#SHE LITERALLY. BELONGS TO ME. SHE IS MY MOST PRIZED POSSESSION AND THERE IS NO WAY IM LETTING ANYONE ELSE GET CLOSE TO HER

[mrs-murder-daddy]

A/N: It's finally here, and it's only part one! I'm so sorry everyone but I've been fucking miserable for the last few months. But I'm here, I promise!

Requests are also open for BoB and MotA!

The Heart of the Ocean (Part One)

Gale "Buck" Cleven x Reader

The stateroom is much smaller than you anticipated, though perhaps your expectations were too high. After all, this is just a boat with a lot of people on it.

It feels suffocating, though perhaps that’s a consequence of your circumstances more than your room. 

You stare at yourself in the vanity’s mirror. You look tired, but maybe you should cut yourself some slack. You’re getting married in a few weeks. Every bride looks this sallow before their wedding day.

There’s a knock on the door, gentle and polite. You haven’t even responded when it opens. Caledon Hockley, your fiance, walks in. If you had never spoken to the man, you’d say that smile on his face is genuine.

He brandishes a velvet jewellery box and presents it to you with all the showmanship of a salesman. You’re not sure why. You’re marrying the bastard, not buying a house from him.

Cal crowds up behind you, opening the box, expecting you to ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ over it. He gives you some long speech about how the diamond used to belong to some long dead king. All you can do is stare. It’s so… big. It’s gaudy and awful. At least it matches your engagement ring.

He clasps the necklace, the chain feeling rather literal. He kisses your temple and grins at his most prized possession. You paste on a smile and thank him for his kindness. As he leaves, reminding you of the lunch you were already supposed to be at, you wrap a hand around the massive blue diamond. It’ll at least weigh me down, you joke.

Despite your mother’s hatred of her, Mrs Margaret “my-friends-call-me-Molly” Brown is the only person you can talk to that actually listens. You walk into the dining room for lunch, hands gently wrapped around one of Cal’s arms and the first thing you hear is, “that necklace is gorgeous darling!”

Your mother fawns over it and you almost tell her to just take it if she wants it so bad. 

Molly says, “Not as beautiful as the woman wearing it.”

Her beaming smile is not enough to distract you from your mother’s eye roll, but it is enough for you to respond with a genuine thanks. You can’t remember the last time you got a compliment.

Stuck at a table between a rock (Cal) and a hard place (your mother), you wait anxiously to eat. You would listen to the conversations around you, but it’s mostly your mother bragging about the family you’re marrying into, and the men discussing which type of cigar they’ll smoke next or other trivial nonsense.

When the waiter approaches, you perk up. but Cal takes over. “We'll both have the lamb, medium-rare with very little mint sauce.” He turns to you and pats your hand, “You like lamb, don't you sweet-pea?”

You stare at him silently, god his face was just so punchable. A pinch on your thigh reminds you that there’s an audience. “Of course, darling.”

Molly jumps in, noticing the distinct pinch of your mouth. “You gonna cut her meat for her, too, Cal?” The table bursts into laughter and even your fiance forces a tight smile.

The food is not quite to your taste, the bitterness of Cal’s mistreatment tainting your meal. But the conversation takes a turn for the better.

Molly posits, “So, how do ya reckon they got to the name Titanic?”

An older fellow married to a woman 3 years your junior speaks up, “Well the name obviously conveys size, thus it also conveys strength.”

You jump in, “Perhaps Dr Freud’s ideas about the male preoccupation with size will interest you, Mr Higginbotham.”

Your mother pinches your thigh again and you jolt. The conversation changes once more and even Molly’s boisterous laughter can’t calm your temper. You excuse yourself and race outside for some fresh air.

The ocean breeze cools you down somewhat. You bask in the sun’s rays, gripping the rail in front of you and leaning back just a little.

Your reverie is interrupted by a loud shout of “Miss!”

You look down to see two brunets wrestling playfully. Their blonde friend shakes his head before looking up at you. Your knees turn to butter. He’s quite possibly the most handsome man you’ve ever seen in your life. 

The two of you stare at each other for so long, his friends have stopped wrestling, instead looking between you two like a tennis match. The Greek statue below only stops the staring contest when a frown takes over.

Your own face falls when you realise why: Cal. Your fiance grips your arm and begins to berate you quietly while dragging you back inside.

But the beautiful blonde man is all you see. His smile as his friends begin to tease is enough to feed you for a lifetime.

Dinner is much the same, only your noose feels tighter than before. Your newfound wealth is still the only topic of conversation your mother cares about and your fiance is content to make every little decision for you.

Of all your companions, at least Molly Brown tries to reach out with some gentle questions about the wedding. Cal fields all of them, he and your mother having planned everything to the very flowers of your bouquet.

Your ears begin to ring. Your mother over one shoulder, your fiance over the other. A hand touches yours lightly. It’s gloved but still warm. Molly’s Southern accent cuts through the rest of the conversation.

“You okay darling?”

You nod and beam brightly. “Of course, just excited for the wedding.”

It’s clearly not enough for her. Then an icy glare from the people either side of you reminds her of your precarious position.

“Well who wouldn’t be? It all sounds so beautiful!”

You power through dinner, Cal ordered the beef for you both, though you would rather have eaten dirt.

He kisses your gloved hand as the men retire to the smoking room. Molly rubs your shoulder gently as she bids you goodbye. 

Your mother hisses at you for acting up. You simply smile apologetically and ask to get some fresh air. She waves you off with an angry “I’ll see you later.”

Thankfully, no one else is on deck as you sprint across the wood. Your chest is heaving with panicked breaths and barely concealed sobs. The theatrics catch the attention of a man laying on a bench staring up at the stars.

You crash into the rail at the stern of the ship and hastily climb over. Your breath gets stuck in your throat as the wind brushes past your face, cooling the tears on your cheeks.

The skin over your knuckles stretches as you cling to the only tether you have left. The water looks cold but so inviting.

Then a voice. It’s quiet and gentle, but it nearly startles you into letting go. 

“Easy, easy, didn’t mean to scare you.” He approaches, palms up in surrender.

“Go away.” You’re beyond embarrassed to have someone witness your breakdown. Your consideration of the unthinkable.

“Well that I’m not gonna do.” He creeps closer like you’re a wounded animal. It’s perhaps a cliche, but you imagine that’s what you are. Hunted for your beauty and trapped in the snare of a loveless marriage.

“You should leave. If you know what’s good for you.” You wish your voice sounds stronger. The creaking of your throat doesn’t make you sound very intimidating.

He just sighs and sits down on the deck. He begins to… remove his shoes? You frown and look over your shoulder as much as you can.

“What are you doing?”

“If you’re going down there,” he nods to the water below you, “I’m coming after you. And these are a new pair. Can’t get ‘em all soggy.”

You begin to laugh, a little hysterically. “That water’s freezing. There’s no way you’ll jump after me.”

“That’s not the part I’m worried about.” He stands up and begins to remove his jacket. Your face grows serious once more. His shoulders are broad, he must be a steel worker or something. But his face is too pretty for that kind of work. “You know a fall from this height into water, it’s like hitting pavement. Then you add the freezing water and-“ he hissed through his teeth.

You take another look, it is a very long way down. How did you not notice that before? A few moments of contemplative silence pass and the broad shouldered man moves closer.

You look over your shoulder at him. “You ever feel alone? Like truly alone in the world.”

He frowns sympathetically, “Can’t say I have, ma’am.”

You smile sadly. “That’s good.” Your hands begin to loosen their grip. 

His voice now sounds like it’s right next to you, but you can’t bring yourself to look. “Maybe you should come back over this rail and tell me all about it. Maybe I can help you.”

A sad little smile appears on your face. “I wish you could.” 

Then warmth wraps around your wrist. The man’s hands are calloused but much softer than you expected. 

“You never know if you don’t try.” He’s practically begging, anxiously waiting for your response.

You turn your head to look at him, tears threatening to choke you. You realise just who this man is. “Okay.”

He wraps a gentle but firm arm around your waist and helps you pull yourself back over the rail. When you finally set your heeled feet on the deck, your body feels like it’s going to collapse. The man leads you to a bench and wraps his jacket tight around you.

“I’m Gale by the way, Gale Cleven.”

You introduce yourself, still feeling rather defeated.

“Now tell me about what happened just now.” The words imply an interrogation, but looking into those baby blues you see… concern. What is with the people on this boat?

You’ll know them for only about a week and yet they’re the only ones in your life who seem to actually care for you.

“I know what you must be thinking.” You sigh, “Poor little rich girl. What does she know about misery?”

Gale leans his head forward to make eye contact, “Not at all. What I’m thinking is what could have happened to this girl to make her think she has no way out?”

You flash the giant ring on your finger, “I’m getting married next month.”

He jokes, “Wow! You would have gone straight to the bottom.” 

But you can’t laugh, you just stare at it. “All of Boston society will be there. 500 invitations.”

You finally look at his face, counting his freckles subconsciously, “Sometimes I feel like I'm standing in the middle of a crowded room, screaming at the top of my lungs and no one even looks up.”

He frowns and you’re hit with a sudden wave of shame. “Thank you for your help, Gale.” You take his jacket off hastily and drop it in his lap.

“Wait-” He tries to process the abrupt end to your conversation but you’re already halfway down the deck, surreptitiously wiping away tears.

The next morning, you beg your mother to let you have some space and fresh air. Really, you want to find the handsome blond from the night before. To apologise and to assure him that you will be just fine.

It’s not difficult to spot his incredibly handsome profile. He’s hunched over a sketchbook, head bobbing as he looks to his reference then back down. Trying to follow his eyeline, you see a sweet looking older man dancing with his little daughter. She stands on his feet as they sway to nothing in particular.

You approach carefully, worried you’d break the warm quiet, or disturb the family’s moment. You decide to just sit next to Gale. He tilts his head in acknowledgment but continues his work.

“I wanted to apologise for my behaviour last night,” you begin, “it was inappropriate for a woman of my station.”

He gives a little half-smile and looks up at you. His stare is like looking into the sun. “You’re allowed to feel how you feel. And I felt honoured you trusted me enough to share your pain.”

Your face warms, you’re not sure if it’s shame or those baby blues trained on yours. The girl and her dad are still dancing, but he’s picked her up. Her curls swish around as he twirls them and her giggles almost bring a tear to your eye. You can’t remember the last time your parents showed you any affection, let alone danced with you just to make you laugh. 

Gale clears his throat and holds his sketchbook out. His work is incredible. Not only is his technical work beautiful but he’s captured the loving glint in the father’s eyes and the little girl’s missing tooth. You can’t help your beaming smile.

“This is incredible work! You should be proud. Is this what you plan to do back in the States?” You brush a gentle finger over the drawing’s finer details.

He blushes and shakes his head, “I’m going back to my tiny hometown to see my family. Where I go from there, I don’t know.”

“You have a real talent here, Gale! You should explore this.” You hand the drawing back to him.

His plush lips part like he wants to respond, but you’re interrupted. The sweet little girl taps your shoulder, her tiny hand covered in freckles. She introduces herself as Niamh, and asks if you’re some kind of fairy. You frown, confused, but hear Gale chuckle behind you.

“She absolutely is, Miss Niamh.” When you turn your head to look at him, he winks. You look back at Niamh and smile.

“He’s right, I am a fairy! And I have a gift for you, little one.” You pull out one of the many pins in your hair, a bejewelled butterfly on the end. You hold it out to her; she seems hesitant to take it.

Niamh looks back at her dad who nods in her direction. She takes the pin and gives it a little kiss, “I promise, I’ll take care of it.” She runs back to her dad, giggling.

“I gotta go soon,” Gale’s voice draws you back to your previous conversation. “It’s almost lunchtime, but I wanted to ask.” He closes his sketchbook and faces you head on. “You ever been to a party?”

You had assumed when Gale asked you about a party there would be drinking and music, but nothing to this level.

The small parlour is packed to the brim with warm bodies and free-flowing drinks. Gale is up on a makeshift stage dancing with a cat in one arm and Niamh on the other. You remember his two brunet friends from yesterday and search for their faces, hopefully one of them will remember you.

One is preparing to arm wrestle a big bald man while the other claps him on the shoulder for support. A pregnant woman stands behind them, arms folded and a big grin on her face. You make your way through everyone, feeling very overdressed. By the time you reach them, the arm wrestling match is done and everyone cheers for “Curt”. By the big smile on his face, you assume Curt is one of Gale’s friends.

You can’t quite find a way to interject yourself into the celebrations so you find yourself leaning against the wall awkwardly. Gale finally notices you and tries to wave, only he has no hands free. So he quickly gestures to his friends.

“Hey!” The taller brunet shouts, holding his arms out for a hug. You shake your head, not quite there in your acquaintanceship with him. Instead the pregnant woman wraps her arms around him instead. “You’re the dame who Buck can’t stop talking about.”

“Buck?” You look over his shoulder at Gale whose attention is divided between you and Niamh. “Oh Gale!” Your face heats up, “I hope he’s been kind.”

Curt butts in, “Darling you’ve got nothing to worry about, the man is already picking out a ring for ya.”

The tall brunet holds his hand out to shake yours, introducing himself as John, “But my friends call me Bucky.” He also introduces the woman under his arm as Angel. She gives you her real name but says she prefers the nickname.

Curt gives you an official introduction, and Gale peels himself away from Niamh and the cat long enough to come join you all.

“I’m glad to see you here, sweetheart.” Gale smiles and wraps an arm around your shoulder. You lose yourself in his eyes again.

“Glad to be here.” Your voice is breathy, but for once you’re saying what you truly mean.

The night is long and restless, you drink and you dance and you laugh and you dream. This is the life you’d sorely missed, friends, fun, and blossoming love.

The night winds down, Curt has passed out on a bench near the makeshift stage. There’s only one fiddle player left, the rest of his musician family gone to bed. Niamh is asleep in her dad’s arms while her mother dances around them.

Bucky and Angel dance together, looking more in love than anyone you’ve ever seen. He whispers sweet nothings in a low tone just to see her blush. Gale clears his throat next to you and you snap your eyes towards him. He holds his large hand out, inviting you to dance. As you join him, slow dancing next to your new friends, you wonder. Maybe you can learn to love Gale like Angel loves her Bucky.

It’s late when you return to your room. A familiar face greets you. Cal sits on his reading chair with a whiskey in one hand and your massive blue diamond necklace in the other.

“Where were you?” He doesn’t look at you, only the necklace.

“Out.”

“And what, precisely, does that mean?”

“I… was with friends.” 

“Is that why you smell like a brewery?”

You roll your eyes, but choose just the wrong time to do as his eyes shift to you.

His voice is dark and angry, and your palms begin to sweat. “You are my fiance, and you are to be my wife. You will wear this gift at all times and you will not leave my side without my express permission. In fact, I’ve come to an agreement with your mother.” He stands, looming over you. “You will stay in this room and share this bed with me.”

Your eyes widen, “That would be inappropriate, we’re unmarried.”

“You are still mine.” He clasps the necklace around your throat once more.

[nothing-to-say-okay]

And Your Bird Can Sing - The Thesis

Tell me that you got everything you want and your bird can sing, but you don’t get me

Caught up in thinking about this song that we have conflicting reports and opinions on what it’s actually about and ready to present my thoughts.

TLDR: And Your Bird Can Sing is about a cycle of torment (or cycle of abuse, but I prefer to be careful with usage of that word for various obvious reasons).

Disclaimer: It is not my intention for my take to be seen as the ultimate reading, you can agree or disagree and I will be happy to discuss!

WARNING: THIS IS GONNA BE LONG!

INSPIRATION

First person to claim they served as an inspiration for this piece is Marianne Faithful in her relationship to Mick Jagger (sorry Marianne, the song can’t be inspired by you, you and Mick weren’t even together when it was written - AYBCS was recorded in April 1966 and written probably earlier, Marianne and Mick got together in November 1966. That does not mean that she cannot identify with something in it though).

Then we have Cynthia who said it’s about a golden bird cage that she says she gifted to John and while this seems a bit absurd as Cynthia does not appear to match the person addressed in the song, I wouldn’t be quick to disregard her as a partial inspiration for this song. I will talk about it later when applying a plausible autobiographical reading.

There’s also a theory that it’s actually inspired by an interview with Frank Sinatra and his criticism of The Beatles. We know that there was some sort of a rivalry going on between him and the band, a representation of a generational clash between the old world and the new. I actually like this interpretation and as Paul once said, “most of our songs start as a newspaper article”. I do think that this news piece probably inspired some lines and in a way, it is also about that - you can actually view the lyrics that way - remember that a song can be about multiple things at once. But I don’t think this is the ultimate reading.

More under the cut.

THE LYRICS

First of all, let’s forget all about the supposed inspiration and take a look at who’s who in these lyrics.

We have what looks like three characters in the song: the narrator, the ‘you’ that’s being addressed and a bird that seems to belong to the ‘you’.

Over the course of the song, the character of the narrator is chastising the ‘you’ character for manifesting several unflattering character traits akin to narcissism and not understanding them.

The ‘you’ person is:

materialistic (prized possessions, got everything they want) 

sort of know-it-all (they claim to have seen seven wonders and heard every sound there is)

yet they don’t get the narrator (to “not get” can either mean “not possess” or “not understand”, I assume it’s supposed to be both)

don’t see them and don’t hear them (therefore they don’t understand them or completely miss them and their point). 

Now, let’s take a look at the ‘bird’ character that belongs to the ‘you’ (I assume that I don’t have to remind Beatles fans that ‘bird’ can be synonymous to ‘woman’).

The bird:

can sing (which could mean this person is literally a singer or they are capable in doing something else, anything they are supposed to do), important takeaway - it makes noise that can be heard

is green (green is usually synonymous with jealous/envious or alternatively inexperienced, although I don’t think the latter makes sense for this song in particular. It can also be something else as ‘green bird’ is a recurring character in the lennon/mccartney-verse - hello, chica ferdi/Sun King), important takeaway - by being colored green the bird makes a visual impression that can be seen

can swing (the most puzzling part, I saw people interpret this in connection to the swinging London in the 60s and maybe), important takeaway - the bird can move independently to its ‘you’ """"owner""""

Now, I’m going to propose something a bit out there. The bird and the narrator could be (but also don’t have to be at the same time) interpreted as the same person.

Considering the important takeaways from the ‘bird’ character section:

your bird can sing (you can’t hear me)

your bird is green (you can’t see me)

your bird can swing (you don’t get/own me)

The narrator further complains:

When your prized posessions

Start to weigh you down

Look in my direction

I’ll be ‘round, I’ll be ‘round

The narrator worries that the ‘you’ prefers money/material things over them (and their spiritual experiences). But once they decide that the narrator means more than the prized possessions, they can come around. The narrator will be waiting.

When your bird is broken

Will it bring you down

You may be awoken

I’ll be ‘round, I’ll be ‘round

This gets a bit dark, I must admit, but it reads to me like the narrator is imposing some emotional manipulation here (either they are straight up threatening with self-harm or not so subtly reminding to the ‘you’ that their mental well-being is dependent on them and if they won’t clean up their behavior and wake up, shit will go down, yet the narrator doesn’t intend to leave). But the narrator is also doubtful that the ‘you’ will care - will it [even] bring you down?

This song is thematically very reminiscent of two particular songs on the preceding album Rubber Soul:

Girl - where the narrator also describes a person with narcissistic traits that they cannot leave and Nowhere Man (he’s as blind as he can be/can you see me at all?) about two lost characters who don’t understand each other. And Your Bird Can Sing is like these two songs were combined together but the stakes are higher.

AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL READING

First of all, I want to say that not every song has to be based on the author’s life. And if it is, maybe it’s a metaphor or an exaggeration due to poetic license. That said, let’s take a look at two likely subjects in John Lennon’s life and his relationship to them that could have inspired him to write this because I think it’s easier to understand the song that way. Also if you are uncomfortable discussing real life relationships in this way, I guess it's time to quit reading now.

CYNTHIA

Yes, Cynthia herself suggested that this song is about her. But how could that be? It doesn’t seem like her to be chasing prized possessions and ignoring John in the process and I don’t get the vibe that she would be emotionally manipulative like that though of course, we don’t know the reality. And I doubt she would have claimed to see “seven wonders”, even if it is a hyperbole.

