being in a fandom where people are creating whole ass diagrams on google docs to dox people and purposefully making twitter burner accounts to leak names while also coming up with rules in their discord servers on how to act when the “burner” account is made is actually fucking insane.
Ever have that one person that is so fucking hot where you swear to yourself that you would want nobody else then they open their mouth and you just wanna...
I am now officially a retired Spain nt fan. I fucking QUIT. We became a joke, the Spain nt. La roja baila my ass. We left out our best and one of the best defenders in the world. What is this? Imagine the betrayal Sergio felt when he was called by that dumbass coach that we don't need him anymore. We don't need our captain anymore.
Sergio Ramos was one of the last remaining world cup winners that we had, he contributed a lot. All the others retired from the team or retired from football in general. Sergio was a loyal warrior, he was and is the face of Spanish football. His aggressiveness, his boiling determination, and he was the perfect captain.
He worked his best as a captain, a defender and a Spanish player and I'm saying this as a madridista, a retired Spain nt fan and a football fan in general.
I'm still mad and still have not forgiven the Spain team for not letting him join the world cup team, knowing full bloody well that it may be his last. But I thought, well yeah he is old and we have newer younger players, thats how it is. But then fuck that mindset. This one, it's not something to forgive. It's not something to justify.
So this is my letter to the Spain nt, you were my team. and I'll probably still support you on the next world cup cause I'm lazy to find a new team, I've gone too attached. But I will find one, a new one. I will beat my lazy ass cause I don't wanna support a team that doesn't appreciate their players. If they had the urge and the mind and ability to fire a man like Sergio Ramos, how easily could they call up the more underrated players to retire? So easy. They could call up isco, nacho, lucas vazques just like that cause they are biased towards barcelona.
I'm not going through that pain and disloyalty.
So sincerely, from the bottom of my broken fucking heart. Fuck. You.
We deserve all the bad things that happens to us. Well now I'm going to change it.
You deserve all the bad things that happens to you. Adios and..thank you for the memories. It was nice.
People love to disrespect fic writers but like...a fuck ton of fic writers are super fucking talented and the plots they come up with are immaculate, the twists they use, adding in other elements, writing characters into shows or movies, rewriting characters, throwing an entire set of ppl in an au and executing it SO FUCKING WELL. Like i truly dont understand how ppl can shit on fic writers and insult them for writing fanfics when these mfers have the talent some authors dont fucking possess. I know for a fact everyones read at least one book in their lives that has had them like “what the absolute fuck is this shit”-like bland asf, bad grammar, shitty ass writing in general. Like there are literal fanfics that are like 70 chapters of pure slowburn excellence on AO3, tumblr, and other platforms (including the orange hellsite). Fic writers deserve more respect. Even if its not your thing dont sit and shit on them and make shitty generalizations just bc you dont like fanfics
(Treat Me Nice) Never Let Me Go, 15/15 (Branjie) - Pinkgrapefruit
[ chapter 15. pretty woman ]
“Darryl is out front with the limousine,” Nina says, handing the AmEx card back. “Come again soon.”
They’ve been friends for a long time, and yet they always let the professional pretenses slide up again. Brooke is starting to think it’s a defence mechanism for her, so she squeezes Nina’s hand in a way that tries to convey love and gratitude and the knowledge that she can be relied on.
They nod at each other before Brooke turns to the door, and Nina may or may not watch her walk away. Brooke would too - her ass looks fantastic in the slacks.
[ pretty woman au ]
A/N - I genuinely cannot believe this is over. I’ve been writing it for 14 months, posting it for 11 and it’s become an integral part of who I am on this platform. I’m not being dramatic here - it’s been formative in my writing and i’m so proud of writing an almost 35K fic. Thank you to Frey for being here the whole time and loving it even when I found it hard to love and thank you all for sticking around. Please tell me what you think of it - what you’ve thought the whole time and stick around to see what i’ll come up with next.
I love you all! <3
*
Vanessa stands in the lobby. She wonders if she looks as lost as she feels - just standing there - waiting for someone to call her out or tell her to leave or ask her to stay. She holds her bags with purpose, though she’s not sure what that is yet. Luckily, Nina seems to think she looks pretty lost too, and she stands next to her, just watching the world keep turning outside the hotel entrance.
Vanessa looks at her and smiles. “Hey Nina.” Her voice is light, but it’s tired.
“Miss Vanessa,” Nina acknowledges, still staring straight ahead, arms clasped in front of her - twiddling her wedding band.
“I wanted to say goodbye,” Vanessa tells her, and Nina shakes her head, a smile playing on her lips. The brunette has been a nuisance, but she is a nuisance that will be missed dearly.
“I gather you’re not accompanying Miss Hytes back to Canada, then?” Nina asks, her tone bordering on curious, but then again - that would be quite uncouth.
“Come on, Nins,” Vanessa chuckles, “you and me live in the real world… most of the time.” Nina has to laugh at that, and it’s polite, but still manages to reverberate around Vanessa’s heart. They sigh in unison and Vanessa looks towards the outside once more.
