!” I hear from across the room. It’s Margot, Wyatt’s girlfriend, who is cool as hell and made a big name for herself on campus recently for her feminist photography. She even got a cover of her period blood-stained underwear and bushy underarms on the front cover of a campus zine, much to the chagrin of the Board of Trustees. She ambles over to us and sits down on his lap, her long, hairy legs draping over mine.

“Hey Nell,” she says, “How’s the night? You killed it up on stage today.” I smile and squeeze her hand, “Oh I don’t know about that,” I say, pausing to exhibit proper modesty, “I think the whole team kicked ass.”

“Can I borrow Wy for a sec?” She asks as she pulls him up and towards the beer pong table. “I need him to do a celebrity shot.” I gesture a “go ahead” motion with my hands and watch and she leads him away.

Two lost games of flip cup and a chugging contest later, the whole world’s spinning, making me feel like one foot’s walking up a flight of stairs while the other foot’s trying to walk down. I rest my head on the side of the couch and after what I think is just a second, Wyatt’s leaning over me, shaking my shoulders and whispering, “Hey, Nell! Nell! You okay?”

I groan and try to sit up. The lights are dimmed and the room’s empty besides us, just littered with a bunch of crumpled red solo cups and PBR cans. “Er, yeah, I was just –– just sleeping it off a bit. But I’m feeling, just, uh, fine.”

He sits on the couch next to me and pulls my legs over his lap. “Yeah, you seem just, uh, fine to me,” he smiles and starts to rub my calves.

“Hey, Wyatt?” “Yes?”

“Is the world ending?” He laughs. “No, I don’t think it is yet. Though, if it was,” he pauses for a second and looks at me with his eyes suddenly wide and mischievous, “what would you want to do?” His hand is crawling up my leg towards the edge of my skirt. My heart’s pounding against the bone and for a second I think about pushing his hand away but the couch is so deep and soft and his hand feels like fire against my skin. I don’t push him away; I pull him in.

His tongue slips into my mouth at the same moment as his finger enters me and I want to say that I’m still drunk, but I don’t feel the alcohol anymore, just the buzz of synapses flying. I unbuckle his belt with one hand and plunge my hand onto his dick, hard and ready.

It’s not until he’s inside me that I realize that music’s still playing from speakers in the other room. I hear a man’s voice crooning and it takes me a second to realize who’s singing. John fucking Mayer. I can’t help it, I burst out laughing.

“Um. Yes?” He says while he rocks back and forth above me.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s just that ––” I think about trying to explain: the years I spent lying alone on my bed in my childhood bedroom, staring at the ceiling and imagining myself into the lives of my classmates. It was Heavier Things, it was Room for Squares that set the score for those interminable, pimpled years where my brain didn’t fit my body and my body did not fit my life.

But there’s a boy inside me and so I don’t say any of that. I just shake my head and mumble, “Ugh, tequila” and pull him closer and deeper.

When we’re done, he buttons up his pants as I clasp my bra, not needing to say a word. As I’m about to walk out, he grabs my hand and kisses me on the lips, barely a peck, and I shuffle the rest of the way home wondering what the fuck just happened.

The next time I see him is at a party a couple weekends after, in a black lit basement with a hanging beer pong table and a bar glued with beer bottle caps. College chic. I’m there with a group of other friends and I don’t even know he’s going to be playing, but there he is in the corner with his bass, hair falling in front of his face. My heart starts beating fast and I feel it in every part of my body. I stare shamelessly, waiting for him to look up and catch my eye.

Then I see her: Margot, standing to the side closest to him, staring too. She’s mouthing every word to this shitty college basement faux-rock and bouncing along with the bass. My heart’s beating like crazy now, but instead it feels like it’s crawling up my throat trying to escape.

When the music ends, I watch her step across wires and over speakers to get to him, her hands sliding into his back pockets and he kisses her, his hands covering both of her cheeks. I back into the corner of the room where the black light doesn’t hit and sink into the sticky concrete floor, feeling nothing but emptiness now buzzing inside me.

2017

The first time Paul and I speak, it’s with our backs on sticky linoleum floors of a fourth grade classroom, scraping gum off the undersides of the desks.

The janitorial staff is on strike again, and instead of offering to meet their demands, the superintendent's office has decided to initiate the adult version of chore charts for an already precarious teachers’ union. It’s mine and Paul’s turn to scrape the gum off the desks and it’s a duty I hold with the same amount of honor and responsibility as cleaning the errant pee off the bathroom floors in the kindergarten wing.