What I think is more likely is that if Cynthia, in her relationship to John, is someone in this song, it’s the bird trapped in her golden cage (that she literally gave him or… he metaphorically gave her in some way?) and John is the ‘you’ who treats her poorly as well as he is the narrator. He is chastising himself for how he treats her. He knows he hurts her. He understands that she’s her own person who is strong and can do her own thing without him (sing, swing). And he doesn’t like it. He understands that he will break her if they will go on like this (when your bird is broken, will it bring you down?).

For this interpretation to be true, it requires a great deal of self awareness but also inability and/or lack of willingness to change and put his words into action. In my opinion, that tracks perfectly with what he said about himself in the interviews over the time. It’s cruel but also kind of soul crushing and difficult to live with, if he felt guilty about the situation at all (I want to say he probably did).

Cynthia is kind of a satisfactory answer for the second character casting in this song, although I don’t think this is all there is to it. And the second subject that likely had influence on this song is…

PAUL

Unpredictably. Now, I feel like I will get stormed by both skeptics (not every song has to be about Paul!) and Paul fans (he wouldn’t treat John like this!) for what I’m insinuating here. But give me a chance to explain.

Well first of all, John is the POV, feelings are subjective and the narrator, real or fictional, is not always reliable. It might as well be that the harm that is being inflicted on John is only perceived that way by himself because of his own issues which I won’t be getting into here. But also maybe not? Or not fully (something about the intent).

That said, the narcissistic traits described in the lyrics of both this song and the song Girl match up with traits John would later ascribe to Paul and explain John’s own Jealous Guy (green guy, hah) sort of behavior. It is not far-fetched to me to hypothetically assume this is how he could feel about him. Give it a couple years of bottled up hurt, some sort of a ‘final straw’ kind of action (not only leaving the Beatles but John flipping about Paul buying the prized possessions Northern Songs shares to "one up" him, something happening in India or whatever), a questionable primal scream therapy or whatever else went down and you might as well get resentful 70s Lennon.

If this is indeed about Paul, then I think John sees himself as the narrator and the bird. Paul is the ‘you’ in that case, just to be clear.

One more thing I want to propose as a part of their lyrical dialogue, let’s say, is the connection to another Rubber Soul special, I’m Looking Through You, a song largely recognized as a piece depicting a quarrel between Paul himself and his girlfriend, Jane Asher. I am not disputing that at all (as well as I’m not disputing Cynthia being an inspiration for this song), but a song can be about more things at the same time (let’s say, in this case, Paul’s general attitude towards people he loves but who in his opinion also mistreat him).

I’m looking through you, where did you go?

You can’t see me

I thought I knew you, what did I know?

You don’t get me

Your lips are moving, I cannot hear

You can’t hear me

Funny how that works, eh? And then you have this.

You’re thinking of me the same old way,

You were above me but not today,

The only difference is you’re down there,

I’m looking through you and you’re nowhere

Because he's a real nowhere man, sitting in his nowhere land.

(And I’m Looking Through You is also about perceived harm - why did you not treat me right? - caused by the subject of the song, it’s a cycle of… miscommunication and vindication, I hurt you, you hurt me, you won’t be above me, i won’t give you the pleasure, I won’t resign myself to you). It’s like a game of pride. Who’s going to give in first? Who will be the first one to be broken (or break the cycle)?

I also think it’s interesting, assuming I got things correct, to contrast how John views Paul and Cynthia as different characters in his inner world/the song, Paul views John and Jane as the same character.

IT'S ABOUT BOTH...

…and that’s the crux of my thesis. The song is, in my opinion, about both John’s relationship with Cynthia and with Paul. But whereas in his relationship to Cynthia, John sees himself as the tormentor but he also doesn’t want to let her go, in his relationship to Paul he sees himself as the person who’s being harmed but cannot make himself leave. (There’s three characters in this play after all). And my interpretation of Girl is similar, although it’s thematically a bit different as it concerns torment and desire (Girl is how John sees Paul but Girl is also a part of John’s personality who mistreats people).

(There’s also a part of me who believes that John on some level wanted his dream girl to treat him like that due to his self-deprecating turn on connected to oedipus' complex and him sort of fancying being a tortured artist but that would also make for a separate post).

Pain will lead to pleasure.

It’s a vicious cycle that repeats itself not only vertically within John and Paul’s relationship (and to them from their parental figures’ mistreatment). But also horizontally as it spreads from them to their respective partners (or rather from John to Cynthia - from his own POV, we don’t know much about Paul’s relationship with Jane and I am not insinuating he abused her!!! but if I’m Looking Through You is about her as well, he was looking through her, just like he was looking through John - he was ignoring them in a way - passive aggressive way - to feel in control - rather than facing the issue head on) and perhaps others (enter annoyed George). (I also think ILTY is meant to mirror Paul’s behavior with a behavior of his father Jim towards himself when he was younger based on the information available where Jim would be the emotionally unavailable character that also doesn’t treat Paul right - love has a nasty habit of disappearing overnight).

I want to also go back to the theory about Frank Sinatra as a representative of the old generation and generational abuse inflicted by parents on their children because I do think ultimately think the song is about that too. We are at the cusp of summer of love and the new generation that the Beatles represented is about to start a revolution - a fight for liberty of all kinds and freeing themselves of the old established rules. I already mentioned John’s abandonment issues but maybe he’s also being more general? Maybe he feels like the old conservative world is hurting him (and other young people) for whatever reason.

BUT WHAT ABOUT THE GIGGLING TAKE?

You know, fair question… The easiest explanation is that they just got high and forgot about their problems for a moment, it was not all dire (just like it wasn’t between John and Cynthia) - to paraphrase John, sometimes it was fun and sometimes it was not.

Maybe the autobiographical reading is not as biographical as we are lead to believe. Or it’s highly dramatized. Maybe it has nothing to do with real life J&P, really. Maybe they are just projecting their struggles with their girlfriends on each other in their made up fantasy world. I mean, who knows? Plausible explanations are many. It is not my goal to give an interpretation of their relationship as my take on the lyrics applies to many possibilities, in my opinion. Though I think it's meant to be connected like I suggested.

THAT'S ALL FOLKS

What do you think? And have you ever noticed something about Revolver and cycles?

[gaslysainz]

Lost (PG10) pt.2

Summary: The world is utterly unfair. He was her most prized possession, her life, her first ever commitment of love. But to him, she was just a mere person lost in his big world.

warnings: ; unrequited feelings; Pierre is a douche , arrange marriage, angst, explicit scenes and languages.

Author's Note~ Heya guys! So a few days back I posted the first chapter of my first ever fanfic! And I'm overwhelmed by the response ❤️ Really Thanks a lot to everyone who had liked the story so far. It's just the beginning of the journey, there's a lot to come. Love You All 😘 Here's my first ever story for you guys. As soon as I finish this one, I'll start taking requests maybe! Till then please show your love and support for "LOST".

Journal Entry -2

A new episode and a new day of my life. Never in my 24 years of life have I ever thought that I would have to come across this day. This awful day when i would have to sit through a whole day in my room crying my eyes out and coming out of my room only when i'm called for causes like "Julia needs a glass of water, you need to clean Julia's dress, Julia accidentally dropped food on the floor, clean up the mess" so on and so forth. Today was the day when I had to look at the most heart wrenching thing ever...

So here's what happened 

*FLASHBACK*

I was reading a book in my room and suddenly someone knocked at my door. I opened the door and came across Pierre!

"H-hey! you need something?"

I noticed him looking inside my room at our wedding picture hanging on the wall right above my head. Obviously he'd be curious about my room cause he's never been inside my room before. I actually felt a little awkward so i cleared my throat to get his attention.

"Uh! yea actually Julia was having a headache, go and make some soup or something and bring it up to my room  along with some medicine!" There was that tone! Full of despise for me.

"Sure" By saying that i went down to the kitchen to make some soup for her.

That's what my job in this house is after all, looking after the house and the people in it. Oh! Did I mention? We do not have any maids. Cause apparently according to my husband's mistress, I'm not any different than a maid so why waste money on hiring one? Anyways, after making the soup and being satisfied with it I went towards Pierre's room and stopped once I saw something that no married or committed person should ever see. My husband was on top of my sister thrusting deep inside her and them moaning out each other's name. 

You must be thinking that what am i so shaken up about? I should've been used to this by now, Well this is the first time i'm seeing them doing it in front of my eyes. Yes i admit it that i've heard them before but seeing it live, right in front of me is a whiplash of a whole lot of negative thoughts. And what did I do in that situation? Nothing! I just closed the door silently, kept the soup and the medicine outside the room and came back to my room and cried my eyes out! Why did they have to keep the door opened? Did my husband really become so heartless? Did he really want me to see that I can never get his love? Did he really have literally shove it in my face that he belongs completely and soulfully to his mistress and I can never take her place?

Oh! and the agony! My Step sister saw me standing outside the room and smirked!

Yes she had the audacity to smirk at me....

*FLASHBACK ENDS*

I know i'm young and naive. My sister is 27 and i'm 24 years old. She's more mature than I am, sexier, prettier, and more perfect , with an hourglass figure, amazing style. But all that, with a nasty heart it seems. She can easily go out wearing anything and everything that she wants whereas I tend to gravitate towards PJ's, hoodies and oversized clothes. The only time I wear dresses are at the parties that I attend with my husband. But still, he never looks at me the same way he looks at her. She is definitely Pierre's s absolute match in all spheres. And here I am, stupid little girl crying my eyes out inside my room cause my husband is making love to my step sister. 

I, Mrs. Y/n Gasly is once again LOST!

LOST in my sister's PERFECTION!

PS - Please lemme know what do you think about LOST and also let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list ❤️

@peachiicherries @crimeshowjunkie

@oblomovissad ❤️

[steddieas-shegoes]

My sister really came through for a birthday gift yesterday.

Years ago (like when I was a wee high school child) I had a used copy of Pride & Prejudice that had this insanely romantic note from a husband to a wife that I found at a yard sale. Because I’m literally the most disgusting romantic ever I couldn’t NOT buy it.

And somehow in my move to DCP and then back home, a chaotic unplanned pregnancy turned single motherhood, it was LOST.

I think about that book NO JOKE every fucking day. I have for YEARS.

And I always look for a copy in used bookstores when I go, but I haven’t ever found one that compares. Like, not even close. I found one I bought just to have because I missed having a copy, but it wasn’t the same.

So my sister found a guy who was selling an Easton Press copy that once belonged to someone either named Brian James or David James from the 1970s. She had my initials imprinted on the back cover. It’s an illustrated version of the book, which makes me feral!!!!

She isn’t a book person, so my person’s roommate helped her out a little with the search, but the fact that she knows I’ve been spending years YEARNING FOR A COPY OF THIS BOOK HALF AS NICE AS THIS!!!!

I’m just still in awe of it. It’s like my third most prized possession now.

[missazura]

i am really sorry to hear that :( by inviting your family members i also meant that if their presence makes her less likely to lash out, that could be for the better, although i imagine a lot of them aren't pleasant to deal with as well.

one day, my dad threw a huge fight, and i threatened to leave. i started gathering my things and i stayed the evening with some random person. since then, there had been less of that. maybe it's terrible of me, but i know he has a weak place that i can press on if needed. it sounds like she really wants you to be by her side at all times. maybe she as well has a weak spot. i am not suggesting you do anything that will endanger you futher, please be careful. but you might also find something you can use against her. if it's possible to file a police report, that's good too, even if you can only use it as a last resort, it's still nice to have an option.

- 🪐

honestly I don't think you did bad. there's only so many times any of us could be patient with that sort of treatment, I know if I have to sit with her and not leave the scene the fight will escalate, so I usually walk away before that happens and shut myself in my room. and you'd be right about that too, about how she wants me around.

after my parents died and she "took me in", she made me promise that I'd be by her side always and take care of her. I was literally 17 at the time and was at my most vulnerable. i wasn't allowed to have friends nor continue my studies. when I did I was 5 years late and I still remember vividly how much she hated the idea that I have a life of my own through a fight with my aunt in our bedroom.

she would tell me how my dad's last words to her was (and this is debatable it even happened since she's a chronic liar) that he "gifted" me and my sister as prized possessions to my grandma. like belongings. objects that she inherited. therefore she was "allowed" to do anything she pleases to us. my sister, bc of the age gap was still in school so she was a lot more distant with grandma and earned her wrath more often bc she was a rebel. I was the obedient one. I did everything she wanted. she made sure that I know my place as an orphan, reminds me of it often. which lead me to overwork myself to pay back my existence as a burden upon her. I stayed at home and had no friends. I even used the little money I got from my mom's insurance for our daily living when she got an allowance from my aunt for that reason and kept it to herself for a decade.

I thought I had her love. she merely groomed and used me. when I get out of line she would threaten suicide on me, still does.

so you can imagine how frustrated she is when I grew up in my mid 20s with my own education and then career. nowadays? we fight a lot. she's getting older, so everyone pities her more and tell ME to cut her some slack. "your grandma has dementia, we don't know how much longer she'll stay alive." i'd be gaslit into thinking that I'm the one who's being cruel to her and it's really eating me up inside.

[bougainvillea-and-saltwater]

anger, shaved ice, sun, seedling, milky way, baby bottle, red heart for darling Jia!

I'm sorry for only giving the names, I am literally so bad at searching for emojis :))))

Thank you so much for asking, dearest! 🥰 (If someone's interested in the ask game is this one!)

💢 ANGER - what are some habits they have that will take some getting used to?

I think the thing Jia does, and it may get annoying for others, is some obsessive-compulsive rituals that she has, concerning her personal belongings (poor Lydia and Gregor, who live with her in Heljarchen Hall, are doomed to get along with those). For example, she needs her books positioned on her bookshelves strictly by height; she needs her ingredients placed in specific jars and satchels depending on their properties, not to mention her enchanting tower in which she keeps her soul gems on her shelves in a distinct ranking from left to right (from petty to grand soul gems). She is rather hot-tempered and impatient in general, but when someone messes with how she sets her things down and her OCD, she gets genuinely anxious and nervous about it. 

🍧 SHAVED ICE - do they still have any objects from their childhood? what significance does it have to them? what would their reaction be if they lost it?

Jia's most prized possession from her childhood is a woolen blanket that has a growing crescent as a golden and silver-stitched embroidery. This blanket was sewn by Jia's mother when she was pregnant with Jia, and its needlework is not at all random. The crescent is Miraak's and Jia's symbol, in which the sun is Jia while the moon is Miraak, and joined together, the growing crescent embodies the First and Last's union on Nirn. She carries this blanket all her life, and she doesn't give it to anyone as it's the only thing she has from her mother, so I can't even imagine how it would be if she'd lose it... 

🌱 SEEDLING - what is their most vivid memory from childhood?

I think the most vivid memory from her childhood is her training lessons with the twins and Aela, and later their hunting together (I will describe both of them in detail in the fic). Little Jia was not into the Nordic way of fighting; she preferred studying, cooking, and plucking alchemy ingredients, mixing them all in her cauldron, and practicing alchemy (I would even say that she inherited more of her father's interests than her mother's). So, Vilkas, Farkas, and Aela, as passionate Nordic warriors, practically forced her to train with them - and despite this being a complete nuisance for Jia, she ended up loving their sparring classes - Aela trained her with the bow and shield and was a very stern teacher with Jia's errors, while Vilkas and especially Farkas were way softer with her, and they trained her with the sword!  🌌 MILKY WAY - what was the inspiration behind your oc? what was the first thing you decided about them?

Oooh, good question, let me think... Well, Jia was born in my mind at the end of the previous February when I began playing Skyrim again, making a new LDB. And as I thoroughly customized my new character, I somehow made her look both like Nord and Imperial, so I went along with her mixed-blooded origins and started to slowly build her background. The name 'Jia' was inspired by a character in the series 'Euphoria' I used to watch back then, which had the name 'Gia', and it's actually quite close to my own name, hehe. The first first first things I decided about Jia were that she will be Miraak's soulmate and that she will have golden eyes.

🍼 BABY BOTTLE - what are their thoughts on children?

AH, EXCELLENT QUESTION! Jia loves children!!! She adores them with all her heart - their innocence, their jolliness, their inquisitiveness, everything about children makes her beam whole. She would definitely adopt if she was not a Dragonborn, but she has this constant fear that her perilous lifestyle full of enemies and dangers, will put her life or the child's at risk, and she doesn't want to do more harm than good to their soul. She does want to build her own family, and she does want to be a mother though... We shall see if she manages to achieve it someday! 🥰

❤️ RED HEART - their love language(s)?

Unfortunately, Jia isn't very good at expressing her feelings with words (you could say that she suffers from alexithymia), so her love language is mostly practical, offering small or bigger gifts to her close ones. BUT, in some circumstances, when the emotion overwhelms her, and she feels intimate enough, her love is shown through hugs (she is a huge hugger with the ones she holds dear, despite being quite wary of physical contact), and caresses, and she can be truly tender and loving to the person she gives affection to, whether this is Miraak or a friend or a family member!

[yamikawas]

I bet yoomtah is equally as or more possessive over you anyway, she'd love to hear you talk about it regardless

OK FIRST OF ALL THANKS FOR ENABLING THE IDEA OF YOOMTAH BEING POSSESSIVE OVER ME I FELT MY HEART RATE IMMEDIATELY SPEED UP AS SOON AS I READ THIS BUT ALSO WE'RE HERE TO HEAR ME BE POSSESSIVE OVER HER SO I CANT YELL ABT THAT RN

ANYWAYS SECOND OF ALL.

[capypub]

hi! could you do prompt 10 “call me selfish” with bruno :) could be with smut up to you !!

#10 “Call me selfish, but I don’t ever want anyone else to touch you.”

Rating: M (contains mature content, readers agree they are 18+ by continuing to read)

Bruno Madrigal was not a materialistic man. He needed very few things to be content and comfortable in his space. Perhaps it was from years of living in a confined hole in the wall or perhaps it was the deeply-ingrained mindset of putting everyone’s needs before his own for the sake of the Encanto, because he was gifted, because he was a Madrigal. 

The few valuable possessions he did have, he cherished for one reason or another. Everyone knew this about the prophet, especially when it came to his beloved wife. She was his most prized possession in a way, a testimony to the saying that “good things come to those who wait,” in the form of his happiness when he’s with her. Bruno was not one to consider his wife as an object which literally belonged to him, but rather a source of strength that balances parts of him in a way that he hopes he helps balance parts of her. For example, no one knew that under the mild-mannered, unassuming, socially awkward exterior of Bruno thrummed a passion and intensity that others would find shocking. Bruno was shocked when it first came forward shortly after meeting his wife. Her presence alone brought out a fierce desire to protect and care for as well as a fiery passion that required frequent affection given and received. 

“Bruno, stop it,” she laughs, pushing his hands off her waist.

He snickers, ignoring her weak attempts at keeping his hands off of her. Gripping her hips, he lightly pulled her back until she leaned into his chest. Ducking his head, his mouth lingered along her neck, ghosting kisses along her skin. His second-day stubble scratched against her skin in a way that he knew excited her. 

“Bruno,” she attempts to warn again, but this time it comes out almost like a sigh as she leans more into him. 

“Mi conejita, so pretty, so sweet,” he murmured into the crook of her shoulder, his hands sliding forward across her abdomen until his arms locked around her torso, keeping her firmly pressed into him, groaning as he nuzzled the side of her head. 

“Bruno, really,” she giggles, recognizing his tone, “we’re about to leave, mi amor,” she adds softly, laying her hand over his. 

“I can’t help it, you’re addicting, I always want you,” he practically whines into her ear, his hands inching up towards her chest. 

“Later, amor, you’re mother will have both our heads if we’re late,” she insists, turning in his arms to face him, “plus I’m not going to be the one to explain to Mirabel why her uncle was late either,” she adds, leaning up to peck his lips.

She steps back as he huffs with a pout and an eye roll, unable to admit he would never forgive himself for missing a part of his favorite niece’s sixteenth birthday. They’d been working together for weeks to prepare him for the amount of people about to be drinking and dancing around him. Since his “return” he’s gotten better about socializing and interacting with people but crowds were still a challenge, especially rowdy ones. 

With another huff, he followed his wife downstairs. Most of the family has already gathered, greeting the early arrivals. Mirabel would be coming down any minute. Bruno went to make sure the camera was set up for the inevitable picture his mother would want of the family. 

