#I think the first red flag for me should have been when the marketing talked at length about the companions

[octosan]

Like not to keep harping on things because a lot of people with way more interested followers have articulated it better than I have but

and god this is rambling,

I just want to clarify that if I say that the characters in Veilguard are "shallow" but very good conceptually it's because it's not that there isn't good stuff to dig into with their characters, but that the narrative itself doesn't want to dig into them outside of wildly missable content like specific lines of banter or obscure faction-specific dialogue or codex entries (which in previous games were never meant to carry this much on their backs imo.)

The idea that we learn everything we need to learn to understand these characters as people, and their role in the plot, an hour or so upon first meeting them.

Like I think that there are some people who love these companions that resent the claims that they don't have a lot going for them and rightfully point out that some depth is there. But I just think, for me at least, it's specifically the narratives around them that is the biggest problem and not the companions themselves.

Let me list some examples here:

Emmrich is a part of the mourn watch, a keeper of spirits who has made it his job to facilitate harmony between the living and dead. While to outsiders this makes him seem creepy, he's actually an extremely kind individual. He takes his work so seriously because he is driven by a fear of death, himself, and has struggled for decades to cope with it using the Mourn Watch's approach. This fear of death happened shortly after the trauma of losing his parents to death when he was young. Therefore in reality, his own fear of death is a fear of losing other people to it.

This is the core of what drives his character, and I learned this all pretty much immediately, like, in my first outing with him if not before that.

Yes, there are lots of little things like that he had a pet pig and that he grew up poor and therefore saves things (very little in the actual game to reflect that imo) and whatever other stuff there is you can get from banter and codex entries. But none of that informs the core of his character and actions in this narrative, why he's doing what he's doing.

Yes, he has something going on with Hezenkoss and Lichdom and Manfred which is an interesting plotline by itself, but what does it further inform me about his character? Hezenkoss, who is unethical about death, being a foil to Emmrich tells us that Emmrich is ethical. This is something we learned immediately about him. Hezenkoss was rejected for Lichdom because she is a bad person, while Emmrich is being considered for Lichdom because he is a good person. We learned this immediately about him. Emmrich can't actually stand up to Hezenkoss or become a proper Lich despite being perfect for those things because he is afraid to die. We already knew that about him. Emmrich struggles to let Manfred go when he "dies" because his fear of death is actually him being afraid to lose people. We already knew that about him.

His turning into a Lich makes no observable change to his personality. Even his fear of losing people to death doesn't seem to go away, despite that being the impetus behind letting Manfred go, because as a Lich he was still nervously begging my Rook to stay behind in the fight with Ghilan'nain because he didn't know if he would stop mourning him forever.

If there is more at the core of Emmrich's beliefs and his actions in the story, I am not privy to it just by going with what is presented to me in the game.

Am I being clear here? Emmrich is perhaps a more egregious example than some of the others but let's look at a few more.

Bellara is a Veil Jumper who, like many of the other Dalish/Veil Jumpers, thinks the elven gods breaking free and causing havoc is very surreal to grapple with and a problem for Thedas. Despite her seemingly chipper attitude, she works hard and holds herself to a strict standard, something colored by her grief over her brother's death. She and her brother both cared so much about reclaiming the history of her people, and she felt as if her brother kept her grounded and on task, so she feels lost without him and wants to pursue elven history even more doggedly in honor of him. She attributes his death to her failure, and pushes herself very hard as a result so that one day she will feel forgiven for it.

These are all the most important parts of Bellara's character, and it is, again, all stuff I learned about her by the time I finished my very first outing with her.

Now like Emmrich this is obviously not the only thing she has going on, her questline sees her being reunited with her brother and the fallout of what he's doing. But again, I don't think a lot of it tells me more about her that I didn't already see in her intro and first quest. At least beyond "she does not care about elven history enough to risk actual lives over it" which I don't think was a question we were ever meant to seriously entertain about her to begin with.

The only other key part of her character that is not outlined immediately is her feelings towards the gods, and I'd argue that the amount of exploration we got for that was 1. not nearly enough, proportionate to the gravity of learning your entire religion was based on an evil tyrant's PR campaign and 2. kind of implies the elves as a whole should be held responsible for their original abusers, since the only thing Bellara brings up aside from "wow this is scary and weird" is to feel guilty about it. Which, hm. You could have done better with that concept imo.

Neve is a member of the mage lower class who lives in Dock Town. Despite living in Tevinter, she is a proponent of reform who does not hold herself as better than anyone just for being a mage. She deeply loves Dock Town's people, though Minrathous has hit her hard with its corruption in the past so that makes her cynical. She wishes she could just keep her head down, but she can't, so she takes small wins instead.

I don't know if I even need to explain the problem with telling the player all of these details about Neve right off the bat, never mind having Neve herself say most of these things to a player she's only met a few days ago.

The hardened cynical PI who has a heart of gold is a story trope that relies Heavily on showing instead of telling. A cynical or even asshole character with a heart of gold is the epitome of "you need to see the rough edges first and then see the heart of gold".

Though, Neve is a character who suffers the least from that particular narrative problem, imo. There's notions about her that don't come up until a little later--that she is in some way comparable to Aelia who would kill, pervert and destroy Minrathous to save it, that she sees getting involved with her as putting yourself at risk, the accusation that she wants Minrathous to stay broken because it justifies her being cynical (and I saved Treviso so maybe there can be more.) The biggest issue with her character for me was that most of her strongest points were reduced to telling instead of showing when Minrathous' corruption was all chucked mostly offscreen.

Plus the absolute loss of having a Tevinter lower class mage to fill us in on the cutthroat social dynamics of Tevinter's class system and what it means even at the bottom rung of society beyond "they prize their mages".

Lucanis is...

I can't even talk about Lucanis coherently. It's not exactly the same issue as the others but it's. god,

The entire Crow thing is so hard to sit through. An entire narrative framing about how Caterina is a good person and good grandmother and Illario was just jealous he wasn't the favorite. A literal mindscape level depicting that her horrible treatment of Lucanis for his entire childhood wasn't a big deal (at least compared to a year of experimentation at the Ossuary,) doesn't factor into his current issues except as a footnote, and Lucanis claiming he's Over It now. The Crows are a good faction and it's a good thing that Jacobus founded a new house to adopt orphans and they're patriots who care about the lower class and they treat their foundlings well and only people SCOURING the game for proof otherwise would come away with a different understanding of who the Crows are as a faction and what their dynamics have done to Lucanis.

So that, when you look at what drives him as a character, the only part of his character we are allowed to actually engage with is the thing that we saw happen to him upon first meeting him. We already knew that the Ossuary fucked him up.

And I think you get the idea. Davrin and Taash probably hold back the most when it comes to giving you all of their baggage and driving traits, and even then imo the pacing is pretty bad in individual ways. Harding... idk man I didn't get much from her from start to finish, but I also didn't take her anywhere I didn't have to for a quest.

Again, it's not that those things aren't there, but the narrative does not allow us to actually dig into it the way we were allowed to dig into it in previous games. And I can't believe that it is a coincidence that this was once a live-service MMO, which has characters whose arcs are contained to their bios because they are meant to be cool characters to play with, and these companions all happen to give you their bios almost immediately while their arcs do little to expand on them.

------

So that's some of the companions in Veilguard. Now, when I say all of that, I am not saying that all of the companions in previous games were rich and interesting and their arcs were well paced. The writing for companions was pretty uneven at times.

Like for example, I would definitely say that every companion in Veilguard is at least at the level of (if not better than) Oghren from Origins. Oghren definitely had things that should have given him depth, but it was extremely hard for people to find it behind a ton of jokes that only certain players were ever going to find funny. A core part of his character (that he was victimized by the dwarven caste system through what happened with Branka) is there, but not only is it something we see in the quest where we recruit him, but it's not something we can seriously engage with after that quest is done. By comparison, the Veilguard companions are at least likeable (and I don't just mean in the way that everyone in this game is "likeable".)

But let's compare this to more beloved companions and how the narrative treated them.

Zevran Aranai is an Antivan Crow who was hired to assassinate the player character by the main villain, but he admits that he has no actual loyalty to the Crows, who would kill him for failing the assassination contract. Although he has a flirty and funny front and claims to love being an assassin for the perks, the Crows are a brutal and cutthroat faction and their abuses of him in his past and present have led him to become alienated, both from the Dalish he descends from and from other people in general, culminating in when he cruelly murders someone he loved because he was tricked into believing that she betrayed him first. In truth, he had had enough of it all and was, deep down, hoping the Warden would kill him when he accepted our contract.

When we first meet Zevran, all we learn about him is a portion of this--that he was hired to kill us, and he is on our side now because his failing means that his life is forfeit to the Crows. Alllll of the rest of this is stuff that you have to work to find out. And not in a missable way, not in the sense that you have to read codex entries or make sure you hear the correct banter. You just have to invest in him as a character. Get his approval up and talk to him about different topics, get him to trust you enough to open up about himself and learn things about himself he didn't honestly know before he said them to you.

I might be putting a bit of a nostalgia lens on him it's true, but the objective fact is that Zevran has about as much content as any character from the Veilguard, maybe even less! But imo it feels like he has so much more depth because of how gradual and natural it is to get that information out of him. Because the story did not hand you all the important details right off the bat, you get a greater illusion that there is more to him which you just haven't seen yet.

Like, imagine if Alistair had just opened with "Haha, sorry I tend to use humor as a defense mechanism, I was raised in an abusive home and then shipped off to boot camp when I was twelve and have mixed feelings about it. Also Iiiiii Miiiiiight be the king's illegitimate son? Please don't tell anyone."

Inquisition was similar in holding things back from you in what you know about the companions until you found it out, either with conversations on your own time or approval-locked reveals.

I know a lot of people have been comparing the companions to the DA2 crew as well in how they were handled, given that DA2 also didn't have exhaustive conversations outside of character quests, and you can argue much more that you're told the companions' core traits and objectives off the bat. To that I say yes, and DA2 is a game that was made with incredible crunch time and severely flawed for it.

But also, like, there were exhaustive conversations in that game. You couldn't talk to companions about whatever you wanted whenever you wanted, but there were so many questions you could ask companions about whatever the hell topic they're talking about in the companion quest cutscenes.

And not only that, the structure of DA2's narrative was tightly built around this. You learn what each companion most desires and values upfront, and then you watch those premises develop. The execution is debatable but you're seeing their depth in the sense that you're seeing them change across the game, learning about them by how they respond to things rather than by what you gradually learn through talking to them.

I think ideally this could have been what happened in Veilguard but for the most part it just wasn't?

To try and demonstrate what I mean, compare Bellara meeting her brother, who was manipulated by Anaris, to Fenris having to confront his sister, who was manipulated by Danarius.

I liked that Bellara's views on her brother were challenged, but the story held back severely by confirming he's a basically good person who was being manipulated anyway, and came through for her at the end. And Bellara's reactions to all of it are exactly what you expect from what we know of her. Bellara is a good person who cares about her brother and the pursuit of knowledge, but never at the expense of innocents - that is something I learned about her at the very beginning, it was confirmed in the ending, and it was never scrutinized by the narrative in the middle.

Meanwhile, Fenris is established to hate mages for what they've done to him and wanting to be free of his cruel mage master, and established to have a past beyond that which he doesn't know about and would ideally like to get back. Act 2 gives him the possibility of getting back his past at the same time as it progresses his quest to be free of Danarius, by telling him he has a sister. In Act 3 his goals are brought into direct conflict because turns out, his sister is not only working with Danarius, but is herself a mage. This conflict brings out something very ugly in him where he can murder his own sister, even though she is as much a victim of Tevinter as he is, or else he can let go of some of his hate and have a chance of recovering the person he once was. And you get the sense that this is baggage he will be dealing with for a long time after no matter what you choose.

Like, the execution of DA2's plots leave a lot to be desired but the characters in them make up for a lot by not being static. It's not that they had more content, it's how the content was revealed to us in a structured way, with pacing and with conflict.

In real life you will take years and years to truly understand a person, if you ever do at all. You don't make characters feel like "real people" by telling us their cliff notes right off the bat.

And, arguably, well written or not, all of the Franchise's previous companions were at least allowed to have very concrete opinions on and experiences with the world that weren't largely hidden behind missable content and bonus material. Opinions relevant to their background in the setting, especially. For example I don't think Bellara is "shallow" for not having thoughts about Kirkwall or Ferelden or the Qun, (though I'd love to pick her brain about anything really.) But it bothers me that I can't even look to her to learn what it's like to live in a Dalish clan or how she, or other Dalish, feel about Andrastianism. It bothers me that Emmrich, a mage from a Circle-employing country, only talks about Templars in a single codex entry and doesn't seem to discuss the Maker at all. And this game is supposed to introduce new players to the setting.

------

tdlr;

Aside from all the lore developments that are hit or miss with me, my biggest problem with Veilguard, especially in light of the AMA, is that I'm not seeing writers who understand narrative structure and what it does and does not do to your story. I'm seeing people who can come up with really cool concepts and really interesting themes to explore. People who have written up really cool characters with interesting backgrounds and things to say relevant to real life.

But... anyone can do that. Anyone can come up with good ideas.

A good writer is someone who knows the craft well enough to bring them to life, to give the illusion of depth where in reality every character in fiction is exactly as complex as the last thing you write about them.

I am a writer who has personally struggled with this concept my entire life and it's wild to see professional writers, people who have been at this probably longer than I've even been born, who are (at least outwardly) demonstrating not even an awareness of it.

In my opinion.

[obnoxiouslittlefrog93]

Ok ik y'all are probably sick of me double-posting but like. Idk there's just something I have to put into words.

I was a huge fan of The Beatles at 14. I'm talking super obnoxious, if you knew me in middle school or even high school I was absolutely insufferable kind of fan. I'd have bullied past me tbh. And ofc since I "loved" Paul McCartney so much (I now consider him a fucking clown, the first red flag should've been the lamest cover of Crossroads ever recorded) I thought I was cis and straight.

I guess the first nail in the coffin was seeing him live. Ikr, who tf sees their hero live and falls out of love with them? Well, I did. It wasn't that I was disappointed, or even felt any less for him at the time. I'd finally done it, I'd seen him in person, in the flesh. I was lucky enough to have a floor seat and for a few measly seconds he even acknowledged my existence. I had these great big glittery cardboard signs I held up, probably asking for a piece of his hair or something stupid like that. Idk, they've either been thrown out or disappeared into a pile of miscellaneous junk in the back of my closet or the basement. As much as I think just as badly of him today as I did good about him then, you have to understand that as a suicidal teenager the only thing worth living for was a hot piece of ass (even an old one that lived in the grainy film of decades passed) that could be mine forever if only I was able to express to him how much I needed him. I knew on some level that it was entirely stupid. I was dumb, but not that dumb. I entirely expected a mere millisecond of his attention that he had to divide among the huge audience, but that didn't mean it hurt any less when the illusion finally broke. I lied, manipulated, and stole for those tickets. For years I poured my entire being into a band that didn't even exist anymore and what did I get for it? Crumbs. I guess I was just used to that, I'd never gotten anything more from anyone without some form of trickery. That's probably why I didn't feel betrayed in the slightest, at least not until Egypt Station came out.

Egypt Station was an album entirely born of the modern era, an era I had and still have absolutely no place in. The 2000's is no place for a depressed creative with the type of brain chemistry that insists on constantly watching YouTube videos just to drown out the deafening silence of yet another soulless house with beige carpet and grey walls, too damaged to stand working a soul sucking job but too incompetent to get one that matters. I should have been an outlaw. I was born damaged and violated and ashamed for reasons I was too young to remember. I didn't know why I hated myself so much but I knew it had to come from somewhere. All the evidence pointed to the very people who were supposed to keep me safe and take care of me, and from some incomprehensible source I knew I couldn't trust them. I lived by my wits, and that's the only way I know how to live. Thing is, that way of living doesn't exist anymore. There's no western frontier to disappear into, in the material world, in the musical world, in the art world, anywhere. The art and writing and music industries are so deeply tied to society and capitalism that you aren't selling your soul at the crossroads anymore. No, you're selling it at an auction house, cooped up in a metal pen like livestock. Rotting in your own filth. And the bidders are becoming less and less every round, the auctioneer is tired and slow, and no one gives a shit unless you're lucky enough to be marketable. Much as I tried I could never get the devil to appear. He's too busy helping white moms profit off of MLM's and whispering the so-called "benefits" of AI to corporations. Egypt Station made me sick to my very soul. I threw away years of my life, emasculated myself, all but whored myself out to this bitch only for him to devote what talent I saw in him to the world that was killing me.

Make no mistake, I knew deep down that I was a man, even then. There is nothing cis or straight about fantasizing a world in which I got surgery to have a huge dick, and lived with rockstars, and trashed hotel rooms with Keith Moon and fucked more sexy long haired talented men than Miss Pamela Des Barres herself. From the age of 12 I could teach a cowboy how to manspread and a sailor swears that would have never crossed his mind. Living with my dad, huge bastard that he is, probably helped with that, but this isn't about him. The Beatles, for all their saccharine messages of peace and love, could never have convinced me any of it was real. I wanted to. For those years the most important lyrics in the world to me were "the love you take is equal to the love you make." Even my own goddamn shithead narcissist of a father couldn't come up with that, the biggest pile of bullshit I ever believed in. I knew from experience.

A year ago I watched Cowboy Bebop. In the time that passed I'd learned how to be a man from rockstars and other damaged artists. I was also living with a group of cis and straight roommates who would go on to personally victimize myself, and our trans roommate who I became close to, and "accidentally" poison his dog. That's a story I won't get into now because this is already long as fuck. Point is, as soon as they decided they didn't like us, they made our lives a living hell. They made me suicidally anxious in such a way that I doubted they were even the problem. It was my dumb autistic ass, unable to tell if they even hated me or not. I was so desperate to get out of my parents' house, where I still have to walk on eggshells, and not live in such a place ever again that I didn't even believe it was happening. Conditioned to avoid confrontation like the plague, I let them walk all over me. The only job I've ever had didn't help. It was just as soul sucking as that house, so desperate for workers they hired my incompetent, unskilled, completely unexperienced ass. But every night I came home from work, dead on my feet, he and the dog were there. I'd run upstairs to get out of my work clothes, then we'd sit on his bed and smoke, the dog sitting in my lap, and watch trash reality TV from the early 2000's, or whatever predator catchers-style show was in his YouTube recommendations. That's probably what kept me alive then. And in that period, over a couple weeks, my other friend, the only one I'd had for that long, since the aforementioned Beatles phase to this day, made me watch Cowboy Bebop.

I cried when Spike died, but I didn't know why at the time. I wasn't in a place to process it. Spike wasn't even a real person, but I didn't know why or how he was so real to me. I didn't even notice when it was right in front of me, when I was living it, that we're far too much alike. Suicidal stoics, living in a dream, alive by mere chance, more comfortable alone and floating through the endless void of space than any sane man should be. I learned something from him though. Whatever happens, happens. What other choice did I have? Now that I was so broken as to be unable to delude myself any further because the anxiety would kill me, I had to give up. I had no more fucks to give. Fuck these awful people I live with, fuck my failing grades, fuck whatever bullshit comes to destroy me. Whatever happens happens, nothing I can do about it now. Best I can do is take it with a straight face when the alternative is death. Then, about 4 months ago, I felt the need to watch it again. Yet again, any sense of stability was starting to crumble, and I wanted nothing more than to sit and smoke and go back to living on that ugly yellow couch with Spike, Jet cooking in the other room, Faye sitting on the stairs filing her nails, and Ed typing away on her computer. I wanted to sit out on the wing of the Swordfish with the world behind and the open road ahead. I know where the series goes, whenever I rewatch it, but I'll never let Spike die his final death. I have to believe, that there's a happy existence out there for him somewhere, because we share the same soul. Even if I have to drag him up from hell, more broken than I ever thought possible, to get him there.

I still don't know, if I'm really alive. Maybe I'll never know. I don't remember if I was, when I first read those lyrics, but I guess I should've paid more attention to "You're gonna carry that weight."

listening to music i listened to when i was 14 makes me realise im still the same person but taller & with a rare esoteric wisdom that can only be gained through suffering

[bigvee1]

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Crypto trading doesn’t have to feel like gambling. With tools like Trust Score, you can trade with more confidence and less guesswork. For me, it’s been a game-changer, helping me avoid pitfalls and discover opportunities I might have missed.

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[fortuositywritings]

Collide

Part 1 Wanda x Reader

Summary: You bump into Wanda Maximoff at a grocery store. Wouldn’t be a problem if either of you were anyone else but you two were no ordinary people.

You would think having the ability to take anyone’s power would be awesome. It’s not.

With a simple touch, you could take any person with special abilities’ special powers from them. You figured this out in grade school when you high-fived one of your friends for the first time. Suddenly you could see through walls. That same year, you figured out they could take those powers back. 

A few years later you found out they could only take those powers back if they wanted them. You tried giving someone their invisibility back but they would not have it. Now you are stuck with it. You are stuck with a few others too, like walking through walls and mimicking voices. Those you got from random strangers on the street. 

Obviously, you tried to give them back. You wouldn’t take what isn’t yours, but it was an impossible task. Finding a stranger you bumped into in New York is kind of hard. 

You’ve tried passing off powers to other people but it never worked. You could only return them to the person who gave them to you. To give them back, all you had to do was touch them again and they had to want the powers back. It was that simple. 

So when you bump into Wanda Maximoff at the grocery store, things get a little complicated. 

You’ve made a friend recently who turns out to be Sokovian. Seeing as his birthday is coming up, you thought it would be cool to cook him a traditional Sokovian meal. A few searches on Google and you print out a list of what you need. 

You leave to the nearest store that would have all you need. You check off your list, heading toward the aisle of spices. You finally find the one the recipe calls for and lucky for you, it’s the last one. You reach for it but you feel someone else’s hand touching yours, reaching for the same thing. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says. You look at the woman who is standing really close to you for a stranger. She has intense green eyes, you notice. She pulls her hand away. 

“It’s alright,” you say. 

“Was that the last one?” she asks, awkwardly.

“It seems so,” you confirm. “But we can ask an employee if they have more somewhere?”

You flag down an employee two aisles down and ask. They shake their head and then tell you they won’t be getting more until next week. The woman with the green eyes sighs. 

“We can split it,” you suggest. “I don’t need the whole thing. At least I don’t think so? I just need it to make a Sokovian dish that calls for it. I probably won’t be using it for anything else.”

“I don’t know. Sokovian food is delicious if I may say so. You’ll get a taste and might regret sharing this with a stranger,” she teases. 

You smile and ask, “Oh, are you Sokovian?”

She nods and you add, “Well, then I insist on sharing it with you. Maybe you can actually give me a few tips on this recipe?”

“What are you making?” she asks you. You show her the recipe on your phone and she kindly shares some of her expertise which you’re grateful for. She follows you around the store making conversation as you grab the rest of what you need. Technically, you follow her around as she suggests you other stuff to add to the recipe. 

You add a mini mason jar to your cart. You both head to pay and outside pour some of the spice into your mason jar and give her the rest of the bottle. You thank her for all the help and wish her a great day. 

Wanda gets back to the tower in a positive mood. Everyone notices and asks her what happened. She replies that she just had a nice interaction with a stranger and it made her day. 

Though her day was made, the rest of her week was hell. She doesn’t know what is wrong with her. Her powers have been failing her. She doesn’t understand. At first she thinks it’s just the more difficult things she can’t do but then she notices how no one’s thoughts appear in her head. It’s quiet. She only hears her own. 

Something was definitely wrong.

You thought you were imagining things but after guessing what your friends’ were thinking for the umpteenth time, you knew you had taken someone else’s power. 

You don’t think it’s too bad at first. Only your friends’ heavy thoughts made their way into your head. Unfortunately, some of those thoughts you can never unhear again. 

