#varisha

[written-in-gold]

Quick one-shot of Jess the night before he gets his mock results! Ft Varisha on the phone.

(Jesse's P.O.V.)

It's exam day tomorrow and I'm nervous, sitting up in bed at 2am in the morning. It's only our mocks, I remind meself. Not the be-all and end-all, but like, what if I do badly? Does that mean I'll fail my GCSEs and then, like, not have a backup for if me drag career doesn't work out? I guess I can still be a waiter with no Maths GCSE, right? In London, though. Drag or not, I'm leaving. Ta ra to Sheffield.

Ugh, exams, though. Feel like I didn't study that well. Varisha told me to, but like, I didn't. I was distracted by this video series I found on YouTube that teaches voguing, and then makeup tutorials, and then Carsen and the guys being awful to me so I didn't really wanna be sitting in a class room studying, where they could find me. Cishet men are a hassle as far as I see and need to gently move out of my way so I can bore myself to death appropriately.

Ugh, I'm gonna have failed. I always fail. I know Mum won't be too mad: I've told her my struggles and she understands them, the school won't do anything to help with me dyslexia, all the bullying. My real exams I'll do properly, though, Varisha can help me revise. I want my grades to be good even if I don't need them for me career. It would be nice to pass, be proud of how I did.

But tomorrow? Doubt I'm gonna be proud.

"You still up?" I whisper.

"If I wasn't, Jess, how would I have answered the phone?" Varisha points out to me, sounding less worried than I am.

"OK, good. To the important bit, then. Exam results."

"I know, I hope I did well. Mocks matter."

"Oh no, really?"

"You'll have done fine. Don't matter that much, anyway."

"Says the straight-A student? Straight A plus student, actually, that's even worse. Well, better."

Varisha sighs on the other end of the phone and she sounds like she's smiling at me and me silly antics. But she always does do well, she's great at revising and, it seems to me, that she barely even needs to revise. It's completely unfair.

"Jess, you know, mocks are important but they're not what matters," Varisha assures me. "I'll help you revise for the real GCSEs."

"Pretty pinky promise?" I whisper, and she giggles.

"Pretty pinky promise. Besides, how much worse can you have done than literally everybody else?" Varisha points out, and she's right.

Class will probably be hell tomorrow. Like, pass out the grades, Varisha and her As, the rest of us getting Cs, probably, if we're really lucky, and failing if we ain't. And then pestering Miss Collins the whole time about being given too little credit, listening to everybody call Vay a suck-up, Carsen will probably be a dick to me 'cause he can't just not for once. Every single class, he has to bother me. I'd rather pretend he doesn't exist but it's pretty hard when he keeps reminding me that he does.

I don't mind people misbehaving in class; I'm not known for my positive, pro-leaning attitude full of enthusiasm. It's just how I feel like it always leads back to Carsen being Carsen, and Jacob too, and all the guys, really. And Miss Collins, she hates me. She has to nitpick at everything I do. I'm not even the worst in the class, so I know that's not it. She's a homophobe, which is partly why she hates me, and she hates me mum, too, 'cause we're so poor, and she thinks Mum isn't conventional enough and lets me do whatever I want, which is basically stay at home and make outfits and watch Drag Race. I never go out, 'cause Varisha ain't allowed to go out after school, or in the evenings—sometimes we go shopping on weekends, though, in the daytime—and I have no other real friends.

"Don't really wanna be bunched in with them," I murmur. They have no dreams, no nothing. They all think they'll all do badly in their exams, have a low-paying job and, like, a sub par life. I don't want that. I have a dream and a plan and I don't wanna be sub par. I don't wanna be like them. Varisha already knows that she won't be.

"You're better than them, then, if that's what you want to hear. Regardless of the exam results today. I'll help you with your GCSE revision and you'll do- great," Varisha promises. I don't know why I'm so worried about the GCSEs. I don't need those exams and they don't say anything about me, anyway. But I feel like I do. I feel like they're a sign of whether or not I'll succeed in life. But not the mocks. Tomorrow doesn't matter.

"Thanks, Varisha," I say. "You're literally the best, y'know?"

"That's me," she says playfully, and giggles a bit again, and then, after a moment, "we should sleep, though, Jess. It's really late and we have school."

"Yeah, OK," I say, even though I don't really wanna hang up or go to sleep. "OK. Night, then, Vay. Sweet dreaaaams."

"Sweet dreams, Jess. Night," Varisha says, and then she hangs up and I'm left with my thoughts, which I don't really wanna be. Definitely time to go to sleep, then. Night-night, me xoxo.

[written-in-gold]

The Students of Westview High

I just feel so connected to you guys right now

[written-in-gold]

25 for Varisha?