“Something to calm your nerves?” she offered, coming up to him after collecting two glasses of wine.

“I don’t think drinking is going to help my nerves, amor,” he scoffs lightheartedly, but still accepts the glass. 

They mingle, well she mostly mingles and Bruno does his best to at least attempt to provide input to the various conversations they engaged in before the actual party began. Some groups he was more comfortable in than others and it showed by how much he spoke. 

As the evening progressed, the entire house, literally, was in awe of Mirabel, who looked stunning in her handmade dress, her hair done up with flowers complimentary of her sister and the lightest touch of make-up on her eyes and lips. Bruno felt a pang in his chest, remembering the little child who would toddle after him around the house while he tried to keep up with her sisters’ endless energy. Now a beautiful young woman stood before him, a bright and ambitious woman who would continue to do amazing things. 

“Dance with me?” his esposa asked softly later into the evening, when most of the food had been eaten and the band had gathered a crowd of dancers.

“You tempt me too easily, conejita,” he chuckles, but leads her towards the dancing mass of people. 

They stay towards the back edge of the crowd, moving fluidly together. Bruno was not as theatrical as his sister or as poised as his other sister, but he carried himself well. He held her close, keeping his head low to whisper his desires against the shell of her ear, sporadically nipping at her earlobe or kissing her neck. Having the creativity of an artist meant Bruno spun pros of passion so easily when directed towards his lover. She still swoons and blushes when he weaves naughty desires with intense declarations of love.

“I need you under me, amor, writhing in pleasure while I worship your body,” he growls, feeling how she tenses in his arms, shuddering afterwards. 

“Bruno, stop it,” she now whines at him, her tinted a faint pink, only growing more intense as he continued to whisper into her ear while the party carried on, oblivious to the storm of sexual tension building between the quiet couple. 

“Perdóneme,” a voice interrupted them, cutting Bruno off mid-sentence. 

They stopped swaying, turning to see a man, perhaps in his early thirties, standing in front of them. He offers his hand to his wife, nodding to Bruno briefly. She hesitates, obviously confused by this man. 

“May I steal the lady for a dance, señor Madrigal?” he asks, his warm smile showing off a row of sparkling teeth. 

“Oh,” she chirps, obviously surprised as she smiles politely, but remains still. 

“My wife,” Bruno emphasizes, moving his body so that she stood partially behind him, blocking half of her body from the man’s view, “is actually not feeling very well, I was just about to take her upstairs to rest,” he says, his tone cool and collected, but she knew him well enough to notice the tension in his shoulders and the slight grit in his jaw. 

“Ah, of course, my apologies,” the man nods, deflating at the refusal, “I wish you a fast recovery, señora,” he adds respectfully before walking away from them. 

He feels her looking at him before he sees it, already prepared for the slight scowl and questioning arched brow. Pulling him aside, they found a quiet hallway free of other guests where they could talk. She crossed her arms over her chest, smirking. He felt a small bit of relief knowing she wasn’t mad at him. 

“What was that about?” she finally asks after waiting for him to explain himself. 

He shrugs begrudgingly, dropping his gaze to the floor. “I just didn’t like the look of him,” he muttered, his hands slipping into his pockets as he slouched a bit into himself. 

“Bruno, he was nothing but respectful, what actually bothered you?” she asks with a chuckle, tugging him by his shirt sleeve closer.

They were both silent as she took a step back, pressing her shoulder blades into the wall and pulling him forward until his chest brushed the lace accents on her dress. She stared at him with wide eyes, a mischievous and almost cocky smirk contrasting the innocent gaze. Lifting his arms, he planted both palms flat on the wall on either side of her head, enclosing her space further. 

“You’ve never gotten jealous before,” she commented, toying with the top button on his shirt, undoing it and the one right below until a small patch of his dark chest hair poked past the fabric.

“Call me selfish, but I don’t ever want anyone else to touch you,” he growled, his gaze sharp and glowing faintly as he leaned in and traced a line with his tongue from her pulse to her earlobe, chuckling darkly when she exhales a shuttered breathe. 

“Bruno, don’t say such things, I can’t control myself when you talk like that,” she cooed before biting her lip seductively, batting her lashes and pushing her chest up and into his to emphasize her breasts. 

“Mi dulce conejita,” he sighs, brushing his nose along her temple, closing his eyes and dragging his hands down from her shoulders to her waist, nimbly gathering the fabric at her hip and slipping his hand underneath, caressing the soft, warm skin of her thigh. 

“You’re going to get us in trouble,” she teases, but continues to lean into his teasing caress. 

“Maybe you’re worth it,” he replied against her neck, biting more frequently now. 

“Ah,” she gasps when the hand that had been squeezing and rubbing her thigh slipped past the hem of her underwear, his long and nimble fingers rubbing at her clit. 

“Oh, you’re enjoying this,” he chuckled darkly, feeling her practically dripping, “does the risk turn you on, conejita, hm? The chance of getting caught so exposed with your husband’s hand under your skirt getting you excited? Que traviesa,” he smirked, adding more pressure to her clit as she whined into his shoulder. 

“Bruno, please,” she chokes out, her nails digging into his forearm as she grinds into his palm. 

“What is it, mi vida? Do you want to cum like this, on my hand? Let everyone in this house know you’re only mine to touch?” he thought aloud, doubling his efforts as her breath became more ragged. 

“I need…inside, ah, Bruno, please, please,” she gasps, eyes squeezed shut as she lightly ruts against his hand. 

“You want my fingers inside?” he asks, already knowing the answer, just wanting to see her get more worked up for him.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she’s practically sobbing as the intensity of her release grew and grew, “I need you, please Bruno, mi amor,” she whines.

“Such a good girl, asking so sweetly,” he said with a smirk, slipping his middle finger into her pulsing heat. 

“Oh, f-fuck…yes, yes, yes,” she begins to pant, her movements becoming more frantic as he slips in his index finger and begins stroking her walls, brushing that spot deep inside her that would bring her release. 

“Let go, amor, mierda, I could finish just by watching you come undone like this,” he groaned, rutting his crotch against her thigh as she trembled against him, eyes shut tight as her mouth opened partially in a silent gasp. 

          Bruno kissed her passionately when he recognized the telltale signs of her approaching end. She cried out against his mouth, her whole body jerking and shuddering as she came around his fingers, her legs wobbling slightly until he used his free hand to help support her. 

“Such a good girl,” he praises her, slowly removing his fingers from her heat, admiring the shiny slick coating his hand. 

“Only for you,” she purrs, bringing his hand to her mouth and sucking his fingers clean, slowly and seductively, her eyes never leaving his as she cleans his fingers thoroughly. 

“I married quite the temptress,” he groaned, pressing his aching length into her leg. 

“I’m sure they wouldn’t miss us if we got some air for a bit,” she suggested, toying with his belt buckle. 

“Definitely not,” he eagerly agreed, grabbing her hand and quickly leading her upstairs before anyone could notice. 

           Thankfully the band drowned out most of the noise in the house, the lull of the partygoers drowning out the passionate noises of a couple lost in the throes of desire, frantic and primal, their few minutes of air quickly turning into hours of wanton pleasure as the night turned to morning.

[alltooreid]

Clean

As Spencer struggles to overcome his dilaudid addiction, Y/N is dealing with an addiction of her own, to her toxic, manipulative boyfriend. This is an account of a full year, following their joint journeys to sobriety and new love.

A/N: Hi!! I have another Taylor Swift inspired Spencer Reid one shot (but of course you do not need to know the song to understand the one shot). Although originally I was going to write something more fluffy, I switched to this song to write something more angsty and interesting. However, to change pace from my last one shot, this one has a much happier, hopeful ending. However, it is very triggering so please read the trigger warnings before you start. Also, if you have any songs you want to read please let me know!! Also, if you just have a general request please send it my way! Thank you so much for the love on my All Too Well one shot, I never thought my first fanfic on here would be so well received!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Type: Angst, but hopeful angst

Word Count: 7.6K

Content Warnings: Cursing, mentally and physically abusive relationship, relationship cheating (ie, reader is being cheated on), blood and cuts description, drug addiction (these parts are kept short purposefully), lots of fighting and yelling both in reader’s relationship and between Spencer and reader, however, there is a happy and hopeful ending. Reader is struggling to get out of her toxic relationship, please no comments about her being stupid. If you are in a situation like Y/N, please don’t use this fic as a guide. Get help immediately. https://www.thehotline.org/

Things to Know: Italics and bold are flashback moments, the time and date headers serve as time skips :) let me know what you think! Please request any songs you would like to see be made one shots!

“You're still all over me Like a wine-stained dress I can't wear anymore Hung my head as I lost the war And the sky turned black like a perfect storm”

3:27 AM, April 16th, 2007.

You have known Spencer for a long time. In fact, you’ve known him longer than you’ve known Randall, and you’ve felt like you’ve known Randall your entire life.

Maybe that’s because you let him become your entire life.

Still, although you had known Spencer for 7 years, 2 years longer than the entirety of your on again, off again relationship with Randall. You still felt weird calling him. He was going through a lot right now, not that he wasn’t normally. Spencer had one of the most difficult jobs you could think of. You know Spencer has shot and killed people before, and you know every time he did it ate him up inside.

And every time he did he called you.

You also knew that Spencer is one of the kindest people you have ever met, you struggle to imagine him wielding a gun on a daily basis. He just seems too sweet, too perfect.

Yet there was a lot you didn’t know about the young genius.

You have no idea that as you stand in the street, contemplating whether you should call Spencer to come and get you, Spencer is making a difficult decision of his own. As you worry about the possibility of waking Spencer up this early in the morning, Spencer sits wide awake and ponders if he has enough time to get high before he has to leave for work in 3 hours.

As you sit on the side of the road, debating between your very few options, Spencer leads up against the side of his bathtub tears pouring down his cheeks, tears that he doesn’t even register as being there.

Fortunately for the both of you, at the same time Spencer reaches into his bag to search for that tiny glass bottle, his phone begins to ring.

“Y/N? Are you okay?”

You sigh, “He kicked me out again Spencer, is there anyway you can come get me?”

Spencer looks around his apartment, frantically hiding the belt and the needles he had gotten out for the events he was anticipating. “Yeah, of course I can come get you, um, just give me a couple minutes and send me your location.”

3:52 AM, April 16th, 2007.

You’re in the passenger’s seat of Spencer’s car, both of you sitting in silence. This situation isn’t new to either of you, Spencer has picked you up plenty of times before, in fact he’s done it for years now. One time, about 3 years into your relationship with Randall, you were permitted to go out by yourself with Spencer’s team, they wanted to meet you, apparently Spencer talked about you all the time. While you were at dinner with them, Morgan asked you if you had a car of your own. You explained that you did, but that your boyfriend had it a majority of the time, and that when he didn’t he hated you using it because you always had to mess with everything. He hates you touching his stuff. Morgan made a weird face about that answer, so you quickly followed up, explaining that you didn’t mind.

You do mind though. You hate how he never lets you touch anything or go anywhere, and you hate how much he despises your only form of transportation.

Spencer.

Randall hates everything about Spencer Reid, and he especially hates seeing his car pull into your driveway. That’s why after the 8th time he kicked you out, you started walking half a mile to the nearest gas station before calling Spencer.

The first time Spencer came to get you Randall came out to talk to you before you left.

“What are you doing? Who is this?”

“It’s Spencer, he’s gonna take me to his apartment.” you explained, confused why Randall was so angry you were leaving when he was the one who had kicked you out.

“Oh so just because I don’t want to look at your bitchass all night that means you can go sleep with another man? I knew you were a whore Y/N. You know him and his stupid fucking car aren’t going to be able to deal with you the way I can. How old is that thing anyway?”

“Randall, calm down, I’m not sleeping with Spencer. I love you, I don’t want to sleep with anyone else. But I’m not gonna sit out here all night, where else should I go?”

“Well maybe if you weren’t so quick to whore yourself out to the easiest man you could find I would invite you back inside,” he said before slamming the door in your face.

So you got in Spencer’s car, the one Randall would grow to hate so much.

“Are you okay Y/N? He didn’t hit you did he? You know you can come live with me, you should really get out of that house, I can get Morgan tomorrow and we can go get your belongings. I have plenty of-”

You snapped at him, “No Spencer he’s not hitting me! Why do you always jump to that conclusion, Randall is a great guy! I would’ve never called you if you were going to jump to conclusions like this. You’re supposed to be a genius, yet you’re acting like such a dumb ass right now.”

Spencer looked at you, and immediately you regretted your words. You knew Spencer was just worried about you and with his line of work he had reason to be. However before you could apologize he spoke again.

“I’m sorry Y/N, forget I said anything.”

You both sat in silence for a few moments before you even knew what to say, and yet all you could think of was, “Hey Spence, what kind of car do you drive?”

He smiled, “It’s a 1965 Volvo Amazon P130 122S, it’s horizon blue, that’s the color they refer to it as. Did you know they’re known as so reliable that the 4 door models are still used as police vehicles in some places. This one’s a two door, but still runs great. . . “

You smiled, how fitting a man as reliable as Spencer Reid had the perfect car to match.

When you get to Spencer’s apartment something seems off. Spencer has always lived in organized chaos, but this just feels different. Unlike his normal mess, this one feels like a blatant disregard for his things, even some of his most prized possessions. His books are strewn across the floors, his clothes overflowing from his laundry basket, which was a mix of both folded, clean, yet to be put away things and worn items. Weirdly, the one place that looks untouched is his kitchen, as if he hasn’t used it in months. And you mean that in the most literal interpretation, his counters are covered in visible, undisturbed dust.

“Thank you so much Spencer, I don’t know what I would do without you.”

He smiles, but his eyes look so tired. “Don’t worry about it Y/N.”

And at 4:47, you finally fall asleep in Spencer’s bedroom, which he insists you take, and he stays awake until he leaves for work just a few hours later.

9:33 PM, April 17th, 2007.

You leave Spencer’s apartment the following night, after an unfortunate screaming match with him. You have never seen him so angry, so easily ticked off. Yet as soon as Randall called you Spencer became aggressive.

“Yeah babe, I’ll be home as soon as I can. I’ll take a cab and be home within the hour. Of course I’m not mad at you sweetheart, I know you didn’t mean it. I love you, see you soon.”

Spencer exitted his kitchen in a huff, and opened his mouth to start talking before you spoke up.

“I’m sure you’ve overheard already, but Randall’s letting me back in the house. Thank you so much Spence. I really appreciate everything you do to help me. Call me soon please, I definitely owe you lunch,” you said, grabbing your coat and your phone, the only things you had managed to grab from your home before your unplanned eviction.

“Why do you even stay with him Y/N? Why do you keep going back there?” Spencer yelled. You had never seen him like this before, so livid and irritable.

“I love him Spence, and he loves me,” you explained, and you were telling the truth. You do love Randall, and you know that in his heart he loves you too, even if he got a little angry sometimes.

“If he loved you he wouldn’t treat you like this Y/N! Don’t you think I would know? I see this everyday! It’s my job! And yet my best friend is too stupid to realize she’s been in an abusive relationship for almost 6 years!”

You were just as angry now, “You’re wrong Spencer, I don’t wanna hear this okay? I love Randall and he loves me. We deserve each other.”

Spencer’s face softened before growing angry once more, “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Fuck you Spencer, I’m going home. I don’t need you and I don't need your help,” you said, grabbing your things and slamming the door open. You were lying, you need Spencer and you need his help more than anything, but you didn’t want to admit that while he was being such a dick.

“Fine!” he yelled, “Go run back to him then, but you better not call me when he kicks you out again. I don’t care anymore!”

And so you left, Spencer slammed the door behind you as you stormed out of his apartment. You didn’t stop to think about the fact that Spencer never acts like this. He has never lashed out at you, never questioned your relationship with Randall to your face, let alone scream at you and insult you because of it. You didn’t stop and think about what Spencer was on, or not on, that was making his act like this.

But you thought about it now.

You want to get home before Randall starts to get upset and suspicious, but now after your fight with Spencer you have to walk home. You couldn’t ask him to borrow cash for a cab, let alone ask him to drive you there. You were stuck walking, which also meant you were stuck with Randall’s wrath when you returned.

You already feel terrible about the way you treated Spencer. You think about going to apologize, and stand in front of the door for a second, weighing the pros and cons of doing so. Eventually, you go to turn away, ultimately deciding that you both needed to calm down before speaking to each other again.

Yet as you turn, the door opens. Spencer stands right there, strangely calm, seemingly out of it. All fury and anger you had seen just minutes before gone. In this moment he resembles Randall, and it's the first time you’ve ever been able to draw any comparison to the two.

It’s scary.

“Spencer I-” but you get cut off, not by words, but by an object. Before you can even register what was just thrown in your face the door is closed again. You duck down to grab what was thrown.

Twenty dollars.

For the cab ride home.

1:34 AM, April 23rd, 2007.

You light the final candle on your dining room table, before stepping back to admire your work. Randall always came home so late from work, so you rarely ate dinner together. But today was your anniversary, so you stayed up late, prepared his favorite meal and set up all of your fancy dinnerware so that you could have a very late dinner together before he goes to bed and you go to work. He should be home any minute now.

Yet 3 hours later Randall is not back. You’re just about to cut your losses and call it a night, and start to clean up the melted down candles and cold steak dinner as you hear your front door open.

“Y/N! What are you doing still awake?”

“Do you know what day it is Randall? Because I do.”

He looks down at his watch, checks the time, and looks back up at you, “Well it is now 3:57 AM, meaning it is now Monday. Which is why I’m curious as to what you’re still doing up sweetheart, you have to be at work in 3 hours.” “There’s something special about THIS Monday Randall,” you sigh, you’re disappointed but not surprised, this has happened for the past 3 years.

“Do you have a project going on at work baby? You know I can’t keep track of all that crap, your job is so silly and easy to lose track of. You have to remind me of these things if you actually want me to care about them.”

“It’s our anniversary Randall.”

He stops, but instead of looking guilty or remorseful (like you secretly hoped), he gets livid, “No it’s not, are you stupid or something?”

“Randall, baby it’s okay, it’s not a big deal.”

“No! You stupid fucking bitch, are you trying to make me look bad, cooking this stupid fancy dinner and staying up late. Trying to lie and act like I forgot our five year anniversary?! Stop playing the victim Y/N. So tell me, are you lying to make me feel bad, or is your brain really that fucking empty?”

“It’s our six year anniversary,” you whisper.

“What did you just say?”

“I said I was just being stupid Randall. You’re right baby, I forgot the date of our anniversary.”

He snarls. “I don’t think so Y/N, I think, actually I know that not only are you stupid, but that you’re a liar. I know that you just want to make me look bad by preparing our anniversary dinner a week early. And you have to push it by claiming we’ve been together for six years. I know it’s five. I’m not stupid.”

“I’m sorry, babe,” you cry.

“NO YOU’RE NOT!” he yells, pushing his plate of steak and mashed potatoes, letting your parent’s wedding china shatter on the ground. You cry harder. “You’re a stupid, waste of my time Y/N. Five wasted years I’ve spent on you. Do you know why I do it, huh. Do you know why I stay with you when I could have one of the beautiful, rich, successful, truthful women I’m fucking?”

You shake your head.

“It’s because I feel pity for you. No other man would want you. I’m the only one that will ever love you. You know that right Y/N?” He picks up a piece of your hair, gently tucking it behind your ear. “Tell me that I’m the only one who will love you, you know it’s the truth right?” You nod your head. In a swift motion Randall turns, grabs a glass full of red wine and chucks it at the wall, narrowly avoiding your left ear.

“I WANT TO HEAR YOU SAY IT.”

“You’re the only one who will ever love me Randall,” you croak out in between sobs.

He closes the distance between you two once more, gripping your chin and jerking your face so that your eyes meant his. It hurts, and makes you cry more, but you don’t say anything.

“Don’t you know it sweetness,” he lets go, delivers a sharp slap to your check and grips your wrist. “Now clean your mess up, and then I think it’s best if you get out of the house for a little bit, don’t you agree?”

You nod quickly. He smiles.