The problem comes when you go to the library for the first time with this new power. The library is hell. It’s full of people who are just thinking loudly. See in public, there are people who are thinking loudly of course, but there are more people distracted and speaking without thinking, which you never thought you would be so grateful for. 

You don’t last in the library for very long. So libraries are on your list of places to avoid. Soon, movie theaters are also on that list and then so are museums. Any place where people are meant to be quiet is where it’s loudest in your head. 

You wish you knew who you touched to get these powers. You begin to think back at everyone the past few weeks that you might have had direct contact with. A hand you shook or an arm you bumped into. You’ve always been cautious about your surroundings so these things wouldn’t happen.

Everyone you greeted at your Sokovian friend’s party you’ve greeted before. No one was new there. The Sokovian at the store!

Damn it. You never got her name or anything. Maybe you’ll encounter her at the store again. The next few days, you spend hours at the same store. People begin to think you’re an employee and you almost feel like one, knowing exactly where everything is from spending so much time there. 

You’ve even made plans with one employee to go hangout. But no green eyed Sokovian makes an appearance. 

Three weeks you have this power when you find that not only can you read people’s thoughts, but you hold things without actually touching them. It happens when you drop something in the kitchen. You reach for it to catch it before it hits the floor but it’s nowhere near your grasp. However, it never hits the floor. 

You then notice a red mist-like substance coming from your hands floating in the direction of the object. You see that it’s holding it up. After that, you start practicing with random things around your apartment. You begin with lighter things, thinking you would only be able to hold weight that you could in your actual arms, but it is not so. 

You work your way up to lifting your car in the air and in that same moment you learn you could do multiple things like lifting your car and replacing the flat tire. 

Two months with these abilities and you feel you start getting the hang of it. You still can’t go to the library. You’ve tried again but the voices are too loud. You still go to the store where you met the woman that unintentionally gifted you these powers to try and return them. She seemed like a decent person and you don’t know what she used these powers for. Maybe she needs them.

You still have yet to find her. 

Wanda hasn’t been on a mission in three months. Instead, Bruce has been poking and prodding her with needles and running countless tests trying to figure out what happened with her powers. Three weeks ago she began to go to a therapist because Steve thought it might be a mental block of some sort that she had to work through.

Though therapy was doing wonders for her, they weren’t getting her anywhere near having her powers back. Bruce’s tests weren’t helpful either. She’s been stuck in the tower for three months and her days have never felt so repetitive until now- train, go to therapy, undergo tests. Rinse and repeat. 

The media had begun to notice as well. She turns to another TV channel where the news anchor asks “Where is Wanda Maximoff?” as if she’s disappeared from the face of the earth. In a way she has.

Fortunately for her, you are watching that same channel. You are cooking dinner and have the television channel on for background noise. You hear them talking about the Avengers. They’ve never been of much interest to you, although they should be seeing as though you live in the same city and something is always going down here because of that reason.

“For those who have been living under a rock,” the new anchor starts, “Wanda Maximoff is one of the newer additions to the Avengers.”

“She’s the one with the red magic, isn’t she?” the co-anchor asks. That grabs your attention. You turn to look at the screen. “That’s right. She joined about a year ago after the fall of Sokovia.”

That had to be a coincidence, right? 

“She hasn’t been reported to be on any missions the last three months,” the reporter continues. That definitely couldn’t be a coincidence, you think, counting back the time you’ve attained these powers. 

“Here is a clip of Maximoff using her magic to save diplomats at the embassy five months ago when…” You don’t hear the rest as you watch the clip play. 

It’s the green eyed Sokovian who helped you out at the market. Your suspicions about it being her who had these powers were correct. You just didn’t think you took powers from an Avenger. Someone who definitely needs these powers to do her job and save people like the clip shows. Shit.

You smell the food you’re cooking burning. 

“Shit!”

Wanda pounds her hand on the mat. Sweat clings onto her shirt. She’s tired and out of breath. 

“Again,” Nat commands. Wanda huffs and stands up, getting back into her fighting pose. She takes a swing that the Black Widow easily dodges. Not two moves later, she hits the mat again.

“Again,” Nat repeats.

“Natasha, give the kid a break,” Steve says, watching from the side. 

“It’s okay,” Wanda assures him.

Natasha explains, “If therapy and tests aren’t working, maybe self defense will.”

Steve seems doubtful but allows it. They really need Wanda to work through whatever is blocking her from using her powers. He winces seeing Wanda hit the mat.

“Again.”

“I’ve told you for the millionth time. My name is Y/N L/N and I need to speak to Wanda Maximoff. Or any of the Avengers, really. Or even one of their assistants or something. It’s vital,” you try helplessly. 

“Unless you have clearance, I can’t let you up,” the guy at the desk says to you for what feels like the hundredth time. You’ve been coming in the past few days trying to get someone to let you see Wanda. 

“Look, it’s really important. Can’t you, like, give her a message or something?” You’re desperate at this point. He laughs. 

“Ah, yes, let me just text her real quick. ‘hey Wanda. It’s that one guy you said hello to once downstairs. There’s some girl here that needs to talk to you’,” he acts out sarcastically, which you do not find amusing. 

“Listen, buddy. If you do me this favor and get your boss or whoever can give me clearance to see her, I promise she’ll be so grateful for you helping me get to her that she’ll come and thank you herself,” you vow. 

“I can’t help you, Miss. Now please go or I’ll have to call security,” he warns.

You rub your temple in frustration. “Fine. There’s no need for that...Michael,” you read his name. “I’m going.”

You turn around as if to head for the door but then do a 180 and sprint past a security guard who shouts at you to stop. You make your way for the elevators as the security guard runs after you. You press the button for the elevators but you notice they’re nowhere near the ground floor. 

The security catches up to you and in panic, you push him away with Wanda’s powers. He goes sliding across the floor and you bolt for the stairs.

You don’t even know which floor you would find Wanda in but you assume it would be somewhere up top. You begin your ascend. You reach the fourth floor and realize you should start using the StairMaster at the gym. You hear multiple security guards quickly making their way to you. You panic and walk through the wall, not knowing what was on the other side. 

You’re in some kind of engineering lab. You don’t think anyone saw you walk through the wall, so you try to act casual and stroll through the lab trying to find an exit. Then you hear someone call you. “Hey, you.”

You ignore them and act like you didn’t hear. They tell you to stop walking, loud enough that you can’t ignore it. You turn around to see a woman in a lab coat. She asks, “You’re not allowed on this floor. Who let you up here?”

“Oh, uh. Michael sent me,” you lie. “Sorry, I’m new. I must have gotten off on the wrong floor. Maybe you could help me find my way?”

“Where are you meant to be working?” she inquires and you’re stuck not knowing anything about the Stark Tower or Avengers Tower, whatever it’s called. 

“The lab,” you say. Your vague answer obviously creates another question. “What lab?”

“They haven’t told me yet? I’m not actually working in the labs. I’m doing more secretarial duties, taking notes and scheduling stuff.”

“For whom?” she asks, narrowing her eyes at you. You can feel her catching onto you and it’s the only reason why you try this.

“For the big guy, obviously,” you say and then focus really hard trying to read her mind, hoping that a name will pop up in her head. Did Bruce get an assistant? You smile. “Bruce.”

“Well then you are way off. He’s usually working on the 87th floor,” she tells you. 

“Well, thank god there’s an elevator,” you chuckle nervously, pointing behind you. “Well, I should get going before I’m any later. You turn around confidently but as you walk away she stops you once more. You think you got caught but she says, “Elevators are that way.”

She points to the opposite way you came from. You laugh to play off your mistake, “Duh. Sorry, the lab is so big. Thanks.”

You head the right way. You speed walk to the elevators and then jog when you hear a rougher voice telling you to stop. “She’s on the fourth floor.”

You assume they spoke into their walkie, and you know you don't have much time before they catch you. You think quickly. You can’t make your way to the elevator because then obviously they’ll just stop the elevators. You don’t want to walk through a wall; the dangers of that are extreme given this is Stark Tower. You could accidentally walk into an ongoing experiment. 

You had to hide. And suddenly, you had the perfect plan. 

The security guard runs to you. He thinks you’re running for the elevator but then you turn before you get there. He sees you dive behind some clunky machine, presumably to hide behind. You clearly never have won a game of hide and seek in your life, he thinks as he goes around the machine to catch you. 

He’s left utterly confused when you aren’t there. The only trace of you are your clothes down to underwear on the floor. Four other guards make it to the floor. One asks him, “Where is she?”

He doesn’t know how to answer. “She was right here. Search the floor. She’s hiding and I think she’s naked.”

They disperse taking your clothes with them. You let out a breath of relief at not getting caught but then mentally curse that they took your clothes. You still haven’t learned how to make other things invisible yet. You never really used this power. Maybe you should start practicing.

You hustle your naked ass to the elevators, feeling incredibly exposed even though you know no one can actually see you. You press the elevator button and wait impatiently. It dings and opens. 

“The elevators!” You hear one of the guards yell. Two run your way as you step into the car. You put all your energy into staying invisible. It would be really awkward if you were suddenly exposed. You hold your breath when one of them looks in the elevator. You keep yourself in the corner furthest away from them. In their eyes, there is no one in the elevator. 

“She’s not here.” They leave and the doors close. You click the button for the 87th floor.

____________________________________________________

This will probably have 3 parts. 

[rainandandy]

Chemtrails (Yelena Belova x reader)

Summary: You and Yelena are finally free from the mind control of being a black widow. How does everything fare out as you both return to Ohio to start a new life?

Pairings: Yelena Belova x reader, Natasha Romanoff x Steve Rogers (Kinda platonic, kinda not), Alexei Shoskatoff x Melina Vostokova

Word Count: 1,862

Translations: Malishka (Baby), Krasotka (Beautiful),  Liybimaya (My Love)

Masterlist

There were some people who had the idea that being on the run meant being scared, lonely, always on edge. Perhaps that is how it should have felt. You just felt like you were free. Free from being used in any way. They treated you as if you were just another pawn on the chessboard as if you were just another number to them. It is a piece that no one will remember.

Yelena too. The two of you had freed yourselves and the others from the harsh crutches of being a black widow. A killer and a trained spy in all the fields that a spy could be. Sly, sneaky, conniving, and murderous. There had never been a time when you had any control over your actions. Never being able to be yourself. Living life on the edge, skirting all over the world in a number of days. Killing people without a second thought, because you weren't able to control your mind. You weren't in control.

Until Yelena came along. Till she abolished the control over your mind and cut the tracker from your leg. Till she held you while your body wracked with sobs of finally being free.

She stayed with you, helped you recover physically and mentally. Patching up wounds with medical bits she found in gas stations. Driving stolen cars and motorbikes through the darkness of the night. A new city each day, hiding in rundown motels on the side of highways. Each one of them smelling worse than the previous one.

In the aftermath of Dreykov's death, you would keep your eyes on the news to make sure the black widows left over weren't doing any harm. Once you both reached Ohio, where she planned to meet up with her family and establish a base to free the black widows, you both could be free. Over the long nights of traveling and the days of laying low, you went from strangers to lovers very quickly.

You weren't sure when it happened, but she fell first. A glance at you that was once cold has become a loving gaze. As she learned what food you liked, she would be sure to bring it back from her grocery store runs. It was something you didn't notice at first. She changed her attitude towards you suddenly and when her touches on your wounds became lighter and she began to tell you more about her life, you too began to fall. You discovered why she was aiming for Ohio in the first place. In other words, she did not want to be what she was made to be. Both of your skills would only earn you dirty money, and she desperately just wanted to settle down. You did not talk about children between the two of you, but you frequently talked about a dog shelter.

As soon as you reached a small suburban home on the outskirts of Ohio, you and your partner quickly went into undercover mode. Posing as a newlywed couple, with her sister who is a part-time science teacher and her parents who are coming to welcome the new family. In the morning it appeared like bliss to the neighbors, but really it was at night when the family seemed to sit around and play Monopoly that they planned their roles for recovering the last of the black widows. The rest of the widows who had been freed would come over under the guise of being friends, but Yelena and you would give them money and new identification provided by Mason, so they could start their new lives. The widows wanted their chance to live a normal life, just as you and Yelena did. Many of those who rely on doing what they know only too well, choose to work with Melina in St Petersburg.

In less than a year, everyone was free. With the last of the widows freed, Dreykov's remnants were abolished. You and Yelena were finally free. As soon as the word was given you and Yelena marched straight down to the shelter where she picked a gorgeous American akita and Yelena straight away called her Fanny. When Natasha heard the name, she rolled her eyes and asked, "Really Yelena? I hate that name. You know how much I hate it. In response, Yelena hit back with an infamous "HA!"" and Fanny had now become a part of your dysfunctional family. Alexei and Melina flew in and out every few months, checking up on both of you or on some wild mission to find Captain America. It was much to Alexei’s surprise the day Natasha brought Steve Rogers home, posing as her husband.

“Papa, you remember Steve. My adoring husband" Each word spit back as fast as possible while making sure Alexei didn't start a mini war among them right under their noses. Natasha was extremely coy at first and you didn't know whether there was anything more than just friendship between them.

During their time at the Ohio house, Yelena and Natasha would relax in the small pool that is located out the back. Their tanned skin became more obvious as they raced in laps of the pool against one another under the scorching summer sun. The whole family had a good laugh when Steve wore swim trunks with the American flag on them and then had another fit when Alexei wore ones with the Russian flag on them. “I feel like all my dreams have come true” Yelena said hazily as she kissed your hand on the lawn chairs.

“What dream is that Krasotka?” you asked, smiling as you didn’t fully take in her deep words. “I have my family back” you felt the strings of your heart being pulled at the softness of the girl's words.

She pulled on your hand and led you to join her on the lawn chair, sitting in her lap. As she wrapped her arms around your waist, you looked up into the clear blue sky to see a distant plane leave a long white trail in the clear blue sky. “What are the white lines made of?" It was a question you asked aloud. "Maybe the government is slowly poisoning us with Dreykov's toxic chemicals," she said in a funny way, but you knew it was on everyone's mind. What if he wasn't really dead after all. What if the dream turned into a nightmare and you were no longer yourself. Your panic caused your breath to quicken its pace, and you touched the beautiful gemstones you wore around your neck. Some eastern culture your therapist had thrust onto you, rubbing some amethyst and turquoise would help ease the pain of the memories. In a manner of speaking, it did work, as it eased the nightmares little by little. There were times when holding those tiny stones felt like clutching a lifeline. You desperately try to hold onto this reality with Yelena as long as possible. The blissfulness of it all. Yelena became restless after losing the constant sense of action that had been part of her life. The excitement of going to the farmers market only lasted for a limited amount of time. It was one of those days when the rumble of an engine and the smell of gas broke your concentration from doing laundry, and you were met by a gorgeous vintage red Chevy pulling into the driveway. The look on Yelena's face was incomprehensible, which made you hard to believe that she had just went out and bought such an immaculate, expensive-looking vehicle. The car was a convertible and fanny sat in the back, her tongue hanging out, panting in the golden sun, as she sat there. "We are supposed to keep things on the low down" you whispered to your 'fake' wife, scolding her.

It's time to enjoy yourself, Malishka!"

You knew it was worth it when the rouge on her lips matched the color of the cherry red car. When she opened the passenger side door, she motioned for you to get into the car.

"No no, I think it's time for me to take this baby for a spin". You pushed her across the white leather as you got into the driver's seat and sat in it. There was a soft white leather under your grip on the wheel. "Don't you like it, sweetheart?" Yelena smirked at you as you adjusted the mirror while Yelena was chatting. Upon turning the key, the engine roared to life. "Shhh sweetheart, you'll pay for this later" and you took off racing down the avenues of white picket fences, passing children playing in the front gardens.

Families who seemed perfect on the outside but you knew that each one had their problems. As you reached well over the speed limit, with your hair blowing wildly behind you, you felt as if you were at liberty. It was impossible for those families to stop you from doing what you did. You could not be stopped by Dreykov. At that moment, all you wanted was to keep speeding along the winding roads while Yelena put her hands up, grasping at the invisible air. She was your sweet love. Your happiness. She made the freedom worth it. The winding roads soon gave way to a small clearing where you were able to park your car on the side of the road. The engine died slowly, and her smile was beaming back at you, pure happiness oozing from both of you. Fanny jumped out of the car, her paw pads crushing the gravel under her feet as she jumped. She trotted around sniffing at the new surroundings. In the company of Yelena, you made your way to a small bench that overlooked a valley. The sun was looking low and heavy as it was making its way towards the horizon for yet another day. The silence was relaxing, settling over you as you stared out at the sky. Yelena spoke openly from the heart or perhaps her soul when she said, "I am not religious, but if there is a god out there somewhere, I hope he lets it stay like this forever.". The truth is, she was never one to think of such things in this way, especially in regards to god, religion or even something as grave as losing what you had. "It's not going to happen. We have made it. Nothing could break us apart, Liybimaya”

I know, I know, I feel silly thinking about it when this perfect paradise is all around us; but I cannot help it.

"There is nothing wrong with contemplating God…. or our paradise…. If you have second thoughts-”

“No. God no.” She took a deep breath and replied, “That's not what I'm saying. I am terrified that I will wake up back in the red room. That all of this was just a dream"

You scooted over to her side of the bench and cradled her against you and said, "I'm real, baby.". The sun set, leaving you and your partner in the darkness, the streetlight flickering behind you. It is time for us to go home"

[servicetopkaradanvers]

I'm not sure if this is exactly the right place to say this, but I don't know if there is. And you're a smart person and critical thinker who has talked about this before. If this is totally weird, you can just delete it ofc. I've never properly watched Supergirl but I started reading fanfic around the time my mental health got real bad so it was a comfort thing I didn't bring too much thought to. I really identify with Lena and in the past, part of me has understood her actions-

and I know that they're wrong. The anti-alien rhetoric is obviously an allegory for racism or homophobia. She's violated people's basic human rights. And I'm scared that I'm a bad person because sometimes, I kind of get it. Which is insane because i'm a lesbian enby of color, i mean i get targeted by most of the -ist/ism actions. And I'm also too tired to think about things critically all the time. Supercorp was my comfort fic, content thing-

I knew it was problematic (the whole James thing makes me sick to my stomach, scared and sad) but I didn't know that Lena as a character was written that way. The metaphors never really clicked in my head because I never thought about it, but now I feel absolutely horrible about myself because I like and identify with Lena. I'm not really sure how to move on from here- I'm just tired. I wish there could be just one thing, one piece of media that wasn't prejudiced (granted sg is not the place to go if you want decent rep and the like) and all of those things I said earlier. Its just me somehow trying to justify how I felt and empathized with something I shouldn't have. So yeah, sorry that was really long. I hope you have a lovely day- sorry for the spam

FIRST of all, you’re fine, babe! Both in sending me this and in enjoying The Bad Media. That’s my thesis here: You’re fine. With this in mind, let’s unpack this big ol suitcase:

We’re living in a fandom moment where more than ever before, we’re thinking about the ideas we consume in fiction and how they may or may not affect us. This is a net positive! Fiction is not reality, but it undeniably impacts it, so for this and many other reasons, we should always think critically about what resonates with us and why. Does this mean dissecting every facet of something to find all the ways it might fall in line with oppressive power structures? Absolutely not.

You, as an individual, do not owe anyone an explanation for why you enjoy anything. Period. How you relate to a given character or why you like them is nobody's business but your own.

Supergirl, as a piece of media, is singularly awful in its lackluster lipservice to progressivism while simultaneously refusing to deliver any progressive themes. Socially and politically, it is a useless liberal wet dream. Kara is an immigrant from a dead culture working as the muscle for a secret FBI offshoot with zero accountability for all of the other aliens in diaspora she has rounded up and dumped into a cell without trial. Alex is allegedly a lesbian, but the key points of her endgame relationship are constantly deemed not important enough to get screen time, which is made even more absurd when examined from the angle that this series is marketed directly toward LGBT people. An embarrassing percentage of villains on this show are women of color, which is particularly loud when there are only 2 women in the main cast who aren't white. And "main" is extremely generous, given that Kelly is just there to Give Advice Good and everything M'gann says and does is as dry as toast.

My point here is that the whole show is rotted to its roots, and whatever quietly libertarian or even fascism-enabling bullshit they push onto Lena in a given week is par for the crusty, shitty course. Kara deciding that she's ok with the alien detection device because "there are bad aliens" is a lovely (read: awful) microcosm of why this show sucks so fucking hard. "People are entitled to their opinions" is for debates on whether pineapple goes on pizza, not for whether we should casually out, endanger, and disenfranchise our [insert minority metaphor here] because some of them are mean.

But what I would love for this fandom to wrap its head around, and what I hope you understand, anon, is that just because it happens on the show, doesn't mean we have to give a rat's ass about it. What the hell is The Canon, anyway? Especially in the case for Supergirl, which can't even get its own continuity right. Especially for an IP that has been rebooted dozens of times before and will be rebooted again in the future. We can just decide that Lena realized the horrible injustices she enabled through her position of power. We can even decide that they just didn't happen at all! This is all fake. It's not set in stone. Who came up with it, anyway? A network with a list of buzzwords they want included and a couple of D-tier showrunners cranking down caffeine to meet an absurdly tight deadline. It's not special. I can guarantee that you care about it infinitely more than they do, and you haven't even watched the damn show.

On a more personal level, people who are hurt, depressed, or traumatized have always and will always look for themselves in fiction. Myself included! And despite what lofty platitudes there may be on the matter, suffering does not make us kind. It does not make us better. Sometimes it's just suffering. Often it pulls us further from who we are meant to be. Often it just makes us "worse."

Trauma has made Lena emotionally brittle. A lifetime of manipulation and abuse has taught her to compartmentalize herself and lock her feelings behind a maze of doors. When she does let love in, she accepts it so wild and vulnerable that she can't see the red flags behind the rosy lenses. She latches so hard onto people she deems virtuous that she holds them to a standard none could fulfill. Her pain has to go somewhere, so it oozes out of her, into Non Nocere, into the post-reveal rift. She's a powder keg, and Kara spent 4 years shoveling more gunpowder onto the pile while holding the match between her teeth.

And despite these fatal flaws that make perfect sense through the eyes of Lena's trauma, she is so full of love. Like Kara, her suffering did not make her kind. She is kind in spite of her suffering. These are the characters we are drawn to when we're hurting. Lena’s trauma is an inextricable part of her, but it is not all of her, and neither are her mistakes.

There truly is not and never will be a piece of media that is absolutely innocent of the harmful structures thrust upon us by society, because we ourselves also participate in that society whether we are critical of it or not, whether we strive to change it or not. I'm flawed. You're flawed. Bettering ourselves is not a journey toward an ultimate destination of perfection. It is a garden we nurture in an endless labor of love because the joy that comes from seeing it flourish and change vastly outweighs the work we put into it and the weeds popping up around its unkempt edges. This is a lesson Lena herself could probably stand to internalize. Probably with lots and lots of therapy. Lots. And lots.

So, to circle back to the start of this? You're fine. You recognized the logic in a traumatized character's mistakes because our own gravest errors more often than not stem from the ways we have been harmed in the past. It's what makes Lena (or, at the very least, the many adaptations of Lena that exist in this fandom) a good character. She is, to her core, characterized proof that a crumbling foundation and poisonous soil do not define us. Which is why watching her heal and grow and learn a healthier kind of love is so, so wonderful.