“This is karma, huh,” he says to me from under a desk in the next row.

“I’m sorry?”

“You know, for all of the gum I shoved under my desks when I was a snotty kid.” He rolls out from under the desk and I do the same, surprised to see a tall man in his early 30s with a full head of hair in front of me. Most teachers in this school are either 24-year-old white women straight out of education school or octogenarians.

“I’m Paul, by the way,” he reaches out his hand to shake mine, but changes directions mid-course. “I suppose this isn’t the best circumstance for a handshake.”

“I suppose not,” I say, and offer an awkward fist bump instead. “Oh, I’ve clearly been hanging around too many fifth graders.”

He laughs and reveals two rows of perfectly straight, white teeth. His mouth looks like the white picket fences lining the bougie part of town I sometimes drive through after work, just to remind myself to get the hell out of this town before I settle for a house barricaded by the suburban sprawl cliché.

“You new to Deer Park?” I ask, lamely, knowing the answer already as he begins to nod.

“Started last week, brought me in just in time for this rousing array of household chores. Left behind a cushy programming job for this too, can you believe it? But now I’m the newest intrepid Computers teacher, determined to make a difference by teaching third graders how to type 20 words a minute.”

“Have you seen a third grader recently? They can type 100 words a minute as long as it’s on Snapchat.”

“Oh god, we’re really old aren’t we?” He smiles again and this time his rows of pearly teeth reflect off the fluorescence in the room, shining like tiny moons.

We go from scraping gum after school to eating lunch in the teacher's lounge every day, talking about the latest murder podcast we’re listening to and quietly snickering while Brenda, the school librarian, stands in front of the refrigerator smelling her brand-new turkey sandwich only to decide it might have mold or salmonella or something and throwing it out.

My favorite part about being a teacher, besides the sweet perks, is the continual realization that the young, hip teachers I had growing up were all rushing home after a hellish day in the classroom to drink a bottle of wine or smoke a joint or have crazy sex with a stranger. It’s comforting to know that teachers have been defying stereotypes for generations just as much as the more adventurous chosen careers of my college friends, who are all investigative reporters and backpackers and third-year residents.

While everyone else at our quarterly appreciation parties (a half-hearted attempt from the administration to thank us for not striking) is shoving baby photos into each other’s faces and complaining about their IRA accounts, Paul and I sneak out to the playground and pull a few long drags off a joint one of us has in our pockets while taking turns pushing each other on the swings, feeling almost light enough to be seven again.

He’s the only one I can say these kids are the fucking worst to and he knows to read the love I have for them underneath the frustration. Other teachers just let their mouths hang open in disgust and whisper, “you shouldn’t say such things” like they are duchesses in Victorian England, the purveyors of decorum.

But something’s been off about Paul in the last couple days. We’ll be sitting at the corner table in the lounge and I’ll be telling him about one of my fifth grader’s writing a story about his sister having sex, and nothing. He’s a blank stare.

“You okay?” I ask, but he just shakes his head quickly and stands up, making up some excuse about prepping for next period.

Last week, we were both on lunch duty and I swear I saw him just mindlessly eat some leftover french fries off a kid’s tray, his eyes never leaving some indeterminate place on the wall.

When I finally get him alone, I circle around the elephant-sized silence in the room, and finally just blurt out all in one breath, “So what’s going on? You seem a billion light years away these days.”

He nods, not betraying even a glimpse of his teeth. “I’m sorry, Nell. It’s been a week from hell.” He sucks in a huge, heavy breath. “We were at the doctor last week. Actually, four fucking doctors, all more clueless than the last.”

My brain’s turns off slightly at the first mention of we, a pronoun I usually try to ignore coming from him. We means him and his girlfriend, nearly fiancé, once he saves up enough cash to buy the engagement ring. The older female teachers love chatting him up to ask about what kind of proposal he’s going to do and I spend about as much of that time talking about how expensive proposals and weddings are an archaic symbol of a sexist society.

I think my face is showing the proper amount of concern, though, because he keeps talking. “They, well the last two doctors who finally got a good read of her test results, think it’s cancer. Fuck I just, I can’t deal with her having cancer. ” He pauses there and finally looks up from his twitching hands at me, and I’m at a near loss.