Nina follows her gaze to the taxi station. “Have you arranged for transportation?” Vanessa shakes her head, and so she adds, “allow me,” before pacing back to the desk for a minute or so.
When she returns, she has Darryl at her heel. “Darryl,” she addresses, and it makes Vanessa smile to see what a boss bitch Nina is.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Please, take Miss Vanessa anywhere she wishes to go.” Darryl nods compliantly and stands back while the two women say their goodbyes. It’s bittersweet, Nina is the closest thing to a Mama that Vanessa has had since she moved to California (except maybe Trixie, but Trixie would kill her if she ever said it). “It’s been a pleasure,” she tells Vanessa with a small smile.
Vanessa wants to drop all her bags and hug her, but she refrains, nodding politely.
“See you around, Nina.”
*
Brooke wakes up the next morning to an empty bed. It shouldn’t shock her, the feeling of the cool linens on the other side of the mattress, she’s the one who made Vanessa leave - at least that’s what she’s telling herself.
The idea that Vanessa left on her own hurts a little more, that she wouldn’t stay.
She packs quickly - portable radio and suits and lucky watch all put away with speed, because she feels this urge to get out. She needs air, space, somewhere less reminding of Vanessa.
She left her bodysuit from the first night. It must have fallen down in the wardrobe and she didn’t check the floor - Brooke wants to laugh at the rookie mistake, but it smells like cigarettes and her, and it makes her want to cry.
Courtney knocks with a patient smile, and Brooke just lets her in to grab the cases.
“Is this all?” She asks.
Brooke nods. “Just drop it downstairs, thanks.”
She takes one last sweeping look around the room, hands stuffed in the pockets of her navy slacks. She sighs, looking to the clear door of the mini fridge that reminds her to pay the room service tab before she leaves. Stalking over to it, she pulls out a non-alcoholic beer and takes it onto the balcony, yearning for something that reminds her of Vanessa. She stands, elbows propped on the hard concrete, looking over Los Angeles for longer that she would admit. For the first time she might just miss it - miss her.
When she finishes the beer, she places it on the side board and leaves, closing the door softly. She doesn’t like to slam doors - likes the idea that she can always open them again and go back. She doesn’t like hard endings. She doesn’t like a definite finish.
*
Vanessa pulls herself up so she’s sitting on the counter of the kitchen she shares with Silky. It’s her spot - the one she would occupy while Silky cooked (or burnt things and then ordered take out). Silky would usually swat at her to get down, tell her she was spoiling the work surface by sticking her ass on it, but Vanessa would just smile sweetly and stick her tongue out, drinking whatever cheap liquor they’d bought and tasting whatever horrible concoction Silky would mix up.
She misses those days. They were the hard kind of easy, but everything felt worth it. Silky raises an eyebrow at her, hand resting on a tatty suitcase.
“Chicago ain’t that great, you know,” Vanessa tells her longingly. “It’s cold and foggy and the winters will suck.” Silky just chuckles at her pout, pulling one of the kitchen chairs until she is sat opposite Vanessa.
“I need to do this, Ness,” she tells her, and it’s the most real and quiet and contemplative Vanessa has ever seen her. “I’ll wear a sweater, don’t you worry.”
Vanessa huffs. “What are you gonna do there?” She complains, not caring how petulant she sounds.
“Get a job? Finish high school?” Silky offers up, but she’s smiling so much that Vanessa finds it hard not to smile with her. “I’ll miss you, but I need to get out and you gave me the means.”
“So it’s my fault?” Vanessa quips, and Silky hits her thigh playfully. “I’ll miss you too,” she adds softly. She jumps off the counter and moves to rummage around in the bags she’s yet to upack. She finds an envelope and takes a wad of cash from it, holding it out in front of her in a motion for Silky to grab it.
“What’s this?”
“The Brooke Lynn Hytes Scholarship fund. We think you got a lot of potential Silky Ganache.” Silky mock salutes her, and they just look at eachother quietly for a minute.
“I’ll miss you,” Vanessa repeats, eyes watery.
“I’ll see you again, Vanessa Hytes.”
“Bitch.”
“I gotta split. Goodbyes make me weep.”
Vanessa hugs her goodbye and then she’s gone, and Vanessa is all alone in the apartment with it’s creaky water pipes and sticky counters. The draft from the window chills her ankles, and she tries not to cry as she makes a cup of tea and sips it by the fire escape.
*
Brooke greets Nina with a warm smile that exudes gratitude. She rests her hands on the front desk, elbows locked so she can stretch her back from it’s permanent hunch. She misses the feeling of confidence she used to have when she stood tall and didn’t feel like there was something she was missing. She exhales a long breath through her nose and tries to regain the regularity in the beating of her heart.
“Miss Hytes,” Nina greets to keep up appearances.
“Nina,” Brooke replies, because she is finding more and more of a disdain for the politics of politeness. “Do you have any messages for me?” It’s a dance they do every morning she stays there, and Nina doesn’t even have to wait to be asked to be searching for it.
She shakes her head softly. “I’m afraid not.” She takes Brooke’s AmEx card and swipes it for her to clear all the tabs. “Will you be needing a car to the airport?”