“Good girl, now I would normally be worried about you going to hook up with that string bean you’re always all over, but according to the last time I went through your phone, he isn’t in your recent calls. Glad to know he’s finally done with your bullshit. I’m sure a nice long walk alone will do you good. You can think about what led you to lying tonight, and then maybe you can come back in time for our real anniversary.”

He slips upstairs, so you clean up the rest of the uneaten meal and the broken wine class, cutting up your hands severely in the process. You spend at least an hour in a futile attempt to get red wine stains off of your wallpaper, before grabbing your phone and purse and running out the door.

Even after what Randall says, you still think about calling Spencer. Your thumb hovers over the call button for a minute until you switch the contact, phoning your boss instead. You inform her you need a personal day, and that it’s a family emergency.

You check the time, 6:53. Spencer is almost definitely on his way to work right now. You want to call him so bad, but the things he said you ring through your mind. You can’t ask for his help anymore.

For the first time, you are truly on your own.

Until a familiar horizon blue Volvo pulls up next to the curb you’re sitting on, and Spencer Reid sticks his head out the window.

“Y/N? What are you doing here? Get it the car, come on I’ll drive you to work with me.”

Confused as you are, this is your best option right now. So you climb into the passenger seat of his car, refusing to make eye contact with him, instead looking at your bleeding hands. “Oh my god, Y/N. You’re bleeding. Did Randall do this to you? Why didn’t you call me?”

“No, Spencer, Randall didn’t do this to me. He dropped a wine glass and I helped him pick it up. Now just drive.” And he does, drive that is. But you can feel his stares, on your cut up hands, and you forming bruises. You can feel him profiling the signs of abuse on your body.

But more than that you hate that you can feel he’s upset with you. Upset because you didn’t call him. Does he not remember screaming at you not too?

He pulls into the parking lot, parks the car and finally turns to make eye contact with you. He has tears in his, “I really wish you would’ve called me Y/N. If it’s getting this bad I want you to stay with me.”

“Spencer am I going insane?”

“Of course not, what do you mean?” he looks so gentle, so kind and you’re so confused.

“Do you remember what day me and Randall started dating?”

“Yes, it was April 23rd, 2001. 6 years ago today actually. Is that why he did this to you? Does it have anything to do with that?”

“How can you remember that but not our screaming match a week ago?” you laughed, your hands burned now, there’s definitely glass in there, you swear you can feel the tiny little shards in your blood.

“What do you mean, Y/N? We didn’t scream at each other? I haven’t even seen you in weeks. How long has he been hitting you? Why didn’t you call me sooner?”

“Spencer, on the 16th you picked me up and took me back to your apartment because Randall kicked me out. On the evening of the 17th I went to leave because Randall told me I could come home. You said I was being abused and called me stupid for going back to him. When we fought about it I stormed out and you told me not to call you if he kicked me out again because you didn’t care anymore. That’s why I didn’t call you.”

You look up at Spencer, and nearly start crying yourself when you see his crumpled face. Tears are freely spilling down his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry Y/N. I don’t remember that,” he pushes his long hair out of his face, clearly frazzled, “I- I can’t believe I don’t remember that.”

Before you can say anything, Spencer pulls out his phone. “Hey Hotch, it’s me. I can’t come in today. I need to use a personal day. . . I’ll tell you later. Okay, thank you” He angrily pulls out of the parking lot, and you can tell he’s headed back to his apartment.

“Spencer it’s okay, I’m not upset with you.”

“No Y/N, it’s not okay. I said all those terrible things to you, of course you were scared to call me after them. The worst part is I was too high to even remember it all. I- I just can’t believe I helped him do this to you,” tears still freely flowing down his face.

“Spencer what are you talking about? I was with you all day, you weren’t high. You don’t even drink, how could you be high?”

He sighs, “do you remember when I was kidnapped by that unsub, Tobias Hankel? About 2 months ago?” You nod, encouraging him to continue. “Well, I told you about his multiple personalities, how one beat me to death and then Tobias resurrected me, how  I had to kill Tobias in order to survive, even though Tobias himself did nothing to me. Well when I was in the barn, Tobias would give me drugs, dilaudid, in order to cut the pain of his other personalities’ abuse. When I killed him, I took the drugs he had one him with me, and I can’t stop Y/N. It’s affecting my life, my work, and now it’s affecting you.” He parks his car in his apartment complex’s lot and turns to look at you. “Hotch has never said anything about it, so even though the team knows I have no reason to quit, I think I do now. Y/N, I think we need to get clean together.”

Suddenly that night made sense, Spencer was irritable and strange, he wasn’t high, he was going through withdrawal. But when he threw the money at you, so loopy and out of it, he was on it. He was so high he didn’t remember the moments before.

“Spencer, I don't know what to say. I want to help you get sober, I want that more than anything, but I’m not addicted to drugs, I rarely even drink.”

“I know Y/N, you don’t have a drug problem like me, but you are an addict. You need to leave Randall. You know it, I know it, but you can’t.” You open your mouth to defend yourself, but Spencer continues to speak, “It’s okay, I understand why. But we both need to quit, and I think it’s best if we do it together.”

“Well how are we supposed to do that,” you whisper.

“Come on, let’s get started,” you and Spencer exit his car, he loops your hands together, leading you up to his apartment. When you get there, he digs through his messenger bag and grabs a couple of tiny glass bottles and a syringe. He throws them into his garbage can, and turns to look at you.

“Pull out your phone.”

“What? Why?”

“We’re going to block Randall’s number.”

You want to fight him on it, but you know he’s right. You need to leave Randall, and now’s as good of a time as any. Yet, you can’t forget the things he’s said to you. “I can’t Spencer, he’s my boyfriend, he loves me.”

“Y/N, please, please do this with me.” You shake your head, he sighs. “Okay, I get it, this is going to take time. Just, um, stay with me for a couple days. Please. We can go get your stuff tomorrow night.”

You think about rejecting Spencer’s offer, but you really don’t want to go back there. More than anything, you want to stay right here. You try to tell yourself it’s because you’re worried about Spencer, but deep down you know it’s more than that. So you nod, and Spencer wraps you in a hug, burying his head into your shoulder.

“Thank you, Y/N. Now let’s go get your hands wrapped up.”

9:21 PM, May 2nd, 2007.

You’ve been staying at Spencer’s for just over a week now. You haven’t seen Randall since your anniversary, and Spencer hasn’t taken dilaudid while you’ve been here. Things are going well. You’re watching a lot of bad reality TV, and Spencer has gone through about 7 packs of Gatorade, but you’re both doing okay.

Now you were just waiting for him to come back from his case in Idaho, you knew this one was pretty bad. They were searching for a woman in the middle of a huge forest, as she was being hunted and chased down. Spencer called you right before getting on the jet, and told you he would be home soon, so now you were just waiting for him.

While doing so however, you found something. A lump on Spencer’s side of the mattress. Under it, were two small glass bottles and a syringe. The same ones you had seen Spencer throw into the garbage days prior.

Now you need to talk to Spencer, so you sit on his couch, and wait for him to come home. When he comes through the door, he immediately sees you and smiles. “Y/N! I’ve missed you.” He hugs you, and for a second you forget why you’re even mad at him in the first place.

“Spencer, I need to talk to you. I found your bottles.” The mood in the room instantly shifts, but you don’t care, you need to get your words out. “You told me you were quitting, I watched you throw them away.”

He brushes his hairs through his hair, and begins to mess with his hands. “I am quitting Y/N, I haven't taken any, but. . .  I just need them to be there.”

“Spencer, please, throw them away. I’m trying to help you here.” Suddenly he grows very angry, and you can tell you said the wrong thing.

“Well I’m trying too. To me it seems the only one not trying is you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, you still haven’t blocked Randall, he still calls all the time! Why do I have to throw my addiction away if you can’t even do the same to yours?”

“That's not fair.”

“How so?” he yells. “How is it that you can’t block your abusive, no good piece of shit boyfriend but I have to throw away the things I enjoy? That doesn’t feel like trying to me.”

“I’m not addicted to Randall Spencer, I just love him. I don’t want or need to quit him.”

“Oh really? Then why are you even still here? Why haven’t you answered his calls? Or gone to see him? I think you know exactly why.”

And you do. You don’t want to go back there, but what Randall says is true. He is the only one who will love you, and you’re not ready to lose that yet. You’re not ready to cut off all contact with him.

“I can leave if that’s what you want Spencer.”

His face softened, “no, that’s not what I want. That’s the last thing I want.” He stops and thinks for a moment. “If you block Randall I’ll throw away my dilaudid.”

You ponder it, “Okay.”

He breaks into a wide smile. “Really? You’ll do it?”

You smile at him.

“Yeah, I promise. I’ll block Randall.”

6:56 PM, May 30th, 2007.

You did not block Randall.

Even after watching Spencer pour out his bottles, breaking up the glass and tossing it away for a second time, you couldn’t. Even after seeing him snap his syringes in half, and feeling him kiss your forehead, after seeing how happy and excited he was for your fresh start together, you just couldn’t do it.

Spencer thought you did, and it was easy to hide the truth from him. Randall hadn’t called since then, so you and Spencer continue to spend time together, last week you celebrated one month of sobriety. You got an ice cream cake and little, silly party hats and exchanged gifts.

And it made you feel like shit.

Spencer was so happy, so proud that you had both been clean for a month, but you still couldn’t decide if you wanted to be clean at all.

You still can’t decide if you should block Randall’s number.  

You try not to think about it, instead focusing the energy into making you and Spencer virgin pina coladas, he was currently out picking up burgers from your favorite restaurant. When he returns, you were going to watch one of your crappy reality TV reruns, and then an episode of Doctor Who. It was Spencer’s idea a couple days ago, and quickly it became a regular occurrence.

Faintly over the loud whir of the blender you can hear your phone ringing. You run  quickly to go grab it, just in case Spencer needed your help with something, but your heart drops when you see the caller ID. It’s Randall, trying once again to contact you.

Your thumb hovers over the accept button, but before you can make a decision, the call times out and sends Randall to voicemail. You let out a breath and set your phone down.

But then something possesses you, and you snatch your phone and dial Randall’s number. He picks up on the 3rd ring.

“Baby, oh my god baby is that really you?”

He sounds so excited to hear from you, how could you have stayed mad at him for so long?

“Yes baby, it’s me. I’m sorry I haven’t answered your calls at all. I’ve been busy.”

“Don’t worry sweetness, I’m so so sorry for the things I said to you, I need you to come home. You missed our anniversary you know? But it’s okay! We can celebrate now! I got you a really beautiful gift, one we can definitely experiment with tonight.” You could hear his smirk over the phone.

“I’m not sure if I’m ready to come back right now, maybe later baby, but not right now.”

You hear his breathing pick up, and tense. You can tell he’s getting agitated. He wasn’t expecting you to answer like that, you always come home as soon as he tells you you can come back. “What do you mean? You’re being ridiculous, I want to see my girlfriend. I’m sure you want to get off of the streets too, you’ve been squatting for over a month now.”

“I’m not squatting Randall, I’m living with Spencer.”

“What!?” he yells. “I thought I told you not to stay with him. I hate that guy, you know that.”

“Would you rather me be on the streets Randall? Spencer’s a great guy, and I want to stay here.”

“Frankly, yes I would. But don’t worry, you can still come home. Just send me the prick’s address and I’ll come pick you up. We can enjoy tonight together.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I’m not going to send you Spencer’s address. I’m staying here. I don’t want to see you anymore. Leave me alone Randall. I’m done.”

Before he could say anything, you hung up. As you did so you heard the front door open, and Spencer made his way to the bedroom.

“Hey! I got burgers! Ready to eat?” he looks down to see your phone still resting in your hand, stuck on the phone app. “Who were you talking to?”

“Just an old friend,” you say.

“Think you’ll be talking to them again anytime soon?” you can tell he knows, and you’re surprised he isn’t lashing out at you. You’re so used to how Randall reacts when you go against his wishes, Spencer’s calm, understanding presence is like a breath of fresh air.

“No, I think I’m ready to leave them behind,” you smile at each other. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen in a sec okay?”

He nods, and goes to set up the food and TV.

It takes you seven seconds to block Randall.

1:12 AM, June 10th, 2007.

You haven’t gone out with your coworkers in months, you forgot how good it feels to just be present with people. You didn’t even drink tonight, wanting to remember every second of this time out with friends. You were beaming when you unlocked the front door.

Yet your smile slips when you enter what had become you and Spencer’s shared bedroom.

He isn’t there.

You pull out your phone to call him when you hear a thud coming from the bathroom door. You hesitate, scared of what you know you’ll likely find. When you finally throw the door open you’re already teary eyed, and these sobs escalate as soon as you see Spencer, tipped over, lying on the bathroom floor, the needle still sticking out of his arm.

You’re sobbing as you rip it out, hastily undoing the belt wrapped around his upper forearm. He looks up, even in his groggy haze you can see the guilty look in his eyes when they made contact with yours.

“Y/N. . . I- I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me but I just couldn’t stop myself . . . I-”

“Shhh, It’s okay, just breathe,” you whisper through your tears. “It’s going to be okay Spencer, I’m here, and it’s going to be okay. I’m staying right here.” You pull his head into your lap, stroking your shaking hands through his hair.

His head begins to shake, and you can feel his tears on your dress. You rest your head on his, and for a few seconds you just sit there, crying together.

“You’re going to be okay Spencer.”

8:09 AM, June 11th, 2007.

Your head is buried in his chest, you need to be able to hear him breathe. You need to hear his heart beating. You need to be as close to him as possible right now. He stirs as he wakes up, and wraps his arms around you. 

“I’m so sorry Y/N.”

“Don’t apologize Spencer, this is a part of recovery okay? You’re still in recovery, just because you relapsed doesn’t mean we have to start over. You’re so much stronger than you were before. So much braver. So much better. You can do this.”

He smiles at you, “thank you, thank you so much.”

“Of course, now withdrawal is going to be even harder this time. I’m going to the store. We’re going to need plenty of Gatorade and water. We have to flush everything out of your system. Do you mind if I take your car to the store?”

He beams, even in his groggy state he manages to look so perfect, “You know my car is always yours to use Y/N.”

“I’ll be back soon okay? Don’t move a muscle,” you grab his keys and head out the door. And you really do mean it, you fully intend this to be the shortest grocery trip of your life. You’re terrified of leaving Spencer alone long enough to get high again, even though you spent all day yesterday searching for drugs and throwing anything you found in the garbage, taking it out the main apartment dumpster that night. 

You get to the store, grab everything you need, 3 packs of blue Gatorade, 6 cases of water bottles, and the store’s entire stock of Jell-O and rush back to Spencer’s car. You were only in the store for 17 minutes, the majority of which was just check-out time. You smile, thinking of how excited Spencer will be when he sees all the Jell-O in the fridge, but feel your stomach drop when you see a familiar face examining Spencer’s car.

Randall. 

Before you can decide what to do, he turns and sees you. 

“Y/N! I was expecting Spencer, but this is even sweeter. I knew I recognized this hunk of junk. Where have you been?”

“I’ve been around, I’m kind of on a tight schedule here. I really need to get going,” you say as you load up your groceries into Spencer’s trunk. 

“That’s a lot of Jell-O sweetheart, you hate Jell-O.” That’s not even true. You hate pudding, you love Jell-O.

As much as you wanted to yell at him for calling you sweetheart, you couldn’t deny that it felt good. You still missed him. Blocking him helped, but you still felt strong urges to call him sometimes. “It’s not for me, it’s for Spencer.”

“I thought I told you not to stay with him anymore.”

“What part of that conversation would make you think I would listen to you?” you say.

“You should always listen to me Y/N, I’m your boyfriend.”

“I haven’t seen you in months, we’re not dating anymore. I’m done.”

“You don’t mean that you’re just being irrational. Are you on your period? I bet that’s it. Come get breakfast with me. You probably just need chocolate, and the place down the block has incredible chocolate waffles.”

You open your mouth to reject him, but you can’t. Part of it is because you know if you do then he’ll follow you back to your apartment and the last thing you want is for him to know where you’re living right now. But the other part is much worse. A big part of you wants to let him try again. You can’t explain why, but you really want for him to redeem himself as your first love.

“Ok, you have 20 minutes, let’s go get breakfast.”

The walk there is silent and awkward. Randall grabs your hand, too tight for you to do anything about it, and keeps this grip until you sit down in your booth. 

You don’t get chocolate waffles. You really don’t even like chocolate all that much. Randall knows that, or at least you thought he did. Instead you get cinnamon french toast, and within minutes it’s at the table. 

“You know baby, Spencer doesn’t love you.” He says halfway through your french toast.

“We aren’t dating Randall.”

“Doesn’t matter, you’ve been with him in that apartment for a while now. I’m surprised he hasn’t given you the boot.”

You sit in silence, Randall takes this as a sign to continue. “We’ve been together for five years, sweetness. No one can love you the way I do. That’s just a fact. Spencer fucking Reid can not replace me, no one can replace me.”

“I hate that you’re right. I hate that I can’t breathe when I’m not with you Randall. I hate that you’re stuck to me. You’re this god awful stain on my life. I hate looking at it but no matter what I do I can’t wash it off.”

He smirks. “You’re not gonna get rid of me Y/N.” He pays the check, and gets up from the table. You go to get up too, but notice he didn’t tip your waitress, so you leave another five bucks on the table. 

When you get outside he grasps your shoulders. “I knew you would come around Y/N, I knew you would get it. Now come on, we can go collect your stuff from that prick’s apartment and get you home. I know exactly how you can make it up to me.”

You pause, “I don’t think so Randall. I’m not ready quite yet, but I promise I’ll call you.” You meant it, you had already unblocked him from your phone.

“Oh absolutely not, you’re going home with me now.”

“No I’m not.” As you were yelling at each other you notice a strangely familiar face standing nearby, just in ear shot. You can’t place him, but you know you’ve met before.

“Yes you are! We’re happy together and you’re coming to live with me again!”

“We don’t love each other, Randall! Not right now at least!” 

He’s livid, and once again you feel that scared, indescribable feeling in the pit of your stomach. “That’s not true! I’ll prove it to you.” He grabs your chin and pulls your face to his.

You feel as if water is filling your lungs, you’re drowning and no one is around to save you. Randall is physically stronger than you, you’re stuck in his grasp. It’s like you’re screaming and no one can hear you. 

And yet, this flood of emotions you’re feeling is the first time you realize something. 

You’re addicted to Randall.

You need to get out.

You need to get back to Spencer.

After what feels like minutes (but is actually about 3 seconds) of being unseen and vulnerable, you discover you’ve been protected the whole time. The man you can't place rips Randall off of you, “What’s wrong with you? Get off of her!”

It’s his voice that lets you place him. Derek Morgan, Spencer’s closest friend and coworker, punches Randall in the face. “Get out of here!”

“What the fuck is wrong with YOU? That’s my girlfriend! Sweetheart, tell him to leave us alone!”

They both turn and look at you, with tears in your eyes you look at Morgan and shake your head. “Please, get him to leave.”

And Morgan does just that, with a little yelling and a flash of his FBI badge, Randall is running for the hills.

“Come on baby girl, let’s get you back home. Did you walk here?”

You shake your head, “No, I drove Spencer’s car here.”

“Well, how bout I drive you home, and then afterwards I swing back and get Spencer’s car and drop it off?”

So you do just that. After profusely thanking Morgan, and him insisting that it was nothing, and also insisting to carry your groceries in from the car, you and Spencer are together once again. 

“I’m so sorry Spencer, I didn’t believe you before. I was going to go back to him. How could I be so stupid?”

“Don’t talk like that Y/N, you said it best yourself. Just because you relapse doesn’t mean you aren’t trying, and it most certainly doesn’t mean you’re stupid.”

“I think it’s time we get clean Spencer. Both of us, once and for all.”

“I think so too Y/N.”

He pulls you into a hug and in between sniffles you manage to choke out what you’ve been wanting to say since you got into Morgan’s car. “I love you.”

He looks at you, and the look in his eyes almost makes you cry out of pure joy. He looks so happy, as if he’s been waiting for you to say that for years. 

Maybe he has.

“I love you too.”

7:29 AM, April 16th, 2008.

You press your lips to Spencer’s, you know he has just woken up, but you know it’s a big day for him. 

You both have been sober for over ten months now. Today is the day of his first group meeting. He found Beltway Clean Cops recently, and has been so excited to go. You’re excited for him. You know how proud he is of you, and you want to show him in every way possible that you’re proud of him.