“Shit. That’s so scary, I’m so sorry. That’s the fucking worst,” I say. “What happens next?” I’ve watched my mom navigate grieving people my entire life like a master. She’s an empathy machine, always knowing exactly the right questions to ask and the right amount of sadness to express personally. I did not accrue those skills. I hide in bathrooms at funerals, stuff too many hors d’oeuvres into my mouth and just say weakly, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry” if I have to speak the grieving person directly, while thinking what good is I’m sorry when someone they love is fucking dead? What good is an apology in the face of death?

For someone who spends so much of her time thinking about death and how life on earth will end, I am remarkably inept at dealing with actual, in-your-face death or dying. Paul knows this; we’ve talked about this a million times, but here he is telling me that the woman he wants to spend the rest of his life with has tumors literally growing inside of her and I can’t do anything but throw these weak-ass apologies in his face.

I don’t talk about murder with him anymore and he doesn’t either. During lunch, he’ll call home to check in on his girlfriend and I’ll watch Brenda sniff and sniff each corner of her sandwich while sliding further and further into my chair. When we do eat together, I test the waters with what kinds of conversation topics he can stomach.

“You hear about that conspiracy with the dogs Vulture posted this morning?” I ask. “It’s actually crazy; there was this huge investigative piece that came out about the town across the river that’s literally taking people’s dogs and bringing them to a kill shelter.“

Paul’s sipping a diet coke and nods, “Yeah, Jenna was texting me about this today. She thinks we shouldn’t even let our dogs go outside anymore in case they come by our neighborhood.” Jenna’s losing her hair, I see it on the cuffs of Paul’s jeans. Thick clumps of dyed red hair wrapping around him like chains.

I’ve gone too dark; I try to pivot back. “You missed it the other day, Frieda brought her dog in for her parent-teacher conferences and it shit all over the Hendersons. They had a field day, talking about suing the school or something for damages. I don’t know who I hate more: rich people or fucking dogs.”

“I can’t believe you don’t like dogs. There’s something seriously broken about you,” Paul says, laughing. “Sometimes I think our dogs are like the biggest thing in my life right now.”

I’m walking out of school the next day and I see him sitting on the benches in front of the bus stop, his tie pulled out and hair all mussed up. I’m about to head over to check in on him until I hear him whisper yelling on the phone.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s all unimaginably worse for you, but you’ve gotta understand the position you’re putting me in,” he’s saying, his perfect moon teeth gritted so tight, I’m surprised I can understand a word coming out of his mouth.

Picking a fight with a cancer patient. Classy, Paul.

“I’m about to come home, can’t we just talk about this there? I’m just exhausted is all. Today, a kid puked on my shoes. And like a fucking maniac he just wiped off his mouth and kept typing.”

I lean awkwardly against the bike racks and pretend to flip through Facebook, a skill I’ve perfected after a year-long teaching gig with 11th graders. High Schoolers can ingest social media while listening in on their friends’ conversations like master multi-taskers.

“I’m trying. I just don’t feel like you’re hearing me at all. I’ve got nine hours a day in this sinkhole of a school and then I come home and it’s just ––” He puts his hand up to his eyes like he’s about to cry and I think about walking back into the school, awash with shame over witnessing this moment of naked sadness.

It feels like a minute passes while we’re both suspended in silence.

Then he snaps. “Fucking great. See ya.” He pushes his finger hard to his touch screen and slams his phone into the briefcase beside him on the bench.

I begin ambling down the steps, pretending I just walked out of school while still aimlessly refreshing Facebook every few seconds.

He looks up at me with bloodshot eyes.

“Oh hey, Paul. What’s up?” I say with the same amount of nonchalance as a rocket launcher.

He shakes his head but says nothing. I reach out my fingers to touch his shoulder but curl them back to my palm.

I look back and forth quickly to the edges of the empty parking lot. It’s Friday afternoon and everyone’s long since run off to their respective cocoons. “Wanna get high?” I ask and he smiles for the first time in what seems like a long time and follows me to our cars, parked side by side in the abandoned parking lot.

We sit on a bench off the highway for an hour smoking and saying almost nothing at all. It’s 78 degrees and humid for late spring, but my whole body is shivering like every hair on my arms and neck is being pulled separately, invisibly. I drive the rest of the way home with our last interaction playing on repeat in my head: his swollen eyes staring into mine, his body leaning towards me until finally, smiling faintly, he just says, “Thank you, Nell” and then drives away. Maybe I’m stoned, but it’s the closest I’ve ever felt to a man in my life and I can’t shake the electricity from my veins.

