Longing for a World That Is Not My Own

⟡ Laine | 19 | she/her ⟡

[lamoobsessions]

𝙈𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

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Check out my AO3 :P @lamolaine

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Maze Runner:

Newt: In the Embers of Light, I See my Love for You -Set at the Safe Haven, two people hopelessly infatuated with each other carry a conversation about memories and the act of starting over again. Scorched Dissonance (Chapter 1, an AO3 series) -"Y/N. Group B. Subject B3. 'The Abandoned'." is left behind with Aris in the complex, their supposed "rescuers", put them in. Later, they find a group in a situation similar to their own, Group A. Together they must undergo "Phase Two" of the trials. Through it all, Y/N finds herself getting increasingly closer to a certain boy in Group A, Newt. Devotion rises and tension follows. With the outside world in shambles, can one still find warmth?

Bottoms (2023):

Hazel Callahan: Ideal Date -Celebrity AU, loosely based on Dove Cameron's song, 'boyfriend'. Fortune for the Fools -After an underwhelming proverb from an underwhelming fortune teller at the county fair, you have an unexpected run-in with Hazel. To Guild A Lily (Part two...) -You and Hazel have been together for six months now and things have been going really great. That is, until you stupidly invite her to meet your family over spring break -your family, who does not know you're gay.

The Last of Us:

Ellie Williams

Coming soon…

[ballard96]

[moth1ka]

Me after clicking a p link thinking it was a fic rec.

Jumpscare.

[fangstifi3d]

im gonna be FEINING for them DELICIOUS, SCRUMPTIOUS dispatch x reader fics that are finna pop up

[ko0tiesnbeans]

THATS MY LUCKY CHARM

Sean you absolutely ate this role up

[lamoobsessions]

To Gild A Lily

Synopsis: Returning from the disastrous trip home, Hazel and you try to figure things out.

Warnings: Homophobia, very little use of y/n, we're getting cheesy this chapter

Word Count: 7k

A/N #1: If any of you still care, here it is! If there are any spelling/grammar mistakes, I'm sorry, it's nearly 1am while I'm writing this, and I'm tired.

A/N #2: I'M SO SORRY, PLEASE FORGIVE ME. I went on hiatus with the worst possible story I could have done that with, so genuinely, I'm very sorry. Life has been so incessantly busy and draining, I've had no motivation to write something so personal and complicated. This story was initially a way for me to vent, but then it slipped into something tangible, so yeah :) I hope you enjoy!

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It’s nearly one in the afternoon by the time you get out of bed. Neither you nor Hazel bothered to unpack last night, you simply kicked off your shoes, placed the luggage in your room, and collapsed onto the bed. 

Ever since you left that smothering hometown, you’ve tried so hard to keep it together, to not let your family’s stupid remarks get to you, but as each second passed and the more you held it all in, the more it all began to hit you. 

Everything is different now.

“Morning,” Hazel's voice called in a soft tone. At first you couldn’t pinpoint where exactly her voice came from, til you glanced past the foot of the bed where she sat crouched by her suitcase shuffling through her clothes. She was out of her sleeping clothes, currently dressed in her signature pair of jeans and a baggy sweater.

“Morning,” you mutter, sitting yourself up against the headboard, desperately trying to shake off the heavy drowsiness that comes with sleeping in til noon. Your eyes meet the suitcase. “Are you leaving?” You ask, trying not to sound too disappointed, knowing that after last night's events, she has every right to leave.

She zips her suitcase with an absent look, as if she hadn’t heard what you said. The clarity of your words seem to finally hit her as her expression contorts with a subtle concern, “Do you want me to?”

“No,” you answer immediately, wishing you would bite your tongue. “But I… I understand if you don’t want to be here. “

Hazel bites the inside of her cheek, as she looks to her feet. Typically, She was an easy person to read, but now, she feels miles away -completely and entirely off your radar.

 “I’ll stay for as long as you'll have me.”  She softly smiles for what feels like the first time in years.

You return her smile, though you can’t help but fear keeping her close when she doesn’t want to be. In a way that feels beyond selfish, you need her here. Even though you ruined her spring break in just one night, the thought of being alone sounds unbearable. 

A spurt of light in your peripheral catches your attention. On the nightstand, your phone flashes its lockscreen, revealing the numerous calls and texts from your family; your mother  especially, who has tried to call you an ungodly amount of times. 

The sight made you feel a multitude of things - things that you don’t yet understand. In a strange way, you’d rather your phone be devoid of any contact from them. No apologies, no excuses, no explanations. Nothing would suffice for the hurt they have caused. The idea of talking to them again made this slow, sinking feeling inside you only grow deeper. 

Their words could only ring through your head, over, and over, and over again. 

‘You know what we mean,’

They couldn't even say it, but in the same sense, neither could you. But Why? Why couldn't you say it? Why did saying ‘gay’ in front of them sound like a bad word? You thought you conquered that label, you thought you finally felt comfortable with your sexuality. But yet, you couldn’t even say it. You felt weak. Weak because the lump in your throat hasn’t vanished. Weak because you couldn’t stand up to them and tell them about Hazel sooner. Weak, because Hazel can still bear to talk to you after all of it. 

Hazel, whose eyes now dart across your features, searching for insight. 

“Are you okay?” she asks. 

You think for a moment that you must look as helpless as you feel. 

All those years growing up in that scathing town, with your only sense of right or wrong being skewed by the fear of the unconventional. All those years of feeling crazy for looking at your girl friends and thinking it would be so much easier if everyone was just a little more forgiving. All those years of feeling unseen, unheard, misunderstood; all of it, crumbling down with three simple words.

Are you okay?

Biting back an inescapable cry, you shake your head, and the tears finally fall. Before you can ever meet her gaze, Hazel is already there with her arms enveloped around your shoulders. It’s mystifying, the way she holds you with no somber, no unnecessary pity. She holds you as if she hopes to absorb the anguish, to obliterate it completely. 

With her gentle fingertips gliding circles across your back, you wonder if you deserve such comfort. It creates a profound dissonance, one that races back and forth in your mind, like a ball bouncing from one side of the court to the other. 

A part of you wants to embrace all the solace and warmth she has to offer. You want to take it all in, hoard it like an unhealthy habit. But the other part of you wants to push it away, tell you it’s wrong to accept such a wonderful thing after tainting it with fear. 

“I’m sorry,” you breathe, though the words only breach the surface of all the things you could say. 

For a moment she doesn’t say anything. She only holds you tighter, til the thrumming of your heartbeat can be felt against her chest. ”Don’t be sorry, baby.” she finally whispers. 

You want to say more, say that she’s wrong, that you have every right to be sorry. There are so many things being left unsaid. 

‘I wish I were stronger for you,’ 

‘I just wanted to protect you from them -protect myself from them.’

‘I don’t deserve this.’

The words bubble up past your throat, but they can’t seem to surface. The fight in you has drained. No longer can you spare the breath to form sufficient enough words that could express a proper apology. So you sit there, her body pressed to yours, and you cry til your breath sticks to your throat. 

…

When you sleep in till noon, the afternoon tends to slip into the night without warning. Though, it’s better this way. The faster the days pass, the sooner you can put all of this behind you. It’s easier to let time heal familial wounds than to confront them head on. 

With the refusal to leave the apartment or dirty the kitchen, takeout was ordered and delivered before the two of you could choose something to watch on the television. Eventually, a nature docu-series was settled on. It was a weird ritual the two of you had. As much as both of you loved watching studpid reality TV series together, nature documentaries seemed to triumph most nights; Specifically on those lazy nights filled with styrofoam to-go boxes and flat sodas.  

Maybe it was the mediocracy of the documentary, or your full belly from all the food, or the human-furnace that is Hazel cuddled behind you, but sleep came surprisingly easy on that unforgivably uncomfortable couch. 

This sleep didn’t last long.

With great dismay, you opened your heavy eyes to find it was just past 3am. To wake up around this time typically meant it would be impossible to fall back into a comfortable sleep. You find that it’s best to submit to the restlessness rather than lie with your eyes closed and thoughts racing. The absence of distractions could only do you worse. So, trying your best to avoid making any sort of movement that could disturb Hazel's sleep, you reach for the to-go cup on the coffee table, desperate for any sort of substance. At this point the drink was merely melted ice with a drop of soda left, yet it was the best concoction to ever hit your throat at that moment. 

As you sip the cup dry, the TV continues to play that same docu-series, the volume just above a soft mutter. Remnants of blue light pool into the living room, nearly blinding your tired eyes when you try to glance in its direction. It took a moment for your brain to even comprehend what the docu-series was going on about. 

“Around half of panda births are twins. After labor, the mother will spend weeks fasting, virtually doing nothing but care for her two cubs.” The narrator sounds like someone doing a very poor Morgan Freeman impression, or maybe it was Morgan Freeman himself and you’re just too tired to know?

However, the twins rarely survive as a pair. After two weeks pass, the mother has already determined which cub has best conformed to the wild’s demands. The chosen offspring will continue to be cared for, while the other starves. Though this isn’t always the case-

That was all you wanted to hear. You’ve had enough of these familial problems; panda or human. You switch the show to a random sitcom, rest your eyes, and try to drown your thoughts with the cliche dialogue sounding from the television. You can only hope that sleep will come soon. 

…

You would be amiss to say you ‘woke’ to the smell of coffee. Last night you didn’t sleep in any way that would constitute being ‘awoken.’ The “sleep” you got last night wasn’t anything beyond an insufficient mediation. Nevertheless, the smell of coffee eventually became pungent enough to kickstart your consciousness with the first thought you’ve had since 3am last night: What time is it?

With a simple tap on your phone resting on the coffee table, the time read 10:30. Reluctantly, you sit up from your spot on the couch, allowing your eyes to travel to the source of the caffeinated smell. Hazel busied herself in the kitchen, buttering herself a piece of toast. 

The thought hit you that you had no groceries. Expecting to be gone for the entirety of spring break, you used all the perishable items in the fridge before leaving. Your pantry was likely devoid of anything good. Making a note to visit the grocery store, you approach the kitchen bartop and offer a tired smile to Hazel as she meets your eyes. 

“Morning,” she greets with a smile. 

“Morning.”

A silence hung in the air, as if a question had been left unanswered. Maybe she had noticed the bags under your eyes, or maybe she felt you incessantly squirming next to her last night; either way, it was evident to her that you hadn’t slept well. You could see the subtle worry in her expression that she was hopelessly trying to hide.

The two of you have yet to talk out what happened at your parents house and the silence that followed during the car ride home. So naturally, the air felt heavier. 

Hazel takes the coffee pot from the machine, before silently asking if you’d like some with a small gesture of the pot. You nod, to which she grabs two mugs from the cabinet and pours to their fill. 

“How long have you been up?” You ask, trying to break the fog.  

“Around eight thirty-ish.” Hazel shrugs, passing you a mug along with the creamer. 

“Eight thirty? I’m sorry, I should’ve woken up sooner to keep you company.”

“No, no, It’s alright!” She assures with a slightly eager tone.  “It gave me some time to get some work done.”

“Work? Over spring break?”

“An engineering major’s work never ends…unfortunately.”

You manage a huffed laugh, smiling into your mug before taking a cautious sip through the forewarning steam. Though Hazel had no way of knowing what she had done, as it was never verbalized, she gave you your favorite mug. Your mom had given it to you as a farewell gift for college. The thing is incredibly cheesy. Printed in, what you believe to be the most millennial font ever, is the phrase: ‘but first coffee.’ She had this proud grin on her face when she gave it to you. She thought it was the most charming little piece of ceramic ever made, and in an ironic way, you found it funny. The sight of it used to make you smile, now, of course, the sight of it made your heart heavy.

“How are you feeling?” Hazel asks, breaking the spur of memories reeling in your mind.

Awful, truthfully. Though, truthful feelings are the hardest to verbalize. 

“Tired.” a response that is true, in an literal and emotional sense 

Hazel only lifts her brows, a genuine concern painted across her features. But something seemed to stop her from questioning further. 

“So…What do you think about getting out of this stuffy ol’ apartment today?”

“Stuffy?” you ask with an empty offense. 

“You know, maybe get breakfast? Go on a walk? What do you say?”

“I would say I still feel tired.”

“Come ooonnnnn,” she begs, leaning over the counter to grab both your hands. “I think it would do both of us some good.”

After a look of complete indifference from you, Hazel seems to make up her mind for the both of you. “We’re getting breakfast, on me.”

“Nooo,” you whine, lying your head on the bartop.  “Why can’t I just stay here and moan and groan in bed all day.”

“Well I can make that happen too.” she remarks with a smirk.

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Shut up.”

“Later then,” she winks, walking around the counter to pull your reluctant body off the stool. “Get dressed and ready. I promise it won’t be awful.”

“Promise promise?”

“I promise promise, triple promise.”

“And you won’t be embarrassed to be seen with me if I look like an ancient being who’s never slept a day in their life and was just hit by a truck.”