He opens his eyes and smiles up at you. “What did I deserve to get a wake up like that?”

“What kind of question is that? You’re incredible, and an incredible boyfriend deserves an incredible morning. Do you know what else he deserves?”

He hums and waits for the answer.

“An incredible breakfast! That’s why I made blueberry pancakes. Now hurry up and come eat. You should  leave soon if you want to make it to your meeting on time. Have I told you yet how incredibly proud I am of you?”

He smiles, “Only an average of 15.6 times a day since I told you I was going.”

“Well that’s not nearly enough, now come on, get up. It’s pancake time,” you say. “Oh, and Spencer?”

“Yes flower?”

“I’m so proud of you.”

He smiles, “I love you flower.”

“I love you more.”

You ate breakfast together and then forced Spencer out the door, making sure he had plenty of time to get to his meeting. You knew he would regret it if he was late. 

You weren’t going to lie to yourself, you still thought about Randall a lot. You still missed him. You still love him in a way. But now that you had Spencer, now that you were clean together, you would never risk going back to him. 

That day where you agreed to go to breakfast with him, Derek asked you if you wanted to press charges. You didn’t, you don’t regret that either.

You’re even more proud of yourself this way, because you know he’s still there, still accessible and available to you, and still didn’t run to him. You know that any trace of Randall in your future is gone. 

You know you and Spencer are finally clean.

“Ten months sober, I must admit Just because you're clean don't mean you don't miss it Ten months older I won't give in Now that I'm clean I'm never gonna risk it”

- Thank you for reading! Please reblog and let me know what you think :))

[starboundanon]

herbie, my dearest and most beloved grouch, we have touched on The Thing in the chat, but I am begging you for crumbs of throne!pet anakin or generally tooka!jedi anakin.

Oh, Tali, my twin sun, my muse. You should know by now that I am literally feral to discuss the incredible tooka hybrid AU.

So, please enjoy my take on throne pet tooka!Anakin, featuring baby kitten tooka!Luke because I’m trash.

Tw: dark, skeey sheevy being the worst, dead dove: do not eat!

In this particular AU, Palpatine’s plans get fucked up by pure, old-fashioned bad luck. Before he can proposition Anakin to join him and save Pamdé’s life, she goes into premature labor, and doesn’t make it.

Leia, his princess, is born human, like her mother.

Luke, his prince, is born a tooka hybrid, like himself. Even the markings on the ears and tail match — his little mini-me.

Anakin is, canonically, destroyed by Padmé’s death. He’s lost it. He’s a basketcase. But two things keep him from falling into despair, to the Dark side; the love and support of Obi-Wan and his friends, and the children he now has to care for.

It’s his love for those children that make him reject Palpatine as vehemently as he does when the man attempts to sway him. In the blink of an eye, Sidious goes from comforting his trusted friend over the death of his wife, to promising him his children — especially his sweet, vulnerable little kitten, whom the galaxy will hunt like an animal — will always be kept safe, if he allows himself to be trained.

Anakin’s furious, stubborn refusal is not taken well by Palpatine, who has worked too hard and too long to possess this rebellious young Skywalker in mind, body and soul. He decides that if Anakin will not give himself to the Dark side willingly, he will have to be broken until he has no other option left — and what better way to destroy Anakin Skywalker than by reminding him that, for all his accomplishments, for all his titles and power and Jedi tricks, he is still every bit the slave that he was on the day he was born.

So as the galaxy fearfully welcomes its new Emperor, Sidious gleefully introduces his Imperial court to his new prized pet.

Anakin, hands bound behind his back, snarling mouth caged behind a thick muzzle, a Force-suppression collar tight around his throat, kept leashed to Palpatine’s throne like a Tusken dog, is the sight the Emperor’s loyal subjects are greeted to when they enter the throne room.

Sidious likes to make lightning dance on the bronze canvas of Anakin’s skin, just to keep him reasonably tame while he addresses his court. But his favorite pasttime, by far, is to reach over and gently pet the boy’s ears, a false show of affection, chuckling when Anakin snarls out a frankly beastly noise — his pet has so much still to learn, yet.

Sidious goes through apprentices too fast for Anakin to even memorize their names, but he always makes sure to remind Anakin what he could have had, in the form of casually cruel remarks spoken about — but not to — his pet protégé: “This one might have made a worthy apprentice, but I’ve found he is much happier here with me, on his knees where he belongs. You’ve always been keen to kneel for your betters, haven’t you, my pet?”

Anakin is feral, wild and untamed and vicious to a fault, but the underlying threat that Sidious might — might — have his children keeps him just barely obedient enough. The man occasionally will make a cryptic comment or a threat, alluding to the possibility that he knows exactly where Anakin’s babies are, and all it takes to make his pretty throne pet reluctantly open his mouth for him is a remark such as, “You know, my boy, I’ve heard from very reliable sources that your young kit has grown to resemble you quite closely. A younger, sweeter lamb in need of taming, just as his father was. Perhaps it is time to put you out of your misery, hmm? I do so enjoy the challenge of training a new pet.”

Anakin knows it’s a lie. Palpatine wants to break him. If he knew where Luke was, he would have brought him here years ago, tortured him in front of his father for his own amusement, just to watch Anakin suffer. He knows it isn’t true, that it’s just a ploy to make him submit, make him dehumanize himself, the way his Master loves.

But it’s a risk he can’t take. So he obediently opens his mouth, head lowered, ears back, and quietly begs, “No, Master, please. I can still serve you,” shivering as that gnarled hand strokes his wilted ears, pleased beyond words at his boy’s willful submission.

Unbeknownst to Anakin, Leia has been raised safely and secretly by the Organas, and Luke, the spitting image of his father, has been raised on the run by Obi-Wan, who has spent every day for the last 19 years plotting to free his padawan from Palpatine’s grasp — with Anakin’s willful, determined young son leading the charge.

[kamilah-the-bloodqueen]

The Cafe Pt.I (Rewritten Barista)

As promised, I’m working through finishing my unfinished series - and that includes the Barista AU I had written long ago. I decided it was best to rewrite it considering the first part was originally published 200+ days ago. I’m aiming for 3 parts for this “one-shot AU” but we’ll see where it goes. Please be patient with me - my academic course load is extremely heavy and finding time to write is difficult but I will finish everything I said I would. I’m actually pretty proud of this but if it flops I never wrote it :) 

Pairing: Kamilah x MC (Amy)

Word Count: 4505 words I’m shocked (I usually get to about 1600-2000 words) 

Taglist: I’m not tagging anyone until I know people want to be tagged for this because I’m nervous and I hate being annoying!!!! If you want to be tagged for a specific pairing please let me know - I’ll try to keep track and remember to actually tag because I’m a forgetful dumbass!

Amy groggily rolled over in her bed, the amount of sleep she was getting had become oddly suspicious because she would never be able to get up before 7 on her own. She rubbed her face gently, her sheets warm and smooth against her skin. She grabbed her phone from the nightstand, her eyes widening in shock as she read the time on the screen.  

Monday March 30 5:40 am

“Fucking hell I thought I set an alarm!” Amy groaned as she threw the sheets to the side, huffing as she opened the clock app to see, she in fact, did not set an alarm. She sighed, shaking her head as she rushed to the bathroom. 

“Damn it Amy...you need this job…” 

She texted Zig, a mutual friend of Emily Day who introduced them their freshman year of college at Hartfeld before Amy had transferred to Belviore University in New York. Zig graduated and moved to New York and opened a small cafe, only a few years later. 

Zig, I’m going to be late. I missed my alarm this morning. I swear I’ll stay for closing and I won’t be late tomorrow. 

LMAO, Amy if you didn’t set an alarm just say that, I had a feeling this would happen so I told you we opened an hour before we actually do. We don’t open until 7 on Mondays, just Tuesdays-Fridays. 

I am literally going to murder you 0_0. You should prepare to be launched into outer space for this crime. 

Lol I look forward to it - see you at 7. 

Amy turned on the shower, as she grabbed a towel and her shower products from the cabinet, placing them beside the shower door. She discarded her clothes, put her shower playlist on, hopped into the shower and felt a wave of relief that she didn’t blow her first day. After Amy had performed her world tour, she stepped out of the shower with a shiver, the cool air a contrast to her very hot skin. She wrapped herself in the fuzzy towel, briefly glancing at the time, 6:02. She walked out of the bathroom, dropping the towel onto the floor as she opened her closet while she scanned her options for a “casual” outfit that would suffice. She put on her favorite bra and underwear, something about the red lingerie made her feel confident, before she slipped into a pair of dark blue denim skinny jeans. She paired the pants with a black t-shirt as she smiled at herself in the mirror. 

“Not bad Amy, not bad at all.” 

She walked over to her small vanity, one she had built with her father as a teenager over the summer before she left for college. It was one of her most prized possessions, one of the only things she had to remind her of him before he disappeared without a trace. She closed her eyes, recalling the memory fondly before she began to apply a small amount of makeup, just enough to hide her tiredness from the public. She stood from the desk, pleased with her appearance as she made her way to the small apartment kitchen. The empty beer bottles and ps4 controllers cluttered the kitchen as Amy smiled, having remembered celebrating the job with her suitemate Lily. She threw the bottles away and plugged the remotes in for a charge, Lily would thank her for that later. She opened the freezer, making herself two premade waffles as she checked her social media. It might have partially been the exhaustion but those waffles were the best Amy ever had, she wiped her mouth clean and grabbed her bag from the nearby chair. She shot a brief text to Lily, to let her know she hadn’t been kidnapped.

Morning Lily! I went to the cafe for work, just so you don’t end up thinking I got myself kidnapped. Love you, see you tonight! Try not to drink all of the alcohol. 

Amy followed Zig’s text directions through the streets of the city, the bustle of traffic, the mass of pedestrians and the loud construction noises distracting Amy from her path. Amy had never really been in New York’s financial district before, the other civilians' appearances shifting from “Naked Cowboy of Times Square” to “Businessman” only a few streets apart. She glanced at her phone as it instructed her to take a right.

“Oof-” 

Amy jolted at the scalding hot coffee that was hot on her skin, her head turning to meet a woman’s irritated gaze, taking note of the coffee cup that was in her hands. She was dressed like all the other businessmen and women who passed by - her maroon suit now covered in coffee as she huffed in annoyance. Amy met her deep brown eyes that burned right through her, her whole body freezing up as she watched the woman’s lips move. Amy stood in a daze, only coming back to herself when the woman waved her hand in front of her, her face filled with exasperation. 

“I’m so sorry. It’s my first day and I’m kind of lost-”

“Watch where you’re going, this suit is probably worth more than you.” Her voice was silky and satisfying, and oddly soothing given the fact she had probably just stained a $2,000 suit. Amy rushed to open her wallet, holding out a wet 50$ to the woman. The business woman scoffed as she walked away, leaving Amy in a confused state outside of the cafe. 

“Fuck.” Amy sighed, moving to collect her bag as she walked through the cafe door, Zig raised his eyebrows at her as she made her way behind the counter. 

“Well that’s a look.” He jested, Amy turning her head and giving him a death glare as he tossed an apron to her. “Nobody will notice, you can cover it with this. There’s paper towels in the back.” Amy dropped her bag in the break room, gently wiping the coffee away and putting the surprisingly fashionable apron on. When she walked out from the back her jaw dropped as she spotted the woman from earlier standing on the other side of the counter. Their eyes met and the woman’s gaze quickly changed from annoyed to very annoyed at the sight of Amy. 

“Kamilah, you’re back. Wanted to pick up some date-nut pinwheels?” 

“No, I need another black coffee.” She turned back to Zig with a smile, he gave a small nod as Amy began to brew the coffee for her. She placed the lid carefully onto the fresh cup and handed it out to the woman, their fingers brushing for a moment, a blush creeping onto Amy’s cheeks. 

“Thank you.” Her tone was less aggressive than it had been in their first encounter, Amy finally calm enough to take note of the woman’s features. Her brown silky hair that looked like it belonged in a conditioner commercial, her defined jawline and subtle eyeshadow that accentuated her eyes. She watched the way her lips moved as she talked to Zig, Amy feeling her heart jump at the sound of her laugh - light and golden. Amy watched her leave, every step she took she took with such confidence that Amy found herself wanting to follow her out the door. 

“You could be less obvious, you know?” Zig playfully nudged Amy, nearly knocking her over as she shook her head in denial.

“No! I wasn’t!” Amy sighed as she rubbed her temples, Zig’s infectious laugh filling the empty cafe. Amy playfully punched his shoulder as a group of well dressed men stepped through the threshold, Amy moving behind the register to take their orders. The day passed, Amy learning how oddly specific some people like their coffee, and learning all of Zig’s secrets to the perfect iced coffee. Amy looked at the clock as Zig walked to lock the front door - finally closing time. 

“Some of these orders...like ‘I’ll have the grande iced mocha no foam soy hexagon vortex hypotenuse’” Amy waved her hands around as Zig tried to contain a laugh, wiping down the counter as Amy hung her apron up.

“Amy you’re horrible.” Zig made a good attempt at seriousness, their eyes meeting before they continued to laugh which made closing pass by much faster. Zig grabbed the mass of leftover desserts from their respective containers, hovering them over the garbage before Amy stopped him.

“Oh, did you want these?” 

“No, but I can find a better place for them than the trash.” 

“Where? Your stomach?”

“No, the food bank is on the route back to my apartment. We shouldn’t be wasteful, and besides - who wouldn’t love a raspberry crown?” 

“You’ve got a point. I’ll bag these for you then, if you could sweep the floor and put the chairs on the tables that’d be great.” 

When all the cleaning and closing procedures were done Amy headed for the door with her bag in hand, Zig gently tapping her shoulder and holding out an envelope, a key to the cafe and the bag of desserts.

“Okay so I know what’s in here but what is this? A resignation letter?” Amy pouted her bottom lip as Zig rolled his eyes so far back Amy wasn’t sure if they’d come back.

“It’s your share of the tips from today, and the wrapped pastries. Thanks for that suggestion by the way, I can’t believe I didn’t think of that myself.” Zig rubbed the back of his neck as he looked around the pristine cafe, the windows reflecting the moonlight and the tile shimmering as if it were just installed. “Bloody hell, the place looks good...no great. Thank you Amy. Come on let's get outta here, go home - I’ll see you tomorrow at 6. Actually, let me make sure you set 3 different alarms, give me your phone.” Zig held out his hand after he locked the front door, Amy reluctantly handing her iphone over as he set 3 different alarms, all 5 minutes apart. He looked up at her for a moment, smirking before handing her phone back to her and walking off into the city. Amy rolled her eyes, he probably took a selfie on her camera but when she went to check, there was nothing but memes and occasional group photos -what did Zig smirk at then? Amy was too tired to think of it, she made a swift beeline to the food bank, opening the doors and dropping the brown bag of desserts off before making her trip back to the apartment. 

The door opened with a creak, all of the lights turned off as Amy carefully navigated to her room. She switched her lamp on, letting it provide a dim light that didn’t blind Amy because of its intensity. She tossed her bag onto the bed, as she pulled her shirt over her head in one rapid motion. She desperately stripped, throwing her dirty clothes into the laundry basket as she changed into clean lingerie. She slipped into her favorite pair of pajama shorts and pulling her favorite hoodie over her bra - shirts were overrated anyways. Amy crawled onto her bed, crossing her legs while she put her headphones on, pulling up her favorite late-night playlist and letting the slowed music soothe her. She caught a glance at the envelope Zig had given her, she reached over for it and opened it carefully - baffled at the amount of cash laying inside. She slowly laid each bill out, counting the total twice to make sure she hadn’t miscalculated. Working at a cafe in New York’s financial district was definitely going to help her and Lily catch up on their rent and not get evicted. She smiled, tucking away 25% for herself, taking enough for her share of the rent and putting the rest into her locked safe - she’d been saving for a trip to Hawaii since she graduated. She stifled a yawn, closing the safe and tucking herself back into her warm sheets, taking her headphones off and closing her eyes for the night. 

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

The alarm woke Amy up with it’s loud and very obnoxious beeping, Amy wanting nothing more than to throw the phone into the thermosphere. She drowsily stood from her bed, gently tucking the sheets neatly back into place as she turned off the following alarms. She sighed, rubbing her head as she changed into a simple outfit and left out the door to the cafe.

Amy arrived at the cafe, unlocked the front door and turned the lights on, relocking the door behind her because she didn’t need anyone startling her. She moved behind the counter, dropping her bag in the lounge and putting an apron on. She checked the coffee filters, gave the blenders a good washing, set out creamer, sugar and other coffee essentials on the counter and filled supplies back up. Zig suddenly walked through the door, a smile on his face as Amy finished supplying the countertop and putting the pastries out on display, letting Zig prepare himself for opening. 

“You’re early. I’m shocked. College Amy is having a stroke right now.” Amy knocked him in the side, Zig falling back a few steps as he shook his head and put his hands in the air in surrender. “Alright alright no need for violence, come on, let’s open.” Zig turned the “open” sign on and only a minute later did Kamilah appear in the cafe, her suit perfectly fitted, her hair smoothly cascading around her head and down her shoulders and her face relaxed and composed. 

“Good morning Kamilah, what can I get for you?” Zig gestured to the display of desserts and the variety of coffee combinations on the menu above their heads. Kamilah smiling as Zig waved his hands back and forth, Kamilah letting out a soft chuckle. 

“Just a large black coffee and maybe a date-nut pinwheel.” Kamilah spoke to Zig in almost a tender way, as if they were siblings or long-term friends. Amy selected a pinwheel, gently placing it into a small bag and sliding it over the counter towards Kamilah as she began to brew the coffee. 

“How’s Ahmanet Financial?” Zig leaned over the counter, his defined arms nearly breaking through the sleeves of his white shirt. Kamilah tucked the pinwheel bag into a hidden pocket on the inside of her blazer before she turned back to face Zig.

“It’s very successful, our stocks are soaring and we just secured a new business partner.” Kamilah looked proud and for good reason - Ahmanet financial was one of the most powerful corporations out there. Amy topped her coffee off with a lid and handed it to her, their eyes meeting for a moment before Amy turned away, feeling her cheeks turning hot. Kamilah checked her watch, a movado 47 rose gold watch that cost way more than anything Amy had ever come close to owning. “Zig I’d love to chat some other day but I’m afraid I’ll be late if I don’t leave now.”

She quickly made her way out the door, the bell ringing softly as Kamilah strided away. Amy leaned over the counter with a sigh, Zig nudging her softly. 

“You could be less obvious Amy,” his annoying face smirking at Amy as she rolled her eyes, “you used to be so slick back in college.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Amy threw an empty coffee cup at him as a blonde girl walked into the cafe, her eyes glued to her phone as she recited her order at a rate that nobody could understand. Amy sighed, Zig giving her a pained glance as she went to mix the complicated coffee order. Amy fought back a laugh as Zig found a way to run away to the back when the girl asked for his phone number. Once Amy finished mixing her coffee and sent her out the cafe doors Zig poked his head out of the lounge - his eyes scanning for her.

“Is she gone?” Amy snorted as Zig stepped out from the doorway, his hands running through his hair as he let his shoulders relax. “My god I hate teenagers - they turn eighteen and all of a sudden think they can fuck anyone. I’m like 5 years older than her at least!” 

“Relax buddy, let’s just get through the rest of the day. I’ll handle all the teenage brats and you can handle all the nasty men.” Amy gave him a cheeky grin as they teamwork-ed their way through the rest of the day.

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

“Finally.” Amy rested the broom on the wall, taking in the pristine cafe as Zig finished wiping down the counters. “What a day.” 

“Thank god it’s over.” 

“Zig?”

“Yeah?”

“Does Kamilah always come by the cafe right when we open?”

Zig perked his head up, his brows raised to the top of his head as Amy felt a blush creep up her cheeks, her hands growing sweaty as Zig remained silent. 

“She always comes as soon as we open, she has to be at work early since she is the CEO. Although she never rests, despite everything I’ve told her.” Zig’s head shot to his phone as it buzzed, a text from Emily appearing on the screen and Zig hastily typed away.

“Everything okay Zig?” Amy had a worried expression on her face as Zig let out a long sigh. 