In closing, I think it's worth mentioning that being critical of media does not mean that we stop enjoying the parts of it we like. There is a lot of gold to be pulled from the steaming pile of shit that is CW Supergirl, and that's why we're all here in the first place. So I really hope you can continue to enjoy it in whatever way makes you smile <3

[qqueenofhades]

pel!ivan and fedyor went through a lot of ups and some downs from the end of pel and 2021 but they also celebrated 10 years together 🥳 i hope fedyor shoved cake into ivan’s face and also you know, im sure they were mushy like the saps they are

Ivan was supposed to be out of here ten minutes ago – actually, at this point, more like twenty – but the clients are still fucking talking, and if they keep it up much longer, he’s going to add it to the bill for “initial consultation.” Drew has a man-bun and unbearably hip black glasses, and works as a developer for some start-up app that he’s tried to convince Ivan to download at least twelve times. (What does the app actually do? Don’t know don’t care.) Mia is thin, blonde, waifish, smells like essential oils, and has been flitting around with her smartphone the entire time, getting in Ivan’s way as she snaps perfectly filtered pictures of the “developmental process” and posts them nonstop on Instagram. They both have a lot of opinions on how they want the energy of the space to feel, and a preapproved list of ethically sourced suppliers. They have paid some ludicrous price for this converted loft in Prospect Heights and chose the location for its proximity to the best farmer’s markets and hippie coffeehouses. Did Ivan die? Is this hell?

Somewhat ostentatiously, he looks at his watch. “Okay,” he announces. “I think that wraps up. You have work number, so – ”

“Oh, just one more thing!” Drew has recently read one (1) book on home design and thinks he’s an expert, so Ivan is forced to suffer his idiotic opinions about the kind of tile they want to use on the kitchen backsplash. Somehow, he manages not to roll his eyes directly out of his head, for which he should be commended. Ivan has discovered that the secret of successfully dealing with people, especially clients, is to smile and nod at everything they say, while mercilessly mocking them in your head. Amazing, the things you learn as a small-business owner in Brooklyn in the year of our lord 2021. Especially when it comes to renovating overpriced tiny gentrified apartments for insufferable techno-douchebags and their vapid influencer girlfriends. And people think Ivan might want to live like this more often? No fucking thank you.

Finally (it’s another ten minutes after that, this is definitely going on the bill), they more or less wrap up, except for the fact that Mia then wants a picture with the three of them. “It’s just so important to us that we’re supporting the immigrant community,” she explains earnestly. “After all, being open, tolerant, learning from our neighbors, people who are different from us, that’s what life is all about. We just love that you’re foreign. The energy feels so right, you know?”

Ivan wonders whether to inform her that he has lived in this country for eight years and been a full citizen (passport and voting rights and everything) for three, then decides that this would venture into sharing-personal-information territory and he is having none of it. His English has improved to the point where he can handle almost all business transactions by himself, but feigning incomprehension can sometimes get him out of them when they turn really stupid. Unfortunately, that isn’t an option here, and so he diligently leans into the frame, smiling half an inch, while Mia snaps a picture of “us and our adorable Russian contractor!!” Ivan informs her of the correct flag emoji to add to the filter, decides that he’s going to add an extra fifty bucks just for that, and finally, finally, makes his escape.

It’s rush hour, and the Q is crammed as Ivan heads into midtown. So much for social distancing and not getting too close to anyone, which is the only thing from the pandemic that he wouldn’t mind keeping. Only about half the crowd is wearing masks, including him, and so he gets off at Times Square, dodges the latest lunatic standing on a soapbox and shouting about how it is all a hoax, and walks several blocks uptown, just to get some space. He finally reaches the restaurant, where he has to flash his vaccination card to get inside (Ivan, who remains Russian to the marrow of his bones, is a little irked that he couldn’t get Sputnik here and had to settle for Pfizer) and climbs up to the open-air rooftop terrace. It is only when he spots his husband, waiting at a table that overlooks the glittering evening lights of the city, when Ivan pulls off his mask and allows himself to properly smile. “Sorry I’m late,” he says. “They are the worst.”

“I figured it was something like that.” Fedyor musters a smile in return, though his eyes look permanently tired these days and Ivan would bet that he’s been scrolling through more depressing emails on his phone. Technically Fedyor is on a two-month sabbatical from work, but he can’t stop himself, and Ivan has had to pry it from his fingers on a number of occasions. “But you’re here now. That’s what matters.”

Ivan nods stoutly, they are furnished with the drinks and appetizers list, and when the waiter asks if there’s any special occasion tonight, tell him that they are celebrating their ten-year anniversary, albeit somewhat late. This was supposed to happen last spring, but obviously, nobody in New York was going out to a restaurant in the early months of 2020, and Ivan himself had barely gotten home from the hospital and still could be knocked over in a strong breeze. They’re celebrating a lot of things tonight, in other words, even if it’s now been eleven years, not ten, since the day Ivan marched into a Red Square coffee shop and engaged in – well, Fedyor has made sure to inform him that the first date didn’t go nearly as well as Ivan always thought it did. But it worked, didn’t it? Here they are, wedding bands on their fingers, a couple of successful American urban professionals who have built a nice life for themselves and are, if anything, even more madly in love than they were when this whole nutty adventure together first began. So really, if you ask Ivan Sakharov Kaminsky, it went just fine after all.

The waiter congratulates them, gives them two drinks for the price of one, and they both relax and start to talk, fully at ease in the way they only are in each other’s company. Ivan does his Mia impression in an extremely convincing falsetto (after all, [NAME REDACTED] has practice at this) and Fedyor almost dies laughing. They hold hands on the table – no need to hold them under the table – and gaze into each other’s eyes all they want, order dinner and dessert, and take a long time about it. They raise several toasts to this, to them, to ten years, may there be many more. Ivan pays the bill, his treat, and they walk slowly back to Times Square, hand-in-hand, Fedyor’s head nestled on Ivan’s shoulder. It’s New York. Nobody cares.

They ride the Q home, in all its smelly, secondhand glory, taking an hour to bang out to Brighton Beach and descending the elevated stairs into the familiar down-at-heel comfort of their Russian-American neighborhood, neon Cyrillic signs glowing in windows and somebody shouting about how if Sergei ever shows his face here again, she is going to cut his dick off. Ivan and Fedyor look at each other and snort, resisting the urge to shout up and ask what exactly Sergei did, and walk a few more minutes to their building. They climb up three flights of stairs to their apartment, unlock the door and the deadbolt, and step inside.

The instant they are home, Rasputin shoots out of nowhere, yowling as if he has been neglected for months, and curls himself around Ivan’s ankles (he is still liable to give Fedyor evil looks when he feels that this interloper has been stealing his human too often). Ivan sighs, trudges to the kitchen, points out to Rasputin that his food bowl is still half full, gets a wounded look in return, and adds an extra scoopful. Once the cat is happily snarfing down, Fedyor pulls Ivan by the hand, into the dim living room with its blowing curtains. “Come here, my love,” he says. “Hold me.”

Ivan does as ordered, because it’s his favorite thing in the world: cuddling Fedyor close, nothing but the two of them in all of time and space, swaying slowly in the blue hour with fingers and arms and hearts entwined. Ivan kisses Fedyor’s temple, and Fedyor nestles even closer, melted into his embrace. “I love you, Vanya,” he mumbles against Ivan’s collarbone. “I love you so much. I love you more than anything in the world. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“I love you too, Fedya.” Ivan leans down and kisses him properly, sweet and slow and lingering, as they continue to waltz in stately time to a music that nobody except the two of them can hear. “I’m still not always sure why you married me, but I am very glad you did.”

[justlookfrightened]

How about number 11 from the fluff prompts?

From this prompt list:  “Are you flirting with me?” “You finally noticed?”

I did have to modify slightly to “Were you flirting with me ...”

Background: Bitty went to Samwell and stayed in New England. Jack didn’t go to Samwell but still plays for the Falconers.

Bitty had just set out the pie samples when the man in the yellow shoes ran by.

Every week, just at this time, the man ran through the just-opened market, keeping to the center of the aisle and never stopping to look at anything. Not the sweet, crisp lettuces or heirloom tomatoes from Bruce’s stand across the way, not the strawberries and blueberries that Harry had displayed, not the lavender and honey soaps from the booth next to Bitty’s.

It wasn’t really a bother. The man came early enough that there weren’t many customers to disturb, and the market was in a public park. Anyone could jog through it if they wanted to. It was just annoying that the man never even looked around or acknowledged anyone. And that he looked so good doing it, hideous yellow shoes notwithstanding.

Today he was wearing the shoes and navy blue running shorts -- the kind that barely reached the top of his thighs -- and a dark ball cap with sunglasses. What looked like a blue T-shirt was tucked into the back of his waistband, the better to sweat freely and give anyone who was out and about an eyeful of his shoulders, pecs and abs. Not to mention the massive rear end. All of which was damn near poster-perfect.

Bitty sighed and looked over at Margie, who had paused from setting up her stand to stare as well.

She caught Bitty’s glance and pantomimed fanning herself.

“You should try to sell him some soap,” Bitty said . “He’s gonna need a shower after that run.”

“Forget him,” Margie said. “I’m going to need a shower after watching him.”

The sun rose higher in the sky as Bitty’s stock of pies, cookies, muffins and turnovers got lower. The sample slices disappeared first, of course, but nearly everyone who took one bought something, so they were definitely a success. Maybe next week he should do more samples? Maybe apple and cherry? Or peach?

He was mulling fruit choices over when he noticed a customer -- well, a potential customer at least -- standing off to the side looking at his table. The guy was tall and broad across the shoulders, clean shaven, with the lightest blue eyes Bitty had ever seen on someone with hair so dark. His baggy shorts and ratty T-shirt, combined with socks and athletic slides, reminded Bitty of his old hockey teammates.

Bitty stood up.

“Can I get you something, sir?”

“Euh,” the man stalled, then looked at the table again. “Do you have a sample I could try?”

The man’s accent wasn’t as harsh as the New England voices that Bitty had finally gotten used to after six years in Boston and Providence. It wasn’t a southern drawl, that was for sure, but Bitty couldn’t place it.

“Not anymore,” Bitty said. “You have to wake up earlier to get those. I’ve got a couple of apple pies and peach pies left, and some cherry turnovers. Chocolate-cherry cookies, too, but I’m afraid everything else is sold out.”

“Um, how much for a cookie?”

“$6.50 for a dozen,” Bitty said. “I know it sounds like a lot, but …”

“A lot of cookies?” the man said. “I’m not sure I can have that many.”

“You can’t find anyone to give some to? Everyone likes a little sugar.”

“Haha,” the man said. “I guess.”

He handed over a $10 bill, took the cookies and left before Bitty could make change.

*

The following week, Bitty and Margie again paused in their set-up when the man in the yellow shoes ran by.

“Of all the markets I go to, this one definitely has the best view,” Margie said, turning back to her soaps. 

“You know it,” Bitty said, arranging morsels cut from apple, cherry and peach mini-pies on a tiered stand to offer as samples.

Once again, Bitty had sold most of his stock by time he was considering getting a start on packing up. Once again, the man with ice-blue eyes appeared, hanging back until Bitty noticed him.

“Did you like the cookies last week?” he asked.

“Um, yeah,” the man said. “And I shared them with my … friend. He liked them, too.”

Bitty looked up, wondering what the awkward hesitation before the word “friend” meant. Did he not really share them? Why lie about that? A dozen cookies wasn’t too many for one person to eat in a week, and Bitty hadn’t even asked who ate them. Was his “friend” not really a friend? Maybe more of an acquaintance, like a neighbor or coworker? Or maybe more than a friend? A wife? But he said “he.” A boyfriend? A husband?

Bitty tried to get a read on the man, but when he looked up, the man was looking down at the table, at the card reader with the pride flag sticker and the  now-empty sample stand.

“Looks like I missed the samples again,” the man said. 

“Looks like you did,” Bitty agreed. “You’ve got to get up pretty early to get those.”

“Do you have more of those cookies?”

“Sorry, not this week. Maybe try something different? Peaches are in season and I make a mean peach pie.”

“Why would I want a mean pie?” the man asked.

Now the cute accent came with dad jokes.

“Haha,” Bitty said. “I’ll have you know I won the blue ribbon at the tri-county fair with my pie when I was still in high school.”

“I think a pie is too much for me,” the man said. “It’s not as easy to share as cookies.”

“I’ve got just the thing,” Bitty said. “You can take my last half-dozen mini-pies, and since I’m packing up, I’ll only charge you for three. There’s four peach and two cherry. That’ll be $13.50.”

The man handed over a $20, and this time Bitty didn’t pass him his food until he accepted the change. The man just dropped it in the tip cup.

“Thank you, sir,” Bitty saud. “Y’all have a good week now.”

“Good-looking and generous,” Margie said from the next booth over.  “Why do I only get little old ladies or girls who want their bathrooms to smell nice?”

“Because you sell soap?”

“Don’t men want their bathrooms to smell nice?”

“Well, I do,” Bitty said. 

*

The following week’s market started much the same way, with the runner in the yellow sneakers kicking off the day, this time carrying a balled up red T-shirt in one large hand.

Bitty arranged sliced of apple and cherry turnovers as samples and displayed his pies and cookies, then passed the time between customers chatting with Margie and Bruce across the way.

“You think your boyfriend’s coming back?”

“What boyfriend would that be?” Bitty asked, as though he hadn’t spent a good part of the week daydreaming about blue eyes, sharp cheekbones and broad shoulders.

Once again, just when he was getting ready to close up, Blue Eyes showed up, this time with an even larger man. His friend? Or “friend”? 

The bigger man walked right up to the table, not hanging back like Blue Eyes usually did.

“Hello,” he said, smiling widely, the word flavored with an accent Bitty couldn’t quite place. “Jack says you make the best pies. You have blueberry?”

“Uh, not this week?” Bitty said. “Maybe next week, if I can get enough blueberries. I can make sure to save one for you, Mr. --”

“Alexei,” the man said. “You can call me Alexei.”

“Okay,” Bitty said, writing the name on a sticky note. “I’ll save a blueberry pie for Alexei, Jack’s friend. Can I get you anything today?”

“I see you have lemon bars,” Alexei said. “Six of those?”

“And what about you, Jack? It’s on the house. I noticed the extra $20 in my tip jar last week.”

“You don’t have to,” Jack said. “I like what you make, and it’s your business, so you should be paid. Um, you have a cherry pie left?”

“Just one,” Bitty said.

“It’s amazing,” Alexei said, “that you get this guy to eat dessert. Usually he only eats protein. All the time.”

“Protein is good for you,” Jack defended himself.

“Well, sure it is, hon,” Bitty said. “But you have to have a balanced diet.”

Both men paid, and Alexei said, “Maybe Jack will come get my pie next week from you -- wait, I don’t know your name.”

“Eric,” Bitty said. “But most everyone calls me Bitty.”

“Bitty baker,” Alexei crowed. “Excellent.”

“Bye, Bitty,” Jack said quietly.

After they left, Bitty collapsed dramatically on the table.

“Why are all the good ones taken?” he said.

“Who said he was taken?” Margie said. “Maybe they’re just friends.”

“Friends who pick up pie for each other?”

*

Bitty was well stocked with blueberry pies the next week, and he dutifully put one aside for Alexei. The berries had been so plentiful at the market that he’d made a couple of dozen blueberry bite-sized blueberry tartlets to set on his sample stand.

Bitty was just placing it on the table when the man with the yellow shoes loped past. 

“Put your tongue back in your mouth.” Margie was laughing at him. “You have your guy who comes every week. This one is mine.”

“Hush, you,” Bitty said. “I have a regular customer. That doesn’t mean I can’t feast my eyes on what’s on display.”

Then he stopped talking and busied himself with his display, because the man had broken his pattern and turned around when he reached the end of the market. He was headed back down the aisle.

Bitty was preparing himself to nod at the man, who for once seemed to be looking his way instead of straight ahead, but it was hard to see from behind the man’s sunglasses.

Wait, the man was heading right toward him, slowing to a trot as he passed the table.

“I see you got the blueberries,” he said. “Save one of those for me?”  

Bitty was glad the man -- Jack -- kept moving, because he knew his jaw nearly hit the table.

Once he managed to close his mouth, he turned back to Margie. “Still not my boyfriend,” he said. “But jiminy crickets. How did I not know it was the same guy?”

“You were blinded by the shoes?” Margie suggested. “Or, you know, the totally ripped half-naked body.”

“At least he’ll be dressed when he comes back,” Bitty said, placing three of the tartlets into a container that he put with Alexei’s pie. 

“The better not to drool over him?” Margie asked.

“Yeah,” Bitty said. “Pretty sure that’s considered bad customer service.”

Bitty spent the rest of the morning on pins and needles. It was fine, he told himself. His (very handsome) customer was the same as the (very hot) guy who ran through the market early every morning. The guy who never showed any sign that he even realized there were other people there, let alone that those people might be looking at him.

To him, Bitty was just the guy who sold cookies and pies. But his friend said Jack didn’t usually eat sweets, Bitty remembered.

Maybe Jack was buying them for Alexei. Maybe they were … it wasn’t right to say “more than friends,” Shitty would have his head for that. 

But they hadn’t seemed, well, couple-y, last week. And Bitty was pretty sure Jack lived alone. And Bitty couldn’t believe he had gotten himself wrapped up in whether there was an ethical difference in spinning daydreams about a customer based on whether the customer had a significant other. They were daydreams, for pity’s sake, and nothing would come of them.

Good thing the tartlets were doing their job and Bitty’s baked goods were more or less selling themselves today.

The stand was so successful that Bitty sold out of everything except the tartlets and pie he was saving for Jack and Alexei a half-hour before he usually packed up. 

He took his time stacking his trays, folding his tablecloths, stowing equipment in now-empty coolers for the trip home.

“Leaving already?” Margie asked. “Want me to hang on to the pie for when he gets here?”

“Nah,” Bitty said. “I’ll wait.”

Once he had everything stacked and ready to go to the truck, he sat in his folding chair and pulled out his phone to answer comments on his latest video.

He had just explained -- for the six-hundredth time -- how shortening and butter behave differently in pie crust when he heard a throat clear a few feet above him.

The Jack he saw when he looked up was different from the ones he had seen so far. No tiny running shorts or baggy basketball shorts, no horrid yellow shows or shower sandals. This Jack had on dark wash jeans that had to be tailored to fit like that, a snug T-shirt and a flannel button-down left open and with the sleeves rolled above the elbow. The moccasin-style shoes were a nice bonus. He looked a little familiar, but Bitty supposed that went with the fantasizing.

“Bitty?” Jack said. “Are you done for the day?”

“I am,” Bitty said, getting up and then immediately bending over to pick up the boxes for Jack. “But I saved you some tartlets and Alexei’s pie is here.”

“How much do I owe you?” Jack said.

“The pie is $20 even,” Bitty said. “But you can catch up to me next week if you don’t have cash.”

“I’m good for it,” Jack said, reaching for his wallet. “More to the point, so is Tater. What about the little blueberry things?”

“No charge,” Bitty said. “Samples, remember?”

“Samples are for people who get here early,” Jack said.

“You were here early,” Bitty said. “You just couldn’t take them with you. No, uh, pockets.”

“You think I’d put them in my pockets?”

Jack handed over two crisp twenties.

“It’s just $20,” Bitty said.

“For your trouble,” Jack said. “I’ll get Tater to pay me back.”

“Why do you call him Tater?”

“Hockey nickname,” Jack said. “He’s my teammate.”

“You play hockey?” Bitty said. “Where?”

“With the Falconers?” Jack said. 

Suddenly it clicked.

“Alexei … Mashkov? And you’re Jack Zimmermann!”

“Uh, yeah,” Jack said, ducking his head to look around to see if anyone heard. He raised his hand to his head like he wanted to pull the brim of his cap down, but with no cap, he ended up brushing away the hair that had curled onto his forehead. “Sorry you had to wait for me. Do you need a hand moving your things?”

“Aw, you don’t have to do that, hon,” Bitty said. “It’s a kind offer, though.”

“I don’t mind,” Jack said. “I was hoping maybe after you were done clearing up, you’d want to get coffee with me? Or a late lunch? Or something?”

Bitty managed to keep his mouth closed, but only just. A quick glance to the side told him Margie hadn’t been so successful.

“You don’t have to,” Jack said. “It’s fine. I mean, I know you shouldn’t ask people out when they’re working, so that’s why I wanted to wait until you were done --”

“No, sugar,” Bitty said. “I’d love to get lunch with you. Just so I know, though, you mean like a date?”

“Yes?” Jack said. “Wasn’t that clear? After all these weeks? Tater said he thought you liked me.”

“Wait,” Bitty said. “Were you flirting with me?”

“You finally noticed?”

“Never mind,” Bitty said. “Got there in the end, didn’t I?”

Jack started pushing the dolly with the folded table and stacked coolers towards the parking lot. As soon as he passed, Bitty flashed Margie a thumbs-up, picked up his chair and trays, and followed.

[supermarvelgirl15]

Delicate Type of Beauty- Chapter 2: Coffee?

Summary: You seem to struggle to carry a lot of things. Bucky needs to learn that it's okay to have friends.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes × f!oc-insert

Word Count: 1,705

Warnings: None I think

A/N: This is pretty much a filler tbh lol. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy!

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

××××××

    One more. You could carry one more bag.

    Splat.

    Maybe not. 

    You cursed under your breath as you squatted down, trying to grab the bag that you dropped on the ground. Hopefully the contents inside didn’t spill and they were all still good. You should really stop trying to carry more things than you possibly can. It’s just, why would you make multiple trips when you can just take one?

    The bags that seemed to fall from your grip every thirty or so feet were meant for the veterans in the shelter that had been built post-Blip. The shelter needed all the help that it could get, so you decided to buy them some sandwiches with a few extra snacks from the grocery store. It wasn’t the ideal breakfast food, but you were sure they would still love them.

    The search for your brother so far has turned up empty handed. The security cameras at the docks had somehow been wiped, which immediately raised some red flags. The footage mysteriously cut off as soon as Colton parked his car, picking back up again a couple hours later. 

    Technology wasn’t exactly your strong suit, so you sent the tape to one of the members of your old SEAL team, Rhett. Rhett was probably the smartest one that was on your team, and if anyone could do it, it was him. So while you were waiting on some feedback from him, you were going to help where you could.

    Bucky wasn’t exactly sure why he was out this early in the morning, but he needed to be anywhere where he wasn’t being trapped inside his own head. His nightmares weren’t getting any better and the one last night was a bad one. He was tired, grumpy, and desperate.

    He needed something to distract himself. If he tried to get Yuri out this early, it would certainly get him cursed out in Japanese. There wasn’t really anyone else for him to go to anymore, so that just left the option of him wandering around the streets of Brooklyn. 

    Brooklyn. He grew up here a long time ago and it was barely recognizable anymore. Sure, there were places that were still the same since the forties, but it just seemed different. Maybe it was because he was different.

    A familiar sound of curses made him look up from where he was watching his feet, looking around for the source. His eyes landed on you, squatting down to pick up one of the various bags that you had dropped. Why was he always catching you in these situations? 

    He’s seen you a few times since the first time you met, but it was nothing more than offering a small smile to the other. Sometimes you would say something to him in passing and he would just nod in acknowledgement. 

    Could he be more friendlier to his new neighbor? Yes, he could be way nicer to you. The old him would have even tried to make a move on you. He just wasn’t in the market for new friends at the moment. Especially ones that knew who he was. 

    At first, he was just going to continue on his way, not wanting to interact with anybody while he was in a mood. But when he saw you plop down on a bench with that defeated look on your usually cheerful face, he couldn’t not help you. 

    Bucky glanced around him as he approached you, taking his gloved hands out of pockets. You didn’t seem to notice him, too immersed with checking whatever was inside the bags that you had been carrying.

    “Good mornin’,” Bucky greeted you, sticking his hands back into his pockets once again. He observed as your sad look from before quickly changed back into your usual happy one. Then he noticed how you internally did a double take once you realized that it was him speaking to you.

    “Morning,” you replied with a smile as you set the bag you were looking through to the side with the others. A voice inside his head made him wonder how someone like you could smile at him like that, but he quickly blocked it out. 

    He cleared his throat before he continued talking. “You looked like you could use some help,” he gestured to the bags on the bench beside you. 