How stubborn is your OC? Are they open to consider other ideas, or are they more closed off?

I'd say that Varisha definitely likes to stick to her guns a lot of the time, but she also will listen to other people's ideas and give them fair judgement. I'd say some people she's less likely to listen to or agree with though (cough cough Carsen, and probably Jamie if she knew him) and some people that she'd definitely want to hear the opinion of (probably Olivia most prominently, or Peyton or Fernando if she knew them).

So I wouldn't really say she's stubborn at all, she just thinks things through before she does them and so therefore you're unlikely to find a way to convince her out of it that she hasn't already thought of and dismissed in her head. And she's definitely more headstrong when she's older, when she was a teenager she was quite nervous about things.

[written-in-gold]

Just to contrast the last one-shot, this one's pretty short 😂 just a snippet from Halloween their last year of high school. Since they're in England, that makes Jesse fifteen (youngest in the year) and Varisha sixteen (one of the oldest in the year). It's under the cut again.

(Jesse's P.O.V.)

I simultaneously have both the best and the worst school in existence. Best, because it has some fun ideas. Worst, because those fun ideas involve scaring me to death in some weird chase game on Halloween. Put simply, we all go into pairs, and try to scare the living daylights out of each other.

The lights flicker and then go off. I scream and grab onto Varisha's arm, and whimper out, "the lights!" I bet it's bloody Carson, targeting me. Somewhere he's listening to my screams and chucking to himself.

"Jesse, it's just one of the other groups trying to scare us. We know it's one of the other groups, that's the point," Varisha reminds me, a woman of science, unafraid.

"That's what the ghosts want you to think, Varisha," I remind her, and I can feel her rolling her eyes, even though I can't see her, because it's pitch black, oh my God.

"There's no such thing as ghosts, Jesse," she tells me. "Aren't we supposed to be trying to scare the others too, anyway?"

"Er, well, excuse me, Varisha Minhas, I'm just focusing on trying not to die," I tell her, and then I feel something on my shoulder, scream, and hop away from it, running around un a circle in case it's still on me. "Something touched me!"

"Jesse, it'll just be one of the others playing with you, stop giving them the satisfaction," Varisha says, although clearly nothing touched her and she doesn't understand the horror.

"No, it's a ghost, and we're gonna die here. They're gonna suck out our souls and then it'll probably feel all weird and fainty, eugh," I say, still trying to brush myself off.

"Nobody's died in this game before," Varisha reminds me. We've never played it before. Only the people in their last year get to do it, and we're in our last year. "And nobody's ever proved there's anything going on in this game but silly pranks. It's just for fun."

We hold hands for protection (well, I hold her hand for protection and she lets me) and I vow that I'm actually gonna do something scary tonight. I'll find Carson, wherever he is, probably hanging out with the ghosts and planning my demise, and scare him so badly he'll never recover. I have no idea how I plan to go about this but it'll happen. I will be triumphant.

[written-in-gold]

Jesse and Varisha scene, from when they were seventeen and still living in Sheffield near each other. It's in Varisha's P.O.V. and set in her room. It's quite long, and under the cut.

Varisha's P.O.V.

He's not really supposed to be here at this time and I know he knows that, but he doesn’t care. He wanted to see me, wanted to come, and so he snuck in and is now in the bathroom brushing his teeth with a disposable toothbrush, because apparently, he’s not leaving tonight. He says he’ll climb out the window in the dead of night so my parents don’t find out, and I told him that I hope he means before 6am in the morning otherwise he’ll get caught. To my surprise he begrudgingly agreed.

I’m dressed in my pyjamas, and I still have my hijab on since Jesse insists on staying here (well, he asked first), but I don’t know what he’ll be wearing. He’ll probably just sleep in his clothes.

I don’t understand him just showing up like this because he’s never really done it before, and I’m worried that maybe something has happened, but he seemed fine, so maybe he’s just in an odd mood. Maybe he’s lonely?

Suddenly the door swings open and I panic, holding my finger to my lips and making a frantic “quiet" gesture with my other arm. He shoots me an apologetic look and closes the door almost silently, and we breathe a sigh of relief.

“Haven’t you ever heard of the word quiet, Jesse?” I ask fondly, smiling a bit.

“Course I’ve heard of it, Varisha, it was me dad's favourite word,” he answers. “But there ain’t no fun in it and I’m too wonderful to contain.”

“There’s no fun in me getting a telling off either,” I say, deciding to ignore his boasting and passive aggression.

Jesse flicks his wrist at me dismissively and I roll my eyes, and he comes over to perch on my bed, a but unsurely, as if I might scold him. Looking at him there, for a second my mind runs absolutely wild with possibilities that I know are impossible.