“There’s a road trip for Kaitlyn’s band that leaves in two days that lasts for a week that our group is going on and I can’t go because I need to run the cafe-”

“I can handle it for a week.” Amy spoke firmly, Zig’s eyes widening before he let out a chuckle.

“What if you burn it down?”

“I won’t but then I guess you just have to trust me. Come on Zig - you need a break and you damn well know it. Get out of here for a week.”

“I hate that you’re right. Fine, but if the cafe isn’t standing when I get back, you’re toast.” They both laughed and finished up closing. 

Amy walked towards the food bank, a brisk breeze prompting her to make it one speedy trip so she could bask in her heated apartment. A shriek came from the alley as Amy turned her gaze to see where the yell had come from, a red pair of eyes looking right at her in the darkness. She felt her heart beating out of her chest as she forced her feet to a run, her heart pounding like a drum and ringing in her ears as she huffed through the front doors of the bank - placing the bag on the counter and racing back to her apartment without turning back. 

“Hey girl how was-” Lily sat on the couch with a coke in her hand and the television remote in the other, her smile fading as she met Amy’s eyes. “Amy, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost…”

“I think I’m just hallucinating from exhaustion,” Amy dropped her bag on the floor and took a seat on the couch beside Lily, “anyways tell me about you. We haven’t really had time since we both started working more.”

“Well you should sleep soon but I think we’ll be able to hold the rent for the next few months - with all the money you’re bringing in now in addition to the money my app has started to bring in - I think we’ll be more than fine.” Lily nudged her shoulder, offering Amy a can of coke with a smile as The Vampire Diaries played on the TV. 

“Vampires are so overrated.” Amy groaned as she watched Lily’s eyes become glued to the screen.

“Some of us have taste you know.”

“No, it’s because they’re not real Lily, and the fact that no vampire would ever be attracted to me.” 

Lily rolled her eyes as Amy sipped on her coke, both of them laughing late into the night and being good friends in what had felt like a long time. 

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

Amy unlocked the cafe doors and shuffled inside, locking the door behind her and leaving her bag on the counter. She hit the light switch as the lights slowly came flickering on as she tied the apron around the back of her neck. She quickly started and finished the morning set-up, the routine becoming second nature since Amy had always been a fast learner. She checked her phone, 6:49 am April 1, 2020. 

“April fools day.” Amy smiled as she contemplated setting up a whipped cream prank on Zig, but decided not to against her deepest desire to see his shocked face. While thinking of ways to mess with Zig through the day, her mind came to test a theory - she began preparing two black coffees - before adding her own twists to one of them. Amy finished and admired her handiwork - the cups looked identical and Kamilah wouldn’t notice until she tasted it. 

Kamilah walked in, her eyes scanning the cafe for Zig as she took a cautious step towards Amy who had a cute little grin on her face.

“Good morning Kamilah, here’s your coffee.” Amy handed her a black coffee, the one she had adjusted ever so slightly. She watched as Kamilah brought the cup to her lips, almost taking a sip, before she lowered the cup and leaned her face closer to Amy. 

“What did you do to it? It smells different, and where’s Zig?” Kamilah arched a brow as Amy silently wondered how Kamilah could smell the difference.

“I took a twist with it, I made you your regular too in case you hate it...I just thought you should broaden your horizons…and Zig is coming. He just needs to pack, he’ll be gone after today for a week and I’ll be running the cafe.” Amy smiled softly at the woman who was now leaning dangerously close. 

“I see. And if I hate it?”

“Then I’ll pay for both and I’ll never try to broaden your horizons again…” Amy frowned slightly as Kamilah finally sipped on the drink - her brown eyes widening as she took another, and another.

“It’s...actually pretty good...what did you do to it?” Kamilah took another sip as Amy bounced on her heels, a wide childish grin written across her face. 

“I added a bit of cream and sugar and a bit of caramel! It’s how I like mine!” Amy took her hands behind her back and fiddled with them nervously as Kamilah smiled. Zig walked in just as the clock read 8:05 am and Kamilah left, turning at the door to smile at Amy one last time, lifting the cup up with a smile before entering her car. 

“What’s that smile about Amy?” Zig wagged his fingers at Amy with a classic smirk as he prepared for the shift, Amy resting her head on both of her hands while she leaned over the counter - her legs kicking out behind her. 

“Nothing.” Amy sighed and went back to brewing coffee, her hands aimlessly performing while her mind sat on nothing but the thought of Kamilah - and her damned perfect smile. 

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Amy tossed her shoes off as she made her way through the apartment door, one shoe nearly knocking Lily’s head off as she pulled freshly fried chicken from the air fryer. 

“Lily that smells AMAZING!” Amy squealed and made her way over to her, Lily slapping her hand away as she finished the two plates of waffles off with a chicken breast and syrup. “I swear I’ve got the best best friend…” Lily smiled as they both dug into the food, chatting away about their day until Amy let it slip out.

“And there’s this really hot customer-”

“Oh! Spill!” Lily wiggled in her seat like a child, eagerly waiting for Amy to elaborate as Amy stuffed her face with the rest of her waffles. “I’ll wait for you to finish.” Lily smirked and held Amy in an uncomfortable eye contact until Amy finally caved in. 

“She comes in at opening time every single day, and always orders a black coffee. Although I got her to try something new today which I’m really proud of.” The subtle smile that crept up Amy’s face gave it all away to Lily as she let her ramble on, whilst she gave Amy the smirk she hated. “I’m simping aren’t I?”

“There’s nothing wrong with simping. But you have a chance here because Zig won’t be there so you can actually like...take your shot without him ever having to know,” Lily winked and whispered, “and you could totally fuck her in the back-”

“NOPE!” Amy stood up frantically, Lily holding her sides for support and nearly falling out of her chair as Amy rushed to clear her plate. “I hate you! Ohmygoddddddd.” Amy groaned as Lily fell to the floor, her eyes wet with tears at Amy’s reaction more than anything else.

“I’m going to bed!!” 

“Goodnight! Love you Ames!!!”

“Love you too….annoying ass!” 

Amy snorted as she changed into her sleepwear, her body becoming exhausted as she hit the mattress, falling asleep ridiculously fast. 

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

Kamilah came through the door, right on time as Amy had come to expect. Amy gazed up from her phone, those dark brown eyes looking right at her as she handed Kamilah her usual black coffee, Kamilah holding it closely before clearing her throat. 

“Can I have the one from yesterday as well?” Amy smiled at her as she began to mix her favorite coffee - Kamilah leaning over the counter to observe. 

“I didn’t think you’d want it again.” Amy said as she added creamer to the mix, the coffee turning golden as she mixed it. 

“A woman can’t appreciate a little variety in her life?” Kamilah leaned against the counter, her hair smoothly gliding over her maroon blazer as she tossed it back - taking a sip from her cup.

“No I just-” Amy topped the cup off with a bit of caramel before enclosing it with the lid, her hands sweaty as she handed it to Kamilah. 

“You just?”

“Thought you’d always like your coffee like your personality.” 

“Whatever do you mean by that?”

The way Kamilah was looking at Amy, she knew she had to choose her next words carefully. 

“Dark, intimidating, a bit bitter at first sip,” Amy hesitated as Kamilah raised a brow, “an...acquired taste.”

“You’re intimidated by me?” 

“Just a little…”

“Hmm, I suppose your coffee is like you if you want to expand your little analogy.” Kamilah glanced at her watch, her expression shifting from playful to work-oriented. Amy felt her heart drop a little as she recomposed herself - back to her refined and disciplined self. Kamilah made her way to the door, the two cups of coffee in her hands as she paused, turning back and looking at Amy - something different about it.

“It’s...sweet and comforting,” her voice was soft as she spoke, Amy’s cheeks turning very red, “like you.” 

[stillness-in-green]

The MLA(/PLF) Headcanon Post (1/2)

In response to this nice ask about whether I have any headcanon or thoughts about the current members of the MLA/PLF, I spent two weeks blithering 16.5K words of exactly that into a Word file, because when it comes to underappreciated characters I love, I do not understand restraint.  This post and its follow-up will cover all ranked ex-MLA members of the PLF, as well as Original Flavor Destro and Curious, since I wasn't going to leave them out of a project like this even if they aren't "current."

The ask only mentioned having previously read The Lore Post, the last exercise in ridiculousness that I wrote at the tail end of MLA Week, so I wrote this to summarize everything that doesn't appear there—which is to say that a lot of the material in these two posts will look familiar to anyone who's read my fanfic about the MLA cast.  There’s still plenty of new material to go around too, though!

So, I don't have much in the vein of askblog-style headcanons where I can randomly tell you stray trivia about a character’s favorite foods or their love languages or what have you; that stuff either comes up when I'm writing fanfic or it doesn't.  That said, below, please find a mix of thoughts I keep in mind when writing characters, facts that have only turned up in my fanfic/notes so far and not the Lore Post meta, and a selection of lightning round headcanon provided by cross-referencing a random number generator with some old questionnaires I keep around for OCs and tabletop characters.

In this post: Destro, Re-Destro and his advisors, and Geten.

Destro— 

General Thoughts The whole "revolutionary leader" thing came very naturally to him. He was committed, charismatic, very willing to risk his life and safety for the cause, and he cared about his people. All that said, he absolutely had a pompous, prideful streak, especially where it came to his justification for terrorism.  You only have to read his own words to see that.  Still, he was in large part reacting to the world he lived in, one of greater violence and danger than the current day. 

I like to think that—because he was genuine in wanting freedom for all—he would not approve of what became of his Army.  He'd be able to see how they got there, and he would probably have made much the same choices if he'd been there with them, but while he would have agreed that his role should be remembered—that's just Due Credit—he would never have wanted to become the nigh-on religious figure his followers turned him into. Continuing to fight the good fight for his ideals is one thing, but secret salutes and isolated villages and being raised from infancy to know your life has only as much worth as it can contribute to Liberation…  Well, it's just not what he would have wanted for his people, much less his descendants. 

Family Situation Chikara was only around 7 when his mother was killed, the event that would shape the rest of his life.  He wasn't hiding in the closet from the mob, either; he was kicking and punching and biting, his motivation to save her overflowing—but he was still only 7, and eventually overwhelmed.  His own life might well have ended there with hers, but for a group of neighborhood vigilante types (at least one of whom probably went on to a career as a hero, after legalization).

He went most of his adolescence without getting involved with anything more sinister than student newspapers, founding a secret meta-rights "club," and attending the odd larger protest, but when the government started talking about passing laws restricting the use of meta-abilities, he started getting very radical very quickly, and when some absolute snake started to use his martyred mother's words to bang the drum for banning quirk use outside the home outright, he went off the deep end.

Lightning Round (Randomly Selected Headcanons)

Favorite book genre?  Memoirs and biographies—he wouldn't have written his own if he didn't appreciate their value.  The intimacy of the personal juxtaposed against the broad scope of history appeals to both his regard for individuality and his revolutionary mindset.

Most prized possession?  Thoughts on material possessions in general?   He doesn’t generally prize material possessions—in fact, he’s something of a skinflint.  His most prized possession is an old pair of gloves that belonged to his mother, which he'd been wearing at the time of her murder.  He didn't come from money to begin with, but his mother’s story made enough of a splash that his financial situation was improved by well-meaning sorts sending along donations and contributions and the like, as well as government officials knowing they needed to be sure that he wound up somewhere at least semi-reasonable lest they court further outrage by mishandling the son of a martyred woman.  The money all went towards school and living expenses, though, leaving him quite experienced at balancing a budget, which would come in handy for that whole ‘leading a violent uprising against the state’ thing later on.

Academic Background: Got all the way through college!  Was involved in student groups as far back as middle school, and only got moreso the further in school he got.  Majored in Human Development; he was intending to go into the public health and policy sphere before the appropriation of his mother's language pissed him off so much he got into terrorism instead.

THE MODERN MLA

Re-Destro—

General Thoughts A huge amount of the way I write him is influenced by one single thing—his characterization as described in the second data book.  His personality is summed up there as "sokoshirenai yami"—bottomless darkness, or, as a friend translated it for me, "unfathomable gloominess."  That really, really stuck with me, because on the one hand, it's so opposed to virtually all of what we see of him on the page, where he's being cheerful or scornful or sycophantic; the closest he ever gets are his brief tears for Miyashita, Curious, and his other followers.

On the other hand, it makes so much sense that the man we see—the man who talks about the heavy burdens of his legacy, who was handed that legacy when he couldn't possibly have been any older than 6 or so, who willingly straps on a self-designed torture device to wring out more power, who all but worships the ground Shigaraki walks on even though Shigaraki is the reason Re-Destro no longer has legs to walk that same ground with—should be "unfathomably gloomy."  Of course he's gloomy!  He was never allowed to be his own person!  He has never in his life known true freedom, only existed as a vessel to bring that freedom to others!  And he can't really even talk to his closest friends about it, because his closest friends are still his followers, and he wouldn't want to weigh them down!

With that context, it makes all the sense in the world that he'd be so devoted to the man who relieved him of that burden.

Family Situation He loved his mother Yukie a great deal, despite knowing from early on that he was carrying the weight of the title because she believed she couldn’t.  (Perhaps growing up hearing about the martyrdom of Destro’s mother left him wanting to ensure the happiness of his own, for her happiness was very rare.)  He was 10 when she was killed in a Villain attack; she’d been on a daytrip over to a neighboring city to visit some of her erstwhile school friends.  The requisite mourning period was 49 days, and as the only surviving family member, quite a lot fell to him even before considerations of his role as Re-Destro.  it was perceived as better—for both the Army’s morale and for his own stability—for him to be involved with as much of the work of transition as possible, but obviously he couldn’t do it completely alone, nor should he.  Thus, for two months after Yukie’s death, the previous generation's Sanctum[i] stayed with him in his family home. Afterward, he moved in with Anchor (one of his grandfather's advisors), where he would spend the rest of his young adulthood until moving away for college.

Claustrophobia The name of that literal-iron-maiden deathtrap he brings to bear against Shigaraki is no coincidence: Rikiya developed claustrophobia over the course of a stint of abusive training when he was thirteen. He generally has a pretty good handle on disguising it, thanks to a combination of people being unwilling to ask him questions they don’t actually want the answers to and the fact that he had to learn how to operate through it in order to complete the training at all. He has never told anyone, largely because he’s never been able to recognize that it was abuse, and so his abuser remains a figure of some influence.

Education He was largely taught by private tutors, in his home and in theirs, rather than attending school, but I think he probably wasn't completely home-schooled.  Particularly once he'd decided that he did want to attend university—and not just some little local technical program, but a major school in a proper city—he probably attended classes a few times a week at his local high school just to get a feel for being around other people his own age. He'd been friends with Koku for several years by that point, otherwise he probably would have been pretty hopeless, but he was still a pretty odd duck by the time he got to university.

This, incidentally, is why he never pushed Geten too hard about school—his own experience of it was so weird and piecemeal that he mostly thinks of school as relevant only for the education it provides, and less so the crash course in social dynamics.  Since Geten doesn't care about getting an education (nor, indeed, about learning how not to be a rude little troll), and has a strong enough quirk that he'll never lack for a position in the Army even without a formal education, Rikiya is perfectly happy to let Geten have his way and just be minimally learnèd.

Stress His powers operate by infusing his body with the characteristic black matter of his manifested stress; he can increase his size with this (his so-called Liberated Form isn't just armored up; he becomes physically taller and bulkier), as well as throw handfuls of the materialized power.  A side effect of this is that his stress can also infuse itself into his bodily fluids. The stress matter is a highly dense particulate, so if Rikiya is not in proper control of himself, his proverbial blood, sweat and tears can be literally heavy with the weight of his power.

The Value of Life He cares very much about the lives of his followers, but those genuine feelings are filtered through both the mental compartmentalization required by an emotion-based quirk, and an upbringing that taught him to care about his underlings in the same way one would rare goods.  Valuable goods, certainly, goods worth being proud of, goods to be maintained with care, but still, ultimately, things that can be sold or traded or bartered off as necessary to further one's goals.  Even his own life, while "objectively" the most valuable of them all, isn't an exception to that policy—the Great Cause is more important than any individual life, up to and including his own.

On a Personal Note He’s something of an obvious weirdo to outsiders—his enthusiasm comes off as strident, his smiles overly polished—but despite that, he's bizarrely hard to dislike once they start spending real time with him.  He's not anywhere near as prideful about himself as he is the legacy of the MLA, for a start; he's actually pretty self-deprecating when he's not performing the whole Heir of Destro's Great Bloodline routine at people.  He's also happy to go along with other people sharing their hobbies (because he doesn't have any of his own).  The more you get to know him, the more obvious it becomes that he's a total basket case, but “total basket case” is still an improvement over “self-absorbed 1%-er CEO” that people like Spinner come in expecting.

What Are Boundaries? He has very little understanding of how to enforce boundaries around his private life, or, indeed, of why such boundaries might ever be necessary.  Oh, he can do the double life thing, keep the CEO of Detnerat separate from the Grand Commander of the Metahuman Liberation Army, but when it comes to the MLA itself, he's so groomed to devote himself to the cause that he doesn't really distinguish between the responsibilities of Re-Destro and the needs of Yotsubashi Rikiya.  Rather than being the egomaniac you might expect of a man with the absolute power over others he has, he instead struggles to assert himself as his own person at all.

Issues with boundaries are not uncommon with the MLA—they're all raised to see themselves as warriors to advance the cause before they are, like, “human beings”—but Rikiya’s are particularly exacerbated because he was raised by adults who were getting pretty paranoid about his bloodline's tendency to die young, and thus were always checking in on how he was doing, dictating his schedule, weighing in on his plans, and so on.  He just wasn’t raised with reasonable expectations for privacy.  Even as an adult, he'll give his apartment door code to pretty much anyone in the MLA who has even a semi-plausible reason to want it—certainly quite a few of the elders know it!  And it isn’t only the elders, either; Rikiya's phone and several of his accessories carry tracking chips courtesy of Skeptic, which Rikiya knows about and doesn't think is at all untoward.

While his experience dating Koku definitely taught him some hard lessons about how much he could allow himself to ask of people who would obey him without question (they broke up over Rikiya’s realization that Koku would never deny him anything, thanks to a cracked rib Koku didn’t see fit to tell Rikiya about until Rikiya hugged him a little too hard), he never learned how to value his own autonomy in turn.  Oh, he's the Grand Commander, and everyone around him has been raised to venerate his bloodline, so most of them would never even think about trying to take advantage of him as such, but it's absolutely the case that people who are bold or familiar enough to try can basically run right over him with minimal efforts made at obscuring the fact.  His life is full of people who do and have done exactly that, some to a net positive effect, and some—well.  See again the entry about his claustrophobia.

The abjectly terrible state of his sense of self-worth is also the reason the Claustro exists.  While he was relatively capable of trying to work around his phobia when he was younger, the older he got, the more it started to feel like leaving doors cracked behind him or only working in offices with big spacious floor plans and oversized windows was, in some way, Letting Down The Cause by allowing his fear to control him, rather than embracing it so he could properly stockpile it for later use.  A dinnertime chat with Curious about turning one’s trauma into a weapon for the good of others catalyzed this, leading to the development of the “burden-enhancing steel pressure mechanism,” Claustro. 

(It also means the clone of him made by Twice to handle Detnerat after Deika is bizarrely okay with its circumstances, which I will almost certainly write more about one of these days, but I’m still kind of reeling from that reveal, so more on that another time.)

Lightning Round

Religion?   He doesn't identify as being of a religious faith, but he was brought up in the same peaceful marriage of Shinto and Buddhism that the majority of Japanese people are, and like many, he adheres to a number of traditional practices more out of habit than devout faith.  There are two celebrations that demand significant emotional investment from him.  First comes the New Year's celebrations, important because the MLA prides itself on looking to a brighter, freer future, and it's a period when he can let himself think that maybe he'll be just that little bit closer to Liberation by the end of the year than he was at the start.  Second is Obon, a summer festival for honoring one's departed ancestors. Since his authority and his life's work derive entirely from his bloodline, he's obligated to care about this one, though in practice, he tends to shy away from thinking much about Destro (who he has very twisted-up feelings about indeed) in favor of less emotionally fraught waters.