    You looked down at the bags, nodding slightly. “I… Yeah, I could definitely use a lot of help,” you chuckled as you stood up. “I’m taking these to the veterans shelter down about three blocks. I don’t want to cause you any trouble by asking you for help,” you licked your lips as you picked up a few of the bags.

   Bucky shook his head as he started picking up the rest of the bags. “You didn’t ask. I offered,” he reminded you, starting in the direction of the shelter. You stood there in shock for a moment before shaking it off and quickly followed him. 

    The walk to the shelter was pretty much a quiet one, neither one of you knowing how to start a conversation with the other. You couldn’t help but try to sneak a glance to his left hand, trying to see if any metal was peeking out. You wondered if he noticed what you were doing, watching as he shifted the bags in his hand somewhat nervously out of the corner of your eye.

    Bucky stayed outside as you went into the shelter to drop off the bags of food with the volunteers. He didn’t feel comfortable going inside, not wanting to risk actually seeing someone that would know him. If anyone was going to recognize him, it would be war veterans.

    You came back out a few minutes later, waving goodbye to one of the old men before you shut the door behind you. You stuffed your hands into your jacket pockets as you walked over to where Bucky was standing. 

    “Thanks for helping me. I’d probably still be dropping them on the street if you didn’t show up,” you laughed slightly. Bucky gave you one of his awkward smiles in return, telling you not to mention it. He turned to leave, taking a few steps away from you, but something came over you. You couldn’t let him leave just yet.

    “Would you… like to get some coffee?”

    Bucky stopped in his tracks, turning back to face you. He knows that he should say no. He didn’t want to let anyone get close to him. 

    “Sure, why not?”

                                          ★

    The café wasn’t too far from their apartment building, Bucky finds out. He wondered why he’s never been here as he listened to you tell him how now was the perfect time to go since the breakfast rush was coming to an end. He realizes you were right when you both sit down in a booth tucked away in the corner. There were only a couple other people in there, making the café a nice contrast to the busy streets just outside.

    The waitress that took your coffee orders made the place even cozier with her soft spoken voice. You told him that her name was Jolene and that she started not too long before you moved into the apartment across from him. He’s been here longer than you and you’re already making more friends than him. Then again, he wasn’t exactly trying to.

    When the waitress came back with your orders, you slipped her your debit card to pay for both of your drinks, much to Bucky’s protest. He tried to argue that he could pay for his own coffee.

    You shook your head, blowing into your coffee to cool it off some. “It’s my way of thanking you. Plus, I get a military discount,” you smiled cheekily at him, taking a sip of your drink.

    Bucky’s eyebrows knitted together as he looked over at you, the money problem briefly leaving his mind. “You’re military?” He questioned, glancing you up and down. He honestly didn’t take you as a soldier, but some things about you did make sense now.

    You nodded as you reached into your shirt, pulling out your dog tags to show him. “I used to be. Apparently my squad was disbanded during the Blip, so they put me in early retirement,” you answered him, the last sentence coming out bitterly. 

    Bucky nodded apologetically, taking a small sip from his coffee. “It seems the Blip screwed over a lot of people,” he commented, glancing around the café.

    You opened your mouth to change the subject, but was interrupted by your phone going off. You apologized to Bucky before looking at it, seeing that it was a message from Rhett. Your heart started beating faster as you read the three words he sent you.

    I got it.

    You stuffed your phone back into your pocket as you started swiftly sliding out of the booth. “I’m so sorry, but something just came up. I know this is so rude,” you started rambling out an apology.

    “It’s fine, really. Everything okay, Kris?” Bucky stopped you, looking at you worriedly. He hoped it wasn’t something he did.

    You bit your lip, nodding frantically. “Yeah, everything’s fine. It’s just a, a family emergency. Um, if you give me your number, I’ll let you know when I can make this up to you,” you tell him, your eyes widening once you realize you literally just asked James Barnes for his number. “If you want to, that is. I totally understand if you don’t want to give it to me.”

    Bucky laughs slightly, easing your anxiety some. He definitely should laugh more. “Yeah, uh, it’s…” He started reading out his number to you as you quickly typed it into your phone. 

    You give him another smile as you saved his number. “I’m so sorry. I’ll talk to you later, James,” you said, turning to leave before getting stopped by Bucky’s voice.

    “You can just call me Bucky. The only person that calls me James anymore is my therapist,” he cringed at his attempt at a joke. Who tells someone they barely know that they have a therapist?

    You didn’t seem to mind as you smiled at him again. “Goodbye, Bucky.”

××××××

@bucky-bunnie @learisa @denimbex1986 @magconfangurl1​ (If you would like to be removed/added please let me know!)

[spade-riddles]

"Adjusting Expectations" Post

This submission received a lot of responses and 120 notes, so I thought I would compile the comments here.

Anonymous said:

Adjusting expectations anon was so good. If their timetables are right and we do just need to be patient a little longer, can Kaylor please send us a sign? I guess it would be too loud to slip "adjusting expectations" into social media posts, but maybe they could both do something with playing cards? To show they are card sharks right now but they'll find their way home eventually? That would reassure people. And it would fly under the radar.

casuallycruel131313 said:

I agree with a lot of this but I think the main issue right now is that moral and ethical lines have been crossed and there's no coming back from that. In these post-Trumpian insurrectionist times it's unfathomable that they could continue the Kushner narrative I no longer care if or when they come out, I enjoy the music and I'm happy to observe from a distance because I'm interested from a PR/marketing point of view but my opinion of T &K as people has changed irrevocably and I don't see how they can clean the tarnish off.

@theprologues said:

Agree with most of not all if this but I would like to say as a Kaylor the toe Grammy stunt didn’t phase me. I was not crushed by that by any means. I just shrugged and honestly expected it. It was the attributing Betty and exile to him during the LPSS in November that bummed me out and really made me go...really?

rockcrow20 said:

Have to say I also agree with most of this.

I no longer have any expectations on anything changing any time soon and have not been surprised by the recent events its to be expected after everything over the years really

Nothing has really changed (bearding narrative wise) since I fell down the rabbit hole in 2017 (except that great night in nashville 2018 rep)

Honestly I can't say I am as invested anymore about them ever coming out as I was.

I think the wb/Joe thing was the last moment for me and the continual kushner connection just troubles me like many others.

I mean my kaylor motto for awhile now has been hope for the best but expect disappointment.

Low expectations = limited feelings of disappointment.

original-cypher said:

@rockcrow20 the WB was a breaking point for so many. You are absolutely right. There are just so ma'y contradictions that feel like absolute whiplash. (I know I seem to have been the only one experiencing that with Gorgeous but... that was a big one for me, too) But like. You go on a whole PR campaign about speaking up and standing up for yourself. You say you're capable and tired of men trying to take ownership of your success and profit off of your name. And you credit you literal damn work to a bloke? Bitch, 'consistency'? Look it up. It grossed me out. It would have felt iffy if I believed they were real. But since I wasn't born yesterday it just sent me the message "this is how far I'm willing to sacrifice my principles to not be queer".

rockcrow20 said:

@original-cypher exactly why it bothered me and I know alot us so much. Such mixed messaging of being a strong fighting for your rights female and then oh hey let me attribute some of my best work to my pr boyfriend and the pr pics where she is walking behind all the time like 🙄 The Betty thing that was big one for me too!

rainbowdaisy13 said:

This write up and the comments are spot on. I don’t have much to add other than like @original-cypher said, Miss Americana is tainted for me now and seems like at the very least, it was released too soon in the plan. I get we think they have had to pivot but man, that doc, and including her literally saying “gay rights make me me” at the end was such a false flag. To see her wax poetic about not taking shit from men anymore and then see her do the same old hetero weak woman song and dance routine with the WB shit for albums that are of her genius mind has been so disappointing. I still believe Kaylor is real and I hope they get a chance to show the world that. Karlie posting that cardigan pic in the woods before the folklore release cemented for me they are still together. Adding a baby makes me feel all kind of weird ethical things but I hope I live long enough to see it play out and wear my I Told You So shirt 😁

@kellykaylor said:

agree with your post... I dont care about toe stunts but what really pissed me of was hetwashing betty 🤮! beautiful post tho anon!!

roameroo said:

Totally agree with these all comments especially the strong messaging of MA only to turn around & pull that WB = my "bf" crap. I was disheartened by her mentioning him at the Grammy's only bc he's getting credit for sh*t he doesn't/didn't do. That is what irks me the most about this, giving him credit for her life's work.

always-the-last-word said:

Can I throw my pennies in the pool ?? Taylor will put out the big three first Fearless, RED then 1989 that should bring us to about August. This is where the excitement should begin. If Taylor preps and waits for National Coming Out day it's a no lose for her. Lover her money making machine will go through the roof !! If things go bad or good in the public eye she'll have REPUTATION Taylor's Version ready to release. It will be epic and she'll own it and be FREE.

@karlie-what-you-want said:

always-the-last-word I like this take a lot! I try not to be too optimistic but if she wanted to come out sooner rather than later, I think this plan would satisfy both business and PR needs (at least on Taylor’s end). Remains to be seen how Tay will help Karlie dig her way out of the mess they made together regarding the K*shners.

always-the-last-word said:

Always remember that Taylor has a PLAN. Some of her plans are year's old (easter eggs). Taylor's one and only LOVE is her music, everything else comes second. If KK wants to change and be with her full time she'll make moves around the same time frame. That's if she chooses to. In any event Tay will be open and own all her music. I've seen this film before and WE might not like the ending.

chosetherose said:

I’ve been going back and forth for a day trying to figure out what I wanted to say when I reblogged this post. I’m tired. I’m frustrated. I understand I’m owed nothing by Taylor or Karlie. I understand that circumstances out of their control have caused the girls to pivot over and over again.

But, the root of my frustration in the past months stems not from me battling with the trivial (e.g. pap walks, etc.) but with my personal principles. I fiercely believe credit should be given where it is earned and I uphold this in my career regularly. To see Taylor crediting Toe with her art was deeply disappointing. Watch the 1989 and folklore acceptance speeches back to back and tell me it doesn’t upset you. I believe the K******s have blood on their hands and that their actions during the pandemic have killed people. To see Karlie still associating with one of them disgusts me.

I can’t help but think back in frustration - Would you really fall from grace to touch her face? (And in the brilliant words of @9w1ft) But would you die for her in public? I go back and forth feeling like questions like this aren’t fair at all and thinking they are sort of valid. At this point, it sort of feels like Taylor would only fall from grace for her lover if all the stars and facets of her life aligned perfectly. But perfection like this does not happen. Such is life. So why am I here?

I do question why Spade left certain messages in their final days. I am still holding hope a fervent revolution exonerates everyone. I so desperately want Taylor to regain control of her masters or re-records. Maybe this is the plan they thought was best with multiple goals in mind (re-records, having a family, coming out of the closet one day etc). I’m trying to remain patient because Spade told us to trust her endless yearning. But WOW it is asking a lot of us at this point.

Anonymous said:

Despite being a pragmatist kaylor and oftentimes getting into arguments with fellow optimistic kaylors (owner of this blog included) I think it's quite unfair -at this point- to say to the optimists who have patiently sat through the worst kind of stunts with the most terrible kind of people (yes I'm talking about the Kushner's friend group too) that they should have seen it coming. Besides, if it weren't for the optimists we the cynicals would have burned this fandom down by now.

Anonymous said:

Even if we ignore that an insurrection happened partially because of the family karlie's still working for and getting paid from, she literally said before the pregnancy debacle unfolded that j*sh was her last client while talking about cutting hair and doing a cutting gesture. How should we have interpreted that? 😤That a year later she would be more stuck with the Kushners than ever? We don't wake up on day and decide to have unrealistic expectations. She feeds into them. 😠

Anonymous said:

I have no expectation of Taylor coming out anymore. Zero. None. I have no expectation of her dropping Toe or even of Kaylor publicly reuniting. It doesn't even matter that much anymore. But I - do - expect 1 thing. Karlie to drop and completely dissociate herself from the Kushners and this has nothing to do with kaylor. It was everything to do with me being unable to support a person who willfully assists (now using her baby too) and receives money from a family that has made so many suffer.

Anonymous said:

A quick word from an ex-kaylor (who will never become an anti). A year ago, when the Trumps were still in power and untouchable and there was no baby, I was excusing and turning a blind eye to many things Karlie did for the K*shners. Even that dinner in September. I had also made peace with the truth never being revealed. But a year later the Trumps are gone, Karlie is still on full stunting mode now with a baby in the mix, a baby that is already being used by the Kushners, and I've really run out of excuses. Now the only thing that could possibly keep me on board is if I knew there was a good chance that the full truth would come out, so that Karlie's inexplicable and honestly borderline immoral actions could eventually make sense. But as your sub said, this is an unrealistic expectation, thus I became an ex-kaylor and I'm not planning to come back even when they reunite. 😕

Anonymous said:

What baffles me is that Taylor has explicitly expressed her regret about not giving her lover the credit she deserves and her doubt whether fame is worth hiding her true love: "when I walked up to the podium, I think I forgot to say your name", "what's a lifetime of achievement, if I pushed you to the edge". But yet again she didn't do anything to change this. I didn't expect her to acknowledge Karlie, but a nod or at least not falsely crediting her beard would be a good start.

Anonymous said:

1🙁 Let me chime in re: "expectations". I'm one of the kaylors who ever since the pregnancy reveal was trying to tell everyone there's NO way she was gonna dump him soon after birth let alone before that. It would bring too much unnecessary attention and Jerk would have never agreed to something that would make him look like a bad guy/husband. For the exact same reasons, I was also saying there's no way he wasn't going to post about the baby. All the above against the popular opinion back then.

2🙁 So I agree that the day of the birth post was known to T, not the timing though. Simply bc Kushner-leaning outlets made sure to note that detail. If they wanted it to go unnoticed, why draw attention to it? That being said, kaylors would have been more patient with this mess, if Karlie hadn't gone overboard with her freedom "smoke signals" last summer and Tay's "insiders" hadn't been insinuating that the end is VERY near. Both of them SHOULD have known by then how we would react to these.

3🙁 So it's natural that everyone feels played and has no patience for any more bullshit. Another sore point is how Jerk AND the Kushner-Trump klan monopolize the baby news. This isn't just to make it realistic, it's an abuse of Kaylor's baby's name to garner good pr for the worst family in America, with Karlie's blessing. In order for her marriage and split to appear realistic she's putting a LIFETIME burden on her child's back. Unless you believe she's eventually gonna say Jerk isn't the dad.

4🙁 So "we’re in a position we should realistically have been able to see coming". But we did see it coming, that why some made these extreme scenarios, bc this is the worst possible outcome. "Good people try to make it work, even in bad relationships." Ultimately this isn't just a "bad rs". It's a horrific association that should have been resolved ages ago, not one to bring your child into, doom it to suffer a similar fate, and expect people to sit idly and watch. That's what frustrates most.

[imagineaworlds]

Rules & Roses

“are you following me?”

Written By: @desperately-bisexual​

Request: None.

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of sex. Pretty sure that’s it.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Non-binary!Reader x Emily Prentiss (poly triad)

Word Count: 2073

Paranoia was starting to kick in. After days of running that same path without seeing another trace of that woman who reminded me of Lauren, I was genuinely starting to worry about just how fucking insane I was. I mean, think about it this way: I dedicated six years of my life to loving Lauren Reynolds so passionately that nothing else in the world mattered. As long as I had her, I was content. Then, one day, without warning, she was gone, and I was left to pick up the pieces. After those six years loving someone to the point that my life became theirs, it was hard to move on. Truthfully, I don’t think I ever did. There I was, thirteen years later, and my whole life was still about Lauren. For all I knew, she disappeared of her own free will. She woke up on that Wednesday morning, decided that she had enough of me, so she made it seem like she was going to the market, but she was really getting as far away from me as possible. Honestly, I wouldn’t have been surprised. I mean, I thought she loved me… but Lauren liked to keep moving, and she didn’t like to get close with anyone— hence why I hardly knew anything about her— so it was possible that she just got bored of me. If that were the case, then I was definitely insane for still being head over heels in love with her.

Not knowing what happened with her, or with us, made it impossible for me to gauge if it was okay for me to actually still be strung on her or not. The good news was, however, that I could run it out every morning at the park. Since it was slowly getting colder, the tourists were spending more of their time in the city where there was artificial heating. As for the usual faces I saw on the path, they were still there. The older couples that liked to walk the path on the warm, sunny days so that they could stare at all of the different flowers in the huge garden all day were already long gone, probably cooped up in their homes to stay warm with each other. I envied that life. It was the life I wanted with— Stop. The point of running was to just focus on the burn in my lungs and legs. Playing my music as loud as I could in my ear was also to help deter any wandering thoughts. If anything, I could just focus on the lyrics and pretend that I was elsewhere in the world with her— No.

Thirteen fucking years and I still couldn’t shake Lauren Reynolds.

As I reached the top of the U-turn, I decided to sit down on the bench there for once. Usually, it was taken up by one of the older couples or a lazy tourist; but, since they were all gone— and no one else was going to dare to sit on the cold metal— I got to stretch out for a moment as I caught my breath and tried to end this tug-of-war in my mind. People continued to pass. As they made their way around the U-turn, they each sent me a glance, all for different reasons. Some were confused, others were curious, and others had just accidentally looked over at me. There was confusion because it was way too cold to just be sitting on a metal bench in the park, and curiosity because they wanted to make sure I was alright. With every glance that came, however, I tried to see if I could spot that woman who looked like Lauren. I really wanted to see her again. Not because I wanted to talk to her or something, but because I just needed that reassurance that it wasn’t her. I needed to move on. Despite the fact that I hadn’t seen her again since that first glance, I was holding out hope that at some point I would get to prove to myself that I wasn’t cray.

“How are you not freezing?” his muffled voice passed through the music playing in my headphones just enough to catch my attention.

I looked up at him. It was the man from the other day, the one who bumped into me— the six foot Nordic God that I had ignored. I gulped. “I’m used to it.”

“Ah. So, you can say more than ‘sorry’.” He laughed. My eyes raked down his figure, taking in every detail of him. Since it was so cold out, his hair wasn’t all sweaty and sticking to his forehead this time around. His brown eyes were just as dark and endless this time as they were the first time, though, and I felt myself getting lost for a second before I caught myself on the detail of how his nose flared to stop himself from smiling when he saw me staring. “I’m Aaron,” he said when he realized that I didn’t know how to respond.

I smiled up at him. “Nice to meet you.”

“What’s your name?”

I stayed silent, my headphones still in my ears. I thought that it was common knowledge that you weren’t supposed to bother someone when they had headphones in. Then again, Aaron looked older, so it was possible that it was a generation rule, not a societal one. I stood from the cold bench to show that I wasn’t going to answer him. His eyes followed mine. As I jumped on my toes to try and warm myself up, my gaze continued to search his body. He was wearing a tight grey Under Armor shirt that showed off his loose abs that he was working on, and his biceps… Again, a six foot Nordic God. As for his pants, he was wearing knee-length black sports shorts over black tights to keep his legs warm. My eyes snapped back up to meet his face when I heard him chuckle.

“You’re shy,” he said to me.

“Not really.”

“So, then, what’s your name?”

This guy wasn’t going to give up— but, again, Americans were normally people that kept to themselves. If they didn’t, it was a huge red flag. The fact that this guy bumped into me the other day, and now he was trying to use that brief interaction as an excuse to talk to me again was unnerving. Stranger danger, right? That was an American concept, for the most part, but I supposed it was a valid thing to be concerned about. At this point, I had learned that they were onto something with their “stranger danger” concept. Despite the fact that this man was very attractive, looks could be deceiving. I wasn’t going to give him my name or any other attention, really. The less the better. I shouldn’t have stopped on that bench. I shouldn’t have stopped on the path the other day when he bumped into me, and I shouldn’t have stopped on the bench this time. I needed to learn to just keep moving. Just because I had all the time in the world to do what I want in the mornings now, that didn’t mean I should lolligag.

“I should go,” I said.

This time, he didn’t stop me with any kind of protest or hold on my hips. I wasn’t sure why, but that one detail from that morning stuck out the most— well, besides the fact that I thought I saw Lauren. He had knocked into me because of my sudden halt, and in order to save me from falling flat on my face, he caught my hips and held me until he was sure that I was okay. Even then, I had to pull from his touch. With all of the caution I had been proceeding with, it was irking me that I couldn’t forget how he held me. Maybe it was just the fact that he was attractive. I was easily blinded by love and sexuality— use Lauren Reynolds as the prime example— so, I couldn’t trust even myself when it came to attractive strangers like the six foot Nordic God who was following me around.

When I arrived at my car after my run, I sat down in the driver’s seat, the door still open so that I could knock the dirt off my running shoes and change into something more comfortable. As the sun was coming up for the rest of the morning, it started to warm up, but only slightly, I missed being warm all the time. Even with the constant traveling Lauren and I did, we managed to catch everywhere when it was warm. We never ran into snow unless it was on purpose. Like, this one time, Lauren took me to Poland so that we could stay in a cabin where the snow could trap us in, giving us all the time in the world to just be together and not be interrupted by anything. I hated the snow without her. I hated the cold without her. She used to keep me warm, no matter what. Now, I had no one to keep me warm, which made the cold— especially the D.C. cold— unbearable.

“I didn’t mean to scare you off earlier,” he said.

I rolled my eyes before looking up at him. “Are you following me? Do I need to call the cops?”

He laughed. “No. I just wanted to apologize. I’ll leave you alone—”

“Good. ‘Cause I will call the police—” My threat fell short when he dug into his pocket, pulling out a black wallet, then flipped it open so that I could see the inside. My jaw dropped. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

I scanned every line of the I.D. laminated next to the bright gold FBI badge. “So, your name really is Aaron.” That was a relief, I supposed.

He laughed again. “Yeah.” He pocketed his badge. “I really didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I was just on a run the other day with my friend, and we were racing, so I was trying to keep up after she passed you; but I wasn’t looking where I was going, so I ran into you.”

“Did she win?”

“What?”

“Your friend. Did she win your race because of me?”

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from widening his smile. “Yeah, she did. She would have won anyways. She’s fast.”

“You’ll have to challenge her to a rematch, that way I can bump into her next time so that you can win.”

I shivered suddenly. I tried to pass it off like I was cold, but, in reality, it was because I had just realized that I was flirting with him, even though I promised myself I wouldn’t get involved with a stranger. It was just that he pulled out that badge, and it suddenly gave me a sense of security with him— even though it could have been a fake badge, or the fact that he was still a stranger with a badge. I shouldn’t have been warming up to him as quickly as I was. I knew it was wrong. I knew that it was dangerous. Yes, neither of us could stop smiling. After not smiling for so long, I thought I forgot how to laugh. Then he came along, and it seemed easy to smile and laugh. It was natural. Unlike the other day, this wasn’t forced or awkward. We were just two people who happened to keep running into each other on the path, and because of that, we felt the need to create polite conversation. Still, it was wrong— It didn’t have to be wrong. No. It was. A badge didn’t mean he wasn’t still a stranger to me.

Aaron seemed to notice the truth behind my shiver, though, so he backed down. “I guess I’ll be seeing you around, then.”

“Yeah.”

 “Okay…” He turned on his heels to make his way to his car.

“Y/N,” I said urgently.

He stopped. “What?” he asked while turning back around.

I swallowed hard. “My name’s Y/N. I figure, if you’re in the FBI, you’d find out sooner than later.”

“I wasn’t going to—”

“It’s okay.”

Aaron bit his lip nervously. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too, Aaron. See you tomorrow.”

------------

criminal minds family: @peggy1999​ @gorgeousdarkangel​ @alex--awesome--22​ @oceaneblu​ @brithedemonspawn​ @absolutemarveltrash​ @bshelley322​

[suganovakawa]

your jealous hcs are immaculate 😌 could I get sum the same headcannons for my short kings hinata and nishi 🥺

aBSOLUTELY I AM ON THIS

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘'𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐘 !

karasuno boys fend off other teams as they try to flirt with you !