It’s too much for me to ignore now. I want to be with Jesse, live with Jesse, be in love with Jesse. Last thing I see every night, first thing I see every morning. It’s been bubbling under the surface for years, really. Jesse, my childhood best friend. Jesse, my gay childhood best friend. So he could never love me, I could never make him happy. I wouldn’t even try it, and I don’t ever want to tell him. He shouldn’t have to be worrying about it.

“Should I set up camp on the floor?” Jesse asks, waving his fingers at it vaguely and then circling his hand a bit. He interrupted the daydream that I’m actually kind of ashamed of. I don’t want him to not be gay. I wouldn’t change him if I could, I swear I wouldn’t.

“You can stay up here if you want, just... some distance,” I say, laughing awkwardly, shuffling to the edge of the bed. I’ve never shared a bed with anybody before and I’d like some personal space, to be honest, while I’m sleeping. Should I put a pillow in the middle to create a separation?

“As long as you’re comfortable,” he answers, moving towards the pillow and shifting under the quilt, stretching out his long legs. I get under the quilt as well and try not to think about it all too deeply. He’s here, now. I don’t need the rest of it. I don’t need the kisses and the house and all that. This right now is perfect.

“So, what brings you here? Of all places?” I ask, gesturing at my room and smiling so he knows I’m not annoyed about it, because I’m not, although I’d rather not get a rant. I’m still sat up, cross-legged, but he’s lying on his back with one of his legs bent, staring at my ceiling. I’m looking down at him.

“I don’t know, to be honest, Varisha,” he admits, shrugging a bit. “I guess I was just a bit lonely at home tonight. There’s Mum, of course, back home, but it’s different to hanging out with you. And she was in a spacey mood and outside having a fag, and she doesn’t spoke usually now, not since the last time she saw Dad, who always drove her to distraction, which made me think she was, you know, in thought?”

“Ruminative?” I suggest. Although Jesse and his mum are a lot closer since prom and everything, although they were very close before, Jesse still steers clear a bit of anything to do with his father, and so does she. I don’t think they really talk about it. I’d like to say he was completely over it, but that’s not quite true. Jesse’s self-esteem is better than it was (now he has quite the ego, actually), but it still upsets him that his dad thinks what he does of him, so deeply that he’s essentially disowned him. He caused Jesse a lot of hurt.

“Does that mean she’s thinking?” he asks, looking up at me. “The word ruminative, I mean?”

“Yeah, like, deep in thought,” I explain to him, and he nods to himself and looks at the ceiling again. Now he looks a bit sad and I want to make it better, somehow, but I don’t know what I could do. I’d like to hold him until the pain goes away. I’d like all the pain he’s ever experienced to bleed out of him, and I’d just carry it meself. I’m not sure he knows how much he means to me. My only real friend at school, my first- crush? Love? I don’t even know what it is. I don’t even need to figure it out because nothing will ever happen with it.

“I wish I knew big words like you, Varisha Minhas, so I could sound smart,” he tells me, sighing a bit. I can see that he’s kind of joking but his heart just isn’t in it.

“Don’t be modest, Jesse, you’re like your own- Einstein,” I tell him, smiling and nudging him gently.

“You really think?” Jesse asks, smiling again in his faux modest way, touching his heart with his hand as if to say “who, me?”  and I feel my heart physically warm, I really do. He’s blushing a bit and I wonder if you can learn to blush on command. If you can, he’s clearly accomplished it. “Thanks.”

I shake my head a bit, smiling, and turn the light off, lying on my side facing him. I can just see his outline in the dark, his pointed nose and sculpted cheekbones, empty of makeup. I think to myself, he came just to see me, and then I feel a bit moved. It feels like nobody ever wants to see me, to be honest.

“When you go off to Uni,” Jesse begins, and I furrow my brows curiously, unsure what he might say, “and you know, I’ve escaped the school system and scurried off to London, how are we gonna see each other? What if I’m swarmed with fans?”

“Easy,” I answer, smiling at his teasing, “London and Cambridge are only an hour and a half away from each other by car. We’ll see each other on weekends and stuff, and we can always just meet in the middle. Less of a journey for both of us.”

“Where's the middle?”

“Well, we could meet up in Bishop’s Stortford.”

“Where's Bishop’s Stortford?” Jesse asks, making a face. I’m not surprised he’s never heard of it. Nobody has.

“In between Cambridge and London. It’s an old historic town, you’ll like it. There are cafes and stuff,” I promise him. To be honest, I’ve been looking forward to telling him this because it looks like such an interesting town to visit and I’d love for him to be there. “I’ll buy you a coffee.”