“Mmmmmm,” Hazel ponders with a grin, looking to the ceiling. “I will be embarrassed, but only because even when you look like that you’re still somehow out of my league.”

You tilt your head back with a laugh. “Ew, shut up! You’re so cheesy!”

“Oh come on, you love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

Her hand slides up the back of your neck, gently guiding your head to tilt forward and meet her gaze. “Fortunately,” she chirps, “for me.”

You shake your head, trying to play it cool, but the red on your face deceives you.  Keeping composure becomes impossible when Hazel cradles your jaw and presses her lips to yours. It felt like a reset the way your body tensed with anticipation before melting into the kiss, allowing every fiber of your being to flip and flutter with charge. In this moment, you feel no exhaustion, no frustration, no guilt, no despondency. You feel her and all the infatuation she makes your feel for her. 

The moment ends too soon when Hazel pulls away and smiles, “Now get ready.”

…

In a college town there’s always a plethora of cafes and breakfast spots to choose from. When choosing where to settle for a coffee, to you and Hazel it was a matter of atmosphere and privacy. If the cafe felt cold or overly crowded, it was an instant no. That’s why the quaint cafe off of 21st street was the chosen spot. It was the go-to study spot back when the two of you were just friends helping each other pass the excruciatingly boring Gen Eds. Part of you misses those days, back when you and Hazel would have classes together. Since you both are further in your major, the two of you never have the same classes anymore. Luckily, you and PJ still had some classes together here and there. 

All that to say, the quaint cafe is a nostalgic spot; a spot that brings you back to those simpler times -or at least they feel simple now. 

After ordering, the two of you naturally gravitated to a table in the corner. It was the same table you sat at the first time you and Hazel came here. From all the empty tables you could’ve taken that day, the spot called to you,  partially because it was a window seat, but also because of the poster pinned on the wall right above one of the chairs. It read: 

‘Don’t dream it, drink it!’ 

In the background was a dolled up Tim Curry as Dr. Frank-N-Furter; he holds a poorly edited cappuccino in his open hand. It was brilliant, you thought.

Today, the magic of the cafe felt dull. It had no reason to feel that way. The smell of coffee and fresh bread lingered as usual. There were five other people in the buildinging, aside from the baristas. The weather was beautiful, and the sunshine pooled from the streetside windows almost perfectly. Nothing, aside from yourself, could be the source of its supposed ‘dullness.’ 

Your head just wasn’t in it today, and you’re sure it won’t be for a while. 

“You know, I always thought it would be cool to run a coffee shop like this one.” You suddenly speak. An attempt to distract yourself from the impending overstimulation.

“Yeah?” Hazel questioned, taking her seat across from you. “Why not pursue that?”

“Eh, i don’t know. The monotony, I guess? And the stress of running a small business? Plus it’s a lot of work.”

“Yeah, but all good things come with hard work.”

You hum into your drink. “So wise.”  You would’ve chosen to have another coffee if a surplus caffeine didn’t make your hands violently shake. So in place of coffee, a pressed juice should suffice. 

“Well, I’m full of wisdom.”

“Yes you are.”

Regarding your lack of a snarky response, something twists in Hazel’s expression. It’s subtle, nothing she intended for you to notice. But then again, Hazel was never good at hiding what she was thinking. She wore her heart on her sleeve, as her mom would say. 

The day you met Hazel’s mom was unexpected. Unbeknownst to Hazel, Miss Callahan was in town for the day. Hazel spotted her outside your work, where she was supposed to pick you up and take you out to lunch. Miss Callahan was there for work, something about a meeting or merger or some business thing. Apparently, she spotted Hazel before Hazel spotted her, and was evidently shocked to see her daughter. Eventually, you came outside of work to meet Hazel only to find her and her mother chatting it up outside. The lunch date was soon turned into a dinner date with the addition of Miss Callahan. 

The woman was an enigma to you. You couldn't quite figure her out. She seemed to love and care for her daughter, but at the same time, she visited her daughter's college town and forgot it was her daughter’s college town.. Suffice it to say, you think she likes you. 

“Was your mom always that supportive of you? You know, with being gay and all.”

Hazel stops before she taking a bite of her chocolate croissant, the sudden question catching her by surprise. “Umm… I think so. I mean, I never really ‘came out’ to her.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well she’s… I don’t know. My mom’s complicated in a way where she cares about me and what I’m doing and if I’m safe. But she’s always kind of been,” she pauses a moment, seemingly looking for the right word. “distracted? I guess? I started making things obvious and she just kind of accepted it eventually. It turned from, ‘do you have your eye on any cute boys at school?’ to ‘do you have your eye on any cute girls at school?’”

“So one day she just determined it for herself.”.

“Pretty much. Made things pretty easy for me.”

“What about your dad?” You don’t know much about Hazel’s father, except that he divorced Miss Callahan a while ago and left no contact. Hazel had said it didn’t affect her nearly as much as it affected her mother; it changed Miss Callahan in so many ways. 

“I’m not sure. He wasn’t at the house much, always at work or whatever else he was doing. He didn’t really get to know me, so in return I didn’t really get to know him. He wasn’t really a dad to me -just some guy that my mom loved who happened to live in our home.” She shrugged and took a bite of her food. Looking at her change in demeanor, she must’ve not liked her wording tone. She appeared more present with herself now. 

“I mean,” she adjusted her posture and swallowed her food, “I don’t say that in a sad way. I really wasn’t interested in who he was, mostly because I didn’t like the way he operated when he was home. You know, he’d come home from a long day at work and just sit on the couch and leave his things scattered around the house, knowing it drove my mom up the wall. So, I didn’t really like him much. Even the way he breathed and ate annoyed me at times. It’d make me furious. And I hated feeling that way about my dad, cause, you know, he’s is technically my dad.”

It’s interesting, you always thought most people started distancing themselves from their parents when they were much older, mostly having responsibilities of their own and having no time to be consistent with familial matters. But it seemed Hazel had distanced herself from her father at a young age, and you realize now that you have done the same. There were times in your childhood when distance was the only means of self expression. When being alone became the only place where you could be your entire self. It takes a strong certainty of oneself to express yourself so freely, and Hazel had that. 

“Sorry,” Hazel added, pulling you out of your head. ”That was like… an unwarranted tangent.”

“No, no. Don’t be sorry. I just… I know what you mean, it’s kind of a strange balance between being a daughter and being your own person.”

“Exactly,” Hazel answers. “But, in the end, he was a man before he was my father. And I think that made it easier to give up on trying to be his daughter. I started being myself before meeting their expectations of who I am supposed to be.” 

“And that worked for you? Just letting go of expectations?”

“Well it’s not like he expected much from me in the first place.” Hazel huffs a laugh. “But for the most part it worked. It made things a little easier when he left.”

You consider her words for a moment, wondering if you could ever do the same for yourself -let go. What would that entail? What would that look like? Relief? Freedom? Remorse?

“Do you ever miss him?” you ask. 

She looks around the cafe a moment, her eyes glazing over with thought. “Somehow… I still do. Not as much as I did in high school, but sometimes. It’s mostly the idea of having a father that I miss. Without him, I worry about my mom. Like… I know she doesn’t need a man, but I don’t want her to feel lonely or feel like she doesn't have anyone. So, in that way, I guess I do miss him at times. But I know it’s better for the both of us that he’s not in the picture anymore.”

That was an answer you didn’t expect. Hazel never mentioned her father, nor expressed any undying worry for her mother. She was reclusive in that way; never the venting type. It took persistent effort to get her to open up about certain things. She was good at putting on a front, acting like everything is fine when something bothers her. But you could see through the cracks. You could see the subtly faded smile, the nervous twisting of her rings, the overly kind pitch of her voice. And you let her get away with these acts sometimes, knowing some things just need time. 

“It’s good that the two of you have each other.”

The corners of her lips curve and she smiles with a nod. “Yeah.”

A silence soon follows, a silence only intermittently broken by the sound of busy baristas, brushes of steam from the coffee machines, and the soft indie music echoing from the cafe speakers. 

You taste the juice on your tongue, swishing the pulp at the bottom of the bottle and watching as it settles back to the bottom.

“What’s on your mind?” 

You look up to find Hazel staring right back, her eyes searching your expression. And it would seem she found something, judging by her perturbed expression. 

“You look a little lost.” 

You sigh with a shrug. “You just got me thinking is all.”

Her brows raise, a silent push for you to continue. 

“I don’t know if I can let go.” you begin. “I don't think my parents were ever a bad parents. You know, when my sister and I were born, they dropped everything to take care of us. My dad quit his dream job just so he could be involved in our childhoods. My mom dropped out of college…Dad would drive me to soccer practice when I was little, mom bought me art supplies when I said I liked coloring, they both signed me up for self defense when I said I was going to the city for university. I always thought they genuinely cared, but now… You know I question if that was ever true. If all it takes for them to finally push me out is coming out to them… then I guess they never really cared. I guess they were both  doing what they thought parents ought to do -at least until it compromised their…whatever. Their beliefs? Their expectations of who I'm supposed to be?” 

Hazel rested her hand on yours, intertwining her fingers with yours. She squeezed your hand the same way she did on the ride away from your parents house that night.  

“You don’t know if they pushed you out yet. They’re just processing everything. They’re taking time in the same way you are.” 

“Not according to my inbox. “ you let out a hurt laugh. “It seems like they are very ready to talk.”

“Have you read any of it?”

“No…I don’t know if I have the heart to.”

“That’s okay. I’ll be here with you every step of the way.”

“Thanks,” You smile earnestly. But, everything still felt shaky, like you hadn’t put the pieces of your pain together yet, and things with Hazel still felt unfair, like she shouldn’t be so understanding, her presence and reassurance were still the only thing keeping you together. 

“Why do you think I still care so much about what they think?” You ask after a moment’s thought.  “I mean, it shouldn’t matter any more, right? I know what I value, and it’s obvious we don’t see eye to eye, so why do I care so much?”

She pursues her lips, taking a deep breath in, before looking down to the table. Growing up in a household that didn’t value conversational presence, it was refreshing that Hazel gave her responses proper thought.

“Because they’re family.” she concludes. “Whether their care is conditional or not, they’re still the people who raised you. They’re still the people who watched you grow. But that isn’t grounds to be bound with them forever. You get to determine if you want to hear them out or forgive them. Your family doesn’t have to be bound by blood or genetics or anything. It’s your choice.”

You took a moment to fully absorb what she was saying. She was so quick with advice, so well-spoken. She really was astounding. You almost want to laugh because she really wasn’t kidding with what she said earlier. “You really are full of wisdom, huh?”

She huffs a laugh, “What can I say? I have the wisdom of an old monk.”

“Maybe you were one in a past life.”

“Oh I definitely was.” She boasts. “I feel like I’ve probably lived thousands of lives, dare i say millions.”

“Oh really?”

“You don’t think so?”

“I think you’re a bit cocky for someone who has lived thousands or millions of lives.”

She grins with a tilt of her head. “Well if you’re so sure, how many lives do you think you’ve lived.”

“It’s hard to say.” You sigh, contemplating the question. “I feel like this life is my first.”

…

The ‘stuffy ol’ apartment’ never seemed so unappealing after the both of you left the cafe. The space felt tainted with dejection and hurt. At the moment, it reminded you too much of the night you returned from home. If just a little longer, you’d like to avoid it. 

“You think we can stay out a little longer?” You asked turning to Hazel, who glances at you before looking back to the road. “I don’t know if I feel like going back yet.”

“Yeah?” she questions with excitement, you can practically hear the pride in her voice, knowing that she got you out of the apartment and you actually enjoyed it. “Any ideas where to go?”

“Anywhere is better honestly.”

Anywhere turned out to be the city park.

It was quite large for it’s location, sandwiched between the outskirts of the city and a large lake. There were always at least three food trucks parked along the boardwalk, and they were always outrageously expensive; however, the smell emanating from them was a dangerous temptation, an internal battle you often lost to.  

The city park was always crowded too. Whether it’s parents watching their children waddle around the playground or numerous students running along the boardwalk in expensive athletic gear, the place was never desolate no matter the weather. 

Despite its faults that aren’t really faults, you love the city park. And even better, the weather is fair today. Spring has finally overtaken Winter’s grasp over the city and the sun is finally breaking through the clouds. The sky is clear, the breeze is warm, and the smell of fresh cut grass envelopes the air. It’s almost degrading, the way one day of nice weather can brush away all prior apprehensions. 

Hazel shuts the car trunk,a rolled-up blanket tucked under her arm. 

“Luckily, I always come prepared.”

Hazel was the type of person to always have a million things on her all at once. She carried all sorts of things in her car: craft scissors, measuring tape, a sewing kit, abag of protein bars, dental floss, a pocket knife, a first aid kit, one of those life-straw things that purifies water or whatever: anything you could ever need she would have right on hand. She even carries bird seed ‘just in case.’

“What are you not prepared for?”

She twists her lips and squints her eyes, taking your frivolous question very seriously. You could visibly see her check off things on her imaginary list of scenarios. 