— check out my masterlist !!

these boys don’t take too kindly to other teams trying to flirt with you . . . and they’re not gonna deal with it for much longer ! >:)

a / n : jealous haikyuu boys . that’s it . that’s the tweet . :^)

— ask to be part of my gen taglist !

taglist : @yams046 @janellion @avylee

shoyo hinata

mans is gonna be going through an internal conflict of “ HEY THATS MY SO ” and “ wait am i being too possessive ? ”

literally all of his teammates have told him being wary of who tries flirting with you is NOT being overly possessive , but he still has his self doubts about it all

you’re still a manager-in-training during the summer camp , and you’ve basically been following kiyoko around ; every time you’re not , you’re usually with shoyo

all of hinata’s hesitation goes down the drain the moment lev basks in your presence

you two met through shoyo and kenma , during lunch — you found your boyfriend speaking to this really really really tall guy , and hinata quickly introduced the two of you before you could run away in fear

what he didn’t like , was how well you two got along afterward

during the week he’d catch lev striking up easy conversation with you when he wasn’t around ; whether it was about him , you , volleyball , nekoma , or karasuno

y’all got along well — way too well

it came to the point where tobio had to give the carrot top a whole pep talk about his jealousy ; shoyo began to be more distracted on the court , which earned karasuno more and more punishments

“ boke ! you need to do something about yourself ! we don’t stand a chance in winning if all you do on the court is gawk at how lev is better at striking conversation with y/n than you ! ”

“ but kageyamaaaaaa , what if i’m just reading too much into it ? ”

“ you’ll be reading the fine print on my sneakers if you don’t pull your crap together soon and be a man for y/n ”

and that was the end of that discussion ; hinata was gonna pull his crap together later tonight

after another camp day finished , he found you with lev . . . again

he was helping you with cleaning up any extra volleyballs — shoyo watched as you laughed at one of his short jokes , you punching the side of his arm lightly

the first year marched towards the two of you , and you smiled when you saw your boyfriend in view

“ shoyo ! did you know that lev — sh-shoyo ? ”

lev widened his eyes a bit as hinata wrapped an arm around your waist , blatantly pressing a kiss to your temple in front of the nekoma first year

ignoring his self embarrassment , shoyo flashed a small smirk in your direction , using his fingers to brush the hair out of your eyes

“ i missed you , y/n . do you need help with anything ? ”

“ aaaaaaand , that is my cue to go find yaku . see you around , y/n ! ”

you hid your flustered face in shoyo’s chest and blindly waved lev off , not fully grasping what in the world just happened

out of nowhere , you can feel and hear your boyfriend short circuit

“ oh my goD thank GOODNESS lev left already , i didn’t think i could do that for much longer ”

you look up at hinata , whose face was just as red as yours from his own actions

“ what was that for anyway , shoyo ? you’re never like . . . that ”

you blushed at the thought of shoyo being protective of you in front of lev , your stomach feeling fluttery with his arm around your waist

“ honestly , y/n ? i kinda . . . got jealous . that lev was getting most of your attention . kageyama was the one who told me to do this , but i got scared i was being too controlling of you by doing what i did ”

at what shoyo said , you couldn’t help but laugh and press a kiss to his nose

“ nonsense , shoyo . i know you’re not like that . and i’ll give you more attention , silly . you should’ve just asked . ”

he let loose of your hips and you began to walk out of the gym , but you faced him one more time before turning the corner , a foxy grin on your lips

“ but damn , shoyo . i’d love to see that side of you again , because that was really hot . ”

you were kidding when you said that , but he clearly didn’t get that part when he did the same exact thing the next day — and he was much more confident this time

yuu nishinoya

he will call anyone out if they even dare flirt with you

as an experienced flirter himself , yuu knows exactly what to look for when a male specimen interacts with you

and if he sees any red flags ? consider the interaction terminated

of course he isn’t possessive , he’ll lead you away from the specimen nicely instead of just dragging you away

but the specimen should def expect a death glare from the libero

exhibit A — koutarou bokuto

could the fukurodani player make it more obvious that he was completely and utterly smitten over you ?

somehow you were completely oblivious to his advances , brushing off as you just carried on tending to karasuno

but even still , bokuto wouldn’t give you a break . and yuu wasn’t going to deal with watching you unintentionally push his advances away for much longer

at first , tanaka wanted to help with busting koutarou

“ c’mon , noya ! let’s show that ace who y/n’s boyfriend is , eh ? don’t deal with his shit anymore ! ”

cue a manly cutscene

and an even manlier yuu nishinoya

“ no , my dear tanaka . i appreciate your support , soldier , but y/n is my s.o. , so i will take matters into my own hands . if i cannot do such a feat , i cannot call myself a man , and a worthy boyfriend . ”

cue ryu’s manly tears , and the two hugged on it

come dinner time , and yuu is finally going to stop bokuto from pursuing you

he sees you , and you see him — you try calling out to noya , but before you can finish , koutarou is already at your side , puppy dog eyes and all

“ y/n !!! you were great today ! ”

“ th-thank you bokuto , but i really didn’t do much today — ”

“ nonsense !! with the way you kept up with your team after every punishment , it’s so cool of you ! ”

“ HEY ! BIG GUY ! ”

nishinoya saw your eyes sparkle as he approached the two of you , an index finger waving in kou’s face

“ what’s your business with y/n , eh ? this one is off the market . by me ! so , go pursue someone else ! go , go ! shoo ! ”

omg did koutarou just go into emo mode

you were about to say something in an effort to cheer him up , when he saw another fukurodani player — akaashi , you remember — tapping him on the shoulder and crossing his arms

“ let’s go , bokuto-san . your dinner is going to get cold if you insist on being sad over at karasuno’s table . ”

you and noya watched as keiji dragged the third year back to his own team , and you turned to your boyfriend confusedly

" yuu ? was he trying to pursue me ? "

oh my god you really were oblivious

" yeah , babe ! you didn't see him giving you nothing but goo-goo eyes literally all day long ? "

" oh wow . . . i suppose didn't . " you smiled , " thanks for coming to my rescue , yuu . i can always count on you . "

he grinned and nodded his head , before kissing your cheek sweetly

" of course , baby . that's what i'm here for . "

[slothgiirl]

the trash pile: alex turner x reader

The cybernetic augmentation juts out from her temple, leading down to her chin, the metal a dull grey. Nothing says belter more than slap job augmentations, Alex thinks as she smiles at him, reaching out with her hand to him.

He takes it.

She's pretty from what he can see from the dim yellow lights in the club. The augmentation somehow complementing her already well formed cheekbones. A mess of bleached blonde hair falling down her shoulders.

And she's already offered, dragging him out onto the floor shamelessly. He'd rather dance with a beautiful woman than stand around drinking and having to listen to all his friends talk about people, things, he's unfamiliar with.

They've moved on.

The floor flashes bright blue to the beat of the music. Too loud to carry a conversation. Too loud to think. Alex can finally stop overthinking, what he's done since he landed on Tranquility base six hours ago.

Her touch is solid and confident, hands on his shoulders as she laughs, one hundred percent in the moment. He doesn't think he's ever been like that. Her ease is as natural as Alexa's charm.

His gaze flickers back to the table they'd been sharing, but they've dispersed into the club. He can't see a trace of any of his friends. Matt had long since left, having a ceremony to wake up for. "Tomorrow," he'd grinned, promising a night of debauchery.

"Hey," Taylor calls into his ear, bringing his attention back to her, blue eyes like the sky back on earth. None of the gaudy recreations of sky broadcasted through the colonies. Mars was said to not even bother, letting it's people grow up with an orange sky.

She smiles, tilting her head, before leaning in.

And wow, Alex really has been alone for too long, as her lips on his send his heart beat into a frenzy. Blood rushing in his ears like a teenage boy all over again. It isn't real, but he thinks in that second he loves her.

Alex always has been a romantic.

They leave the club together. The corridors are still red for the night. The one thing he hadn't missed. Even Ceres had better artificial lighting mods.

"I've got to go to work," Taylor tells him bluntly, "but you should give me your number. I think we could have a lot of fun together." She looks at him with hopeful eyes, biting her lower lip. He wants to kiss her again.

But, he'll be gone the day after tomorrow. The entire base holds too many ghosts for him to feel entirely comfortable. It makes him keep looking over his shoulder, expecting Josh or Julian. Two people he's long since lost touch with.

"I'm actually not staying that long," he admits as she leads them through the corridors. Alex can still recognize the alcoves he and Matt would take smoke breaks in. Which turn would lead them back to the lifts. Another life.

"That's a shame."

He chuckles. Before his mind catches up with his tongue, "wait, did you say you're going to work now?"

"Yeah. Its so fucking boring," Taylor says, stopping besides the lifts. "Coms graveyard shift." She rolls her eyes.

"I don't blame ya," he admits. Alexa had worked the coms. She'd always complained about having to go thirty seven floors below, bundled up in jackets. Since it was less populated, the government enacted more energy saving features.

"Maybe we'll see each other again in the drift," she grins suggestively, right as she steps into the lift.

Alex watches the doors closed, before he turns around, deciding to go find an open store. He could go for some more coffee while he's here. Maybe even stock up on it. It shouldn't be hard. The Base wasn't a residential area. Tourists were coming and going as well as SFN members.

There was the launchpad.

He lets himself wander. Too buzzed to be as tired despite the early call time he has in the morning. It would be just his luck to miss Matt's big promotion because he'd overslept after having traveled a month to be here.

It's not hard to find an open bodega. The open sign flashing green in the dim of the night.

Maybe he should've gotten the night vision implants after all. Miles never shut up about it. How easy it was to make his way about different colonies even during night cycles. And you could only tell if you were looking for the little silver ring around the iris.

Alex slips inside, making a bee line for the food. It's been hours since he last ate. At this point a cup of noodles and instant coffee sound like a dream. He gets the little powdered donuts as well. Then goes for the liquid milk creamer.

Who knows when he'll next have that option. No one had yet to figure out how to increase cows milk production in space. And powdered never tasted the same.

He looks at the fruit. Incredibly overpriced since it's a bodega. But apples and oranges. . .Alex could still remember the taste of fresh squeezed orange juice his mother would make. She'd cut them all open, let him squeeze the juice out before sucking on the pulp.

Alex grabs the smallest oranges.

There's no reason not to splurge. He has the money for it. And work is never hard to come by with his skill set. There's a large market for the skills SFN ensigns have, but most of those ensigns just stay with the navy.

He turns to go pay for his small haul, but the sight of a woman staring out of a faux porthole stops him in his tracks.

Her profile could not hide how beautiful she was, her gaze caught by the live feed of the earth on the other side of the moon. Romantic dark eyes gazing into the side of the bodega, her questionable egg salad sandwich forgotten in her hand. The bump in her prominent nose only served to make her profile more striking.

"That's not actually the earth," Alex starts gently, catching her attention. "Ya know." She turns to him, trying to hide the fact that she'd jumped, startled by his presence. And doing a damn good job at brushing off the surprise.

He was right. She's beautiful. Well formed full lips. Her dark hair tucked a braid, looking better in trousers and patched up hoodie than most people could dressed to the nines. Her shoes stick out from the casual ensemble, patent red leather with a split toe. There's the hint of dark circles under her eyes, probably from a missed nights sleep.

And a scattering of light scars like stars by her left cheekbone.

"I know," she responds, "I just never thought I'd ever be this close to the earth."

"You could take a trip to the other side and see the real thing," he muses, unable to hide the longing in his voice. Alex knew in his bones he'd never step foot on earth again. Never walk the streets in Sheffield or London again. But he couldn't help but wish for a miracle.

She shakes her head, the warmth in her eyes receding as she closes herself off. "Can't. Have to meet with a friend and then go back."

"Must be a good friend if you've come all this way."

She shrugs noncommittally, "He's more of an acquaintance of a friend. I've never actually met the man. But things being as they are," she explains, "it's best done in person."

Alex is now intrigued, a red flag raised in the back of his mind that still flies away information happening in the corner of his eye just in case. It makes him a damn good private investigator. "Mysterious."

"Forgive me for not spilling all my secrets to a stranger," she notes, arching a brow.

He can't help but chuckle. "Ya got me there love. Let's try something else."

"Like what," she asks, the corners of his lips turning up.

"How are you finding our moon?" The moon might not think it was the earth's, and the government sure wasn't, but the moon still spun around the earth the way it had for millions of years.

"Disappointing," she admits, frowning, "Ceres is livelier. And would it kill them to use brighter lighting?"

"Austerity measures," Alex shrugs. It had been the answer for as long as he'd been alive.

"From what," she asks, tilting her head, a smirk forming on her lips, "there's no war or reason for shortages."

"Just repeating the party line," he admits.

"Well," she raises her sandwich like a sad little white flag, "I've got to get going. It was nice meeting you."

"Can I get your number?"

Surprising him, she shakes her head, "No. I doubt we'll ever meet again. I don't plan to stay on the moon for long."

"Lucky for you," he counters, following her to the sales woman, built like a rugby player, "I'm not from the moon. So there's hope yet for our paths to cross."

She snorts, digging around her pockets for money, slowly building up a pile of change to pay with. "Let me guess," she says knowingly, as her eyes look him over, taking in his hair now curling past his ears, the navy blue sweater and white shirt combo that had felt smart earlier but had wrinkled in the course of the night. "you're from earth."

Alex answers bashfully, "born there." He always felt like apologizing for having been born on Earth. For having spent his childhood breathing in air without a care. For not knowing how precious an atmosphere was.

"Well I don't plan to go to earth," she trails off, waving her receipt away.

"Neither do I." He hands the lady a bill too large for what he's bought and follows her out the door, not bothering for his change. "But I take it there's no way I can convince you to give me a number?"

"None."

"How about a name," he offers. Alex had not seen one person that he'd bothered to chase in years. And here she was, indulging him as though he was a stray puppy she had fed once and now followed her around in hopes of more scraps.

"Yours first," she snipes back, not missing a beat.

"Alex." He doesn't ever bring up his last name. Too much weight. A famous family. And an infamous past. Being just Alex was a luxury.

"Tisiphone."

A name fitting for someone born in the jovian system. Maybe even Dione. But Dione, while a newer colony, wasn't bloody awful for someone to want to leave. It had to be-"Titian," he guesses. The wild west of space. SFN cadets hated getting assigned there. Johanna had said the worst part was the perpetual twilight.

Too many crevices to hide in.

"Yes," she responds, "and hopefully never again."

"If we ever meet again," the romantic in him already imagining them crossing paths in a Callisto settlement, planting trees for the rest of their lives and learning to work wood, "can I take you out for a cuppa?"

Tisiphone laughs, smiling tight lipped, "If it happens then I'll say yes earth boy."

** ** ch 2

The ceremony drags on.

They all sit, gathered around the Kennedy Hab, the first large permanent building on the dark side of the moon. The benches are as uncomfortable as ever, as Alex gazes down at a sea of navy uniforms all with various ranks on their right shoulders. He's seated right next to Alexa. The boys down there somewhere with Matt.

It's an SFN event so Alex's paranoia is right for once. The second glances the captains and commanders threw his way were knowing. They recognized him.

It sets his teeth on edge.

Alexa pats his knee, comfortable around him despite their shared history. Johanna besides him with her fiancé. They both keep glancing at each other, infinite in their whispering. He wants that.

"I'll throw hands at anyone who says anything," Alexa reassured him. Looking especially nice in a long red dress. She's not single. But it clearly isn't serious enough if she didn't bring him along to celebrate her friends.

"That would make it worse," Alex responds, keeping his gaze forward, careful to keep his face neutral. It usually wasn't a problem. That being his default expression. But this was bringing up events from his past he's long since buried.

"Derek was supposed to be here," Alexa says to try to distract him, "you would've liked him. Life of the party. Miles and him had a one night stand and now we're all friends."

"Well that's not saying much considering Miles will sleep with anything."

She laughs, "True. But even Nick gets jazzed to hang out with him and you know how hard it is to get close to Nick."

"He's just careful about who his friends are," Alex acknowledges. Unlike Nick, Alex was just terribly bad at opening up.

Nick was just picky. "That says something good about little old me." Alexa twirls her hands over her head. Sticking her nose in the air. "Not such a mess after all."

"You've never been a mess," he tells her, watching as they begin to call up all the newly minted commanders. Matt shouldn't take long. H being closer to the front of the alphabet.

"Yeah but I've never been particularly good at anything but charming my way into things," she shrugs shamelessly. Alexa wasn't the type to lose sleep over her insecurities.

The Admiral present at the ceremony, Marcus Kapoor, speaks clearly over the microphone, "Commander Matthew Helders."

Alexa and Johanna both stand up, yelling, "congrats!" Alex claps as loud as he can for a beat longer than the rest of the room as Matt shakes hands with the Admiral.

Alex remembers his own ceremony seven years ago now. It had been a smaller affair. His entire career accelerated by his talent.

He swallows back the bitter lump that forms in his throat. There's no reason to cry over spilled milk, his father had often told him back on earth.

Try telling that to anyone who doesn't live on earth: most milk is powdered in space.

He finally lets his eyes search through the crowd, trying to spy the man who'd once been his great mentor and friend. But if Julian is present, Alex doesn't see him among the uniforms. He's sure that he'd know Julian anywhere. His hair perpetually sticking out wildly like he'd just woken from a nap, streaks of color running through.

It was a welcome sight from the mandated navy and neutral colors the SFN preferred. Everything was done to keep the SFN neutral, trying to avoid any conflicts between the colonies. And especially between Mars and Earth.

Unable to wait, Alex asks Alexa, "did Julian come?" Julian and Matt had never been as close as Alex had been to the older man, one of the rare people to turn down a promotion. But Alex thinks Julian still would've come and cheered Matt on.

Drinking at bars until morning talking about life and chatting about their mutual obsession with vintage terran music cemented friendship like nothing else.

She frowns, lines forming between her brows. "Captain Casablancas?"

"Yeah," Alex nods, a nervousness creeping into the lining of his stomach. Julian had also been the only person present during the incident that had chosen not to testify. If he had, Alex had agonized long hours over that large IF, he'd probably have been given a far harsher sentence.

And it looked like the man had finally accepted the rank of Captain.

Alexa places her hand on his arm, doe eyes settling on his, before gently attempting to break the news, which given what she was saying, was impossible to break gently. "You haven't heard?"

"No."

"Julian's dead Alex," Alexa explains, her hand anchoring him to reality, even as his world lurches, "some accident with a faulty seal."

Fuck.

What the bloody hell!

Alex clenches his jaw. Julian deserved more than dying in a preventable accident. He was, and remained the only person to have jumped tracks at the SFN, going from maintenance to exploration.

"I'm sorry," she tries, patting his arm with her hand. "I know you two were close. This is sort of the worst way to hear the news isn't it?"

"How long ago," Alex asks in lieu of responding to her. Julian. Alex could hardly call him a friend anymore.

By the time he'd worked up the courage to message the man, Julian hadn't bothered responding at all. A cold message that Alex could understand.

He hadn't tried to contact him again.

"Three weeks."

Alex nods, fixing his gaze on the stage. The names being spoken, called up on stage, meaningless now that Matt had gone.

He'd been traveling to the Base.

No one had bothered to tell him.

They make their way down to Matt, navigating the crowd who are also here to celebrate their relatives and friends. Alexa led the way, cutting through the crowd like a knife through butter.

Jo and her fiancé hold hands. His eyes never leave her form as she leads on.

Alex frowns.

He'd thought. . .he'd thought, when Matt had first met him upon arrival at the base's landing pad, that he could slide back into his old life. Pick up where he'd left off. Maybe get a job here permanently.

Alex hadn't realized how lonely he'd been until he'd sat around and watched all his friends eat and drink. Easily communicating with each other they way only tightly knit groups of friends could. Finishing each other's sentences.

They had once been like that with Alex. But years in between meetings left him out of the loop. It didn't help that he had chosen to self isolate. Choosing to take jobs that left him without a permanent home, spending his free time tucked into various hotel rooms.

"Alexander Turner," a voice calls out.

He turns, faced with a black woman in a sleek khaki green suit, a moon police officer uniform. Her hair is as sleek as the press of her suit. Dark curls dusted with grey hairs.

"Yes," he asks, halting with great hesitation. The last time he'd dealt with the moon police, they were ensuring he was under house arrest during his trial. For his safety they'd told him over and over.

"I'm Major Gabriela Moss," she tells him, sticking her hand out with great formality. "If you'd please come with me," she continues, as he shakes her hand. "There's a job I'd like to discuss with you."

Swallowing any nervousness he has, he nods. How bad could it be? Probably some white collar crime that the police don't want to deal with. Alex could stock up on lots of coffee with the money. "Lead the way."

She takes him to the precinct, located next to the base. Tranquility Base fell under SFN jurisdiction. But the residential areas ringing the building were left to the MP 505 precinct.

Her office is just like every other police office. Bright disorienting lights. Cream walls, with no decor. A desk bolted down to the floor, in case the artificial gravity malfunctions. And a photo of her wife and kids tilted just out of his view.

"What's the job?" Alex wonders if some idiot tried to rob the casino that was right within the base’s building. Trying to steal from SFN was asking for it.

"A man was found murdered in residential bloc 571 this morning," she explains, lighting up her monitor. A photo of an older man with a walrus mustache came up on the screen.

"Isn't homicide your department," Alex asks, twisting his ring around his finger.

"Usually," Major Moss admits, back straight, hands on the desk. "But this man had a false identification bracelet. According to our records he was born on the Moon. But when my officers requested his file from the Bloc listed, nothing appeared."

"You think he was hiding?" Only criminals bothered to falsify ID bands. But why the moon? He could see why a fugitive from the law or a crime boss would come to the moon, but to stay here this long?

Even earth was easier to get lost in, among billions.

"Yes," she surmises, "and for quite a few months. How he's gone undetected this long is a mystery."

"So you'd like to save your skin and sweep this all under the cover." Alex can see a coverup as it happens. The MPs would be humiliated at having let a fugitive run wild for this long.

But, he probably wasn't a criminal if he spent this long without so much as a word. Probably fleeing loan sharks back on some asteroid. Maybe from Titan.

The murder must have landed yesterday. Within the week at most.

"Will you take the job on," Major Moss asks, "there's more information I have if you agree to take on the case."

Alex sighs. He's intrigued. But taking on this case would mean spending more time on the moon which is both a good and bad thing. He hasn't had a proper chat with any of the lads since he last saw Matt on Vesta nearly two years ago now.

But he isn't exactly at ease this close to SFN. At least in the belt, there's lots of stations with little to no navy presence. Callisto's base was generally isolated from the rest of the population due to the way in which the colony on Callisto had developed.

A man's dead.

And from what he can tell, Major Moss would be more than happy for the case to go cold and never have to explain to her superiors how a man went undetected for so long.

But why bother?

Alex can't understand why the man needed to falsify his identity only to sit around. Unless he wasn't a criminal but innocently caught up with the wrong crowd.

It happened easily enough.

"Why me," Alex asked, still considering how suspicious it looked that the MP were giving away a case just because of the implications the man's murder had. The IDB read Sidney Trojan which made Alex laugh a little inside. Whoever had made the ID had a certain sense of humor. "I'm sure you've read my record by now."

Major Moss nods, leaning back in her metal chair, "Mutiny and treason are certainly high charges. But Mr. Turner, If I am being frank, I am more concerned right now with keeping the peace in my precinct. The last thing I want is any belter extremist to start making baseless accusations about how someone who is more than likely one of their own was treated."

"I'm not a belter." Alex had spent enough time among belters to know, no matter how much time he spent on Vesta or Pallas, he'd never be one of them. Being born and raised there was what made you a belter for the rest of your life. Johanna never bothered to hide the augments along her spine, jutting out like filled out ports. Held her chin up proudly despite the harassment she got, and proceeded to destroy them all in combat training.

