Deeply Obsessed With This

#i'm a slut for height difference and lack of personal space

10 THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU (1999) dir. Gil Junger

which ben wyatt are you today?

My God, are we gonna be like our parents?

THE SUMMER I TURNED PRETTY 2.06 "Love Fest"

you fucked up

idk what you’re referring to but probably

WHO ? naji & open. WHERE ? right in front of the (insanely long) bathroom line. WHAT ? event 01 — house party.

he's leaning heavy against the sink , fingers gripping the cool edge as naji finds himself in the mirror . one of the lights above it is flickering — bulb's gone out ? — and it's terribly eerie how his face is cast in a sickly yellow glow that is doing nothing to flatter him. not that he's doing himself any favors , anyway : he's half - convinced that the cherry four loko from earlier wasn't as good for him as the others had insisted it'd be. yeah , he's looking at his reflection again , fingers brushing against his temple as he wonders how long it'll take to shake himself back into sobriety. naji closes his eyes , breathes in , out , in again , out again , and — bang , bang , bang ! fuck. his jaw tenses as he listens, eyes narrowing, hoping they’ll give up. no such luck , because barely thirty seconds follow those aggressive knocks before another set makes the door shake. he can hear someone complaining on the other side , and even drunk , naji finds the irritation to roll his eyes. lord , are there no other bathrooms in major's home ? he's not thinking when he flings the door open , drunk words spilling out before he can rein them in. " the fuck is your problem ? you can’t wait one damn minute ? "

naji's body relaxes almost imperceptibly as the familiar voice hits his ears , the sight of major's face clear in his hazy vision after he gets in a few hard blinks. the initial burn of irritation that has him clenching his jaw fades away , replaced with a feeling that's caught halfway between relief and embarrassment. the hand brushing at his temple slips down to rub his jaw , and he rolls his eyes — even in his drunken state he knows it's an affectionate action more than an irritated one — stepping further out into the hallway to join major where he's standing. " man , you scared the shit outta me , " he groans , even though they both likely know ' scared ' isn't the most appropriate word. naji has always been the type to come out fists swinging , and had it been an annoying stranger instead of the bassist , the conversation would've ended in a verbal or physical scuffle. tentatively , and after a minute of trying to make out the label , naji reaches out to take the gatorade from him. it's a sight for sore eyes , practically glistening under the party lights. " thanks , though — couldn’t pay me to touch that jungle juice. four loko was bad enough , maj. "

he shrugs as he twists the cap of the bottle off , hoping the words come off as nonchalant , but there’s an exhaustion somewhere in his voice. " was tryna hide out in the bathroom — " okay , he's chatty now , maybe that'll be a reminder to have fewer drinks next time. " — but clearly that isn't gonna work. know any good hiding places ? "

Sometimes throwing parties felt like being part of the babysitter’s club, or some shit – not that Major had ever babysat in his fuckin’ life! Nobody had ever been desperate enough to hand him a whole ass kid. He didn’t have enough family to make the whole, ‘little cousins running around the trailer park,’ thing a stereotype that applied. Major figured, though, that after seeing some of his bandmates lick down a drink or two, he might be able to put it on a resume. Major feats in daycare – who’d have  thought? 

“Yoooo, what’s all that noise?” His tone is false exasperation as soon as it leaves his lips – lightweight. Fun, and funny, and all that good shit: least he hoped that’s how it was all coming off. Major didn’t wanna overthink it, though; didn’t really wanna think on it at all! So he handed over the bottle of Gatorade he had in his baseball glove of a hand – the only unspiked shit he could fuckin’ find in the fray of the party. “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, huh? I’m just out here lookin’ out for you, and shit, baby boy.” 

"You get into that Jungle Juice? Cuz, for the record - this is why I tell everyone to bring their own shit. Ain't no party like a rat loft party, because these guys don't give a fuck."

you know what? Fuck you. *turns your strong and stoic and serious character into a crying, traumatized, whimpering, curled up mess in the floor*