“Apocolyspe, maybe? But I think if that happens I’m still one-step ahead of most people.”

“Defineltly.”

The two of you find your signature spot at the top of the hill, just perfectly above the lake.

It really was a beautiful day. The sunlight reflected off the lake's surface, painting sparkles along its path. The park’s shrubbery was the brightest shade of green, a shade you think you haven’t seen since you were a kid. But, out of every beauty this park had to offer, you couldn’t help but stare. 

She was the most beautiful thing. May the goddess aphrodite strike you down, cause you swear she was the prettiest thing you’ve ever laid eyes on. The way her eyes creased when she smiled. The way her lips submitted into a smile when she tried to smirk. The way her hands fidgeted with the sleeve of her sweatshirt, not even a nervous antic, she just needed something to do with her hands. She was just so perfect. 

It was so unfair, so dangerous for her to be with you. You have so much to figure out and she seems to have all the answers. It is undoubtedly unfair -undoubtedly dangerous to have so much affection for her. 

A glance down to your phone will tell you that mom texted, she's worried about you; hell, you're worried too. Maybe you shouldn't harbor this much affection and tenderness for someone. Something like this comes with a cost, which admittedly it has, but it feels like you could overcome anything in this moment. It feels like you’ve never known the sublime til you met her. It feels like you would do anything in the entire world to just live in this moment forever. It feels like you could pack up everything and leave, forget about family, college, your job, paying the rent, everything under the sun. 

It feels dangerous because it's all so new, it’s all so invigorating. 

“You know you speak with your eyes?” she says with a tilt of her head.

“You too.”

She hums with that smile of a smirk. “What am I saying now?”

“You’re saying…” you pause pretending to think, though you really don’t have an answer. With the way the wind is catching her hair, you can’t form a coherent thought. “You’re saying that I speak with my eyes.”

“Good one, genius.”

“Well, you tell me what I'm thinking.”

“You’re thinking: ‘Wow, I have the best girlfriend in the world, I’m so lucky?” She imitates your supposed thoughts in the most ridiculous high-pitched tone you’ve ever heard. 

You burst into laughter, collapsing onto her lap. “Woah, you’ve really got a knack for mind-reading.”

“I told you,” she grins, placing her hand in your hair. “It’s all in your eyes.”

A moment passes where the two of you lay there: Your head rested in her lap, her fingers detangling the rat's nest that is probably your hair. The two of you were in a similar position last night, watching that stupid docu-series. 

And just like that, you were transported back to that moment. 

“You wanna know what I’m thinking now?” You ask and you don’t know why you do. 

“What are you thinking?”

“That I'm the panda cub.” and you don’t know why you say it.

“What?” she questions with a cautious laugh. 

“It’s stupid” and you don’t know why you even brought it up. But you know it will ruin this moment. 

She stops stroking your hair and looks down, silently nudging you to elaborate. 

“The docu-series, last night… It said that a mother panda determines which cub is most fit for the future and that the chosen offspring will be cared for, while the other is left to starve.”

She pauses for a long moment and you’re entirely sure that you have ruined this moment just as you thought you would. 

“You’re right, that is stupid.”

“Yeah… maybe.”

With a shift of her hips, you get the implication that it’s time to sit up and look her in the eyes. 

“How do you really feel about all of this?” she asks. 

You don’t think there is a simple answer. You don’t just feel ‘awful’, it’s anger, it’s nostalgia, it’s remorse, it’s the repercussions of familial disappointment. 

It takes more than a few moments to put the truth into words, yet Hazel waits patiently with each second. 

“Stupid, a little cowardice. Like this all could’ve been avoided if I just had the courage to tell you about them from the beginning.” You pause a moment, considering your words. “I feel like I’ve ruined a perfectly good thing by being a coward.”

Hazel took a moment, seemingly waiting if you had more to say. When you don’t say anything, she responds: “You’re not a coward, y/n. You never expected them to accept you with open arms, or else you would’ve done it a long time ago. You did it cause it was the right thing to do at the moment. You were just trying to delay the inevitable and I don’t really blame you, seeing the way they reacted.” 

You wanted to smile, tell her how much those words mean to you, but your first reaction triumphs any logic. “I’m sorry you had to hear all of that. I knew there was a chance they would hurt you, yet I told them anyway.”

“But I'm glad you told them.” she reassures, “It may not have been the best circumstances, but you did it anyway… It was brave and kind, far from cowardice. 

Her words struck you. The intensity and weight behind them made your throat tighten and your eyes begin to swell. You couldn't understand it -her understanding. 

It’s strange, because you know scenarios like these -emotional instances- were hard for her to navigate. You could often feel the uncertainty or hesitancy behind her every action. Yet, somehow, she had always done well to soothe your racing thoughts or deafening trepidations. Whether it was by providing distractions or offering small reassurances, she always managed to make things at least a little better. Of course, this could be a bias of yours. She could say nothing at all, yet her presence alone would find a way to ease your worries, and by that simple fact alone, you're sure it’s love. 

“Why aren’t you angry?” 

Like many things you have said today, you didn’t mean to say it. The words just come out before you can stop them. 

It was written all over her face, Hazel was taken back by the question. 

“I deceived you into meeting my parents, and they didn’t even know about you -or even know about me being gay!” You were in too deep now to stop. “You- you should be way more upset.” 

“And I was.” she answers simply.“But I know I can’t make you feel any worse than you’ll make yourself feel…I don’t need to be hard on you about it. You know you messed up and you apologized.” She shrugs, “That’s all you had to do.”

“But…I feel like I need to do more -much more actually.”

“Don’t. Cause I'm telling you you don’t need to.” Hazel entangles her fingers with yours. “Your family reacted in a way that they shouldn’t have, why would I make you feel bad about that?”

“Because, I took you to see them without telling you they didn’t know about us -knowing it could’ve hurt you.”

“Yeah, and it sucked, but they know now And…” Hazel’s expression changes from more serious to sincere. “You stuck up for me. You didn’t just… take it.”

It hurt to think of a reality where you hadn’t stuck up for Hazel. And It hurt to think of someone like Hazel being mistreated in such a way. Those last few words were almost enough to make you break down and sob -again.

“Look, what happened sucked.” she continues. “I was upset for a moment, but I was never angry at you.”

She emphasized that last part in a way that made you begin to question. What exactly did she mean by not being angry at you? Your family? Sure, but it didn’t seem like that's what she meant. 

Your questions must have shown on your expression, as Hazel sighed, avoiding your eyes. “Okay, I was a little upset about the whole ‘not telling your parents about us’ thing, but… I’m over it. After thinking about it for a bit, I can see why you didn’t tell them. I get it. I understand. It just made me feel like… like I wasn’t actually your girlfriend, like I was actually just a friend to you. It made me feel like I wasn’t as important to you as you are to me. And I know that isn’t true now, given how much I can see you care. But I was only upset, I was never angry, -not angry at you.”

Before you can muster a response, she continues:  “I can’t help but feel like I presented myself wrong. Like maybe they questioned me because I was too ‘out there’ or ‘different’. I keep thinking it was my fault that you had to come out to them and defend yourself…I was so worried your parents wouldn’t like me, and it turns out it didn’t even matter in the end. I still gave myself away.”

That felt like a dagger to the heart. It was your greatest fear that Hazel would somehow turn the fault onto herself. 

“Hazel,” your voice calls, coming off more broken and shattered than you anticipated. ”This was never your fault. They liked you, they just… they’re difficult people. I could never please them myself and I’m their daughter.  I just wanted to stop hiding you from them. You mean a lot to me and I just… I just wanted them to see that and understand. I never wanted you to dull yourself because of them or try to hide who you are. I wanted them to see the amazing person I do.”

She considers this for a moment. Tucking her lips between her teeth, she shrugs and tightens her grasp around your hand, as if you would get up and leave if she didn’t hold on tighter. “You don’t have to say that they like me to make me feel better.”

“I’m not. I genuinely think they did…they just didn’t like our relation to each other.”

“I heard what they said.” she admits. “About me being ‘different.’”

Different. 

The Infamy. The word that has been bouncing around in your head since you heard it. It ceases to sound less demeaning.  

“Well, if you were considered different then, then I guess we’re both different now -at least in their eyes.” you smile, though it doesn’t reach your eyes. “‘Every step of the way,’ remember?”

At that, she seems to be more content. In her eyes, you can see she needs time. No amount of convincing will do, at least for today. But in the meantime, you can only scoot a little closer, breathe a little softer, and take her other hand in yours, squeezing it a total of three times. 

Hazel was the best secret you ever kept.

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Tagging those who commented, hope you don't mind, cause it's been a while...

Tag List: @s0urpatchk1ds @mayahawkesfirstwife @rubycruzin4abruzin @girl-who-loves-books

[munas-no1-fan]

clicked and read as SOON as i got the notif ik that’s right it was SO worth the wait

[lamoobsessions]

AHH, I'm so glad you liked it! More to come soon... hopefully.

[lamoobsessions]

To Gild A Lily

~Part two

Synopsis: Returning from the disastrous trip home, Hazel and you try to figure things out.

Warnings: Homophobia, very little use of y/n, we're getting cheesy this chapter

Word Count: 7k

A/N #1: If any of you still care, here it is! If there are any spelling/grammar mistakes, I'm sorry, it's nearly 1am while I'm writing this, and I'm tired.

A/N #2: I'M SO SORRY, PLEASE FORGIVE ME. I went on hiatus with the worst possible story I could have done that with, so genuinely, I'm very sorry. Life has been so incessantly busy and draining, I've had no motivation to write something so personal and complicated. This story was initially a way for me to vent, but then it slipped into something tangible, so yeah :) I hope you enjoy!

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It’s nearly one in the afternoon by the time you get out of bed. Neither you nor Hazel bothered to unpack last night, you simply kicked off your shoes, placed the luggage in your room, and collapsed onto the bed. 

Ever since you left that smothering hometown, you’ve tried so hard to keep it together, to not let your family’s stupid remarks get to you, but as each second passed and the more you held it all in, the more it all began to hit you. 

Everything is different now.

“Morning,” Hazel's voice called in a soft tone. At first you couldn’t pinpoint where exactly her voice came from, til you glanced past the foot of the bed where she sat crouched by her suitcase shuffling through her clothes. She was out of her sleeping clothes, currently dressed in her signature pair of jeans and a baggy sweater.

“Morning,” you mutter, sitting yourself up against the headboard, desperately trying to shake off the heavy drowsiness that comes with sleeping in til noon. Your eyes meet the suitcase. “Are you leaving?” You ask, trying not to sound too disappointed, knowing that after last night's events, she has every right to leave.

She zips her suitcase with an absent look, as if she hadn’t heard what you said. The clarity of your words seem to finally hit her as her expression contorts with a subtle concern, “Do you want me to?”

“No,” you answer immediately, wishing you would bite your tongue. “But I… I understand if you don’t want to be here. “

Hazel bites the inside of her cheek, as she looks to her feet. Typically, She was an easy person to read, but now, she feels miles away -completely and entirely off your radar.

 “I’ll stay for as long as you'll have me.”  She softly smiles for what feels like the first time in years.

You return her smile, though you can’t help but fear keeping her close when she doesn’t want to be. In a way that feels beyond selfish, you need her here. Even though you ruined her spring break in just one night, the thought of being alone sounds unbearable. 

A spurt of light in your peripheral catches your attention. On the nightstand, your phone flashes its lockscreen, revealing the numerous calls and texts from your family; your mother  especially, who has tried to call you an ungodly amount of times. 

The sight made you feel a multitude of things - things that you don’t yet understand. In a strange way, you’d rather your phone be devoid of any contact from them. No apologies, no excuses, no explanations. Nothing would suffice for the hurt they have caused. The idea of talking to them again made this slow, sinking feeling inside you only grow deeper. 

Their words could only ring through your head, over, and over, and over again. 

‘You know what we mean,’

They couldn't even say it, but in the same sense, neither could you. But Why? Why couldn't you say it? Why did saying ‘gay’ in front of them sound like a bad word? You thought you conquered that label, you thought you finally felt comfortable with your sexuality. But yet, you couldn’t even say it. You felt weak. Weak because the lump in your throat hasn’t vanished. Weak because you couldn’t stand up to them and tell them about Hazel sooner. Weak, because Hazel can still bear to talk to you after all of it. 

Hazel, whose eyes now dart across your features, searching for insight. 

“Are you okay?” she asks. 

You think for a moment that you must look as helpless as you feel. 

All those years growing up in that scathing town, with your only sense of right or wrong being skewed by the fear of the unconventional. All those years of feeling crazy for looking at your girl friends and thinking it would be so much easier if everyone was just a little more forgiving. All those years of feeling unseen, unheard, misunderstood; all of it, crumbling down with three simple words.

Are you okay?

Biting back an inescapable cry, you shake your head, and the tears finally fall. Before you can ever meet her gaze, Hazel is already there with her arms enveloped around your shoulders. It’s mystifying, the way she holds you with no somber, no unnecessary pity. She holds you as if she hopes to absorb the anguish, to obliterate it completely. 