"But you have spent time among them," the woman argues, revealing how little she knows and understands about belters. Major Moss had probably never left the moon. Never spent time amongst people in the belt, in the places the SFN never went. "My men are mostly from here or earth. You're my best option."

He resists the urge to roll his eyes. It didn't seem like a trap to lock him up after all these years. Just a very ignorant MP major trying to do her job. "Alright," Alex nods. "Show me the surveillance tapes."

The older woman smiles, but no warmth reaches her eyes, a picture of cold professionalism, as she ignites the screen. The tapes start playing almost immediately. The night vision casting everything into grayscale in the corridors. The older residential buildings hadn't anticipated the amount of people that would live on the moon, the walkways connected the blocs only fitting three people at a time, a nightmare in an emergency. They were colorless concrete slabs, the metal having long gone dull.

Time stamped to 05:46 am.

A single figure appears, walking into bloc 571, looking like any person would after a long shift. In jeans and a loose hoodie, holding a very sad convenience store sandwich. A profile he wouldn't soon forget, complete with split toe boots.

Tisiphone.

Alex tries to justify her appearance. The death hadn't happened until 7 am. She must've been meeting her friend in one of the habs in the bloc. But he'd never been one to discount a coincidence.

It seemed that they would be having a chat sooner than anticipated under less than favorable circumstances. He just had to track her down.

His eyes watch the screen as the time ticks by, creeping closer to the time of death.

She claimed to be here to visit a friend which could very easily have been a lie to cover up meeting her potential victim. Tisiphone hadn't been here for very long, no one would willingly choose to eat convenience store sandwiches if they'd spent time here to get other food. Alex wasn't discounting the possibility of her commitment to looking inconspicuous at 5 in the morning, but then, if Sidney Trojan had feared for his life there would've been a struggle.

Someone would have heard in those older habs.

The time stamp reads 6:24am.

Tisiphone leaves the bloc, taking the passageway leading back to Tranquility. Mr Trojan would still be alive. Did she have an accomplice? Or is Alex making the wrong connection.

The time stamp reads 7:46 am. Mr Trojan would've been dead by now.

7 am was hardly the time for a murder to be committed. People going to work. So many witnesses. They must have been desperate. But the tapes proved useless to narrow down any suspects. Too many people, a perfect crowd to hide in. So there was that advantage. As well as, "I need all the records of the passenger manifests arriving for the last three days on the dark side of the moon and today's departures."

"Alright," she replies, holding out her hand.

Alex hands over his com. Letting her synch it up to her system and sending the files over.

"Good luck Mr. Turner."

This time, Alex does roll his eyes as he leaves her office.

Tisiphone had claimed to be from Titan, so that's the first thing he checks. Three days sound about right. He also highlights any belter arrivals. But apart from one family two days before, no one has come from the belt.

He finds the name he's looking for. Tisiphone Velazques, arriving from Hygiea the same night he had. Born on Titian twenty two years ago according to her IDB. It said a lot about how pathetic Alex was that he was currently finding a potential date on a suspect list.

She might still be innocent. But she was the only lead.

If she's a criminal, she'll be staying off grid, not wanting to leave her IDB just anywhere. But, being through, Alex checks Tranquility Hotel anyways, sending a message.

Want to surprise my girlfriend T. Velazques. It's our anniversary and I got back from a trip into Tethys four sols early. Has she checked in yet?

People were really stupid and easily fooled. Alex had learned that in the last few years.

Then he checks his messages. Twenty seven texts from his friends. Two missed calls from Matt. Shit. He'd forgotten all about Matt.

** *** ch 3

Matt clasps an arm over his shoulders, "I'm sorry I didn't say anything about Julian. I thought you knew and didn't want to talk about it."

Alex considers coming clean, but decides letting Matt think this is about Julian is easier. "No one tells me anything anymore."

The taller man sighs, "you must think I'm a wanker for not even telling you. Julian always asked me how you were doing you know."

Alex shakes his head. "I tried-It doesn't matter anymore. I just think it's bloody awful to have died so young in an accident of all things."

"The idiot engineers better have been court martialed," Matt comments, as they follow behind their friends to a bar in the casino. They've all been casting looks towards Alex when they think he's not looking, like he's a bomb about to go off.

Things can never go back to the way they were.

They get a few pitchers of beer. Singing Matts praises at every sip, taking the piss about how he's going to be the worst commander ever. Alexa's boyfriend, looking tall, dark and handsome, slips into the conversation with ease while Alex, drinks and checks his phone for a response.

"Alexa's boy toy," Johanna mutters under her breath to Alex. "Does the books for one of the gambling halls."

Alex nods. But finds he doesn't care. All that earlier anxiety about his leftover feelings for Alexa, his first love, gone when he realizes there's no sting as she turns to kiss her boyfriend.

He looks down at his com, refusing a refill of beer when he realizes the hotel's written him back. With a digital key and their congratulations. There goes the supposed privacy and protections hotels were supposed to offer their clients.

But this meant he was now leaning to Tisiphone being innocent. But he could tell she was connected to Mr. Trojan somehow. A gut feeling that t9ld him he was barking up the right tree. She might be able to tell him who would want the old man dead and why.

Alex excuses himself from the celebration, pointedly ignoring Nick's suspicious gaze as he leaves.

He stops and picks up a bottle of wine and a quart of strawberries, each the size of his smallest nail with a hint of red at the tip, just in case anyone in the hotel decides to verify any of his information. He can play the part.

Alex presses the elevator up to floor 10, brings up the key on his com, when the machine asks for verification.

The doors slide shut and Alex tries to formulate a plan.

He can't frighten his only suspect-link to the crime. A man was murdered and if he doesn't solve it, justice will never be served. It's his good conscience that's going to get him in trouble all over again.

The hallway is empty.

A tacky red coat of paint that's made worse by the orange lighting. The crimson hue edging towards black. Hardly a happy atmosphere.

Alex runs his hand over the rail, a vestige from the days before antigravity, as he makes his way to room 1004.

Unlike the lobby, the floor is still metal plates welded together. Shiny compared to the rest of the place.

The casino had seen better days.

And more occupied days.

Hesitating outside the door, he places an ear near the seal, hoping that Tisiphone isn't there. It would give her the advantage if she turns out to be the murder.

Better for her to be out. Gives him a chance to look around.

He takes a deep breath and unlocks the door with the key. It slides open smoothly, revealing mustard walls and a plush navy carpet flecked with gold. There's a small bed on one side of the wall, a black backpack laying carelessly on it.

The small cabinet looks untouched, but Alex still goes through every drawer, making sure he misses nothing, peaking into the bathroom and combing the medicine cupboard.

There's a needle and dental floss. A complimentary bottle of toothbrush tabs laying in its side.

Needle and floss.

For an injury, Alex surmises. Perhaps a fresh one that Mr Trojan had managed to inflict while defending himself? It wasn't the easiest way to treat an injury, but it was the way to go if you didn't want to draw any attention.

He slips back into the small main room, and begins to go through the backpack. It looks standard issue, the fabric a vegetable leather nylon mixture that wouldn't be out of place in an SFN pack. But he doesn't recognize it from any planetary police force.

Inside there's a plasma gun with two full charges. Shrapnel in a jar. An extra shirt along with a lined jacket, also black. And a small copper data box.

He checks the jackets pockets, finding two extra IDBs. Both blank.

It's all very incriminating.

And he didn't think to bring a gun along himself.

Alex removes the charge from the plasma gun, using the pillowcase to ensure he doesn't wipe away any fingerprints, tossing both of the charges into the bottom drawer of the cabinet. And leaves the gun on top of the blanket.

Then he takes a seat and waits.

No one would leave a gun with no plans to come back and get it. Plasma guns were hard to come by. Especially for civilians on the right side of the law.

It was just his luck that the first woman he feels any connection with, ends up tied up in criminal activity.

The whoosh of a door sliding open jolts him out of his thoughts.

Alex sits up straight, deciding he looks less confrontational if he's sitting down. Besides, years of training haven't left. His body still remembers combat maneuvers. He still wakes up at 0600 and goes through basic training like clockwork.

Even when he goes back to sleep right after.

A red boot steps inside.

Tisiphone holds a brand new pair of ear pods, still in their case. The moment she spots him sitting casually in her bed, her almond eyes narrowing in suspicion. Her grip tightens on the case, before she schools her features carefully blank.

In better lighting, the scars marring her cheekbones are more prominent. Flecks of silver against honeyed skin.

"'ello again," Alex says, giving a small wave, strands of his hair falling into his eyes with the movement.

She frowns, crossing her arms defensively in front of her. "Why are you here? Who even let you in?"

"I asked nicely," he explains, "terrible hotel service if you ask me. But as for why I'm here, you wouldn't happen to know who Sidney Trojan is?"

Tisphones lips form a tight line, her stance edging dangerously close to someone expecting a fight. Weight distributed well between her legs. "He's dead isn't he. Someone killed him."

" 'fraid so," Alex nods.

"Who do you work for?" Her eyes scrutinize him, as if waiting for him to strike.

Alex raises both his hands up in the air. "No one. The MP of the precinct where Mr. Trojan lived asked me to take the case on."

She doesn't move. "Earth then? Or some secret division of the SFN?"

It was a popular belief that the SFN held a secret military division. Especially among belters and martians.

"You don't seem surprised to hear he's been murdered," Alex observes, not missing a thing, trying to steer the conversation back on track.

"Lots of people wanted him dead."

Tisiphone must have decided he wasn't a threat. She takes a step closer, waking into the bathroom and grabbing the meager supplies, tossing them into her bag, unbothered by Alex's presence right next to her. He's incredibly aware of the small distance between them as her hands make quick work of packing, ignoring the wine and fruit he'd brought: the small distance between her hands and his thigh.

But he doubts that there's a chance in hell she'll go out with him after today. She has the same determined look on her face Johanna had right as she'd punched him day 1 of hand to hand combat. A woman who doesn't take anyone's shit.

Alex snorts, "mind telling me who wanted him dead?"

"SFN. Earth. Mars. The Children of Prometheus. Park Vader's cronies back on Titan. Maybe even Park himself. Take your pick."

"Why," Alex can't help but ask, standing up as she slings her bag over her shoulder. If he lets her walk out now, he'll likely never set eyes on her again. And she has become his only connection to this man's murder.

He can't just let her go.

"He knew too much," Tisiphone shrugs.

"I can't just let you disappear," Alex tells her, sliding between her and the door. It was a dangerous position to be in. He keeps his hands up, trying to reassure her.

"Whoever killed Ivan is going to be after me too," she states, weighing her options.

"Let me help you."

She laughs humorlessly, "I'm long past help. I’ll only drag you down. And you seem like a nice enough man despite everything."

"Despite being born on earth," Alex guesses. War hadn't touched the system in a hundred years, yet there was a lot of bitterness from the colonies over earth. Over the imagined bountiful resources. The air, breathable unlike in so many other places.

He'd lived in enough places in the system to know that it was hard living in every corner of the solarium federation.

"Good bye Alex." Her dark eyes hold his gaze, waiting for Alex to step aside. He isn't sure how long her patience will last.

"If you leave the moon now," Alex threatens, "I'll have no choice but to find you suspect under the circumstances."

Tisiphone glares at him, "are you an officer? Am I under arrest?"

"No."

"Then you have no jurisdiction," she counters.

"But I was able to find you. I'm the only person who could've made that connection." Her shoes had given her away. Too distinctive for anyone trying to hide out, Alex notes. "Everyone else would've written you off. You played the part of a tired commuter perfectly. Your face isn't visible enough for facial recognition. And the timing is wrong."

"So you have to know I didn't kill him," Tisiphone observes.

"I do." Alex nods. "And I also know that you came here for a reason. I'm willing to bet it's why Ivan is dead now. Help me catch his killer and get some people off your back."

“Why do you care so much about him? He’s just another nameless belter to you people.”

He shakes his head, “because a man’s dead. He deserves justice.”

"How do I know I can trust you," Tisiphone asks, her knuckles relaxing their grip on her bag.

"I could've arrived here with the MP," Alex states, "but I'm here all on my own. Because I believe you're innocent."

She sighs. "Alright. I'll stay. But only for another twenty four hours. That's all I can give you."

He can work with that.

"Okay now let's get out of here. If I can waltz right in so can whoever killed Trojan."

"Ivan," Tisiphone corrects. "His name was Ivan Schlossberg."

"And is Tisiphone your real name," Alex asks.

She doesn't meet his eyes.

** ** ch 4

His hotel room is on the top floor. A half circle window looks out into the expanse. The grey panorama, flattened by robots, is broken up by the tops of other bloc, jutting out of the landscape like hills. The sun is the only recognizable feature in the sky. All the other stars and planets are too distant to be visible.

But Alex has the map of the system imprinted into the backs of his eyes. He could tell where earth and mars fall, navigating by stars like explorers of old, even with the slight changes that arise depending on where you were in the system.

Tisiphone looks out into space, eyes full of stars, as Alex interrogates her.

"Why would the UN or Mars be after Ivan?"

"I already told you," she responds evenly, her gaze still fixed on outer space, a melancholic quality that held none of the wonder people usually had when staring into the stars, "he knew too much."

"About what," Alex presses. Earlier she had named all the major players in politics. That which all SFN members despised because it made doing their job a nightmare of red tape.

Tisiphone looks over at him, turning her whole head towards him. "He was involved with the children of prometheus. Selling information. And Park doesn't like when his people decide to leave him."

It didn't take a genius to know what kind of information would be of value to the children of prometheus. "And your mutual friend."

She swallows thickly before answering. "Told me to find Ivan. That he could help me. I don't know anything more than that. Ivan was going to leave the moon with me and explain this later."

Alex doesn't believe that for a second. Tisiphone wouldn't have left so easily that morning if Ivan hadn't given her something. But he also knows when to let things go. "And why would they also be after you?" The usual targets for the children of prometheus were high ranking UN members or members of the Martian Presidium: the operating companies on the belt that treated their workers as expendable.

Tisiphone was none of those.

She takes a seat on Alex's current bed, her knuckles white as she grips the covers, studying the much more pleasant purple carpet. Not as matted or stained as the one in her room.

Her now shoeless feet revealing mismatched socks.

"I saw something I shouldn't have seen." She bites her lip as her eyes water. Alex forces himself not to look away, wanting to give her privacy. "Someone killed my friend and covered it up. And now they want to kill me."

He takes a step towards her, kneeling down in front of her seated figure, "I'm going to help you."

"You can't help me." Tisiphone shakes her head, looking straight at him, "you can only buy me time."

She flips through the stations as Alex combs through the flight records once more. He's isn't looking for random thugs. If this is a high profiled cover up the way she is alleging, then he needs to find a slicker cover.

He checks for any terrans that've landed here in the last few days. Any native mooners with no permanent address on record: the types of people that would easily fly under the recons. The least likely to be scrutinized.

Alex finds three profiles that fit the description. Two had arrived together under the IDBs Gemma and Nick Ryan. Siblings on vacation from earth.

They were passingly related, the same brown coloring. But Alex's searching gaze found no similar features. The bone structure was all wrong. Gemma's strong, squared. While Nick had a delicateness to his features that was absent in Gemma's.

They had the look of UN division operatives. A learned blankness that helped them slip from memory.

The third was on a flight from Ceres. An older asian man: Hugh Shen. There was no way he was born on the moon and had no records of living here. Alex knew most people born on the moon didn't chance leaving.

Opening for new immigrants were few and far between.

Then there was an oily quality that reminded him of many UN cogs that surrounded his mother like gnats.

In order to be sure that they are division members, Alex'll have to go to the scene of the crime. He knows the UN’s playbook. The methods that division uses. Growing up around his mother, he couldn't not have learned something.

Though Penelope Turner was an idealist, she was willing to do what was necessary to get the job done. It's why she was such an effective politician.

He coms Major Moss, letting her know he'll need access to Ivan's hab.

"Stay here," he tells Tisiphone. "Help yourself to anything I've got."

"Anything," she asks archly, "because I could run a bath. Never had one of those."

"Then by all means," he shrugs. The water bill was bound to burn a hole in his pocket, but going through life without knowing the laziness that baths inspired was no life at all.

She rolls her eyes, shamelessly combing through Alex's meager possessions As meager as hers really. Though he didn't have the excuse of being in hiding.

Alex takes the plasma charges with him.

Major Moss, along with another woman of medium build and asian descent, meets him at the entrance to bloc 571, the white paint having long since peeled off the metal walls. The orange lights flickered, needing replacement, as he walks beside her into bloc 571. He can hear the pressure seals around the door, as it slides open, letting them inside.

While the oldest blocs on this side of the moon, their shortcomings in cramped corridors were nothing compared to the space of the older habs.

Unlike Tranquility base, and the rest of the blocs on the moon, the lights inside bloc 571 were LED and white, the costliest to maintain. A knot of tension eased up in Alex's shoulders. His mind, despite the years in space, always unconsciously yearned for earth's natural light.

"This is officer Cong Xi," Major Moss says blandly, "she'll be taking you through all our available evidence. We're receiving pressure to wrap things up as quickly as possible. There are lots of people who want to move into a hub as spacious as this."

Alex snorts. That's what they cared about.

Cong nods, smiling warmly at him as she drinks coffee from her hot pink tumbler. "Nice to meet you Alex Turner."

Which meant she'd been briefed and knew all about him. There was probably a non-SFN version of his file on her com as they spoke.

Alex had never gotten the chance to read his file after the trail. His dishonorable discharge had left him without any credentials to ask for his file without heavy redaction if he got any response at all. He'd have asked his parents if he hadn't been a coward and taken the first ship to Vesta, hell bent on drinking himself to death.

"Likewise," he responds, realizing he's waited a beat too long to respond.

With that said, the Major turns on her heel, and leaves.

"Shall we," Cong asks him, waiting for him to follow. How did such a pleasant person end up working for the MP? Had to be an idealist. Or hadn't been working for long.

He nods.

Alex takes in the bloc.

The floors dull from nearly four centuries of feet walking over it. Not a scrap of white paint left. But the walls are covered with green plexiglass, an attempt to make up for the lack of actual greenery that hadn't been planned for in old models. Even Pallas had some weeds growing among the tangle of wires.

Each door is painted a different color, giving the neighborhood character. Ivan's hab is red, with a pattern of florals overlaid.

Officer Cong hands him shoe covers and a pair of gloves, "standard procedure," she tells him with a tinge of apologies interwoven in her voice, before she unlocks the door, letting them both inside.

Like most crime scenes, the place is covered with tape and plastic to preserve the integrity. But Alex can see the coziness that Ivan Schlossberg had built inside his hab. A glass top table with mismatched but colorful plastic chairs. Books covering a side table ranging from subjects like "Bloom: a guide to space plant maintenance," to "Catching Fire."

His desk is covered with bits of computer parts. Motherboards and processor chips. Different size screens, some with cracks.

This was the picture of a man who believed himself to be safe. He wasn't planning on running at the drop of a dime. So how had they found him?

Tisiphone had entered first.

Why not kill them both at once?

Or had they believed them both to be inside and cursed themselves when they realized the girl had gotten away?

As Alex looks about the room, noting no signs of struggle, Officer Cong studies him. Her gaze curious.

The mess of computer equipment makes Alex guess that Ivan tinkered with it to communicate with whatever group he was working with, likely using it to hack information from earth and mars. The rudimentary nature of his devices would have confused the much more advanced systems Earth relied on, massive data banks in the tundra chugging along. Ivan would've also had the flexibility of pulling the system apart and rebuilding it with different bits of code each time.

A waste of time, unless you were an old man with lots of time on your hands.

His collection of parts would've been written off as eccentricity.

"You can ask," Alex finally says, when he gets tired of the awkward silence.

"Are you really the mutineer?"

It was much better than being asked if he was that traitor. Particularly bitter belters had taken the liberty of making his days hell in the beginning, knowing he wasn't about to go get help from the SFN.

He nods, looking back at the door. Division wasn't above using chemical weapons. The seals on older habs built with the care of spaceships, no one outside this hab would've noticed. "The one and only," he finally says.

While there were lots of people who had problems with the SFN, it generally wasn't seen among rank and file members.

Cong hums, slurping her coffee.

Alex peels back the plastic over a particularly large pile of electronics, his eyes searching for something small, like a computer chip or drive that would be overlooked to the untrained eye. Toxic gases needn't be in large doses to pack a punch.

"I remember the trial on the net," she comments, "it was all my parents could talk about. My whole family really . . ."

A glint of copper catches his eye. Alex keeps his face neutral, letting Cong ramble on as he plays at looking at the body outline on the couch, as if he could magically find a guilty dust bunny, slipping the casing into his hand for later.

"-guess I was too young to care about that. Too caught up with boys and the latest hairstyles."

Alex nods, trying to pay attention. But with that casing, he's sure it was division. Certain mixtures created the same symptoms in the body as a heart attack. Given his age, it created the perfect cover.

But why come in and stab him after?

Who were they trying to frame-

They were after Tisiphone.

She had led them to Ivan, Alex's thoughts come together, each piece falling into place. They had watched her since she arrived. Which meant they knew she was headed to the moon, hence the two early dispatched division agents, purposely waiting for her to leave before killing Ivan, making sure she'd be the only suspect.

But their plan had gone to the pits.

They hadn't planned on Major Moss trying to burry the case. Or that Alex would be called on.

Instead of an easy frame job, it was a cold case waiting to happen. An MP officer would've just taken Tisiphone in. Assumed that the time of death was off due to some lab error and closed the case. But their plan had gone sideways.

"Find anything," Cong asks him suddenly, having given up trying to chat when it became obvious he wasn't listening. Though why he would make small talk about the event that had sliced his life into two distinct parts, he didn't have the foggiest idea.

Alex shakes his head, "thought the scene might hold a clue." He stands up straight, faking the appearance of disappointment channeling his mother's face when he'd come home with an F. "Whatever crime boss hired the hit must've hired a couple of top notch lads."

"Oh well them," Cong continues, holding up her com for him to read, "Major Moss needs us to come in. Apparently there's been a new development in the homicide."

Alex's chest tightens. God he hopes they haven't found Tisiphone dead. Or arrested her.

No. There's no way. He'd already be under arrest for harboring a criminal. No amount of goodwill would keep him out of prison this time.

Alex had to continue under the impression that she was fine. Because no one else had linked her to this case. No one had any reason to suspect her of anything at all. "Led the way then love."

Cong, like most girls (and some boys) since Alex had turned sixteen, blushes pink, before stepping around him and leading him back to the precinct--and to Major Moss's office.

The division agents who had landed on Tranquility base as siblings named Gemma and Nick, introduce themselves as, "Agents Barnes and Khan." They're already seated in front of Major Moss, only confirming Alex's conclusion.

The capsule in his pocket feels like a block of lead, weighing him down.

There's no way they know he knows.

Except they've been tailing Tisiphone since she landed. They might already know she's sitting in his room.

He needs to get off the moon. Alex had promised Tisiphone he'd keep her safe. And this case had just gotten much bigger than a homicide.

It was the type of cover up that required a neutral party to uncover. A High ranking SFN member that would do the right thing. Unfortunately Alex had learned the hard way that organizations were never as impartial and righteous as they claimed to be.

Bloody hell.

In between two impossible choices, giving Tisiphone up or calling his old mentor Vice Admiral Homme, he wasn't sure which was worse. Would Josh Homme even care?

Or was the UN's influence great enough to buy Homme's cooperation?

"I understand that Major Moss has made the mistake of handing a homicide to a private investigator," Agent Barnes says, smiling brightly as if she hadn't just flung shit at Major Moss, who to her credit, didn't even flinch.

"I'm the private investigator," Alex responds evenly.

"They've just finished informing me," Major Moss interrupts, smoothing down the lapels of her pants suit, "that they've identified the culprit."