What did he dream of being or doing as a child? Did that dream come true?   He never really had a significant period where he thought about being e.g. an astronaut or a doctor or a hero; in fact, it came as something of a surprise to him the first time Koku asked him what he was planning to do when he grew up.  He always just had the nebulous expectation of, "Be the Grand Commander," and the elders were happy to leave it at that until he brought it up on his own.[ii]  

How does he behave around children? He likes kids!  He’s wistful about the freedom enjoyed by happy children while also being sympathetic to ones that seem overly burdened.  He’s not the most natural person in the world with them, but most of them can tell that the awkwardness comes from a well-intentioned place, and will treat him as a funny-looking man who’ll let them bother him at length without getting mean.  It turns out he’s actually pretty good with them, then, if only by virtue of being easily bullied.  (This, notably, goes for non-MLA-affiliated children.  Everything’s much more formal within the cult, though it didn’t Geten long to suss out the “easily-bullied” part, either.)

Trumpet—

General Thoughts The largest factor in how I write Koku is, of course, the headcanon that he and Rikiya are ex-lovers, and neither of them is 100% over it even all these years later.  Beyond that, though, Koku is the most temperate of the group, the one with the most easy charisma (MLA members are more swayed by Re-Destro, but Koku does better with outsiders who aren't predisposed to hanging on Rikiya's every word).  He strives to come off as The Sensible One, and given the extremes the rest of the inner circle are capable of, it's not hard for him to maintain that title.  He's as messed up as any of them, though, second only to Rikiya in levels of childhood grooming.  He thinks of himself as a practical man, but he is deeply indoctrinated, the boundaries of his expectations very much defined by his upbringing, so he never really sees it coming when he gets clobbered by something from out of left field.

Family Situation: Koku has the largest family of the identified members.  Aside from his grandfather (called Old Man Hanabata, the founder of the Hearts & Minds Party, and passed away by the canon era), Koku has cousins, nieces, nephews and more, courtesy of his uncle, his older sister and her husband, and other extended family.

He’s also the member most accustomed to wealth, power and influence.  He's from a rural area, certainly, but being in a family of hereditary politicians (and with that family not suffering a string of untimely deaths and disappearances like Rikiya's did), he was raised from the start with ready access to money and nice things.  Still, for all his family's sway in a major branch of the MLA's operations, they're not First Families, and thus don't have any elders in their ranks, making them still somewhat subordinate to said elders when it comes to orders about the Great Cause.  (He’s working on it.)

Meeting Re-Destro Koku and Rikiya met at 12 and 10 respectively, when Koku tagged along with Old Man Hanabata for a meeting RD was likewise accompanying Anchor for.  It had been the better part of a year since Rikiya's mother passed away, but he was still strikingly melancholy for a boy that age, which—along with all the weight given to the importance of the meeting—left quite an impression on Koku.  Koku thus became Rikiya's first real friend in his own age group, a friendship heartily encouraged by everyone around them.  Koku was well-behaved, intelligent, a little older but not too much so, and set to become influential without a danger of becoming too influential; he was seen as a good choice for a friend.[iii]

The Break-Up Painful as it was at the time, there was a silver lining to his and RD's post-college break-up: it got Koku out of the elders' pocket.  He’s been groomed for one thing or another all his life, but after he became friends with Rikiya, he was always getting leaned on to report back to the First Families about how Re-Destro was doing, and to try to influence him towards actions the First Families approved of.  In a very real sense, Koku was part of the apparatus keeping Rikiya from any real freedom.  Their break-up and subsequent estrangement meant that the elders had far less to breathe down Koku's neck about, and by the time they reconciled, Trumpet had gotten his feet under him, as had Re-Destro, and they were both better able to fend off such background meddling.

This doesn't mean Trumpet's not still carrying a torch, however.  He thought he was handling his long-banked feelings pretty well—being Professional, being the advisor Re-Destro needed and as much a friend as Rikiya would allow—right up until Rikiya scared the life out of him by nearly dying in Deika.  He's all but glued himself to Rikiya since, as much as he can get away with given their respective responsibilities.

As an Advisor Other than leading the HMP, he does some work with internal politics and reputation. It's not, strictly speaking, his actual job as advisor—Re-Destro or the elders would probably be sought for more formal or critical mediations—but he and the people who report directly to him do enough travelling around to see constituents that they're often in a position to field those tensions before they get big enough to require attention from higher up.  Koku's happy to do so, in fact—not because he just loves handling petty arguments about resources, but because the HMP is a faction of the MLA in and of itself, and mediating is a boost to that faction's standing and autonomy.  (Also, it's that much less on Rikiya's ever-overburdened plate.)

Lightning Round

What would he do if he needed to make dinner but the kitchen was busy?Ahahahahaha, “make dinner but the kitchen was busy,” please.  Any time there could feasibly be someone else occupying a kitchen he has any business being in himself, it would be a housekeeper, and s/he would be making food for him/his family.  It’s not as though Trumpet has never cooked—he did live alone for some years after school—but outside of a scant few years in university, there’s never really been a time that kitchen use overlap would have been a problem for him. 

Favorite indulgence and feelings surrounding indulging. Probably gourmet cuisine, especially imported stuff. He’s had tailored clothes all his life; they’re just part of the job.  Expensive alcohol also doesn’t wow him; it wouldn’t be strange to find some sake maker whose family has been doing it for sixteen generations in the village he grew up in.  It’s a lot harder to cultivate a true gourmand’s palate out in the sticks, though, no matter how rich your family is.  Living in actual civilization affords a great deal more variety—and anyway, nice dinners are one of the few things he can reliably tempt Rikiya into accepting.  As to his feelings about indulging in general, he’s broadly For It.  He works very hard, he seldom gets real time off, and it doesn’t help the Great Cause for him to deny himself nice things, unlike some people.  (He’s maybe a bit bitter.)

Does he like to be the center of attention all of the time? Not especially.  Oh, he’s very good at it, certainly, and he doesn’t dislike it, but being the center of attention is practically always going to be tied up in The Great Work, so he desperately needs to get out of the spotlight from time to time, if only to be able to turn off the persona.

Curious—

General Thoughts There are two main factors in how I write Chitose: her practicality and her rapaciousness.  I write her as having an appreciation for good moral character in other people, especially when it makes a good story, but not considering herself particularly bound by conventional morality: her moral compass is Liberation, and she follows it unswervingly.  I also write her as predatory, lusty about a lot of things, often to the point of overstepping.  It doesn't hurt anyone that she likes hearty foods and strong alcohol, but she also doesn't have much regard for peoples' boundaries, and even less so when she thinks they have something to offer the Great Cause.

While that trait isn't without its benefits, it can get pretty ugly, too, as we see in how she treats, and talks to, Toga.  Even with Rikiya, the only person she thinks of as 'above' her in any meaningful sense, she's not at all above manipulation.  She's respectful of him, but knows him too well to always take him at his word.  He plainly can't always see what's best for him, but what's best for him is best for Liberation, and therefore, as a Liberation warrior, it's her responsibility to sometimes make decisions for him.  He'll appreciate it in the long run—he always does.  (Skeptic and Geten have similar views—Rikiya makes it easy.)

Family Situation She probably has the best actual relationship with her family of the group—her mothers are removed enough from the heart of MLA politics that her relationship with Rikiya doesn't color her family life the way Koku's does his, and she's much more sociable than Skeptic or Geten.  She doesn't get home much—just the major holidays, work permitting—but she's in frequent enough communication for a grown woman, and chats with her younger sister more often than that.

Meeting Re-Destro She met Rikiya properly when they were 21 and 27 respectively.  They were living in the same city at the time (him running Detnerat, her in university), so of course she'd seen him at the odd MLA event he turned up at, but when she landed an internship in her junior year, she cheekily turned up one day in her reporter capacity to interview him as “a local rising star of industry.”  It was the first chance they'd had to talk one-on-one, and would not be the last, as she frankly elbowed her way into his life and gradually sussed out that here was a man with Problems.  He and Koku were still in a distant patch at the time; she is largely responsible for getting them back on friendly terms as a way of showing her Pure Intentions.

The fact that her Pure Intentions both land her a square position as one of RD's advisors herself and get Rikiya to a better place emotionally is calculated, but not, therefore, untrue.  Ironically, while she was concerned about looking like a gold-digger, the MLA elders were probably thrilled and relieved to hear rumors that Rikiya was getting romantically involved again.  And with a lovely young MLA woman!  They wouldn't even need to worry about surrogacy arrangements!  (Not having grown up around the Yotsubashis, Chitose is unaware of exactly how pointed an interest the elders take in the matter of securing that bloodline.)

Feelings Today She loves Rikiya dearly, and prizes his regard more highly than anything in her life, but has not devoted much thought to the idea of being in love with him. She's married to her work, as they say, but she's also keenly aware that Rikiya would, for a great many reasons, be a lot of work to be in love with.  She's decided it's generally better for his mental well-being, and therefore also better for the Great Cause (she’s much more capable of reading that relationship reciprocally than Rikiya is), to make sure he's eating at least one good meal a week and getting some proper socialization in outside of MLA meet-and-greets.

As an Advisor She handles external politics and reputation--it's her job to prime Japan culturally for the Liberation agenda in ways more wide-reaching than Trumpet (he's head of a political party, and that's not nothing, but that party is still a small minority on the floor of the Diet).  She pulls attention to stories that benefit the MLA, and diverts attention from stories that don't.  This is far broader than just publishing Destro's memoir; it also means poking holes in the broader Hero Society narrative.  She does this by providing as broad a platform possible for stories about the tragedies of excessive regulation, the evils of quirk-related bias, the abuses of power heroes are capable of, and so on.

Lightning Round

Does she remember names or faces easier? She’s quite good with both, actually, but I’d give names the advantage because she works primarily with written rather than visual mediums.  (Also, BNHA names being the ridiculous puns that they are, you can probably tell more about a person in HeroAca Land by analyzing their name than their face anyway.) 

Is she more concerned with defending her honor, or protecting her status? Her status, absolutely.  Impugning her honor hurts no one but her; she can laugh that off because honor is a silly social construct anyway.  Threatening her status is a much more dangerous prospect—her status is long-cultivated to enable the advancement of Liberation ideology; it lets her keep an eye on Re-Destro, who needs as many people looking out for him as he can get; it’s what she’s worked for all her life. Curious will fuck you up if you threaten her status.

In what situation was she the most afraid she’d ever been? The time she got in trouble for nearly exploding some dude’s face off for stealing her purse.  She was 17, had spent very little time in non-Liberated territory before, and was not raised to wait on heroes to solve her problems.  She wasn’t afraid of the thief or the hero, really, but she was completely terrified that she might have just blown over half a century of secrecy by not performing Helpless Civilian well enough. The terror was pretty convincing to the police interviewing her about it, anyway.  On the whole, it was a very valuable learning experience!  

Skeptic—

General Thoughts Tomoyasu is a character I haven't written extensively yet, but what I think is most interesting about him so far is the contrast of his hyper-modern methods with the bone-deep zealotry for the cause.  See, Rikiya, Koku and Chitose all grew up in the sticks; Rikiya and Koku had money from a young age, but it was old money, tied up in trusts.  (Geten didn't have any of those, but Geten's a different story for other reasons.)  Tomoyasu grew up in a major city from the start; he was a technological prodigy from practically as soon as he could hold a tablet.  He has very little respect for the old ways of doing things when he knows there are newer, better ways of advancing the Cause. However, none of that makes him more likely to break from the MLA's ranks—if anything, his idiosyncratic approach just causes him to approach Liberation in really weird ways, ways no one else would ever come up with.

Pressganging Bubaigawara Jin based on a plan to clone Re-Destro?  Who else would that ever even occur to, much less such that it became the basis for an elaborate psychological assault?  But that's Skeptic in a nutshell—respect the old for what it did at the time, but don't think that means you have to use the same methods they did forever as you pick up the torch to carry it forward.

Family Situation He has an amicable but not intimate relationship with his family.  His parents are very proud of what he's done for the cause and how he won the confidence of Re-Destro, but they don't make much claim to understand how his mind works.  In turn, he recognizes the value of their support over the years—he certainly made a lot of waves with his unabashed venom for the MLA leadership's hidebound traditionalism, and his parents' staunch backing meant a lot for him being able to take the stands he did—but is not very emotionally close with them.  Might find himself with an older brother, if I ever occasion to write about his family situation in more depth.

Education He graduated a four-year university program for getting his computer science degree in two very intense years, during which he did virtually nothing for the Great Cause, his intention being to better position himself for maximum ability to advance Liberation afterward.  See above re: battles his parents fought for him while he was busy modernizing.

Meeting Re-Destro He met Re-Destro via Curious.  He was 22, just a year out of university and already climbing the chain of command at a young telecommunications company.  Rikiya was 33, working on the Claustro, and needed proprietary comms built to a higher standard of security than Detnerat was focused on.  Curious, who was always better positioned to be keeping up with the local personalities, introduced them.

Tomoyasu attempted to keep a civil tongue in his head the first few times he and RD met, but he'd been running on bile and energy drinks for years by that point and was hard-pressed to stop just because he was meeting his Grand Commander.  If anything, finding out that Rikiya was okay with his direction and his mouth eventually helped him chill the fuck out, marginally.

On that note, Skeptic is absolutely the advisor most willing to backtalk Rikiya right to his face.  (Rikiya loves him for it.)  Oh, he'll still accede to Rikiya's wishes, and Re-Destro's orders are his highest priority, but that doesn't mean he feels obligated to be diffident about it.  Like Curious, he has a highly developed sense of, "It's fine if it's for the greater good," which will and has led to him taking things into his own hands when he thinks he knows best (which is always).  He's not going to explicitly disobey orders, but he will creatively interpret them if he feels strongly about them, and he will try to "anticipate" orders before anyone has time to give him specific ones, the better to tailor his efforts towards proving his methods and goals correct rather than being stuck with orders he hates.

On Names I’ve definitely evolved some in my approach on this since I started writing the MLA cast, but at current, Skeptic and Geten are the only ones I consistently write as using and thinking mainly in terms of code names rather than given names.  Trumpet is too familiar with the public/private divide, and has too much intimate history with Rikya-the-person, to default to Re-Destro; Curious is too trained to look for The Human Heart of the Story.  Re-Destro himself, ever since breaking up with Koku, has always tried to use code names for people (himself excluded, because he has enormous self-confidence issues about measuring himself up to the original Destro), but can slip into given names when he’s vulnerable.  To Skeptic and Geten, though, the code name is the real name, for all intents and purposes.  The cover identity is a fake; the whole point of the code name is that you’re proving yourself worthy of taking up your proper place in the Army.  Of course the name you win for yourself is the name that counts.

Lightning Round

Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen? You’d pretty much have to lock him in a room with nothing but paper and pencil in it for that to be his first resort rather than whatever item of personal electronics he’d otherwise have on his person.  But assuming some actual plausible scenario—couldn’t bring his electronics into a government building, let’s say—he would find trying to do something productive on paper and pencil rather beneath him, and he’s an inveterate fidgeter.  I mostly see him folding that ludicrously tall frame of his into a chair and setting to using the pencil to poke about three hundred holes in the sheet of paper, meticulous and orderly, while muttering complaints to himself the whole time until something annoys him a bit too much and he jabs the whole pencil through the page. 

Who does he see as his best friend?  His worst enemy? I headcanon him having a very reasonable, functional, productive relationship with his No. 1 advisor, Red, and being reasonable, functional, and productive probably goes a lot farther on making you Skeptic’s “friend” than any amount of emotional intimacy.  But “best friend” is not really the kind of language Skeptic uses for his relationships; if you were to ask him who his best friend is, he’d probably tell you, “Iced coffee.”  As to his worst enemy, that’s just whoever is annoying him most on any given day, from difficult clients, to people annoying Re-Destro, stodgy elders, that hero grinning like a tool, that couple walking too slow in front of him on the sidewalk, etc. And Skeptic is pretty proactive about dealing with enemies, as much as he can be.

Has he ever been bitten by an animal? How was he affected (or unaffected)? lol he is a city boy and always has been.  He probably tried to pet a stray cat once out of curiosity, and because it seemed like the sort of thing people did, and then has never forgiven Animals In General when it bit him and then ran off. 

Geten—

General Thoughts Another one I haven’t written a great deal about yet, particularly in the present day, though I’m looking for that to change soonish.  One thing I’d like to explore is Geten when he’s not seething with rage and shame because he failed to bring Re-Destro a victory in Deika. The fandom tends to write Geten as an always-angry attack dog barely contained beneath a chilly veneer, and that’s fair—ever since we got the face reveal, ever since the MLA’s defeat at Shigaraki’s hands, Geten has been an always-angry attack dog barely contained beneath a chilly veneer.

But if you look at Geten from before we knew what was under the hood, you find a different story.  “Chilly and angry all the time” is not at all how he acted when he was fighting Dabi!  At that point, he was talkative, even chatty.  He engaged in a lot of snide smack-talk; he was obviously confident in himself and he spoke very proudly of the MLA as a collective.

He was still quiet at the dinner he attended with Rikiya and his advisors, yes, so I don’t think Geten’s done some kind of full 180 on characterization.  I do, however, think that Geten has a sense of humor in there, has a sense of camaraderie with the MLA rooted in more than just his relationship with Re-Destro, even if Re-Destro is obviously his most important person.  I don’t know if we’ll ever see that in the manga proper, given everything that’s happened, but it’s worth remembering in terms of what Geten is like when he’s solely among allies.

Family Situation Orphaned at a young age, and a problem child from then on.  He passed through a series of foster parents and state facilities before eventually crossing paths with the leader of the local MLA branch in Kesseru, Beacon (more on him next time).  This encounter would lead to him being sent to a group home with a reputation for being good with such difficult cases, giving them Structure and Companionship and Meaningful Work.  (Spoilers: It’s Liberation.)

Despite evening out considerably after a significant meeting with Re-Destro when he was 7[iv], Geten never got particularly close to his adopted family/the other kids at the group home.  He's very favored by the Grand Commander, for one thing, and he has the strongest quirk in the home for another—and since he learned the quirk supremacist stuff from them, that’s a pretty significant part of the dynamic!  Both of these factors mean there's some distance between him and the rest. Still, he's not on bad terms with them—indeed, his foster parents are quite proud of him—and he would probably tear out someone's throat with his teeth for threatening them, if only as a matter of pride.  

There are 4-6 other kids there at any given time; for the bulk of his young adulthood, there were two older than him, the others younger.  He doesn't have much time for Big Brother Pastimes, but is not completely immune to them, either, particularly where the youngest kids are concerned.  His tolerance for Little Brother Antics, however, is nonexistent—if the older kids think they can ruffle his hair and treat him like a kid, they can square the fuck up; he is Number One around here and don’t forget it.

Education Geten never went to school, but he's not completely uneducated.  He had some tutoring in the group home, some more from Re-Destro personally, and has a pile of books he keeps at his bedside, mostly strategic in nature.  He finds them vexing at times, but is slowly reading through them anyway because Re-Destro asked him to.  He’s been a bit more diligent about it since he was made a regiment leader, because lord knows Dabi isn't contributing much.

On Re-Destro Re-Destro became fond of Geten for the same reason he became fond of Skeptic and Curious—Geten was willing to push back.  He really did make some attempts early on to keep Geten at a proper distance, mindful of anything that would look too much like favoritism.  And Geten knew, in the hard-headed way of a child, that Re-Destro was being a grown-up about things, trying to be mature, trying to be impartial.  Geten just didn’t care about any of those things.  Every time, he would listen very seriously to the things Rikiya told him, nod attentively, repeat back what he’d been told, and then go on about doing his own thing anyway.  And his own thing was, typically, to keep coming back.

Of course, if there’s anything we can tell about Re-Destro from the way he treats Shigaraki, it’s that Re-Destro loves people who take the choice away from him.

Eventually, of course, Geten grew up (mostly; I peg him at 19 now), joined the MLA officially, and had to settle into the structure of the Army.  It began to lead to trouble for Re-Destro, when Geten blatantly disobeyed him; it stopped being cute.  Still, the sense that he Knows What’s Best lingers, so Geten works himself very, very hard to be everything Re-Destro needs him to be and more, so that maybe Re-Destro’s burden will be just that little bit lighter.