With her gentle fingertips gliding circles across your back, you wonder if you deserve such comfort. It creates a profound dissonance, one that races back and forth in your mind, like a ball bouncing from one side of the court to the other. 

A part of you wants to embrace all the solace and warmth she has to offer. You want to take it all in, hoard it like an unhealthy habit. But the other part of you wants to push it away, tell you it’s wrong to accept such a wonderful thing after tainting it with fear. 

“I’m sorry,” you breathe, though the words only breach the surface of all the things you could say. 

For a moment she doesn’t say anything. She only holds you tighter, til the thrumming of your heartbeat can be felt against her chest. ”Don’t be sorry, baby.” she finally whispers. 

You want to say more, say that she’s wrong, that you have every right to be sorry. There are so many things being left unsaid. 

‘I wish I were stronger for you,’ 

‘I just wanted to protect you from them -protect myself from them.’

‘I don’t deserve this.’

The words bubble up past your throat, but they can’t seem to surface. The fight in you has drained. No longer can you spare the breath to form sufficient enough words that could express a proper apology. So you sit there, her body pressed to yours, and you cry til your breath sticks to your throat. 

…

When you sleep in till noon, the afternoon tends to slip into the night without warning. Though, it’s better this way. The faster the days pass, the sooner you can put all of this behind you. It’s easier to let time heal familial wounds than to confront them head on. 

With the refusal to leave the apartment or dirty the kitchen, takeout was ordered and delivered before the two of you could choose something to watch on the television. Eventually, a nature docu-series was settled on. It was a weird ritual the two of you had. As much as both of you loved watching studpid reality TV series together, nature documentaries seemed to triumph most nights; Specifically on those lazy nights filled with styrofoam to-go boxes and flat sodas.  

Maybe it was the mediocracy of the documentary, or your full belly from all the food, or the human-furnace that is Hazel cuddled behind you, but sleep came surprisingly easy on that unforgivably uncomfortable couch. 

This sleep didn’t last long.

With great dismay, you opened your heavy eyes to find it was just past 3am. To wake up around this time typically meant it would be impossible to fall back into a comfortable sleep. You find that it’s best to submit to the restlessness rather than lie with your eyes closed and thoughts racing. The absence of distractions could only do you worse. So, trying your best to avoid making any sort of movement that could disturb Hazel's sleep, you reach for the to-go cup on the coffee table, desperate for any sort of substance. At this point the drink was merely melted ice with a drop of soda left, yet it was the best concoction to ever hit your throat at that moment. 

As you sip the cup dry, the TV continues to play that same docu-series, the volume just above a soft mutter. Remnants of blue light pool into the living room, nearly blinding your tired eyes when you try to glance in its direction. It took a moment for your brain to even comprehend what the docu-series was going on about. 

“Around half of panda births are twins. After labor, the mother will spend weeks fasting, virtually doing nothing but care for her two cubs.” The narrator sounds like someone doing a very poor Morgan Freeman impression, or maybe it was Morgan Freeman himself and you’re just too tired to know?

However, the twins rarely survive as a pair. After two weeks pass, the mother has already determined which cub has best conformed to the wild’s demands. The chosen offspring will continue to be cared for, while the other starves. Though this isn’t always the case-

That was all you wanted to hear. You’ve had enough of these familial problems; panda or human. You switch the show to a random sitcom, rest your eyes, and try to drown your thoughts with the cliche dialogue sounding from the television. You can only hope that sleep will come soon. 

…

You would be amiss to say you ‘woke’ to the smell of coffee. Last night you didn’t sleep in any way that would constitute being ‘awoken.’ The “sleep” you got last night wasn’t anything beyond an insufficient mediation. Nevertheless, the smell of coffee eventually became pungent enough to kickstart your consciousness with the first thought you’ve had since 3am last night: What time is it?

With a simple tap on your phone resting on the coffee table, the time read 10:30. Reluctantly, you sit up from your spot on the couch, allowing your eyes to travel to the source of the caffeinated smell. Hazel busied herself in the kitchen, buttering herself a piece of toast. 

The thought hit you that you had no groceries. Expecting to be gone for the entirety of spring break, you used all the perishable items in the fridge before leaving. Your pantry was likely devoid of anything good. Making a note to visit the grocery store, you approach the kitchen bartop and offer a tired smile to Hazel as she meets your eyes. 

“Morning,” she greets with a smile. 

“Morning.”

A silence hung in the air, as if a question had been left unanswered. Maybe she had noticed the bags under your eyes, or maybe she felt you incessantly squirming next to her last night; either way, it was evident to her that you hadn’t slept well. You could see the subtle worry in her expression that she was hopelessly trying to hide.

The two of you have yet to talk out what happened at your parents house and the silence that followed during the car ride home. So naturally, the air felt heavier. 

Hazel takes the coffee pot from the machine, before silently asking if you’d like some with a small gesture of the pot. You nod, to which she grabs two mugs from the cabinet and pours to their fill. 

“How long have you been up?” You ask, trying to break the fog.  

“Around eight thirty-ish.” Hazel shrugs, passing you a mug along with the creamer. 

“Eight thirty? I’m sorry, I should’ve woken up sooner to keep you company.”

“No, no, It’s alright!” She assures with a slightly eager tone.  “It gave me some time to get some work done.”

“Work? Over spring break?”

“An engineering major’s work never ends…unfortunately.”

You manage a huffed laugh, smiling into your mug before taking a cautious sip through the forewarning steam. Though Hazel had no way of knowing what she had done, as it was never verbalized, she gave you your favorite mug. Your mom had given it to you as a farewell gift for college. The thing is incredibly cheesy. Printed in, what you believe to be the most millennial font ever, is the phrase: ‘but first coffee.’ She had this proud grin on her face when she gave it to you. She thought it was the most charming little piece of ceramic ever made, and in an ironic way, you found it funny. The sight of it used to make you smile, now, of course, the sight of it made your heart heavy.

“How are you feeling?” Hazel asks, breaking the spur of memories reeling in your mind.

Awful, truthfully. Though, truthful feelings are the hardest to verbalize. 

“Tired.” a response that is true, in an literal and emotional sense 

Hazel only lifts her brows, a genuine concern painted across her features. But something seemed to stop her from questioning further. 

“So…What do you think about getting out of this stuffy ol’ apartment today?”

“Stuffy?” you ask with an empty offense. 

“You know, maybe get breakfast? Go on a walk? What do you say?”

“I would say I still feel tired.”

“Come ooonnnnn,” she begs, leaning over the counter to grab both your hands. “I think it would do both of us some good.”

After a look of complete indifference from you, Hazel seems to make up her mind for the both of you. “We’re getting breakfast, on me.”

“Nooo,” you whine, lying your head on the bartop.  “Why can’t I just stay here and moan and groan in bed all day.”

“Well I can make that happen too.” she remarks with a smirk.

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Shut up.”

“Later then,” she winks, walking around the counter to pull your reluctant body off the stool. “Get dressed and ready. I promise it won’t be awful.”

“Promise promise?”

“I promise promise, triple promise.”

“And you won’t be embarrassed to be seen with me if I look like an ancient being who’s never slept a day in their life and was just hit by a truck.”

“Mmmmmm,” Hazel ponders with a grin, looking to the ceiling. “I will be embarrassed, but only because even when you look like that you’re still somehow out of my league.”

You tilt your head back with a laugh. “Ew, shut up! You’re so cheesy!”

“Oh come on, you love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

Her hand slides up the back of your neck, gently guiding your head to tilt forward and meet her gaze. “Fortunately,” she chirps, “for me.”

You shake your head, trying to play it cool, but the red on your face deceives you.  Keeping composure becomes impossible when Hazel cradles your jaw and presses her lips to yours. It felt like a reset the way your body tensed with anticipation before melting into the kiss, allowing every fiber of your being to flip and flutter with charge. In this moment, you feel no exhaustion, no frustration, no guilt, no despondency. You feel her and all the infatuation she makes your feel for her. 

The moment ends too soon when Hazel pulls away and smiles, “Now get ready.”

…

In a college town there’s always a plethora of cafes and breakfast spots to choose from. When choosing where to settle for a coffee, to you and Hazel it was a matter of atmosphere and privacy. If the cafe felt cold or overly crowded, it was an instant no. That’s why the quaint cafe off of 21st street was the chosen spot. It was the go-to study spot back when the two of you were just friends helping each other pass the excruciatingly boring Gen Eds. Part of you misses those days, back when you and Hazel would have classes together. Since you both are further in your major, the two of you never have the same classes anymore. Luckily, you and PJ still had some classes together here and there. 

All that to say, the quaint cafe is a nostalgic spot; a spot that brings you back to those simpler times -or at least they feel simple now. 

After ordering, the two of you naturally gravitated to a table in the corner. It was the same table you sat at the first time you and Hazel came here. From all the empty tables you could’ve taken that day, the spot called to you,  partially because it was a window seat, but also because of the poster pinned on the wall right above one of the chairs. It read: 

‘Don’t dream it, drink it!’ 

In the background was a dolled up Tim Curry as Dr. Frank-N-Furter; he holds a poorly edited cappuccino in his open hand. It was brilliant, you thought.

Today, the magic of the cafe felt dull. It had no reason to feel that way. The smell of coffee and fresh bread lingered as usual. There were five other people in the buildinging, aside from the baristas. The weather was beautiful, and the sunshine pooled from the streetside windows almost perfectly. Nothing, aside from yourself, could be the source of its supposed ‘dullness.’ 

Your head just wasn’t in it today, and you’re sure it won’t be for a while. 

“You know, I always thought it would be cool to run a coffee shop like this one.” You suddenly speak. An attempt to distract yourself from the impending overstimulation.

“Yeah?” Hazel questioned, taking her seat across from you. “Why not pursue that?”

“Eh, i don’t know. The monotony, I guess? And the stress of running a small business? Plus it’s a lot of work.”

“Yeah, but all good things come with hard work.”

You hum into your drink. “So wise.”  You would’ve chosen to have another coffee if a surplus caffeine didn’t make your hands violently shake. So in place of coffee, a pressed juice should suffice. 

“Well, I’m full of wisdom.”

“Yes you are.”

Regarding your lack of a snarky response, something twists in Hazel’s expression. It’s subtle, nothing she intended for you to notice. But then again, Hazel was never good at hiding what she was thinking. She wore her heart on her sleeve, as her mom would say. 

The day you met Hazel’s mom was unexpected. Unbeknownst to Hazel, Miss Callahan was in town for the day. Hazel spotted her outside your work, where she was supposed to pick you up and take you out to lunch. Miss Callahan was there for work, something about a meeting or merger or some business thing. Apparently, she spotted Hazel before Hazel spotted her, and was evidently shocked to see her daughter. Eventually, you came outside of work to meet Hazel only to find her and her mother chatting it up outside. The lunch date was soon turned into a dinner date with the addition of Miss Callahan. 

The woman was an enigma to you. You couldn't quite figure her out. She seemed to love and care for her daughter, but at the same time, she visited her daughter's college town and forgot it was her daughter’s college town.. Suffice it to say, you think she likes you. 

“Was your mom always that supportive of you? You know, with being gay and all.”

Hazel stops before she taking a bite of her chocolate croissant, the sudden question catching her by surprise. “Umm… I think so. I mean, I never really ‘came out’ to her.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well she’s… I don’t know. My mom’s complicated in a way where she cares about me and what I’m doing and if I’m safe. But she’s always kind of been,” she pauses a moment, seemingly looking for the right word. “distracted? I guess? I started making things obvious and she just kind of accepted it eventually. It turned from, ‘do you have your eye on any cute boys at school?’ to ‘do you have your eye on any cute girls at school?’”

“So one day she just determined it for herself.”.

“Pretty much. Made things pretty easy for me.”

“What about your dad?” You don’t know much about Hazel’s father, except that he divorced Miss Callahan a while ago and left no contact. Hazel had said it didn’t affect her nearly as much as it affected her mother; it changed Miss Callahan in so many ways. 

“I’m not sure. He wasn’t at the house much, always at work or whatever else he was doing. He didn’t really get to know me, so in return I didn’t really get to know him. He wasn’t really a dad to me -just some guy that my mom loved who happened to live in our home.” She shrugged and took a bite of her food. Looking at her change in demeanor, she must’ve not liked her wording tone. She appeared more present with herself now. 

“I mean,” she adjusted her posture and swallowed her food, “I don’t say that in a sad way. I really wasn’t interested in who he was, mostly because I didn’t like the way he operated when he was home. You know, he’d come home from a long day at work and just sit on the couch and leave his things scattered around the house, knowing it drove my mom up the wall. So, I didn’t really like him much. Even the way he breathed and ate annoyed me at times. It’d make me furious. And I hated feeling that way about my dad, cause, you know, he’s is technically my dad.”

