if you calling someone out for being a bigot on the internet
but won’t call your parents out for the same thing
the last time i called my mom a homophobe she slapped me in the face and i’m still afraid to tell her that i have a girlfriend ok don’t you even dare do this here because you have no fucking clue what you’re talking about
Lorna and Raven get a bit tipsy.
The first week Raven spent in that smelly little basement flat was uneventful, to say the least. She’d plonked her bag down on the bed, whipped out the money for this months rent, and waved it in front of a rather stunned Lorna’s face, stating she that she was good to move in. Lorna took one look at the money, and nodded, rushing upstairs to put it in the - no, their - landlady’s post box. Raven was left alone in the small room, her oversized leather handbag now emptied onto the bed. She sighed wearily, and looked over the contents of the bag - a couple of spare pairs of underwear, and couple of t-shirts and trousers, toiletries and four wallets that contained multiple identities she had secured for herself back in the seventies. Oh, and those old polaroids of her and…well. She tended not to look at them often; they made her much too melancholy. Instead of looking at them, she returned them to her bag, and began packing her clothes into her draws underneath her bed.
Lorna didn’t return for a good 10 minutes, and when she did, she popped her head round the door briefly to say: “I’ve got a class in an hour or so, so I’m gonna head out, but when I get back, we can get to know each other, yeah?” She didn’t even give Raven a chance to reply before she flounced out the apartment, door slamming behind her.
Left alone in the dingy apartment, Raven took a shower, and then took a nap in her new – surprisingly comfy – bed. Well, it was meant to be a nap. She ended sleeping 12 straight hours (she supposed that that grotty youth hostel must have taken the peace out of her sleep) and she awoke to a post-it note on her forehead.