Agent Barnes nods, then proceeds to do the very Earth thing of pulling out an actual paper file from a jacket and displaying it on the desk. "A career criminal from Titan named Tisiphone Velasquez. We believe her employer to be some drug lord that Mr Trojan was a long time customer of. When he got clean and moved to the moon, well. . ." Barnes trails off leaving a dramatic pause before clearing his throat, "Titian didn't forget his debts."

Ivan's hab was not the home of a drug user. Or a recovering drug user. He'd never been to Titan, to the city under the ocean, but he knew enough about drug lords to know that they had more to deal with than a customer with lots of debts on a colony as secure as the moon.

But Alex can see Major Moss eat up the story, her eyes gazing over as there's one less problem for her to deal with.

"Well Mr. Turner," Major Moss turns to him, "It looks like your services are no longer needed. I'll wire you the payment promptly. Meanwhile I'll circulate the perpetrators photo and have my officers be on the lookout."

"We will be taking custody of Miss Velasquez," Agent Barnes interrupts, "she has insider knowledge of a crime ring we have been monitoring for years."

"Of course," Major Moss responds, already typing out the paperwork.

He has to get off the base. He has to take Tisiphone far from here.

Alex turns to leave, reaching the door before he hears Agent Barnes mutter pointedly under her breath, "It's a wonder Ambassador Turner hasn't resigned out of shame. No clue how he can show his face in public."

Agent Khan coughs to hide a snigger.

A muscle in his jaw twitches. It's bait. And an obvious one at that. He has more than a few scars to prove how stupid responding to it would be, but they did just insult his mother.

"What did you just say," Alex asks through clenched teeth, not turning back to look at them, robbing them of the satisfaction. Mentally, he counts to ten.

He's not going to give them an excuse to place him under arrest.

Tisiphone is counting on him.

The fact that they're baiting him instead of just following him back to the hotel room is a good sign they don't know he's hiding Tisiphone. He tries to concentrate on the and not the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

Tisiphone.

Her petite figure sitting on his bed, scrutinizing everything with an arched brow. The look in her eyes as she'd stared with a refugee's longing for their ancestral home at the image of earth, the green returning to the land after hundreds of long reclamation projects initiated by the UN.

"Nothing to trouble yourself with Alexander Turner," Agent Barnes replies patronizingly, "There is no further use for your services here."

Alex clenches his jaw, and walks out the door.

He lights a cigarette as he makes his way through the dim corridors, the orange fading into scarlet, stopping only to pick up supplies he imagines needing as they travel to space together. Not all at the same store.

Alex will have to get everything out of her, if he's going to throw in his lot with her and hope they get to the bottom of the conspiracy before they're arrested and killed. Or just killed.

What could be bad enough that the UN felt it necessary to send division agents after a woman?

The problem is the IDB has been made.

He's going to have to hope she can get another one quickly. Tisiphone, whose name is more than likely not Tisiphone as all, wouldn't have survived this long is she was stupid.

Fuck.

He really should just turn her in. Or give her a heads up and be on his way. Alex could be on Pallas in four weeks, having the most questionable weed in the system, laced with the hell knows what. Take a case every now and then. Finally make his way out to Titan.

Logan had been his favorite western growing up. Right after The magnificent Seven. He'd made Matt have stand offs against him for days after seeing it, pretending he could manipulate metal. And Titan was the new wild west of space. And still people flocked out to carve their little piece of real estate.

Humanity is ever expanding.

Alex has to press the lift button twice, cursing and lighting another cigarette when the lift's lighting system dies as he ascends up, connecting with Tranquility's passageways.

More than once, he has to stop himself from glancing over his shoulder, sure he'll see an Agent following him. Hugh Shen had been absent from their little meeting. But that didn't mean he wasn't still skulking about.

Even the air changes from the corridors to the base. It's drastic compared to Ceres where the air quality is shit everywhere you go. The base has crisp clean air that didn't leave you all cotton mouthed for the wrong reasons.

From there it's easy enough to head to his room. Alex is already flicking through the net, looking for tickets to the belt. Or maybe they should go to Callisto. It was famous for being a no extradition zone: refusing to acknowledge any authority other than theirs and SFN's by extension. The relative safety was tempting, but he couldn't plan until Tisiphone told him everything she knew.

Alex wasn't stupid enough to think she wasn't holding something back. Her earlier explanation had been as vague as she could manage given the circumstances. He had no clue who her friend was. What she had seen other than a wrongful death.

There had to be a reason behind the coverup after all.

No government went around coverup murder for no reason. It just wasn't economical.

"You have to tell me everything you know," Alex tells Tisiphone in what he hopes is a commanding voice, as he tosses his bags on the bed, plopping down. His only shortcoming as a commander had been the complete and utter lack of confidence he had when giving orders. "Division has just shown up and thrown you under the bus."

Tisiphone's hair hangs down, damp as she listlessly scrolls through the catalogue of music offered by the hotel. She flinches at his words. "I should've left when I had the chance," she tells him harshly, uncurling from the settee and moving to grab her things. She jams her feet into her boots in one swift motion, clearly having been ready to make a run for it at a moment's notice.

"You're right," Alex tries, taking out the gas casing, ensuring the glint of metal catches her eyes. "It's a coverup."

"Obviously," Tisiphone scowls.

"I'm sure they've circulated your IDB by now," he continues, "they wanted to frame you for Ivan's death. I want to know what you saw so I can help you."

"Why so they can kill you as well," Tisiphone shakes her head, "No. . .no."

"What's so important that Division would risk breaking the treaty of Schiaparelli for," Alex asks, rubbing his temples. He wasn't a politician. The inner workings of government fell to the wayside of his thoughts.

There had been no major battles fought in a hundred years but relations between colonies were always fraught with tension over resources. Those skirmishes were usually fought in the Solarium Federations regulatory body, but Alex wasn't naive enough to discount the darker talk of division--their tendency to enhanced interrogation.

"Why do you want to help me so badly," Tisiphone counters, hands on her hip, glaring down at him as if he was the reason that Division had found her at all.

"Someone should," Alex shrugs, peering up at her. The line of her body fell naturally into a defensive stance, something that could only be so natural if she'd started training when she was very young. Tisiphone wasn't an innocent civilian, but she still didn't deserve to be disposed of. "And if I don't, they'll probably kill you and throw your body in some incinerator."

"Or they'll kill us both," Tisiphone replies archly.

"I'm offering you my help if you want it."

She peers down her nose at him, her lips pressed into a flat line, the slim line of her jaw fitting in perfectly with her feline features: a cat deciding if batting the toy was worth it. Turning on her heel, stepping into the bathroom, Tisiphone orders him to, "strip."

Smart girl.

It doesn't keep the burn from making its way up his neck as she turns the refresher, the low static drowning out any background noise as she takes a seat inside the fogged glass.

Alex kicks off his boots, gratefully that he'd actually kept up with his fitness all these years as he pulls his shirt off. There's still bruising in the crook of his elbow. He doubts she misses it as she stares up at him. It's a rush of relief when he notices the scarlet on her cheeks. This is embarrassing for both of them then, as he unbuttons his trousers, before taking a seat in front of her.

"Division blew up my crew." She starts with, staring at a spot behind him, her eyes welling up with tears. "They launched a missile and it tore their ship apart." She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, shaking her head, "I'm sorry I just. . .let me start over."

"It's okay."

"Shut up Alex and let me tell this in a way that makes sense." She swallows thickly. Taking a deep breathe during which she closes her eyes before continuing. "My name is Vera Albaicin. I'm an agent of the Guoanbu. Sixty eight sols ago my crew was handpicked to participate in an interplanetary task force with the UN. It was supposed to be an easy retrieval mission. We met up with the other crew. Everything was normal."

T-Vera closes her eyes, her hands closed tightly by her sides, trying to suppress the shiver that runs down her spine. Alex wants to offer comfort, but he isn't sure there is anything he can do to make things better in this situation.

"I took an EMU suit to-it was a strange ship. More like a capsule or probe. I had just made contact when my ship was hit." She shakes her head, a desperation in her eyes at the helplessness she must keep on feeling. Not having been able to do anything to save her crew. "Space. They died in seconds. The thing is. . .the only people who would've known about the mission were the UN and MPC. Earth and mars."

Alex nods, trying to probe her as gently as possible because there is still one unanswered question, "how did you know to find Ivan."

The UN and MPC must have decided that the knowledge was better off lost after having sent a retrieval team. Something they didn't want anyone to know about it. That fact that mars and earth had cooperated at all was throwing Alex off. Weapons would make sense if it was just mars or earth. But together?

Vera shakes her head slowly, her gaze meeting his, an intense anger to their depth he had not seen before. She was digging because she was fucking mad. This was a woman seeking justice. "I can't."

"Vera," Alex utters, unable to look away, trying her real name out on his tongue. "My name is Alexander Turner. I'm kind of famous for breaking the law," he finished with a self deprecating smile.

Usually, the last thing he wanted a potential date to know was his past.

Her eyes widen, her whole body freezing up as she takes in the new information, pursing her lips in an attempt to suppress a telling gasp. But instead of recoiling in disgust as he expects her to, Vera reaches for her neck, revealing a necklace obscured by her hoodie. It's a cheap metal thing that must be of sentimental value.

She doesn't stop there, thumbing the ring at the end of the chain before meeting his gaze once more. This time there's no hard glint to her cognac eyes, but a woman at last having caught on to a life preserver. "Julian-Captain Casablancas told me to find Ivan. Trust no one-trust no one but Alex Turner," Vera admits, unable to hold his gaze. "He must have known what was coming."

It's a ring he recognizes well, a twin to his own commander ring. The classic exploration insignia: the atom. Every detail identical for Julian and Alex had received their rank at the same ceremony, only Julian had been eight years older. Already the man Alex wanted to be: wanted to be with. The man had inspired camaraderie the way a good leader should, and clearly he had managed it in a martian girl as well if she had come all this way on his word alone.

"Can I," he motions, aware of the closing distance between them. Between him and Vera. Vera. He had to get his head around that one. Same woman, different name.

No. Not the same woman.

This woman was a martian secret intelligence agent. Not some naive little girl.

She nods, closing her fist around the ring before yanking the chain in a quick motion. It snaps off. The sound like the hull of a ship nearing the end of its lifetime, creaking. Then drops the ring into his outstretched palm.

Without Alex having to prompt this time, still caught up in seeing Julian's ring, still warm from Vera's body heat, in his hand. Julian hadn't responded to Alex's messages. He'd assumed it was because of Alex's past, but now he was left to wonder if Julian had wanted to protect him by keeping away from him. Keeping whatever he'd gotten caught up in that had killed him away from Alex. Vera adds, "I was confused why he'd told me that, given me his ring as I got into the EMU suit but. . .Ivan told me that he was just the messenger. He'd worked for so many sides not asking questions. Earth, Solarium, Mars. They were all the same to him. So he decided that the children of prometheus had a point and got in contact with them. Relaid information. Ivan-he was going to tell me more."

But he'd died.

Vera looks at him meaningfully, "but he did manage to give me the coordinates that he was given by his CoP contact. In case he ever needed a safe house or extraction."

"He never-," Alex begins to ask, not taking his eyes off the ring. In his hand was proof that Julian had been killed.

"He never met his contact," Vera confirms. "But they're on Callisto. Some hippie hub." She rolls her eyes and what a martian thing to do. Look down on every colony not hell bent on terraforming.

Alex turns his gaze on her once more, seeing her in a different light for the first time. Trying to spot what made her a martian. As if he could spot in vitro augmentation just by looking her over.

But all he saw was a petite woman with a hollowness under her eyes. Her full lips pressed into a grim line. Hair slowly drying into waves, catching the light like oil on water. Despite Alex's new information about Vera, he was no less drawn to her.

There was no sadistic edge that spoke of oprichnik operatives who the Martian People's council refused to acknowledge existed despite all the mounting evidence about their methods.

His gut was telling him that Vera was telling the truth.

"One thing though," Alex points out, taking off his own ring for the first time since he'd first received command rank, a command long since stripped from him, and sliding Julian's ring on his finger in its place as he stands up. His mind was made up. He was going to help Vera uncover this conspiracy. Clear Julian and Vera's name. And maybe, just maybe, reclaim some respect on his name.

"What?"

"You said earth and mars sent you," he says gently, having encountered enough martians to know how loyal to their colony they were otherwise known as having bought into the propaganda, "but Division killed your crew.. ."

"Yes," Vera nods, tapping her foot on the floor.

"Then wouldn't both earth and mars have sent the missile that killed your crew? Or wouldn't have mars already used this as an excuse to advance their agenda?"

"No," she supplies, refusing to even contemplate the idea that Mars would've been complicit in such an act. "The Guoanbu wouldn't have killed their own. We're-they're not like that."

“Vera," he sighs, "there's nastiness under every corner, no matter how nice everything is on top you know."

She shakes her head again, averting her gaze, There wasn't much to look at on the walls, but she was making due.

"Let's just find ya another IDB and get to Callisto-"

There's a knock at the door.

Alex and Vera trade wide eyed looks, having taken the plunge off the same cliff with nothing but a string of brand new fucking trust between them. A dead man's word to go on.

Fucking hell.

Matt and Nick flank each side of the room's door. Nick's stone face offsets the mixture of parental concern Matt's features contain, sighing at Alex's appearance, sticking his head out the door. Vera hiding next to the door, alert to every word.

He has to wonder how good her hearing is. Martian's always messed with embryos biology, designing the next generation to be fitter. Could she hear down the hall? What the people in the next room were saying?

Matt steps forward, "jesus fuck mate," he shakes his head. "Can't respond to a bloody com now Alex."

"I told you I got a job," he protests, trying to remember if that was true. His friends had fallen to the bottom of his priorities quickly. Alex had a habit of self absorption with whatever obsession came his way. It had made him a terrific ensign, practicing the same maneuver for hours until he could do it with his eyes closed.

"No," Nick corrects, not bothering to move the curls out of his face, watching him carefully, "you didn't."

Alex sighs, but doesn't budge. They mustn't see Vera. Soon her face will be plastered all over the net as a manhunt begins. Her IDB must already be flagged for travel.

He had to make his rightfully concerned friends go away and quickly.

"Al," Matt levels with him, "I asked you to be here because you might as well be my brother. I knew when I did that it would mean coming back to the moon. That it would bring up a load of shit for you."

"We're worried about you mate," Nick explains. "You're still here. You won't talk to any of us."

" 'm fine," Alex mumbles, unable to hold eye contact with either of his friends. He looks at his shoes as he realizes how unfair he's been to them both in the last two days.

This trip was supposed to be about Matt.

He shouldn't be here worried that Alex finally went off the rails.

"Alex," Matt utters, placing his hand on the door frame, leaning in close to Alex. "You know you can talk to me. I don't care what you did or why."

"Really," Alex tries, because as much as he'd like to have this long overdue discussion, finally get to explain why--no one had ever asked him why, they'd just condemned his actions as w r o n g--he has to get Vera off the moon. "I'm fine. Just been in me head."

"That's what I'm worried about," Matt responds, eyes locked onto his, as if Alex could disappear at any moment. "You've always been in your head too much Al. And it didn't matter when I knew you were looking after yourself. Had me and the lads with you but-Alex you looked like utter shit back in Vesta last time I saw you, hopped up on who knows what."

Alex swears internally. They really knew when to pick the worst moments. He was actually doing good. "I know. . .," he tries to find the words that don't require him to have an emotional breakdown in Tranquility Hotel, aware Vera's listening in, "it's been rough. Some days worse than others but Matthew," he whines, "I really am good."

"For how long though," Nick counters, crossing his arms against his chest. It was a good point but Alex really hadn't been in the dark lonely place in months. Maybe closer to a year now. Progress.

Something about waking up missing shoes and jammed into the seediest by corners of an asteroid had lit a fire under his arse about moving on.

He hadn't even hit the agents earlier. They would've deserved it but who gives a shit. Alex will always be a mutineer but at least his hands were clean. His conscience is a white pearl like a meditating bodhisattva.

"Can we just go inside and talk man," Matt pleads, his shoulder resting against the door, clearly seconds away from shoving his way in.

Guilt wells up in his mouth. Despite having every reason to say no, Alex wants to say yes, the word making its way to the tip of his tongue at Matt's insistence.

It was Matt and he was Alex and he couldn't just deny him like this after everything.

Terrans were only allowed one child.

The law didn't keep Matt from being his brother any less.

"I can't," Alex sighs. "I just-you've given me a lot to think about."

Matt rolls his eyes, hurt flashing through his features as he takes a step back, "bullshit."

"Just open up the damn door Alexander," Nick tries, clearly having had it with trying to do things the nice way, realizing Alex wasn't going to budge on his own. "We're ya friends."

"It's been six years Alex," Matt added. "I thought you'd want to talk by now."

Alex shakes his head, "it's not always a straight line."

"Let's have this conversation inside," Nick insists, "who knows when you'll be around next Al. And now Matt has a command. . ."

Matt shoves his way in.

Alex had forgotten how hot headed he could be. The foil to his cool and calm temperament: translating Alex's lit to others. Not that Alex had much trouble verbalizing, necessity being the mother invention. He no longer took hours to get a sentence out of his mouth.

"Matt!"

"Don't Matt me Al," Matt retorts spying Vera in seconds, who's already fallen into a defensive stance.

Matt brings a hand to his face, pinching his nose bridge, before heavily sighing, "You've got to be kidding me Al. You're hiding a murderer now."

"She's no-"

"I didn't kill anyone," she tries, folding into herself, trying to appear smaller and innocent than she actually is. Vera tries to play at being Tisiphone once more. "It's all a misunderstanding!"

"Then turn yourself in," Nick challenges, closing the door behind him.

"Al," Matt says, placing his hands on Alex's shoulders, "what the hell are you thinking mate! They're going to lock you up for this and not even-"

"Matt," he interrupts, "trust me. I'd love to have a nice long chat but things have gotten. . .complicated and-it's safer if ya don't know. Just. . .trust me."

Matt stares back at him, mouth drawn. An entire childhood together on earth, their toes digging into the soil, tracking mud all over the floors. Later a shared adolescence, their accents charming the girls and boys at school, Matt doing all the talking and never leaving a painfully shy Alex behind.

He nods. "You better come back because we're having this talk even if I have to go visit you in prison."

"There are things far worse than prison," Vera unhelpfully points out, tugging on her jacket over her hoodie, the collar lined with actual animal fur. Given the martian rationing system, it was an untold luxury for Vera to own a leather jacket with fur at all. "I'd even take death over enhanced interrogation."

She pretends to tremble with fear, "anything but gravity."

Alex snorts in spite of the dark subject matter. "Not helping."

Ignoring the other two men in the room, Vera hands Alex one of the spare IDB's he'd seen in her bag earlier. Had it really been only hours ago? "Here's your IDB now. Alexander Collins. Born on Pallas. Married to Morgana Collins," she points at herself, already dispatching the old IDB off her wrist and throwing it in her bag. "Came to the moon to get married. Off to Callisto to make a living," she explains calmly.

"Short and sweet," Alex notes, looking down at his own wrist, the IDB a second skin. He hadn't taken it off since he'd left earth. Many colonies like Callisto chose to implant the ID chip.

It was the key to getting on any ship. His passport and last link to earth. His last hope at ever stepping foot on the big blue planet again, however slim.

Visas for foreigners pretty much nonexistent.

Nick hands him a swiss army laser, "I implanted mine." It's news to Alex who hadn't even noticed, Nick having always been a bit chilly, wearing long sleeves year round. " 's nice actually."

Matt dramatically covers his eyes.

Alex slices through the metal, leaving a band of unblemished creamy skin.

It doesn't last long, as Vera easily replaces it.

"You should keep it," she tells him, patting his arm like a parent half heartedly consoling their child after a pet fish dies. "We are planning on fixing things."

"Yeah," Alex answers, running his fingers over the band. He already felt less confident without it.

[peakyxtommy]

Love Twice Gone - Michael Gray x Fem!Reader

Summary: Michael & you were together for two years living in New York City. You break up and he messages you out of the blue. You two go back to seeing the other, but life has other plans.

WC: 2.5K

Warnings: Angst, Sadness, Broken-Relationship

A/N: Based Around Sex With My Ex by Fletcher. Flashbacks are italicized.

Gif Credit: @navinee

I know it's been a couple months, yeah, we should meet up

I'll meet you downstairs at the Subway station

We don't gotta talk about us, how we messed it up

We could keep it light, just a conversation

No expectation

You couldn’t stop thinking about him. It’s been three months since he left back to London. You sat in your apartment still wondering if he thought about you. If he wondered what you were doing or if you were with someone new.

Sometimes you could sit on your balcony staring down at the flurry of people wondering about him. Was he safe or happy or if he moved on to someone new? You made little scenarios in your head of what life was like right now. The possibility of what if floating through. Wishing that this relationship hadn’t had to come to an end but the inevitable was you both knew the truth.

Sometimes the truth cuts deep. He tore you in ways you never knew was possible. You were patching up the mess until he messaged you out of the blue one day. Three months after the breakup. You were still bitter and hurt but you still loved him deep down. It was the simplicity of the three words that got you. Got your heart yearning and mind running again with a new lie that you would have to face later than sooner. How you wish it would’ve been sooner.

“I miss you”

The message that began the spiral you were still trying to climb yourself out of. It was three days later on a Friday night you found yourself walking off the same old train and up the familiar subways steps. When you reached the top of the stairs the coldness nipped at your warm skin as you made a right down the street. Walking to your bar, the bar that held too many memories, drunken confessions, and whispered secrets. You see him sitting outside on the bench, with his black beanie. Staring down at his phone but as soon as you cross the street your eyes meet. It feels like the first time all over again.

-

“Oi, you ruined my pants!” He screams as the burning cream liquid soaks his pants and shoes.

“I’m really sorry, but you were standing like a lost dog in the way! Some people have to get to work.” You huff with annoyance as you were running late to work.

“I’m lost, I’m trying to make my way to 34th Wall Street. Sorry to inconvenience you.” He speaks about to brush past you but you grab his arm.

“Wait.” “I work over there. Let me help you at least, I did spill my coffee on you.” He looks at you for a moment before nodding. You remain in silence as the next train approaches and he follows your lead, as you make your way to the first two seats you see in the corner. You let him have the window seat as you sit on the end. You remain silent the whole ride, only to speak to let him know when to get off the train.

“What company do you work for?” You ask as you both walk down the street.

“Shelby Limited Co. We just opened up here and are big in England.”

“Interesting, I saw some signs a couple of weeks ago. I work for the Wall Street Journal on 42nd Street.” You respond as you see you are almost to the destination.

“Well, here we are. I’m sorry about the coffee again.”

“Thank you so much for getting me here. Don’t worry about it.” He pauses. “I never got your name.”

“Y/N Y/L/N.”

“My name is Michael Gray. Maybe, I’ll see you around Y/N.”

“Maybe Mr. Gray.” You respond, walking down the block to get to your own job.

It was only a few weeks later when the two of you ran into each other. He asked you out on a date and took you to McConnel’s bar to grab drinks. You two end up hitting it off talking for hours and him making sure you got a taxi home.

-

“Hey Michael.” You wave as he stands, brown eyes meeting yours, lip curving upward into a small grin.

“Hey Y/N, you look good.” You could feel your face heat up at his compliment, feeling the butterflies rushing into your stomach.

“Thank you. Do you want to grab a drink?” He nods, as you walk to the door, with him holding it open for you. You both wave to the bar tenders and sit at your table. The table that held too many memories and broken promises.

You tried to push those thoughts to the side. You didn’t want to set yourself up to be broken by him again. To feel the piercing cut of pain that wallowed in your heart. You kept the conversation light and focused on things happening now. No discussion of the past or the future. Those things could only be buried so long before they made their way to the surface.