It’s interesting, you always thought most people started distancing themselves from their parents when they were much older, mostly having responsibilities of their own and having no time to be consistent with familial matters. But it seemed Hazel had distanced herself from her father at a young age, and you realize now that you have done the same. There were times in your childhood when distance was the only means of self expression. When being alone became the only place where you could be your entire self. It takes a strong certainty of oneself to express yourself so freely, and Hazel had that. 

“Sorry,” Hazel added, pulling you out of your head. ”That was like… an unwarranted tangent.”

“No, no. Don’t be sorry. I just… I know what you mean, it’s kind of a strange balance between being a daughter and being your own person.”

“Exactly,” Hazel answers. “But, in the end, he was a man before he was my father. And I think that made it easier to give up on trying to be his daughter. I started being myself before meeting their expectations of who I am supposed to be.” 

“And that worked for you? Just letting go of expectations?”

“Well it’s not like he expected much from me in the first place.” Hazel huffs a laugh. “But for the most part it worked. It made things a little easier when he left.”

You consider her words for a moment, wondering if you could ever do the same for yourself -let go. What would that entail? What would that look like? Relief? Freedom? Remorse?

“Do you ever miss him?” you ask. 

She looks around the cafe a moment, her eyes glazing over with thought. “Somehow… I still do. Not as much as I did in high school, but sometimes. It’s mostly the idea of having a father that I miss. Without him, I worry about my mom. Like… I know she doesn’t need a man, but I don’t want her to feel lonely or feel like she doesn't have anyone. So, in that way, I guess I do miss him at times. But I know it’s better for the both of us that he’s not in the picture anymore.”

That was an answer you didn’t expect. Hazel never mentioned her father, nor expressed any undying worry for her mother. She was reclusive in that way; never the venting type. It took persistent effort to get her to open up about certain things. She was good at putting on a front, acting like everything is fine when something bothers her. But you could see through the cracks. You could see the subtly faded smile, the nervous twisting of her rings, the overly kind pitch of her voice. And you let her get away with these acts sometimes, knowing some things just need time. 

“It’s good that the two of you have each other.”

The corners of her lips curve and she smiles with a nod. “Yeah.”

A silence soon follows, a silence only intermittently broken by the sound of busy baristas, brushes of steam from the coffee machines, and the soft indie music echoing from the cafe speakers. 

You taste the juice on your tongue, swishing the pulp at the bottom of the bottle and watching as it settles back to the bottom.

“What’s on your mind?” 

You look up to find Hazel staring right back, her eyes searching your expression. And it would seem she found something, judging by her perturbed expression. 

“You look a little lost.” 

You sigh with a shrug. “You just got me thinking is all.”

Her brows raise, a silent push for you to continue. 

“I don’t know if I can let go.” you begin. “I don't think my parents were ever a bad parents. You know, when my sister and I were born, they dropped everything to take care of us. My dad quit his dream job just so he could be involved in our childhoods. My mom dropped out of college…Dad would drive me to soccer practice when I was little, mom bought me art supplies when I said I liked coloring, they both signed me up for self defense when I said I was going to the city for university. I always thought they genuinely cared, but now… You know I question if that was ever true. If all it takes for them to finally push me out is coming out to them… then I guess they never really cared. I guess they were both  doing what they thought parents ought to do -at least until it compromised their…whatever. Their beliefs? Their expectations of who I'm supposed to be?” 

Hazel rested her hand on yours, intertwining her fingers with yours. She squeezed your hand the same way she did on the ride away from your parents house that night.  

“You don’t know if they pushed you out yet. They’re just processing everything. They’re taking time in the same way you are.” 

“Not according to my inbox. “ you let out a hurt laugh. “It seems like they are very ready to talk.”

“Have you read any of it?”

“No…I don’t know if I have the heart to.”

“That’s okay. I’ll be here with you every step of the way.”

“Thanks,” You smile earnestly. But, everything still felt shaky, like you hadn’t put the pieces of your pain together yet, and things with Hazel still felt unfair, like she shouldn’t be so understanding, her presence and reassurance were still the only thing keeping you together. 

“Why do you think I still care so much about what they think?” You ask after a moment’s thought.  “I mean, it shouldn’t matter any more, right? I know what I value, and it’s obvious we don’t see eye to eye, so why do I care so much?”

She pursues her lips, taking a deep breath in, before looking down to the table. Growing up in a household that didn’t value conversational presence, it was refreshing that Hazel gave her responses proper thought.

“Because they’re family.” she concludes. “Whether their care is conditional or not, they’re still the people who raised you. They’re still the people who watched you grow. But that isn’t grounds to be bound with them forever. You get to determine if you want to hear them out or forgive them. Your family doesn’t have to be bound by blood or genetics or anything. It’s your choice.”

You took a moment to fully absorb what she was saying. She was so quick with advice, so well-spoken. She really was astounding. You almost want to laugh because she really wasn’t kidding with what she said earlier. “You really are full of wisdom, huh?”

She huffs a laugh, “What can I say? I have the wisdom of an old monk.”

“Maybe you were one in a past life.”

“Oh I definitely was.” She boasts. “I feel like I’ve probably lived thousands of lives, dare i say millions.”

“Oh really?”

“You don’t think so?”

“I think you’re a bit cocky for someone who has lived thousands or millions of lives.”

She grins with a tilt of her head. “Well if you’re so sure, how many lives do you think you’ve lived.”

“It’s hard to say.” You sigh, contemplating the question. “I feel like this life is my first.”

…

The ‘stuffy ol’ apartment’ never seemed so unappealing after the both of you left the cafe. The space felt tainted with dejection and hurt. At the moment, it reminded you too much of the night you returned from home. If just a little longer, you’d like to avoid it. 

“You think we can stay out a little longer?” You asked turning to Hazel, who glances at you before looking back to the road. “I don’t know if I feel like going back yet.”

“Yeah?” she questions with excitement, you can practically hear the pride in her voice, knowing that she got you out of the apartment and you actually enjoyed it. “Any ideas where to go?”

“Anywhere is better honestly.”

Anywhere turned out to be the city park.

It was quite large for it’s location, sandwiched between the outskirts of the city and a large lake. There were always at least three food trucks parked along the boardwalk, and they were always outrageously expensive; however, the smell emanating from them was a dangerous temptation, an internal battle you often lost to.  

The city park was always crowded too. Whether it’s parents watching their children waddle around the playground or numerous students running along the boardwalk in expensive athletic gear, the place was never desolate no matter the weather. 

Despite its faults that aren’t really faults, you love the city park. And even better, the weather is fair today. Spring has finally overtaken Winter’s grasp over the city and the sun is finally breaking through the clouds. The sky is clear, the breeze is warm, and the smell of fresh cut grass envelopes the air. It’s almost degrading, the way one day of nice weather can brush away all prior apprehensions. 

Hazel shuts the car trunk,a rolled-up blanket tucked under her arm. 

“Luckily, I always come prepared.”

Hazel was the type of person to always have a million things on her all at once. She carried all sorts of things in her car: craft scissors, measuring tape, a sewing kit, abag of protein bars, dental floss, a pocket knife, a first aid kit, one of those life-straw things that purifies water or whatever: anything you could ever need she would have right on hand. She even carries bird seed ‘just in case.’

“What are you not prepared for?”

She twists her lips and squints her eyes, taking your frivolous question very seriously. You could visibly see her check off things on her imaginary list of scenarios. 

“Apocolyspe, maybe? But I think if that happens I’m still one-step ahead of most people.”

“Defineltly.”

The two of you find your signature spot at the top of the hill, just perfectly above the lake.

It really was a beautiful day. The sunlight reflected off the lake's surface, painting sparkles along its path. The park’s shrubbery was the brightest shade of green, a shade you think you haven’t seen since you were a kid. But, out of every beauty this park had to offer, you couldn’t help but stare. 

She was the most beautiful thing. May the goddess aphrodite strike you down, cause you swear she was the prettiest thing you’ve ever laid eyes on. The way her eyes creased when she smiled. The way her lips submitted into a smile when she tried to smirk. The way her hands fidgeted with the sleeve of her sweatshirt, not even a nervous antic, she just needed something to do with her hands. She was just so perfect. 

It was so unfair, so dangerous for her to be with you. You have so much to figure out and she seems to have all the answers. It is undoubtedly unfair -undoubtedly dangerous to have so much affection for her. 

A glance down to your phone will tell you that mom texted, she's worried about you; hell, you're worried too. Maybe you shouldn't harbor this much affection and tenderness for someone. Something like this comes with a cost, which admittedly it has, but it feels like you could overcome anything in this moment. It feels like you’ve never known the sublime til you met her. It feels like you would do anything in the entire world to just live in this moment forever. It feels like you could pack up everything and leave, forget about family, college, your job, paying the rent, everything under the sun. 

It feels dangerous because it's all so new, it’s all so invigorating. 

“You know you speak with your eyes?” she says with a tilt of her head.

“You too.”

She hums with that smile of a smirk. “What am I saying now?”

“You’re saying…” you pause pretending to think, though you really don’t have an answer. With the way the wind is catching her hair, you can’t form a coherent thought. “You’re saying that I speak with my eyes.”

“Good one, genius.”

“Well, you tell me what I'm thinking.”

“You’re thinking: ‘Wow, I have the best girlfriend in the world, I’m so lucky?” She imitates your supposed thoughts in the most ridiculous high-pitched tone you’ve ever heard. 

You burst into laughter, collapsing onto her lap. “Woah, you’ve really got a knack for mind-reading.”

“I told you,” she grins, placing her hand in your hair. “It’s all in your eyes.”

A moment passes where the two of you lay there: Your head rested in her lap, her fingers detangling the rat's nest that is probably your hair. The two of you were in a similar position last night, watching that stupid docu-series. 

And just like that, you were transported back to that moment. 

“You wanna know what I’m thinking now?” You ask and you don’t know why you do. 

“What are you thinking?”

“That I'm the panda cub.” and you don’t know why you say it.

“What?” she questions with a cautious laugh. 

“It’s stupid” and you don’t know why you even brought it up. But you know it will ruin this moment. 

She stops stroking your hair and looks down, silently nudging you to elaborate. 

“The docu-series, last night… It said that a mother panda determines which cub is most fit for the future and that the chosen offspring will be cared for, while the other is left to starve.”

She pauses for a long moment and you’re entirely sure that you have ruined this moment just as you thought you would. 

“You’re right, that is stupid.”

“Yeah… maybe.”

With a shift of her hips, you get the implication that it’s time to sit up and look her in the eyes. 

“How do you really feel about all of this?” she asks. 

You don’t think there is a simple answer. You don’t just feel ‘awful’, it’s anger, it’s nostalgia, it’s remorse, it’s the repercussions of familial disappointment. 

It takes more than a few moments to put the truth into words, yet Hazel waits patiently with each second. 

“Stupid, a little cowardice. Like this all could’ve been avoided if I just had the courage to tell you about them from the beginning.” You pause a moment, considering your words. “I feel like I’ve ruined a perfectly good thing by being a coward.”

Hazel took a moment, seemingly waiting if you had more to say. When you don’t say anything, she responds: “You’re not a coward, y/n. You never expected them to accept you with open arms, or else you would’ve done it a long time ago. You did it cause it was the right thing to do at the moment. You were just trying to delay the inevitable and I don’t really blame you, seeing the way they reacted.” 

You wanted to smile, tell her how much those words mean to you, but your first reaction triumphs any logic. “I’m sorry you had to hear all of that. I knew there was a chance they would hurt you, yet I told them anyway.”

“But I'm glad you told them.” she reassures, “It may not have been the best circumstances, but you did it anyway… It was brave and kind, far from cowardice. 

Her words struck you. The intensity and weight behind them made your throat tighten and your eyes begin to swell. You couldn't understand it -her understanding. 

It’s strange, because you know scenarios like these -emotional instances- were hard for her to navigate. You could often feel the uncertainty or hesitancy behind her every action. Yet, somehow, she had always done well to soothe your racing thoughts or deafening trepidations. Whether it was by providing distractions or offering small reassurances, she always managed to make things at least a little better. Of course, this could be a bias of yours. She could say nothing at all, yet her presence alone would find a way to ease your worries, and by that simple fact alone, you're sure it’s love. 

“Why aren’t you angry?” 

Like many things you have said today, you didn’t mean to say it. The words just come out before you can stop them. 

It was written all over her face, Hazel was taken back by the question. 

“I deceived you into meeting my parents, and they didn’t even know about you -or even know about me being gay!” You were in too deep now to stop. “You- you should be way more upset.” 

“And I was.” she answers simply.“But I know I can’t make you feel any worse than you’ll make yourself feel…I don’t need to be hard on you about it. You know you messed up and you apologized.” She shrugs, “That’s all you had to do.”

“But…I feel like I need to do more -much more actually.”

“Don’t. Cause I'm telling you you don’t need to.” Hazel entangles her fingers with yours. “Your family reacted in a way that they shouldn’t have, why would I make you feel bad about that?”

“Because, I took you to see them without telling you they didn’t know about us -knowing it could’ve hurt you.”