The next morning I awake before sunrise, just as the warm glow peeks out from above the horizon. I run through my neighborhood, my legs feeling powerful and assured, watching as the first lights flicker on in living rooms and dogs bark to be taken out for a walk. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been up to watch the first moments of a stranger’s daily routine; to watch them brush the sleep from the corners of their eyes through filtered light, the muted yawns while slouching against the kitchen counter watching the coffee drip, drip, drip through the percolator.

When I started teaching, at a school as far up in Bronx as you can get without being in Yonkers, I would roll out of bed like a knot of hair and bad breath and clumpy mascara. I lived in a six bedroom loft in Bushwick at the time, where the walls didn’t quite reach the ceilings and I could hear my roommates tripping over shoes in the hallway at 3:00 am with random people they’d met at bar, followed by low moans and the creaks of bedsprings long into the night. I was young enough at the tie that I could delude myself into thinking that I wasn’t gentrifying Bushwick; I was hovering there like a spectre until I could jet out of its muggy concrete streets and back into a land that made sense –– upstate maybe or out west, a place that aimless twenty somethings settled into like sand on a layer of glue.

I would catch the L at Wilson and take it across the bridge to Union Square at the same time as the street vendors and morning TV crews, all of us staring at nothing across subways and in empty platforms, imagining ourselves into other lives. Then I’d catch the 4 up to Woodlawn just as most of my students would be eating breakfast, willing myself into waking up in time to teach a class on To Kill a Mockingbird or All Quiet on the Western Front, or whatever unrelatable lesson plan I had been assigned to teach that day.

One year and I was burned out, pushed out of the Bronx and New York City altogether by my own incompetence and inability to mold my life to the thrum of the city while expecting it to mold itself to me. A classic New York failure story. I moved out the next summer with a teaching degree and a year of trauma under my belt and $250 in my savings account.

I teach fifth grade in the burbs now at a school with a compost heap and an annual gala planned by their Parent Teacher Association with literary themed cocktails. Tequila Mockingbird, the moms order at the bar and laugh and laugh and laugh. The same moms who storm into my classroom during parent-teacher meetings to demand I structure my lessons around Tommy’s learning style. He really prefers to meditate while learning math, I’m sure that won’t trouble you.

After five years, teaching here has settled into this one-note, tasteless, perfectly straight road leading nowhere. Until I met Paul under the desks, smelling like Bubblicious and Old Spice.

I can’t fully explain what this sense of closeness is with a man whose life I just hover around, but it’s addicting. I want him to know me without having to risk an emotional investment; I want to know him without worrying about his attachments to the world outside of me.

I don’t tell my friends any of this. I let Paul float like a fantasy coloring my living reality. During the day, I watch him from across the playground, chasing kids across the blacktop with his arms flailing wildly. But at night, he is the person who infects my thoughts just as I’ve released conscious control while falling asleep, the one who sneaks into my dreams and smiles 32 moons.

On Monday, Paul comes in and he looks like a new man, his face aglow and doing everything but literally whistling as he saunters down the hallway. I wait until lunch and corner him in the teacher’s lounge. “You look happy. Anything in particular?”

He whirls towards me and for a second I think he’s going to lift me up in the air or something he’s got so much energy. “I proposed,” he says, his eyes sparkling.

“You what?” I say, forgetting to be cool or calm or collected or all of the other things I imagine a Cosmopolitan article titled “10 Tips & Tricks for Reacting to When the Man You Thought You Loved Gets Engaged” might suggest.

“I proposed, Nell. Jenna said yes. We’re getting married! Obviously, it’s going to be crazy. We trying to do it by the end of the summer, you know, while she’s still got energy and before the next round of chemo, but we’re doing it. Oh my god, I can’t believe we’re doing it.” This is the most I’ve ever seen him talk, except when he’s high and talking about the history of astronomical discovery or something else I thought he only talked about with me. I know better now.

“Holy shit, dude. That’s incredible. How incredible! What an incredible thing.” Does he notice that I’m repeating myself because my brain’s buffering and can’t move past it? “I’m so happy for you,” I say, hoping that he can’t hear the flatness of my voice from his perch in the clouds.

I can’t look at him, the joy radiating from him, the love he sees beyond the walls of this elementary school, the future he sees with a woman who might not make it past the next teacher appreciation party. I hate how much I hate a woman whose body is literally crumbling inside her but whenever I think about the love she’s taken from him, I can only think bitch, bitch, bitch like a metronome in head.

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