“Varisha Minhas, I will buy you a coffee,” he returns, tapping me on the nose, and I giggle a bit.

“We’ll split the bill.”

“But I’ll be paying for your half in spirit.”

“Then I’ll pay for your half in spirit.”

“Yay, deal!” he says, holding up his pinkie, and I intertwine mine with his and say back to him, “deal.”

I’ve forgotten that he’s not supposed to be here. My anxiety, my worry, it’s all gone away, because this feels right. I don’t like breaking rules or doing what I shouldn’t be doing, and maybe it’s a testament to his “bad influence” (my dad’s words) that I’m letting him stay, but I can’t help it. The idea of sending him away feels like I’m losing something. I want him to stay here with me. I feel like I’m feeling something wrong, like I’m betraying him.

I’ve really liked Jesse for ages, but I’ve never felt it as strongly as tonight. Never. I’ve never even really felt that attracted to anyone, no matter me best friend, but the rules of being me seem to be going out the window tonight. Am I losing my marbles?

“Varisha,” Jesse whispers, interrupting my reverie, and I realise I’m kind of staring at him and not really registering it. He looks concerned.

“Yeah?” I whisper back, fluffing my pillow for a moment.

“You’re making a face,” he says, pointing at me for a second, and I stare at him in horror before he says, “you look worried.” That isn’t so bad and I relax again.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m just worried about my parents finding us,” I explain, which I thought of on the spot but does make sense.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head, Varisha Minhas,” he says, touching my arm, and I twist my lips at him sceptically. “I’d hear them coming, and I’d be out of here like a snack in a functioning vending machine. Watch me go, like lighting.”

I roll my eyes, smiling, but now I am a bit worried about it. Maybe we should just go to sleep before he starts making noise or I start worrying myself about it and end up panicking and asking him to go.

“Let’s just go to sleep, Jesse,” I suggest.

He gasps. “Already? Do you even know how sleepovers work? We’re supposed to have late night chats, Varisha!”

“This isn’t a sleepover, Jesse, you just showed up, and no, not really, I’ve never been to one.”

“This is your first sleepover and you’re going to make it so tragic? And how can you not know how sleepovers work anyway? It’s everywhere in media.”

“It isn’t a sleepover, Jesse. Now quiet,” I say, although I’m not holding up much hope because he’s such a chatter box.

“OK,” he says, and miraculously goes quiet. I’m closing my eyes, ready to simply drift off, when suddenly I hear a soft, “goodnight, Varisha. Sweet dreams,” and somebody kisses me gently on the head. I so badly want to curl into his embrace but I don’t. I stay quiet, and still, like I never even heard him.

[written-in-gold]

I've developed my fanfiction characters into OCs, and am going to share them here. @dedicatedtothereaders and I, who's co-writing, haven't decided the full plot yet, but this is what we have so far:

Jesse Starin, a drag queen in London, is drunk and trying to get over a recent break up when he runs into trouble and is attacked in the alleyway next to his teenage bully, Carson Taylor's, flat in London. He remembers an old friend of his, Olivia, telling him that's that where Carson lives and, unsure of what else to do, goes inside and asks for Carson's help, since he's injured. However, what Jesse doesn't know is that Carson was actually a bit in love with him when they went to school together—and when Carson sees Jesse again, his feelings reignite.

These are the characters in the story that are mine:

Jesse Starin

Gender: Genderfluid. Goes by he/him pronouns most of the time, but has a drag persona (currently unnamed) and will sometimes go by she/her pronouns on and off stage.

Personality: ESFP. Bright, bubbly, a bit of a ditz, sometimes a bitch, confident, friendly.

Sexuality: Interested in men.

Best friend: Varisha Minhas

Job: Drag queen

Age: 22

Varisha Minhas

Gender: Female

Personality: INFJ. Intelligent, quiet, gentle-hearted, logical, thoughtful, kind.

Sexuality: Heteroromantic demisexual.

Best Friend: Jesse Starin

Job: At Uni working to be a doctor.

Age: 22

Olivia Thomas

Gender: Female

Personality: ENFJ. Outspoken, cheerful, easily angered, quite sweet.

Sexuality: Heteroromantic heterosexual.

Best Friend: Libby Windsor

Job: At Uni working to be a lawyer.

Age: 22

[kremlin99]

15 november 1981 - 15 november 2019 . Abah Enin... Selamat hari pernikahan yg ke 38thn, mugia ABAH ENIN selalu dalam lindungan ALLAH SWT . #abah #enin #sabrilla #varisha #savastore #sunda #orangtua #panutan (di RS MITRA PLUMBON Cirebon) https://www.instagram.com/p/B44ktm5HYls/?igshid=10vxtwpqrzzen

[kremlin99]

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