“Yeah, and it sucked, but they know now And…” Hazel’s expression changes from more serious to sincere. “You stuck up for me. You didn’t just… take it.”

It hurt to think of a reality where you hadn’t stuck up for Hazel. And It hurt to think of someone like Hazel being mistreated in such a way. Those last few words were almost enough to make you break down and sob -again.

“Look, what happened sucked.” she continues. “I was upset for a moment, but I was never angry at you.”

She emphasized that last part in a way that made you begin to question. What exactly did she mean by not being angry at you? Your family? Sure, but it didn’t seem like that's what she meant. 

Your questions must have shown on your expression, as Hazel sighed, avoiding your eyes. “Okay, I was a little upset about the whole ‘not telling your parents about us’ thing, but… I’m over it. After thinking about it for a bit, I can see why you didn’t tell them. I get it. I understand. It just made me feel like… like I wasn’t actually your girlfriend, like I was actually just a friend to you. It made me feel like I wasn’t as important to you as you are to me. And I know that isn’t true now, given how much I can see you care. But I was only upset, I was never angry, -not angry at you.”

Before you can muster a response, she continues:  “I can’t help but feel like I presented myself wrong. Like maybe they questioned me because I was too ‘out there’ or ‘different’. I keep thinking it was my fault that you had to come out to them and defend yourself…I was so worried your parents wouldn’t like me, and it turns out it didn’t even matter in the end. I still gave myself away.”

That felt like a dagger to the heart. It was your greatest fear that Hazel would somehow turn the fault onto herself. 

“Hazel,” your voice calls, coming off more broken and shattered than you anticipated. ”This was never your fault. They liked you, they just… they’re difficult people. I could never please them myself and I’m their daughter.  I just wanted to stop hiding you from them. You mean a lot to me and I just… I just wanted them to see that and understand. I never wanted you to dull yourself because of them or try to hide who you are. I wanted them to see the amazing person I do.”

She considers this for a moment. Tucking her lips between her teeth, she shrugs and tightens her grasp around your hand, as if you would get up and leave if she didn’t hold on tighter. “You don’t have to say that they like me to make me feel better.”

“I’m not. I genuinely think they did…they just didn’t like our relation to each other.”

“I heard what they said.” she admits. “About me being ‘different.’”

Different. 

The Infamy. The word that has been bouncing around in your head since you heard it. It ceases to sound less demeaning.  

“Well, if you were considered different then, then I guess we’re both different now -at least in their eyes.” you smile, though it doesn’t reach your eyes. “‘Every step of the way,’ remember?”

At that, she seems to be more content. In her eyes, you can see she needs time. No amount of convincing will do, at least for today. But in the meantime, you can only scoot a little closer, breathe a little softer, and take her other hand in yours, squeezing it a total of three times. 

Hazel was the best secret you ever kept.

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Tagging those who commented, hope you don't mind, cause it's been a while...

Tag List: @s0urpatchk1ds @mayahawkesfirstwife @rubycruzin4abruzin @girl-who-loves-books

[star--anon]

The Gladers: An Interview (Pt. 6)

we're BACK baby!!!

[lamoobsessions]

Hi, I'm here after reading the scorched dissonance and the sequel. All your work is amazing. I love it so much, and I think your work will stick in my mind all the time. I read the sequel on the plane, and the person beside me saw me weird because I'm literally crying while reading. I'll be very happy if you want to make another fic like that. And honestly, you have to consider writing a novel. ♥️♥️♥️

This is beyond sweet, thank youuuuuuu!! I’m glad you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! That means the world to me :)

I do have a WIP that may turn into a multiple part series, similar to Scorched Dissonance’s length. Unfortunately, it’s not a Maze Runner, though I have a few short pieces for that fandom in my drafts that I hope will see the light of day soon <3

[sersh]

CAILEE SPAENY Behind the scenes on the set of Alien: Romulus via pedroluque on Instagram Stories

[whitepeopletwitter]

[lamoobsessions]

To Guild A Lily

Synopsis: You and Hazel have been together for six months now and things have been going really great. That is, until you stupidly invite her to meet your family over spring break -your family, who does not know your gay.

Warnings: Homophobia, very little use of y/n, things get a twinge spicy but its not smutty, kinda cheesy but it's cute.

Word Count: 6k

A/N: Hey 😏 It's been a while, and i'm sorry. But I'm back AND with a new story. This one will be a short mini series -probably three chapters tbh. Originally, I didn't think I was going to post it, because it lwk feels too personal. But what the heck, I like it, so here it is!! Christmas break is here, so i'll defiantly get some writing in for anyone who cares, lol. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! (And also apologies in advanced)

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The decision to attend a university outside of your home town was the best decision you’ve ever made. It’s been everything you hoped it to be. You made friends, you have your freedom, you have your independence, and, the best part of all, you have a different social demographic. Which may be a weird detail to others, but to you, it’s a blessing. No longer do you have to live behind the social constraints provided by the community you grew up in.

Though, that isn’t to say college is fantastic. The workload is insane, your apartment is depressing as hell, living expenses are through the roof, and making a healthy consistent meal plan for yourself feels near impossible. College can be awful at times, but it fulfills your small box of expectations. 

Truly, you’re quite happy with where you are in life. Everything has a certain glow to it, a certain beauty. With this new-found freedom and privacy, you joined new social cliques, attended parties, joined clubs, and took all the classes that attune your interest. Which is how you met Hazel.

She sat next to you in a gender studies class in the second semester of your freshman year, which you later found out she only took the class with her friend PJ to meet the ladies of the campus. Which, to her credit and your pleasure, she accomplished. 

The two of you hit it off almost instantly; from quipped, sly whispered jokes in the lecture halls, to not-so productive study dates, the two of you eventually fell into place with each other. She introduced you to her friends, both of whom you found very intimidating at first, since they make a very chaotic duo. Even so, they grew on you, and it wasn’t long til you became a part of their group. It also wasn’t long til your feelings for Hazel began to sprout. 

It happened at the library -of all places. She made the first move and the two of you have been together for almost six months now. Things have been great. 

It takes a lot for you to open up to people, but when it came to Hazel, things felt easier. Suddenly, you felt more bold, more electric with your personality. Those around you could sense the shift, even your family, who lived hours away.

In your eyes, this is a good thing. The relationship you have with your family is complicated. You love each of them to death. Your mother, your father, your sister, all of them you’d take a bullet for. Unconditional love, as many may call it. But they were… different when it came to values. More on the old-fashioned side than you typically prefer. But the thing with college is, you get to break away from home, and that’s exactly what you did -well somewhat. Your mom still calls every day to check up, mostly asking if you've met anyone yet, and by anyone, she means a boy. 

It’s isolating at times, knowing your family doesn’t know this integral part of who you are. But, in your eyes, it was for the better.  

Though, after six months of being with Hazel, a certain consensus within yourself was breached. It felt unfair to your family, since they were always asking if you’ve made any friends or found a boyfriend yet. And secondly, it’s unfair to Hazel. You met her mom three months after dating, it wasn’t planned, but it happened, and now you feel an insatiable obligation to introduce her to your family. 

But the kicker is, Hazel doesn’t know that your family is oblivious to her existence. They’re even oblivious to the fact that you like girls. So, you’ve avoided bringing it up. 

You don’t want to ruin a good thing. Things are so easy, why mess it up? 

“So, when are you leaving?” Hazel asks from the foot of your bed, watching as you shove ungodly amounts of clothes into your small suitcase on the floor. 

You shrug, placing another chunky sweater that surely will not fit into the luggage. The thing isn’t going to close, but you’ll be damned if you weren’t going to try. “I think maybe early tomorrow morning? What about you?”

“Oh, I’m not going home,” she casually reveals. “I think I’ll just stay here.”

You stop your pushing and look up at her questioningly. “What? Why not?”

“My mom will be out of town the whole week, so there’s basically no point in me going back home.”

“She’s going out of town the week of your spring break?”

Hazel nods with a slightly solemn expression, to which you purse your lips, knowing her complicated relationship with her mother. 

“What about PJ and Josie, they’ll be going home too, right? Why don’t you go with them?”

She sighs, leaning into the mattress. “Josie is going on vacation with Isabel and her family, and PJ said she’s going on some ‘pussy’ retreat -whatever that means.”

You frown at this. The college campus was nice, but there wasn’t much to do. Without any friends around, it gets boring and depressing fast. You would know. You spent the first semester of your freshman year losing your goddamn mind, rotting in your dorm room binging the entirety of ‘Orange is the New Black’.

“Well, you can come home with me,” You offer, wanting to bite your tongue the second the suggestion leaves your lips. 

“Really?” Hazel perks up excitingly. 

“Yeah, why not? It’s only a five-hour drive, it will be like a fun little road trip or something.” For you, it wouldn’t be a fun little road trip. It would be a nightmare of spiraling thoughts and contemplative re-routes to the nearest cliff. But you can’t stand the thought of leaving Hazel, knowing she would be left alone on campus for a whole two weeks. 

“You sure your family won’t mind?”

As you stop packing and grab your phone off the nightstand, a nest of anxiety burrows behind your ribcage. You’re a good liar, or, to put it more lightly, you’re good at masking your true emotions. “I’m sure they won’t. I can text them and ask if that will make you feel more comfortable with it.”

“Can you?” She questions with a look of sincerity. “I don’t want to just show up unannounced.”

“Yeah, of course,” You plant yourself next to her on the bed, subtly hiding the phone screen. Now, with the phone in your hands and your mother's contact photo glowing on the screen, you begin to wonder what you’re even supposed to say.

 ‘Hey mom, I know I haven’t told you this yet, but I’m gay, and I have a girlfriend, and she’s coming over. Hope that’s cool. Cool? Cool. Alright bye bye now.’

Immediately, you regret offering to text her. Yet, even with your discretion, you begin to type. 

YOU: ‘Hey, just want to let you know I’ll be heading home tomorrow. Probably around early morning.’

YOU:  ‘But Is it okay if I bring a friend down with me?” 

You curse yourself as soon as the word floats into the chat. Friend. 

Shutting off your phone, and tossing it out of your hands, you nod with a not-so reassuring smile. “There.” 

Thankfully, Hazel misses the uncertainty in your expressions and returns an optimistic smile.  “This is exciting, I finally get to meet these parents I've heard so much about.”

You shake your head bemusedly. “Look, there’s a reason I don’t talk about them. I mean, they aren’t exactly the most agreeable people.”

“I’m sure I can handle it.”

“I know you can,” you brush off, as you allow yourself to fall onto the satin sheets. “I’m just not sure I can.” 

“You can. Everything will turn out fine.” She joins you, lying next to your side and taking your hand hers. “Besides, I’m great with parents.”

You smile softly, nuzzling your head into her shoulder. Internally, your heart sinks. How could you not tell your parents about her? Since the second semester of freshman year, she’s been this symbol of comfort in your life. Yet in that same sense, she’s also your girlfriend. So, how could you tell your parents about her? 

You exhale a long, pent-up breath -unaware that, through this spiral, you’ve briefly forgotten to breathe. “I guess I can’t keep you from them forever.”

Hazel lifts her head and leans over you with a smug look. “Forever, you say?”

You laugh upon realizing the implications of your words, and turn away to avoid her demanding stare. “Shut up.” 

“Forever is a long time to be together. Even longer time to go without meeting one’s parents.” 

You shrug, “I think we could get away with it if we tried.”

She perks up, as if having an epiphany of her own. “Oh, maybe we’ll do one of those lavender marriages,” She encourages. “You know, we’ll pretend you're straight, and I’m just some estranged sister-in-law that you inevitably fall in love with -because how could you not? And then, you’ll get divorced, and we’ll run away together, and that way, I’ll never have to officially meet your parents, and they’ll just know me in passing. ”

You pause a moment, mouth set slightly agape at her nonsensical ridicule. “Are you done?”

“I mean, I could keep going, but that’s just a quick summary.”

Pursing your lips, you bite back a broad smile, and bring a hand to her cheek to pull her closer. Leaving a quick peck on her lips, before pressing your forehead to hers, “You’re the worst.”

A giggle reverberates off her chest, and you could swear that sound can kill. “We’ll be fine, I promise. Worst-case scenario, they end up hating me, we elope, move to Barbados, and live happily ever after.”

“Not a bad worst-case scenario.”

“Mhm.” she purrs, placing a hand on your waist and pressing her lips to yours, as you bring a hold to her cheek. The minimal space between your bodies lingers before it begins to diminish; her figure hovering over yours, effectively stabling herself by pressing a leg between your thighs. 

You melt under the touch, allowing the heat to rise to your cheeks and your stomach to do an insurmountable amount of flips. A smile curves against her lips, one that you cannot help but to reciprocate amidst her near suffocating rapture. 

Slicing through the once sensual atmosphere, your phone dings. Breaking away from her embrace, you turn towards your phone on the other side of the bed. “Shit, it’s probably my mom.”