Just a one minute walk

And it's just two blocks

And three drinks later

You're back in my arms

His place wasn’t far from the bar. It was only two blocks away and the quickest walk but this time felt different. It felt like the time was moving by slowly and you were trying to catch up. You were presently aware of everything going on but your mind was still plagued by the past. By the harsh words yelled out in the middle of the night, the lies that sent you packing, and a morning of waking up alone.

In this moment your mind was like a blank slate. A state of comfort and familiarity taking over. The kiss that tasted of poison three months ago was now sweet honey on your lips. His touch set you on fire once again. As you found yourselves stumbling around in his apartment in the night, making your way back to the bedroom to undress, to feel his body above yours, you missed this. You missed him, his smell, his arms holding you like you were the most important thing in the world. There you were back under his spell again.

I just had sex with my ex in a New York apartment

Now I'm a mess, I'm obsessed

I'm right back where I started, broken-hearted

Every time you call me, I'll pick up again

Back into my feelings, back into your bed

The first time shouldn’t have happened but did. It should have been a one time thing. It didn’t take long for you to be waiting to hear from him again. Trying to downplay it into not being a big deal. It didn’t mean anything, but it did. You felt it.

A few days later he called and it happened again. Everything was smooth until after the third time, he never questioned you leaving before but asked you to stay. That’s exactly what you did.

Waking up the next morning in his Manhattan apartment and eating breakfast as if things were patched up, but it wasn’t. You two continued acting like things were fine. It was breaking you on the inside but you ignored it. Ignored it to be temporarily happy with the one that made you the happiest when you were together. Even though he broke you to shreds, it was like he was the one sewing you back together even for just a moment. A moment of bliss with him, to take the guilt and shame away later. It was only two months later when things changed.

Gotta catch my flight, but I want more time

Gimme one more night to be wrapped up in you

It was the worst news to happen at this time. The Stock Market crash. It made many changes and left so much apprehension among the people. You didn’t hear anything from him for three days after it happened, letting worry get the best of you.

He shows up on the fourth day, knocking hard on your door as you were cleaning around your apartment. You open the door to his stoic face and rushed presence. Before you even got a chance to sit and say a word of your own, he broke the news that started the fire that would end in ash.

“I’m leaving back to England in three days. I messed up.” He huffs, fingers pulling at his dark locks.

“How long have you known?” You say, feeling the room start to tilt.

“Found out three days ago. Company’s a mess and my family is angry.”

“Maybe you should go.”

“I can’t stop this from happening. You knew, from the start that this wasn’t going to work. We’ve been only kidding ourselves!” He drips with sarcasm and a small laugh.

“Leave now! I don’t want to see you again!” You scream, teeth biting hard into your bottom lip, as you point toward the door. He grabs his things and you slam the door loud behind him. Knowing he was right but you wanted him to be wrong.

And I know that I'm losing my mind

And it feels like I'm losing you twice

Is it worth the price?

What have I gotten into?

You felt like the world was spinning upside down again. You couldn’t catch a break or a breath. That your mind was betraying you. That it was waving all the red flags possible and you just ignored it. He wasn’t going to be yours. You were back to square one and drowning your sorrows with the bottle in hand. Hoping the liquor would ease your mind, ease the pain, and erase the hole in your heart.

What if you never met with him for that drink or never met him to begin with?

Why you still loved the person that gained every part of you possible but let it slip between their fingers like sand in the wind?

If it was all an illusion, was it ever meant to last, to be forever?

Maybe the idea of being with him fogged up your mind. Being with him all over again wasn’t as bad for the first time. She was never vulnerable with anyone before him, not even herself. He brought vulnerability out of her, that it scared her. It scared him too because he felt the same way. Two people being vulnerable and still learning the curvatures of life.

You wish you could feel the joy of your first meeting over again and freeze that moment in time. The encounter and all the happy moments that followed but you couldn’t. Time wasn’t on your side and neither was loving someone you had to let go.

I thought it'd be harmless

So we kiss goodnight and I catch that flight

Say goodbye forever until next time

There you laid bodies bare and tangled in the sheets, holding the other tight together. As if you moved an inch away, that you would disappear right in the other’s eyes. The evening was weirdly amazing and you could feel the sadness as well. It was the elephant in the room. His bags sat at the door waiting along with his favorite navy jacket and black boots. Dinner went smooth as you made your favorite meal which was pasta and strawberry shortcake for dessert that was your favorite together. You asked him questions about his family back at home and what he was excited to get back to. He asked about how you were going to visit your family and take a small vacation. Futures without the other around.

“Do you think it was worth it?” You whispered as you trace small circles on his warm chest. Head resting on his heart, hearing the thumping loudly in your ear. He sat with his face toward the ceiling, left folded behind his head, and the other wrapped around your back.

He laid there thinking about your question knowing the obvious answer. He loved you so much the first time around and was sad to lose it. He now got to love you a second time but in a different way than before and he was losing you twice, in two ways, but it all hurt the same, but even worse than before. He wouldn't change him, you, or the time for anything.

“Yes, I wouldn't change any of it. Would you?”

“No, I wouldn’t.” You respond wanting to say more. To tell him you love him even though you knew he still was leaving. Words to fall on deaf ears. In the worst circumstance.

“Remember when we were going to get an apartment with a rooftop. On the inside we were going to have a room for art and reading. Two bedrooms for our kids. Planned on tracking strolls in Central Park.” You whisper with a shyness but chuckle at the end thinking of the thoughts that plagued your mind when you two first met. You still wish for those things to happen for him, even if it wasn’t with you.

“Couldn’t forget, you even had their names picked out. We’ve spent so much time walking around this city and seen enough art to last us a lifetime. I won’t forget the way your skin sparkles under the sunlight and the way you feel right now in my arms.” He lips press against the crown of your head.

That’s how you go back and forth listing good memories of the past and laughing like you would have a future together. It would only last so long before the tightness welled in your chest and the cloud that disappeared came back again. You spoke the words in your heart, feeling the shreds come.

“I’m going to miss you. I’m mad about how you treated me before and that you’re leaving forever. I love you Michael and am glad to have gotten the chance to be loved by you. Remember me in your daydreams.” You whisper as your voice goes shrill, cracking, as the hot wet tears spill from your eyes. Hand coming to wipe them harshly away.

“I’m going to miss you too. I’m sorry. I love you (Y/N). Promise me you’ll take care of yourself.” His brown eyes stare into your wet ones. Foreheads touching, as you see him hold back his own tears, putting on a brave face.

“I promise.” You kiss him sweetly on the lips one last time. Then you kiss right above his eye, like you always did after the first time you told him you loved him. It was your way of saying it one last time, before he was no longer yours, not for just a first time, but a second.

The finality of it all as you drifted off to sleep. A peace falling over you, of your mind of the two of you together as one. One more dream of bliss before it all turned grey again. It was the best night of sleep you had in awhile.

When you woke up it was like a ghost visited you in the night. Every physical trace of him was gone like he was never next to you when you closed your eyes last. That morning you spent the day in bed crying over everything. Three months later you were still thinking of him and moving on. Only a year later were you met with someone new. A new adventure, with new memories, and new love.

It was the best of loves because you decided to let go of your last love.

[scarecoen]

Trigger warning ⚠️ domestic violence.

I've typed this story a million times so I'm just going to summarize as much as I can.

A few days ago I was assaulted by my partner's family members. And as I've mentioned, I've typed this a million times and I'm honestly just exhausted thinking about it, but we could use some help.

My partner has always had a transphobic family. (I don't have anyone but my dad, who's in no position to help anyone.)

Her mom used her disability against her and manipulated her into giving her MOST of her checks. She's abused the system and my girlfriend.

When I met Jackie, she was with a terrible biggot. Jackie had came out, and her mother conspired with an abusive long distance ex, to fly her here, to stage an "intervention" and stop my partner from transitioning.

It worked. For years.

I met Jackie here on tumblr, we became good, SECRET friends because she wasn't allowed to talk to anyone.

I told Jackie openly about my views regarding gender and how I myself, was not cis.

Eventually she told her partner about us playing games together, which she responded to by harassing me.

Jackie ended up spilling the beans to me, about her mom, about the ex, everything. I realized that she had been extremely isolated and controlled her whole life.

So I intervened.

I got the two of them to separate, which wasn't smooth because Jackie was scared. She had been with her abuser for 9 years at this point. She's never known anything else.

The ex moved back to her state, and I started seeing Jackie, although she was stuck at her mom's... who was trying to play innocent at this time.

Eventually, I kinda just came and picked her up, she stayed the night, she didn't want to go back home. And I can't blame her. The house wasn't only disgusting, her family microagressed her all the time and they would tell her to pretty much stay in a dark room all day.

Ofc I didn't bring her back.

During early quarantine, we had a lot of self reflection and she started distancing herself from her mother, coming around to holding her accountable for her horrible actions.

Her mom messaged her things like "Why won't you talk to me? It's like you're trying to punish us!" Ect, just every fucking manipulative thing she could say, without ever apologizing.

Unfortunately the place we were staying fell through when my best friend's ex husband decided he wants a divorce and decided to throw in some transphobic hatespeach towards me.

We were all looking for somewhere to go.

I'm sure you know where this is going but listen, she told us EVERYTHING we wanted to hear. She told us she's not hateful now, told us she would go to trans support groups, pride, said she's realized how much she loves Jackie and it's time to accept her- and look- we had NO WHERE TO GO. We have 2 cats and at the time, a car that has no a/c or functional locks. AND I have a chronic autoimmune condition that I recently started taking chemo meds for. (Methotrexate.)

I'm too sick to be on the street, and survive. I had to think about me, Jackie, Zoe, and Boops.

And Jackie wanted to go..

I told her we'd be cautious and try to get out asap.

Well, looking for places right when the housing market crashed really fucked us up. That- and because I had only just finally got approved for disability, means I was set back in life- and had no credit to my name. No credit= no place to live.

I had almost built enough, but things went down hill very quickly with her family. Which leads us to right now:

After weeks of microagressions, giving us breakthrough covid cases, yelling at us to clean other's messes, and forcing us and our cats to isolate in our room, many broken promises, and straight up transphobic hatespeach (because she promised to get vaccinated but then said nvm as soon as we moved in and she went on vacation and got covid and gave it to us, which nearly killed me--) she said not getting the vaccine "IS A CHOICE, JUST LIKE YOU BEING TRANS AND TAKING *gestures to my testosterone* THOSE DRUGS."

We just were avoiding each other while I desperately try to gather resources for us to get out, NOW.

Of course, that wasn't good enough, so when her step father messaged her in all caps about our cats having to stay in our room and "I WON'T FUCKING TELL YOU AGAIN" my partner had a breakdown..

Her mom had let her step dad talk to her like this her whole life, basically.

Out of desperation, we went to her sister for help, maybe hoping she'd give us a place to stay for two weeks while we sign off on the lease for our new apartment.

She pretended to want to help and even said... something fucking weird? She made the comment that I'm a good person and I'm so much like her own boyfriend, that it's "scary"...

A few hours later she came to the house. She talked nicely to us, to gain access to our bedroom.

Then she attacked me.

I called the police right before, and was on the phone with dispatch when she lunged at me because she was aggressively trying to MAKE Jackie go into a separate room WITHOUT ME and Jackie was saying no, BEGGING her to STOP.

I wasn't going to let her take Jackie into that room. She looked fucking crazy.

All of the family came into our room, her two sisters, her mom, and her cousin- When they heard yelling.

It was actually me telling her mom that she's a terrible mother, that triggered her sister to try and attack me- although I knew she was planning on trying to from the moment she came into our room.

And that was after her mom was screaming in my face that if I have something to say, say it now.

Dispatch heard everything and sent emt as well...

But the police stayed outside, talking to them for a WHILE before even asking for us.

Her cousin is the only one that would have stood up for me, saying her sister never should have tried to hit me. But he was in the room with Jackie, giving her support...

I faced the cops alone.

He already had "that look."

He shined a light into my eye, letting the family stay on the porch, throwing insults and just letting it happen. He asked me where I'm hurt, and before I could even show him the scratches on my arm, he said "how do I know YOU didn't put those there?"

I wanted to fucking die in that moment.

This is a conservative city.

No one has equality stickers here. No one flies gay flags. People here that are lgbt- they LEAVE.

This is EXACTLY WHY.

I said "well is there any reason I should tell you anything when, clearly, you're already bias?"

I looked at the emts. I looked at his partner. I looked at all the lights and people coming out of their houses-

And behind me was her family.

Her sister that assaulted me, was laughing about having work in the morning.

All of them were looking at me, with hate in their eyes.

He tried to feed me bullshit about "well if I'm taking someone to jail, there has to be proof."

He dismissed everything I attempted to say, until I just stared at the ground and he decided he did his job here.

I told him my whole fucking body hurts because I had 4 people fucking toss my 100lbs ass all over the fucking room, which was a mess that he refused to look at.

He said "I don't see bruises."

I SPAT "BRUISES TAKE TIME?"

He retorted IMMEDIATELY- "YOU'RE NOT EVEN RED."

I asked what about the dispatcher- she seemed concerned- to which he said "you see, sometimes when people call us- they scream and be dramatic- for a quicker response."

I asked what we could do while the two weeks go by for our new place, and he fucking said "I DONT KNOW. BARRICADE YOURSELF IN YOUR ROOM OR SOMETHING."

Needless to say, we are now safe, in a hotel and I've gotten in touch with a few lgbt organizations that are attempting to help us get justice.

Unfortunately because it's a holiday weekend, all we can do is wait right now.

Our first order of business is getting a protection order, so that we can retrieve the rest of our things without her sister trying to attack us again. (I say us because she kept jumping towards Jackie, like she was threatening to hit her.)

I've been so gaslit and victim blamed that I was too scared to go to the er, even though this all happened in the midst of a flare, possibly including my liver health.

There's so much more to this story, as I'm sure other trans people can relate.. unfortunately.

The emts reluctantly offered to take me to the er, but I was like "and leave my partner here with them?" And he just fucking shrugged dude.

I hate this city.

I want out so bad but unfortunately I've committed to a year, but at least it'll be *our* apartment.

We could NOT stay there for two more weeks. Her step dad is a violent offender that has attempted to murder a homeless prostitute over some fucking pocket change- and he has a GUN in the house.

This hotel might run us into a hole, despite it being the cheapest, shittiest hotel in town, it's still going to be about 700$ for ONE week.

To ADD INSULT TO INJURY, SOMEONE ATTEMPTED TO STEAL MY VEHICLE WHILE WE'VE BEEN STAYING HERE.

I'm feeling incredibly paranoid and unsafe, but I'm on anxiety meds now at least and its SORTA helping us cope (My partner and I have the same Dr and she gave her permission to have some.)

The organization BRAVO is trying to help us with a hotel voucher, but because of all the natural disasters, it's hard to find room in charity for people like us, which is fair enough. We aren't immediately on the street, and for that I'm incredibly thankful.

However, if you or anyone you know wish to help you can donate to venmo: kittyzibby. Or you could just signal boost this.

If you can't help, I understand. And IF YOU'RE STRUGGLING FINANCIALLY, don't worry about it, for real.

Right now I'm just scared we'll go into debt before getting the apartment settled in.

I will update on things once our case moves along more, and we were already considering turning to OF sexwork before all of this, so if there could be support that way, maybe we'll get that going once we get moved in. That way, I feel good about providing a service in return.

Thank you so much for sticking with us during all of this. And really- we're doing much better today. We've given each other pep talks, but we are still determined to start our lives together.

Her family was merely trying to scare me away from her, but I got my girl's name tatted on me for a reason.

I know I'm not the bad person here.

Every time Jackie is feeling more gender euphoric, and showing me her changes, and seeing her get more confident, the more I know that what I'm doing with and for her, is right.

I love her so much. And I will never abandon her, like they tried to get me to do.

Jackie is taking a break from some socials, but she's given me permission to talk about what's been happening.

She needs justice too.

I will update as much as I can, but seriously, I think we both just have a fire under our asses now.

Mentally, we're stronger than ever.

Thank you for reading. My heart really goes out to the rest of the queer community that have experienced or are going through similar things.

It's really made me realize why we need to stick together and fight this bigotry bullshit! 🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈

[movieguy50]

Hey everyone,

The subject of this week's blog and yes I know I'm two days late but believe me this is going to be well worth it especially to the men out there here on Tumblr the ones that are single let me ask you a question have you been talking to women lately that seem a little peculiar to you they say they miss you they love you all this and that and you've only talk to them like once or twice you ask for their phone number they avoid it completely or they just make a big excuse why they can't give it to you asked to go meet them they don't that they say okay fine come you know you give an address and then you completely gets stood up because they just don't show this is an MO or otherwise known as a method of operation for these women sometimes it even as much as the first conversation or the third they will start telling you start giving you a sob story like I'm having to come out here from another country or I'm having to move to this state because I'm having to take care of sick relatives or they don't have no food or anything like that and if they want to meet if you want to meet them you have to give them gas money and no that's part of the scam then they start asking for things like gift cards $20 $40 $100 gift cards some drnominations don't even exist on some of the gift cards Google Play and steam gift cards are the most common if you have fallen prey to these women and I have twice and I'm glad I did because that was money well spent because I got to learn all kinds of shit from these people and then I'm giving you all that I have right now here are some of the red flags that show up during these conversations:

1. Their language is all wrong they'll say things like instead of saying like what did you have for breakfast to say did you take breakfast or they'll say something to the fact of their grammar being so messed up you have to like think about it before you understand what the're trying to tell you some of these women are coming from Russia some of them are from Africa some of them are from Mexico and they are all here in the United States typically in the states of the Northeast New York New Jersey there are some out west in California there are a few here in Texas and there are some just scattered everywhere.

2. They start telling you they need food but they need you to get them a $40 $50 or $100 or whatever it is gift card most commonly known as Google play or Steam do not do it because what they're doing is is they're taking the cards and selling them on the black market or on these websites that operate and they are turning in for money they're getting less than what they're supposed to get so that's why you have to give more to cover what they're not getting

3. They start asking you questions like your bank account they want you logging information do not give it to them their social security number they want to verify you through ID me id.me is legit so that would be fine except the safer way for you to do it is go ahead and go on id.me and do your own verification that way you don't have to give them nothing the less information they have on you the more likely they're going to just pass you up.

4. They ask you who you're with your cell phone number is and who your mobile carrier is this is to put you in on dating sites and for them to subscribe you to advertising that they get money for okay this is a different type of identity theft ring it is identity theft to a point but they're not using the information necessarily against you they're not even really taking a lot of money out of people's bank accounts they're only taking money out of the bank accounts that they can't get any money other ways so that's why I said do not give them anything.

5. Do not confront them either because they will always deny that they are scamming you they do that so that way they can bring you in closer to them so they can get your trust.

6. When you ask where they work and stuff besides are the probably going to tell you there they either don't have a job or it's some kind of job that's actually ridiculous for them to have they're not good liars folks they really are not you just got to learn this read between the lines with these people and like I said the biggest clue right there is the language you know things that should be plural or not plural things that are misspelled or misspelled badly the wording is confusing and I think I already said this once.

7. Always remember guys if it is too good to be true it probably is.

8. If they ask for your bank account information for the purpose of depositing money they will deposit money into your account but then they will take it and more if they tell you you can spend some of it do not touch it because that's how they get people just don't touch it call your bank tell them what's going on they will close your account and they will inevitably beginning investigation and once that happens everything they will be frozen you will not be able to have access to nothing unfortunately by extra step go to the police department I mean I know this part is going to be a waste of time because they're not going to be able to get your money back but at least let them know so that way there's some record of it.

9. Screenshot everything write everything down take notes even if you are in the middle of one of these conversations now go back as far as you can from the beginning tell you know screenshot your conversation if you need to that's fine but this is got to stop guys and we're the only ones who can fight back the FBI will help you know they they can do the Justice part they can they can make the arrest and go to court and everything but they can't do it without our help.

10. Now I will be turning people in in groups of five or more that's why I said turn the information into me as soon as I get five or six people together I will go turn them in I do have a contact there and he told me just to wait to have that many just because it would just be easier to just do them all at once so just one by one by one by one

So now you know what is going on so how you stop it that's very easy you do one thing and one thing only you make a decision and you stand by it you stand your ground you do not weaken your position at all do not show that you're weak do not give them even an inch because if you give them an inch they will not just take a mile they will take a whole football field and then they're going to tighten the grip on you and then you can't get out if you're in this position Now message me immediately and let me know and I will give you I will give you instructions this blog this this post I will I am asking everybody who reads it's please please reblog this over and over and over and over again I don't care how many times this has got to get out cuz this is very serious so far these women just in the past two and a half years have gotten over a hundred million dollars from Men 100 million definitely more than a price of a cup of coffee in the guys and the thing is it could have all been prevented.

Now for the fun part things that I have tried and has worked to oeel these women off your back besides Im no of course.

1. If you should give them your PIN number or you already have tell them that you had to get that you received a piece of software from your bank or whatever you want to lie to them if you got to every time they use the PIN code a new one is put in its place at random only you know what the new PIN code is going to be because it's going to be email to you if they ask to see proof of the emails tell them that's classified you can't show that just doesn't allow you to screenshot it because Android phones I know especially I'm pretty sure probably the same as iPhones you cannot screenshot certain screens especially on banking apps or anything has to do with money I sensitive information

2. Okay if you've given them your bank account info or your PIN number already tell them that you got notification from your bank that to be safe they're charging you an extra save $5 for the purpose of enrolling you in a new service that will automatically change your PIN number every time you use it or if you want to you you can tell him that you came across the piece of software on the internet that does the exact same thing I just told you about whichever it doesn't matter this will make them back off of you a lot because then they know that you're on to them they'll start not talking to you like they were or they'll say you know they'll be in a conversation just leave get offline you know because they know that you're on to them and they're panicking they don't know what to do so they have to call their boss to find out what to do and he has given them no answer no we do not know who the boss is by the way or where this is all being based out of I will tell you also that.

3. Okay I'm sure you're probably wondering who all these women are not 100% sure but most likely they probably were kidnapped at some point in time brainwashed and part of a human trafficking ring or a sexual tracking trafficking ring before they ended up doing this they probably don't even know who they really are but yet they managed to play in the end you know with our society because you know our society is pretty much stupid in itself I'm sorry guys but it's true and I count myself apart that

I don't think I have forgotten anything else like I said be vigilant Be watchful and do not lose your ground make a decision you stay with it cuz otherwise you're just going to put more money in their pockets I mean it's very possible that you know you know they figure well we're on to them so they're going to go ahead and just give up and close shop and move on to the next country you guys some of you I know work very hard for your money now I'm not sure if men are doing this to women or not but for you ladies if there is anything like this the same the same thing applies I mean I don't see why there are in any man involved or probably should be.

Finally it took a lot for me to admit what I admitted to you tonight I'm not very proud of what I did I'm not very proud of the fact that I let somebody well actually left2 somebody's get by me I'm usually pretty smart but that's how they operate and I will tell you tonight I have a possible number six so I don't know if number six will turn out or not she's doing a lot of the same things but she's been taking more of an actual normal approach as to the relationship part of it I'm not letting myself get involved you know emotionally or anything I'm just kind of just playing a role right now and she's not getting any money from me so I will keep you updated on that like I said anybody guys I don't care who you are I will not ask questions I will not judge please help me get these people may we may not get them all but hell we can at least put a big big enough Dent and shut down and they'll leave but we got to act quickly and we got to keep acting quickly hell I would say it's pretty ballsy if you go decide to go ahead and start seeking them out just to get them I mean you can do that if you wish unfortunately there's no reward or no money being paid but you know you are kind of owe it to your fellow neighbor your fellow just your fellow person you fellow man all right you guys good luck you got a lot of work ahead of us y'all have a great week and I'll update you as I get more information if you have any questions do not please do not hesitate to ask if I don't have the answer I will contact my person at the FBI and he will answer them for me and I will get back to you as soon as possible thank you guys have a great week.