Brooke nods. “Darryl?” She asks, and Nina calls for him. He appears behind Brooke in a matter of moments, grabbing the handles of her cases in a move to carry them to the car.
“Darryl took Vanessa home yesterday,” Nina smiles as she tells Brooke - a twinkle in her eye, and Brooke wants to call out her interfering, but she just scrunches her nose instead. “May I, Brooke?”
Brooke nods apprehensively, waiting to see what Nina will say. “It must be difficult to let go of something so beautiful.”
A smile flutters across Brooke’s face before she can stop it - her pale red lips twisting upwards. Her eyes light up and her cheeks flush.
“It’s horrible.” She lets herself admit as if they were alone in a quiet room and she was telling a deep and dark secret - voice cracking uncomfortably.
“I hope you find her again,” Nina tells her earnestly - twisting the band on her finger like a lifeline. Brooke can connect the dots - read the suggestion Nina is giving her like a newspaper, and for the first time, she is receptive to it. Receptive to the idea that Vanessa might be her Monét.
“Darryl is out front with the limousine,” Nina says, handing the AmEx card back. “Come again soon.”
They’ve been friends for a long time, and yet they always let the professional pretenses slide up again. Brooke is starting to think it’s a defence mechanism for her, so she squeezes Nina’s hand in a way that tries to convey love and gratitude and the knowledge that she can be relied on.
They nod at each other before Brooke turns to the door, and Nina may or may not watch her walk away. Brooke would too - her ass looks fantastic in the slacks.
She slides into the back seat of the limo with a sigh, catching Darryl’s eye in the rear-view mirror. “LAX,” she tells him, but her voice must waiver, because Darryl squints at her.
“You sure, Ma’am?”
She sighs painfully and shakes her head, fingers raking through her blonde hair in a way that’s just rough enough to ground her.
“No. Take me to a flower shop,” she sounds definite.
*
The chatter through the neighbourhood is warm and friendly - a mixture of accents and dialects floating in the breeze like cherry blossoms, scattering on the pavement. Two boys play football underneath one of the fire escapes. They take turns kicking it in their ratty trainers, cheering when one can get it into the dumpster across the street. Cars honk, but it’s not angry.
There is a street vendor selling churros and honey peanuts, and the smell wafts down the street till the air feels sticky from something other than the heat.
The buildings are yellowed - a pale shade of ochre, peeling in areas to expose solid bricks, and fire escapes wind up the outsides of all the buildings - six or seven storeys high. Someone is playing country music out of their open window.
Then, seemingly out of nowhere, french classical music winds its way through the buildings. It’s so achingly familiar to Vanessa that she pulls her attention away from Fantasia on the TV and sticks her head out of her open window, chuckling as she sees her neighbours relaxing on their fire escapes. A chatter amasses with the approaching music, talk of a limo that spreads faster than the car can drive, and Vanessa finds her heart catching in her throat as she strains her neck to see further down the street. And then it appears.
The sun roof of the limo is open, and Darryl is driving painfully slowly, because Brooke is standing on the back seat, poking out of the hole in the roof from her waist up. Her hair looks remarkably well kept, considering both the sticky heat and the slight breeze that feel like they are fighting each other. She has one hand braced against the roof, and the other is waving a bouquet of roses the same colour as Vanessa’s dress for the ballet was. All of the windows of the car are open and Darryl has the music switch from french classical to an orchestral version of the Disney theme tune.
Vanessa wants to cry.
“Princess Vanessa!” Brooke calls out, her stupid blue eyes wide and joyful before they disappear under the roof. The back door opens, and Vanessa clasps her hands to her mouth to choke back either a sob or a laugh. She’s not quite sure.
Brooke’s smile only falters when she steps out of the car and realises just how high up Vanessa’s apartment is, gulping so visibly that Vanessa actually does laugh.
“You’re making it awfully hard to rescue you,” Brooke calls up, and Vanessa gives an exaggerated shrug.
“It’s cheap with a nice view,” she yells back, grinning so widely it hurts.
She watches as Brooke seems to toy with a couple of ideas, looking between the bouquet in her hand and the precarious looking stairs. She even appears to contemplate throwing the flowers, but Vanessa shakes her head violently, and Brooke comes to her senses.
She places the plastic wrapped roses between her teeth - the bouquet barely fitting - and begins climbing, hands gripping the rails with a death grip.
“They’re perfectly safe,” Vanessa shouts down to tease her, and Brooke goes to flip her middle finger up, but can barely remove her hand from the rail. She may have conquered her fear of the stone balcony with it’s high wall, but she’s not quite ready for the barely there metal grating.
It takes an awfully long time for Brooke to reach her, but Vanessa is laughing the whole time - watching her tall, gorgeous blonde try and climb the fire escape like it’s a waterslide and she’s going the wrong way. When she gets there, Vanessa grabs the bouquet out of Brooke’s mouth, throwing it through the open window.
And then she kisses her, and she’s pretty sure the world could end and she would be none the wiser.
When Brooke pulls away, she keeps her face mere inches away. “What happens once the knight rescues the princess?” She asks, breathlessly.
Vanessa smiles, eyes twinkling with happiness. “She saves her back.”