Hazel hums. Though understanding, you can sense a slight disappointment in the way she relaxes next to you onto the bed. 

Swiping open your phone, the message reads:

MOM <3: That’s perfectly fine, hun. Can’t wait to me this friend of yours 😉 

MOM <3: Text me when you leave, love you!

You bite the inside of your cheek, knowing, even through text, she’s aware this friend isn’t like every other. She read you like a book, immediately picking up on the lack of assurance behind your words. She knows if it was just any other friend, you wouldn’t have asked. 

Your mother knows you well, but not well enough to know it isn't a boy you’re bringing home. 

YOU: I will, love you too <3

Shutting off your phone once again, you turn back to Hazel and put on a more heartening expression. “We’re good to go.”

“Really?” she questions. “You didn’t look too sure for a second?”

“Yeah, it’s just- some other stuff she was saying. It’s all good.” 

Hazel quirks her brow, not buying your reasoning.

“Seriously,” You add, wanting to end this questioning as soon as possible. “It’s fine,” You lean in and plant a quipped kiss on her cheek before catapulting yourself off the bed. “I should get packing, though.”

A hand grips your wrist before you can get any further. “No, stay,” she whines. “We were just starting to have fun.”

You gently take your other hand and guide yourself free of her grasp. “As much as I’d love to continue having more fun, you should probably start packing, too.”

Hazel groans, falling onto her back with an exaggeration you found to be quite endearing. 

You feel bad for deceiving her. She should know about the issue surrounding your parents, at least before you arrive at their house mid-afternoon tomorrow. You just didn’t know how to tell her, not that she wouldn’t understand, cause she would. The problem is how it would make her feel. 

Yet, in an undeniably selfish way, you hope that by finally introducing Hazel to your family, this unrelenting guilt entangled in the back of your mind will finally resolve. Maybe, just maybe, telling your parents about your girlfriend would make this thing you have with Hazel feel all the more better. Maybe, just maybe, telling them would allow this already perfect thing to blossom into something better. Maybe, you’ll finally sleep well at night and dream again once more. 

…

Come late morning, around 11 a.m., you and Hazel have already packed your bags and stuffed them in the trunk of your car. Having taken this route home on numerous occasions already, you didn’t bother typing your address into the GPS before setting off. 

Before leaving town and into the interminable country roads, you stopped by a small family owned convenience store for breakfast. You grabbed a pre-packaged blueberry muffin and a small coffee, while Hazel wandered aimlessly around the store with an indecisive contemplation -which is per usual. Ultimately, she meets you at the counter with an energy drink and a ‘freshly made’ breakfast sandwich -also her usual.

You grin teasingly upon seeing her choice. “You spent all that time deciding, just to get what you always do?”

She shrugs defensively, “I was wondering if I should try something new.”

You huff shaking your head, watching as she hands the cashier her card. 

Hopping back into the car, quiet conversation fills the air. Hazel grabs the aux cord and puts on the road-trip playlist she made just the night before. It’s full of songs and bands the two of you share a liking to, most of which you can scream every word to. 

The drive home is beautiful. It’s full of curvy and long countryside roads, and old historical district villages. Although, your favorite part is around the halfway mark of the drive, where the bundles of farmland are located. Here you pass numerous herds of cattle and their calves, all tucked safely behind mesh wire fences. 

Making this drive with Hazel is something you never thought would be so exciting. You felt like a tour guide of sorts, telling her miniscule stories about random experiences you’ve had in the area. Like how you stopped at one particular gas station on the way home once, and swore to never go back again after you had a near scrap fight with a group of opossums. Or how you once got a flat tire on the side of the road, and the only person who stopped to help you was someone fully dressed in drag. .  

“Sometimes I forget you’re from the middle of nowhere.” Hazel comments. 

“It’s not really in the middle of nowhere.”

“Really?” She retorts, giving you an unimpressed look, “Cause I haven’t seen a proper grocery store for miles.”

“What? We passed like fifty Dollar Generals, which around here is like the equivalent of a Whole Foods.”

She laughs lightly. “That’s exactly my point.”

“Don’t worry,” you chaff. “When we get closer to home, things will start looking a little more developed.”

She smiles with a shake of her head, as she looks back out the window. “You know, you never talk much about where you're from, better yet your family.”

You tense, gripping the steering wheel slightly, unsure of what to say.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Hazel confirms, looking back your way. “How come?”

Her question sounds so innocent, as if she doesn’t know the true extent of where a conversation like this could lead. The two of you have been living in this comfortable bubble for the entirety of its existence. It’s safe here, it’s content. It’s a place where your family can’t come in and hurt you, or even worse, hurt her. 

You’re used to their overtly derogatory teasing, but Hazel isn’t. What if your family steers her away from you, what if she projects their behavior onto you, or starts to perceive you as one of them -they are family after all.  

You finally broke free, went off on your own, and got to choose the people you surround yourself with. Things finally felt like they were in your control. You could keep your family life separate from the one you live away at college. You could keep this perfect balance of family and friends. You could finally separate yourself from your upbringing. But the thought that your family could drive something so perfect out of your life, stressed you out beyond comprehension. 

“Hey,” Hazel interjects, bringing you out of your spiraling thoughts. “You alright?”

“Yeah-uh, sorry.” You reply, anxiously tapping your fingers on the steering wheel. 

“It’s okay” She reassures with kind eyes. “You just kind of spaced out there when I asked about your family. Is everything okay?”

You exhale a long breath. Even feeling the motions of it all and knowing this trip could make or break everything with Hazel, you’re aware that she deserves to know. 

“They don’t know, Haze.” you finally blurt. 

She hesitates a moment. Her expression is evidently confused, as she turns down the music. “Who doesn’t know what?”

“My parents. They don’t know. They don’t know I’m…” For some reason, it’s hard to say. You’ve always been comfortable in your sexuality, so why is it so hard to say it now? 

“Gay?” She finishes for you.”They don’t know you like girls?”

You bite your lip, shaking your head. “I’m so sorry, I should’ve told them sooner -long before I even thought of bringing you to them. Which also should’ve been way sooner. I just didn’t know what to say or how to tell them or-”

“So they’re homophobic?” She interrupts.

You stutter on your words, struggling to form a proper response, before letting out a defeated breath. “Kind of?”

“Kind of?”

“Well, they’re not like homophobic in a way where they think gay people shouldn’t have the right to marry or exist. To them it’s more like, ‘i dont care if you’re gay just don’t do that stuff around me’ kind of way. So they are homophobic, but it’s like…it’s just…” You hesitate, glancing at Hazel’s expression carefully. 

For a moment, she stares at you in bafflement. What she could be thinking appears unreadable -that is, until a small laugh escapes her. 

She’s laughing?

“Hazel,” you sigh. ”It’s not funny. I’m serious.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry for laughing,” She apologizes with a waving of her hand. “It’s just… I’ve never heard someone describe it that way.”

“Hazel,” You complain, desperately trying to keep your focus on her and the road. 

She purses her lips as she tries to bite back an amused smile. After a deep exhale, she finally regains her composure and meets your weary expression. “Look, it’s fine they don’t know. I get it, it’s hard coming out, especially to people like that. I don’t expect you to tell them right as we walk through the door. Although, I’d love to see such a dramatic proclamation of your love for me, I understand not telling them. So, you don’t have to… for now.”

She pauses for a moment, placing a comforting hand on your forearm. “But I do wish you would’ve told me about them before bringing me all the way out here. I need to like, be more prepared for a situation like this.”

“I know, and I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you before,” you apologize, wishing you would’ve swallowed your transgressions and told her sooner. “You don’t have to do this anymore. If you’re too uncomfortable-”

“No, I want to.” she interjects. “Things will just be a little more awkward, is all. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“No Hazel, you don’t-... this was a bad idea. I should’ve told you-”

“Hey, it’s fine. I’m okay with it, really.” 

You flatten your lips, dissatisfied with how you’ve made things. Her circumstances are unfair, yet she’s still willing to meet them. 

“Are you sure? I can text my mom, cancel the whole thing, and I can just stay with you on campus for spring break. I’ll make it up to you-”

Hazel interrupts with a stern call of your name. “Seriously, it’s fine”

You switch your worried gaze from the dark roadway to Hazel’s pitying stare. You didn’t think it would be possible, but you begin to think you might want to turn around more than Hazel. You’ve finally built up enough courage to offer for them to meet, and a part of you wonders if it’s for the best, if the timing is even right. 

“It’s just…my relationship with my family is complicated. They’re not… easy people to get along with. I don’t want them to make you feel uncomfortable. I don’t want them to say some dumb shit and hurt you. I don’t want them to ruin things between us. And I’m scared that after this, things between us will change. That you’ll see me differently, like I’m one of them, and want to leave. And, honestly, Hazel, these past few months with you have been really really amazing and I don’t want to lose that …I don’t want to lose you.”

Hazel is silent for a long moment, seemingly mulling something over in her head. And with each passing moment, you get more nervous that she had changed her mind and did, in fact, want to turn around and leave you with your family troubles.

“Pull over,” She suddenly demands.

“What?” 

“Pull over, I want to give you a hug.” She implores with a strange sophistication in her words. “And because you’re crying and probably shouldn’t be driving.”

You hadn’t even realized it before, but tears were streaming down your cheeks, your voice was hoarse, and your vision was far too blurry to be driving in the dark. 

You wipe your tears abashedly with a weak laugh, and pull over onto the side of the empty highway. Shifting the vehicle into park, Hazel’s arms immediately wrap around your shoulders -the unwarranted comfort making you fall apart at the seams. All in one fell swoop, everything comes crashing down. 

You tuck your head between her shoulder and neck, desperately attempting to suppress the lump in your throat. Her affection is warm and safe. To you, her embrace isn’t a new feeling, yet, it’s still somehow refreshing. Like a much-needed breath of fresh air, or a sip of ice water on a hot day. 

“You’re not going to lose me because of them. Nothing they say or do will ever change how I feel about you, alright?” she whispers over your shoulder. 

You nod, unsure if you can trust your own voice. 

She let's go, placing a small peck on your cheek. Her palms cradle your face as she stares into your eyes. “Everything is going to work out just fine. And if it doesn’t, we’ll leave. Simple as that.”

You nod once more, hating how speechless you feel. Here she was, sacrificing her spring break to meet your homophobic parents, yet she’s the one comforting you. 

“Alright. Now, switch seats with me. I’m driving now.”

Not even bothering to argue, you unbuckle your seatbelt and open the driver door. 

You type in your address into the GPS, and allow Hazel to take the wheel. 

…

Pulling into the rocky driveway, your heart’s in your ears and there’s a knot in your stomach. If the prolonged carsickness from the car ride didn’t make you throw up, walking through that front door surely will. 

Hazel puts the car in park and turns the ignition off. “You okay?”

You stare at the dash, eyes glued straight ahead and you nod slowly. 

A hand grabs yours, squeezing it three times over, a gesture you have yet to understand but never fails to ease your racing heart. Glancing at this impossibly calm and collected girl next to you, you wonder how you ever got so lucky to be a part of her world. It seems nearly inconceivable. She’s too good to be true, too good for you. 

Flashing a weak smile, you open the passenger door and step out into the cold air. 

The sun has set into darkness, as the crickets chirp in a harmonious choir. One thing you did miss about home were the quiet nights. Compared to the college town, where police sirens were an atmospheric staple and the oxygen is thick with pollution, your hometown was silent. Everything could be heard throughout the still nights, including your favorite calls of the mourning dove. 

You ultimately decide to leave your bags in the car, figuring you’ll grab them after dinner, which is supposedly ready according to the text your mom sent ten minutes prior to your arrival. So, not wanting them to wait another moment to eat, the two of you walk to the front door. 

Typically, when you visit home, you barge through the door, not bothering to announce yourself. It’s your home after all. But this time, being so filled with nerves, you knock. 

“Come in,” your mother's voice beckons from inside, followed by the excited barking of the family dog. 

The moment you open the door, two paws meet your abdomen. “Hey, buddy,” You shakily greet, ruffling the dog's head, as his tail wags excitedly. 

“Hazel, this is Ru,” You introduce sliding off your shoes. 

Ru is the name everyone decided on, and the one you came up with. Though you never had the heart to tell your family you named him after Rupaul. But it’s funnier if they don’t know. 

“Hi Ru,” Hazel coos, squatting to the pups level, allowing him to sniff her hand, to which he immediately accepts. Originally, your family wanted a guard dog. Instead they got Ru, who wouldn't hurt a fly.

“Aren’t you just the sweetest?” Hazel laughs, flopping his ears. Already you could tell the dog loved her. Seeing her with Ru, both of them lighting up at the interaction, made things feel slightly better, like everything might turn out alright.

“Hey, hun!” Your mom greets, rounding the entrance corner, her arms open wide. 

“Hi,” You put on your best smile while wrapping your arms around her, using every last piece of willpower to suppress the nerves. 

“Missed you,” she reminds, pulling away before her gaze quickly drifts to the girl behind you. 

“Mom, this is Hazel.”

Something falters behind your mother's stare, and in an instant you notice her subtle surprise. Indeed, not a boy.

“Hi, nice to meet you,” Hazel stands, offering her hand.

“Nice to meet you,” She shakes her hand briefly with a smile, then turns back to you. “Where are your bags?”

“Oh, we left them in the car. Didn’t want to hold up dinner any longer, you know?”

“You didn’t have to do that,” she brushes off, as she saunters back to the kitchen, “But after dinner, I’ll send your father out there to help you unload all your stuff.”

“Speaking of which, where is he?” You ask, gesturing for Hazel to follow you further into the home. 

Your mother scoffs, grabbing the plates from the pantry. “Bathroom, you know how he is.”

“Gross, I’m eating.” A voice calls from the dining table. 

You peek your head around the corner to find your sister, who not surprisingly didn’t wait for your arrival to eat. “Good to see you too.” You tease.

She nods, her mouth full of food. 

Looking at the stove, you find fresh cooked salmon, cubed baked sweet potatoes, and charred asparagus. If there is a second thing you missed about home, it’s the home-cooked meals. 

“Dinner looks good, mom.” You smile, grabbing a plate for both you and Hazel. 

“Thank you,” She chirps, filling her plate and looking at Hazel who has been shadowing your side. “Please, help yourselves to whatever.”

“Thank you so much,” Hazel lightly mutters, joining your side to fill her plate. “And thank you for having me. I know it’s last minute.” 

“No worries. It’s always nice to have a new guest.” 

Finally taking a seat at the table, Hazel sits by your side. You could tell she was being overly conscious of how close she sat next to you. Despite knowing she only wanted to avoid unwanted attention, you couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Her comforting presence is an inescapable desire, one that you cannot have -not here. 

“You know, when you said a friend, they thought you were finally bringing home a boy.” your sister ridicules from the seat across from you. 

A distaste for your sister settles on your tongue. Of course that was the first thing she’s said since you arrived. It didn’t matter that it was a diss towards you. What mattered was how Hazel glanced in your direction -a mix of dejection and pity- it killed you. 

“Well…” you begin, unsure of how to respond to such a remark. “It's best not to assume things, is it?”

Her eyes flare with amusement, indicating she wasn’t expecting a defensive remark. It wasn’t like you to respond in such a way, but these are different circumstances.

Without introduction, your father walks in with his plate in hand. On his way to his seat, he plants a small pat on your shoulder. “Good to see you home for once.”

You smile flatly. Every time you visited home, the subject of your frequent absence was always brought up. Even with the easy drive home, Christmas and Spring break were the only times of year that you ever visited home. 

“Um,” You clear your throat, “Dad, this is Hazel.”

Directing his attention to the girl, he offers a curt nod. “So, what are you majoring in Hazel?”

Mentally, you roll your eyes, because of course that’s his first question. 

“Uh, engineering, sir.”

His expression lightens, “Really? That’s a pretty good one, make a lot of money in that field.”

“Yeah, definitely. But it’s very competitive, so we’ll see how it goes.” 

“I’m sure you’ll do great.” Your mom chimes in, as she takes a seat next to your sister. 

Hazel smiles warmly, “Thank you.” 

“Hazel actually got a perfect score last semester on her Calculus three final,” You bud in, trying desperately to keep a conversation floating.  

“Wow, calculus, huh?” your dad replies, evidently impressed. “How’d you pull that off?”

“Well, I’m pretty accustomed to the formulas by now. I’ve been working with this sort of thing ever since I joined the fight club in high school and made…” She pauses, reconsidering her story. “I just helped everyone with their calculus homework, really.”

“Wait, did you say fight club?” Your sister adds. “Like the Brad Pitt movie?”

“Yeah -um, it wasn’t necessarily a fight club, more like a self-defense club. You know, for female solidarity and stuff.” 

“Oh, well that’s very cool,” Your mom comments. “You know, we made y/n take a self-defense class before going to college.”

“Really?” Hazel questions, eyes lightening with surprise as she turns to you.

“Mhm,” your mother grins proudly. “best of her class.”

“What? Why did I never know this?” 

You shrug with the first genuine smile you’ve mustered since the night began. “I don’t know, I never thought to mention it.”

She lightly laughs, making your nerves ease ever so slightly. 

The night goes on as the conversation picks up. Hazel and your family exchange  stories, jokes, and current happenings in their lives. Things are looking up, you think. Dinner has long been eaten, and no one has even bothered to move from the table. The earlier tension has finally dissolved into an air of comfortability, and your nerves have finally settled into an ease. As far as you could tell, your family has found a liking for Hazel.

You made a deal with yourself.  Before spring break ends, you’d indefinitely tell them. The only question is, how would you find the proper timing? Things are going so well now, what if telling them ruins it? 

Eventually, Hazel excuses herself, discreetly asking you for directions to the bathroom. You stood, grabbing both your plates and pointing her in the general direction down the hall. 

 Discarding the plates into the dishwasher, you return to your seat on the table, hazel now absent from your side. Without her comforting presence, the energy seems to shift in the room. There is a thick silence among your family. For a moment, you can’t tell if it’s all in your head. Although, almost in an instant, your earlier hopes for a peaceful spring break dispel into thin air.  

“So, your friend Hazel.” Your sister begins. 

You look up expectantly, awaiting some derogatory remark with deep trepidation. 

“She’s got a personality, doesn’t she?”

You narrow your eyes, “What does that mean?” 

“She’s just different is all.” 

“Yeah but what does that mean?” You ask once more with impatience, eyes darting between each of your family members, looking for some unknown answer. 

“She just means,” Your mother adds, “She’s a lot more different from your other friends. She’s…”

“Funny,” Your dad finishes, though it’s not a compliment. It’s a passive tone, one you know all too well. 

“Funny?”

Your sister shrugs. “Yeah. I mean, the way she dresses, her hair, her humor. It’s all just different from what we’re used to.” 

“So…You don’t like her?” you question with a twinge of hurt. Wherever this is going, you dread it. That same tangled ball of nerves in your stomach have finally resurfaced, and all it took was for Hazel to leave the room. 

Your dad scoffs, “You know that's not what we’re saying, y/n. “ 

“Yeah we like her she’s just-”

“Different, yeah I got it. You don’t have to say it a million times.”

“You don’t have to get so defensive about it. It’s not that big of a deal,” Your sister remarks with a condescending laugh, “I mean, what? Are we not allowed to talk about her?”

“Not the moment she leaves the room, no. That’s fucking weird and condescending.”

“Hey!” Your dad warns. “Watch your mouth.”

You feel at a loss for words. Everything is escalating so fast. From what you observed, everyone was having a good time. Why do they have to go and ruin it? How could they be so insolent? 

“I don’t see why you’re getting so defensive about her though?” Your sister adds. “It’s not like we’re saying anything bad.”

“No, but you’re making passive comments, and I can tell what you’re actually thinking, and it hurts my feelings that you think that way.”

“Oh god forbid we hurt your feelings,” Your father claims. 

The hurt is soon replaced with anger, as your father’s remark seeps into your skin. After all these years of growing up with them by your side, you’ve never seen them so… ugly. You knew they weren’t the most agreeable people, but this was a whole new side.  “Why would you-”

“We’re sorry, honey,“ Your mom interrupts. “We don’t mean to upset you. You’re right, it’s rude to talk about someone when they're out of the room.”

You give her a disbelieving look. “It doesn’t matter if she’s here or not! The stuff you're saying still sucks, and it’s weird, and all of you are being rude.”

“Oh my god, we aren’t even saying anything bad! We just said she’s different from your other friends.” Your sister complains. 

You groan, “Yeah and you keep saying different and not actually elaborating on what you mean.” 

“Y/n, honey, calm down.”

“No! I wanna know what does ‘different’ mean? What does that mean to you?”

A subtle silence envelopes the air, a heavy, understanding silence. You aren’t mad because you don’t understand what they’re saying; You're mad because you do. You want to hear them say it. You need to hear them say it. 

“You know what we mean,” Your sister finally confides. 

It takes everything in you to not burst at the seams. Can they not even say it? Was it that hard for them? 

“Why can’t all of you just be… supportive, unconditionally.”

Your dad shakes his head, “Why does it matter what we think anyway?” 

“Because, she’s my girlfriend!” You cry. The moment the words finally reveal themselves, a weight is lifted off your chest.

The room falls silent, their faces painted with complete bewilderment.

“We’ve been together for five months now. And I didn’t want to tell you guys because I knew you would react this way, and I knew you wouldn’t understand, or in the very least, even try to. But it turns out, I don’t even need to tell you she’s my girlfriend for all of you to absolutely lose your shit! I mean, you’re my family for Christ's sake! I just wish you’d be a little more supportive, or at least have a heart when I tell you i’m…I-” The rest of your words fail to fall from your mouth, as they bubble up behind the lump forming in your throat. 

They give no response, not even one from your father to correct your language. They simply stare, and it’s an unbearable silence, one that fills you with an impending dread. One that holds the weight of all that is unspoken. One that says absolutely nothing, yet everything all at once. 

Maybe it’s disgust or maybe it’s shock, yet the uncertainty of their expressions remains. All that can be certain is the very fact that you can’t be here anymore.  

Though, all you can manage to do is study their contemplative stares. You study them with a pained glare til your eyes drift to the hall, where Hazel stands in the entrance. You don’t know how long she’s been there, but with her sympathetic yet ultimately, disappointed expression, you presume she's been there long enough. Now, only one thought floats through your mind: Hazel shouldn’t have to be here.

You abruptly stand from the table and pace out the door.  “Thank you for dinner,” You mutter, as you grab your keys and wallet off the counter. You take Hazel’s hand without meeting her eyes, and usher her out the door. 

Faintly, you hear your mother call out from the kitchen, though her voice only mumbles under the rumbling thoughts in your head. 

It’s funny, you thought the worst response would be one of disapproval. But it turns out, no response is worse. With no words spoken, you don’t know what they’re thinking. Sure, the silence is enough to make you want to curl up inside yourself and disappear, but you can’t tell if it was shock or dismay. 

Before you can open the driver door, Hazel cuts in front of you, giving a knowing look. She was going to drive, no questions asked. And you had no energy left to argue, so without another word, you hop in the passenger seat and tuck your knees to your chest, holding back the fountain of tears that threaten to spill. 

As the car leaves the neighborhood, Hazels sits behind the wheel with the same face as before. You don’t know if the disappointment in her eyes is for you or your family. Or maybe it’s both, being of the same blood and all. You are them, and they are you; they are you, and you are them. It doesn’t matter either way, because they’re family. And when you needed their approval most, they chewed it up and spit it out.

They’re the people that are supposed to support you most, they’re supposed to love you unconditionally. But when it comes to a love that is unconventional to them, all that goes out the window. Maybe simply being their daughter wasn’t enough.

All these interminable, chastising thoughts suddenly come to a halt, when the hand that’s been anxiously gripping your shin, is pulled away.  Your eyes drift upward to find Hazel’s hand intertwined in yours. Her eyes are glued to the road in such a steadfast way, you begin to wonder if she’s even paying attention to her driving. She seemed out of it, lost in her own world. Til, she flips on the blinker and makes the turn out of your hometown.

[zooophagous]

I had a tattoo client ask if I ever used AI to design tattoos for me. Man I spent the better part of a decade doing shitty bit work as a graphic designer and now that I have the space to do whatever I want, I'm gonna let the computer generate random garbage for me? What next should I have a computer that eats my dinner and fucks my wife?

[zooophagous]

I feel like people get so hung up on the results of a thing that they don't appreciate that the process of making it is, actually, enjoyable.

It's like if you have a friend who likes to bake, asking if they'd like to just buy cupcakes from the store instead of making them. The end result of the cupcake is secondary to the joy you get from having made cupcakes.

Art isn't a slog or a chore or something I want to avoid. Art is fun. It's rewarding. It feels good to do it. You may as well be asking me if I want the AI to watch television for me, it doesn't make any sense, I'm not participating and would gain nothing from it.

[yournewfriendshouse]

yeah the AI debate really has revealed the staggering amount of people who fundamentally misunderstand what art making is about

[ellipsus-writes]

We know many of you have seen NaNoWriMo's recent statements on generative AI...

Well, we have too—and that's why we've made the decision to retract our sponsorship of NaNo.

Your support and belief in human creativity, transparency and collaboration mean everything to us, and we're committed to staying true to that. Thank you all! 💙

You can read our full statement here.

The Ellipsus team xo

[lamoobsessions]

REMINDER, not only are AI generative tools harmful to creatives, it’s also harmful to the environment! A single message sent to Chat GPT emits roughly 4.32 grams of CO2.

[cookieinstinct]

any trans person reading this I love you

any woman reading this I love you

any poc minority reading this I love you

any queer person reading this I love you

[aimseytv]

with arcane season two coming up i need to make sure it’s known i respect women’s rights AND wrongs

[coltercowpoke]

fruit appreciation post !