On Quirk Supremacy (and Re-Destro, still) Here’s the thing about Geten and the whole, “A life without a strong meta-ability has no value,” line, and this continues to drive me mad because of how people getting it wrong influences the bad takes on the MLA in this fandom: Geten is not a reliable witness.  He is not one of the leaders of the MLA, nor does he speak for its rank and file. Even if you assume the absolute worst about his implications there, far worse than is justified by the text, Geten’s very name, Apocrypha, means that he cannot be presumed to be aligned with MLA orthodoxy.

The only one of the people close to Re-Destro who wasn't born and raised MLA, he still manages to come off, in some ways, as the most zealous of the lot of them.  But really, it’s very noticeable that Geten—unlike Re-Destro himself, and unlike even Re-Destro’s close cohort—never talks about the original Destro, never even mentions him.  When he thinks about his leader, he only ever thinks about Rikiya.  Geten doesn’t follow Re-Destro because of his bloodline, because of the tenets; he follows Re-Destro because of personal loyalty.[v]

So how best to do that?  Well, think about it: Geten is not terribly intelligent, nor wealthy, nor well-connected. He and Trumpet are the ones most influenced by the quirk supremacist line of thought, Trumpet because his relatively weak quirk comes off as exponentially stronger the more he can surround himself in people it works on, and Geten because his strong quirk lets him mentally justify Re-Destro's investment in him despite his other insufficiencies.

Compare this with Re-Destro, who only ever talks about quirks in terms of freedom. Even more prominently, look at Skeptic and Curious, who are not at all defined by their quirks and how strong or weak said quirks may be.  Indeed, those two devote scarcely a thought to the matter because they contribute to the cause in much more important ways and seem to be perfectly comfortable with where that leaves them.

Geten may not be very smart or influential, but he’s very capable of looking at what strengths he does have and focusing hard on those.  That, I think, is what really lead to his embracing quirk supremacy, even in the face of evidence that he doesn’t have the whole picture: the search for a way to measure himself up to the movers and shakers Rikiya is otherwise surrounded with, and not come up drastically wanting.  

“Apocrypha” Geten has been Geten for a long time, since long before the MLA types usually take up their code names. He’s also an outlier in the MLA for having a name in Japanese instead of in English—the only one who does!  My headcanon, unless and until we get some other members with Japanese code names, is that he got the name directly from Re-Destro—possibly even in the conversation that lead to him imprinting so hard on the man when he was 7—and insisted on keeping it before any other code name that was suggested to him in later years.

But yes, he does have a normal Japanese name on file at the group home, which he’s obligated to answer to on the rare occasions that someone from Child Services is checking in or he and Re-Destro are out in public.  I don’t plan to bother coming up with it unless I need to, as I expect we’ll get it in a character profile one of these days.

His Quirk While a lot of people like the vibe of Geten and Dabi being somewhat equivalently vulnerable to their own quirks, and I agree it makes for good fanart, in truth, Geten is only as vulnerable to his ice as Endeavor is his flames.  Which is to say, he isn't immune, but he's certainly more resistant to it than the average person would be!  There’s already plenty of good material to contrast Dabi and Geten without pretending their quirks are more mirrored than is actually the case.

Lightning Round

How does he treat people in service jobs? He doesn’t, because he’s never in a position to interact with people in service jobs.  There have been times he’s gone out with Re-Destro, but in those cases he’s mostly let Re-Destro handle the human interaction.

What does he dislike in other people? Laziness; the lack of a higher purpose of some kind.  (It’s possible he’d thaw out on his disdain for Dabi considerably if he knew more about Dabi’s plans to undermine the whole of the Hero System than Dabi is inclined to tell him.)

Is he always there for a friend in need? Sure, as long as by “friend” you mean “fellow Liberation warrior” and by “need” you mean “in need of an icicle punched through one of someone else’s desperately fleshy body parts.”

Footnotes

[i]  Sanctum II's tastes being what they are, this probably means Rikiya is the MLA member most likely to be able to perform traditional Japanese tea ceremony.

[ii]  And there were elders who would have been happy to leave it at that permanently, I'm sure.  There are always going to be those regents who have trouble relinquishing power back to the boy prince when he grows up and becomes king, you know?

[iii]  And, when it eventually got out that they were dating, a relatively solid match, give or take the surrogacy arrangements that would eventually need to be made.

[iv]  I’m hoping canon gives us some details on this eventually, so I’m not planning to iron out more headcanon on the matter unless I absolutely have to.

[v]  This, incidentally, is a large part of why Rikiya does keep him around—it’s soothing to have someone around who never brings up his ancestor.  Anyway, after Geten evolved his quirk, people stopped complaining so much, even though RD never did get around to, like, giving Geten any formal responsibilities.  Geten, who knows very well that Re-Destro’s real advisors have real jobs, mostly took this as reason to be all the stronger, in hopes that he’d eventually be given one.

[janeyseymour]

slip 'n sliding

hi! this is ay :D i wrote a silly lil six!broadway fic about bo sliding around the house as a dupe for heelys HAHAH so i hope y'all enjoy it!

-

Anne’s white Heelys, which she customized with mint and forest green acrylic paint, are her most prized possessions. The online algorithm randomly showed her the shoes one day, and before she knew it, the fun-loving queen had fallen down a rabbit hole of videos, different tricks, and the available styles on the website. But from the first day she got them, Jane had been unwavering on the sentiment that they are never to be worn in the house. Never.

Of course, she’d tried to fight her (in Anne’s opinion, sometimes overly) cautious friend on this new “rule.”

“You’ll hurt yourself, Bo!” Jane exclaimed, fidgeting with a random hair tie that was on her wrist.

Anne smiled in response, “No, I won’t. I’ve got perfect control over my fine motor skills like any adult would.”

“Yeah, but your abilities change when you’re on wheels!”

“Which is exactly why I should be able to practice, Jane. It’s the only way to get better,” she replied cheekily.

“Yes, I know and I agree. Just not in the house.”

“Why?”

Jane shook her head in disbelief, “I literally just said because you’d hurt yourself.”

“To which I replied I wouldn’t.”

“Fine. But you’re clumsy and might break something, Bo, and I do not want to have to deal with repairs.”

“Alright, alright,” Anne laughed, “I got it.”

Therefore, for a couple of weeks now, Anne has been walking around the house like an absolute plebeian. How boring, just taking one step after another! Not to mention how slow walking felt after having tasted the thrill of Heelys. Why anyone would opt to do that instead of (kind of) gracefully gliding around will forever be beyond Anne’s comprehension.

One day, while walking back to her bedroom after a day out with her cousin, Anne slipped slightly on the hardwood floor. Okay, maybe it seems obvious, but it suddenly clicked with Anne how smooth hardwood floors can be. The smoother a surface is, the less friction is produced when another surface rubs against it. Ding! Anne had an epiphany.

She quickly deposited all the belongings she’d brought out with her onto her bedroom floor and rushed back down the stairs, keeping only her phone and AirPods on her. To make sure the coast was clear, Anne checked the living room, the kitchen, any weird nooks, everywhere. When she was content in her checks, it was show time.

From her back jean pockets, the mischievous queen pulled out her phone and AirPods, pressing shuffle on her playlist of songs aptly titled “songs that make me feel like a professional dancer…oh wait, duh, i do dance professionally!” Once the music started playing, Anne mouthed along to the lyrics, losing herself in the rhythms. To get herself comfortable with the wood floors, Anne did a couple of test slides down the hallway downstairs.

“I got this!” she declared with a whisper. The music was turned up a little louder, and Anne tossed her phone onto the couch. Now it’s time, time to go to town surfing the hardwood floors and performing her own dance routines. There were a handful of times where she lost her balance and slipped, but it was never anything she couldn’t smoothly recover from with an extra twirl or bounce in her step.

However, after a little too long getting lost in her music, Anne got a little too cocky. For no rational reason, she decided to get a long running start and see how long she could surf the floor in a straight line. So, with Levitating by Dua Lipa flowing through her headphones, she sprinted for a couple of paces before placing her right foot in front of her left and cruising…until she stopped abruptly with a thud.

“What was that?” someone yelled. Anne continued to rub the part of her head that made contact with the wall whilst turning around to see her housemates rush down the stairs.

“Don’t tell me you walked into the wall, Bo,” giggled Kitty, covering her mouth with her hand to try and hide her amusement.

Cleves plopped down onto the couch, “How can someone walk into a wall so hard that it shakes the whole house.”

“Nuh uh,” Aragon chimed in, “that doesn’t seem possible for someone of Anne’s stature.” Both Cleves and Anne responded with a slightly offended, “Hey!” to which the other four laughed at playfully.

“I didn’t walk into a wall, alright! I’m not daft,” Anne sat down as well.

“Then, why are you rubbing your head like you hurt yourself?” Parr asked.

Jane scoffed in disbelief, “Were you wearing Heelys in the house?”

“Um, look at my feet. No, I wasn’t,” everyone glanced down at Anne’s feet just to make sure.

“Girl, don’t tell me you skated into the wall with socks on!” Cleves exclaimed. When Anne’s cheeks started to color, her friends bursted into laughter again. Except Jane.

“I cannot believe you, Bo. I try an prevent injury in this house, and you just have to find away around it,” chastised Jane, though Anne could tell by the smile on her friend’s face that Jane wasn’t actually as mad as she let on.

“You can’t ban socks from the house too, Jane!”

“Oh baby, just try me. I don’t want to see you covered in bruises,” her blonde friend called out as she walked into the kitchen. She returned an icepack for the queen who’d gotten herself injured, and held it against Anne’s forehead.

“I got it,” Anne placed her hand on the icepack, signaling for Jane to remove hers, “I’ll be more careful, I swear.”

Kitty picked up Anne’s phone from the couch cushion, “I don’t blame you for getting carried away, Bo. Levitating is laced with crack!”

“Could one get arrested for Heely-ing while being intoxicated?” Anne teased.

Jane immediately shot back, “Don’t you dare try!”

“Fine, but only because I love you too much to borrow bail money from you.”

Their house mom rubbed her temples, feigning a headache, “You’re lucky I love you too, Bo.”

[drwcn]

I can’t wait for more of your discordance au, I’m a sucker for angsty wangxian! I’m actually really curious about what’s going on with Lan Xichen the whole time he’s gone. Is he recovering for all that time or is there some political plot he needs to take care of? I saw that courtesan Meng Yao tag too which makes me even more intrigued 👀👀👀

Awww you guys >:) Thank you so much for the encouragement. 

Unfortunately, Xichen and Huaisang are not a pair. The hidden agenda of this fic is xiyao (lol sorrah), and I know people tend to feel either YAY or NAY about xiyao so I’ve totally separated the wangixan and xiyao part. You can read one without the other and it wouldn’t make much of a difference at all. At best Meng Yao is mentioned in end of the later wangxian parts once or twice. 

I love Xiyao because I think it’s full of possibilities. Obviously canon!xiyao is tragic and problematic af, but this is an au, so... I do ...what I...want? Meng Yao in this au is his own worst nightmare - a courtesan, and Zewu-jun is the handsome polite gentlemanly amnesiac he saves. 

Below cut are more reasons why Lan Qiren longs for the sweet release of an early qi deviation (arc synopsis of lan xichen & meng yao’s half of the story). 

Lan Xichen’s Arc: where politics turned deadly.

Well, just because Wen Ruohan isn’t a thing doesn’t meant the Yin Irons aren’t a thing. Is there political bullshit waiting to happen? Absolutely. Except our protagonists are proactive this time. 

For months, both Qinghe and Gusu have been getting reports of strange sightings along their Lanling borders. NMJ and LXC have been investigating, and they suspect that JGS may have had something to do with it. Prior to Lan Xichen’s disappearance, he was getting close to finding out the truth. 

What happened was this: 

Xue Yang (who will exist solely in other people’s narration) had killed the Changs and taken a piece of the Yin Iron. Upon capture, XXC and SL (both alive and well and doing their own thing) delivered him to the Chief Cultivator, thinking justice has been served. (Lol. no.). Once JGS got his hands on one of those, he began to plan world domination bad things with it and shit started acting fucky right away, eliciting the suspicion and subsequent investigations of the Lans and Nies. 

Jin Guangshan does wonder how his secrets are being leaked, but he doesn’t get to find out until the end. 

Lan Xichen, on his part, is fairly sure of what’s been causing the appearances of these so called “fierce corpses”. He knows about Lan Yi’s barrier in the Cold Cave, and suspects someone has gotten their hands on a piece of the Yin Iron. Both he and Nie Mingjue suspect Jin Guangshan, and have been quietly collecting proof. 

Jin Guangshan, not about to be defeated so easily, sets up a trap and ambushes Lan Xichen during one of his investigations. LXC was in “plain clothes” as part of the investigation, because it’s dumb to go around investigating dressed as the Sect Leader of Gusu Lan, but during the ambush, Lan Xichen loses Liebing and Shuoyue in the process.  The only thing he has on him is Shuoyue’s sheath when he is found by Meng Yao. 

When Lan Xichen wakes up, he doesn’t remember anything or who he is. He sees a pretty young man who introduces himself as Lianfang. Lan Xichen was wearing blue when he was found, so “Liangfang” calls hims A-Lan. 

Meng Yao’s tragic back story that’s actually tragic:

The bullshit - er, the story - as always, starts with Meng Yao getting kicked down the steps at Jinlintai by his Ho™ of a dad Jin Guangshan. In this universe, Jin Guangshan isn’t just a rich powerful Sect Leader, but also the Chief Cultivator. If anything, he has more reason than ever to make sure Meng Yao isn’t around to besmirch his good name (not that he has any good name to bismirch).

Claiming Meng Yao to be a liar, Jin Guangshan ordered his goons to have Meng Yao “taken care of”, but before that could happen, Madam Jin had come out to see what was the commotion. This was Zixuan’s birthday celebration after all, everything had to be perfect. 

What she saw certainly enraged her, but her husband was about to kill a boy, possibly his own son, spill blood on their son’s day of birth celebration. Such cosmic bad karma she couldn’t possibly accept. “You don’t have to kill him, you absolute buffoon, just make sure he never comes back here!” 

She meant buy his silence with money but Jin Guangshan had a more permanent solution.

Before the day’s out, Meng Yao was sold to a brothel, and was told “that’s where you belong”.  Once, perhaps, he had dreamed about gaining the love of his father, but no longer. Now he simply wants his father ruined and dismembered. 

But first he has to live. 

The madam of the brothel had a keen eye for “good merchandise”, and one good look at young Meng Yao with those big eyes, delicate frame and dimples and she knew she could make big bucks off of him. 

(And before anyone asks how old MY is here, the answer is: young. One of the many reasons why I would personally like to volunteer to stab JGS until it looks like he’s been cursed with the Thousand Holes Curse.) 

The first couple of years were decidedly grim for MY. He was kept away from customers (mercifully), but he was a brutally trained in the art of dance and music. They kept him fed enough to dance but not too much to “ruin his figure”. His instructors quickly found that the youth was a quick study and got up no matter how many times he was trampled on (literally and metaphorically). It was no secret that life was gruesome, but Meng Yao survived. Meng Yao made his debut. Meng Yao became famous.

The establishment where he made his debut renamed him Lianfang - to collect/gather fragrance - and so from then on, he became Lianfang-gongzi. Soon, his art (and other stuff) caught the eye of an obliging patron who purchased him from the madam. 

The patron, by all accounts, was a brute of man who had more appreciation for the liquor in his cup than the arts, but he was a cultivator, wealthy enough, connected to many other cultivator gentry familiues, and most importantly, led a subsidiary clan of the Chief Cultivator. As his prized courtesan and dancer, Meng Yao served at his whim, entertained at his parties and made happy his friends, all of whom were practicing cultivators or at the very least connected to the cultivation realm. 

Our evil gremlin would not be our evil gremlin if he didn’t make the best of every situation. Meng Yao quickly discovered that not only was he particularly talented at getting people to divulge information to him, but that men were significantly uninhibited after sex and alcohol. Armed with a sweet face, an eidetic memory, and a hate inside him that longed to see Jin Guangshan severed limp by limp, he began his revenge plot. 

(Here, I took inspiration from Nirvana in Fire’s character Princess Xuanji of the fallen Hua kingdom who was sold into servitude but established Hong’xiu’zhao, a spy network of girls/women who either worked as courtesans or secondary spouses of noblemen. Her goal was to create chaos and dissension within the royal court and government, like mites eating away at a large tree from within.) 

Meng Yao amassed an enormous amount of intels on gentry families and evidences of the many underhanded conducts of the Chief Cultivator himself. He did this through his own work and through the other women working in his network, all of whom have been wrongfully aggrieved in some way. He promised them that one day he would help them to freedom. 

For five years he’s been collecting secrets of gentry families, and had been stirring discord for three, weakening their cohesiveness, and using their growing animosity to weaken Jin Guangshan’s control on his subordinates. Naturally, Meng Yao heard about Xue Yang and the Yin Iron. It was also him who had been drawing attention to it for the other major sects. 

Meng Yao doesn’t know Lan Xichen is the Sect Master of Gusu Lan, but he has no interest in hurting a man from nowhere. “You can stay here with me until you are better. After that, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to be on your way.”

Physically Lan Xichen recovered quickly, but when it was clear his memories wouldn’t be coming back, Meng Yao allowed him to stay. 

The rest, as they say, is history. 

~

Meng Yao has been Lianfang, been the famed courtesan, for longer than he cares to remember. He’s been had, used, and passed around by so many men that their faces are just blurried sillouettes in his memory. And yet, he’s never felt for a moment that he belonged to any of them, not even his patron, who possessed his contract and could resell him back to a lesser establishment and ruin him in a heartbeat. 

But when A-Lan held him in his eyes, warm and dark like a summer’s night, without judgement or expectations, only gentle sweetness and a fond regard, Meng Yao could almost pretend he was just A-Yao, the name whispered reverently by those soft lips. The hand that held his moved to stroke his cheek, almost shy, and Meng Yao realized with a fearful pang that if this man from nowhere with nothing were to ask, Meng Yao could most definitely become his. 

The thought scared him more than he was willing to admit. 

~

The message delivered by the pigeon was clear. Meng Yao crumbled the slip of paper in his hand, then set it aflame in the candlelight. 

The man who’s been living with him for the past four months, who he knew as A-Lan, who he trusted enough to take to bed, was the Sect Master of Gusu Lan: Lan Huan, Lan Xichen.

Zewu-jun.  

Everyone, even a non-cultivator such as himself, has heard of Gusu’s Wei Wuxian, Lan Xichen’s young widower, left alone after not even six months of marriage. 

But if even he wasn’t married, Lan Xichen could never accept him as he was, no matter now much his personal desire wanted him. 

His hands shook. He balled them into fists. 

Meng Yao should’ve known... he should’ve known it was too good to be true. 

No matter, he told himself. This too, is an opportunity, perhaps the only one I will ever have. I will use it to destroy Jin Guangshan once and for all. 

~

Lan Xichen made his way to the window, and gazed out into the courtyard where A-Yao was reading under the willow tree. 

You should go home, a voice inside him said. Go home to relief Wangji of his burden, to release Wuxian from his mourning. Go back to the seat of Sect Master and the responsibilities waiting for you. 

One more day, another voice fought back. Just one more day. 

He doesn’t leave for another month. 

[bitchloveskcbaseball]

Stitches

Pairing: Logan x OC (Charlotte Wheeler)

Summary: Charlotte is surprised by a face from her past and doesn’t know what to do about it.

Warnings: Really really strong language (my girl has a filthy mouth lol), car accident and a flash back to Detective Wheeler holding a gun at Logan.

Word Count: 7822 (this is literally the longest single piece I’ve ever finished)

Disclaimer: Logan and Detective Wheeler belong to Pixelberry and Charlotte is based off of the RoD MC

A/N: This is my contribution to @rodappreciationweek for Logan (obviously lol). The name comes from Shawn Mendes’s Stitches, mostly because I got some serious inspiration of how I wanted this to go when I was really really stuck from listening to it. Also, there are parts of that song that seem really relevant to this story. 

Also, I borrowed the names of a few characters from the Fast and Furious franchise, but they appear in name only.

How soon can you get here?

Rolling her eyes at the text despite the fact that he'd never see it, Charlotte typed out a quick response. Told you earlier…not coming tonite

I need you here.

I am not comin all the way down there just to fill out your field.

Seconds later, her phone started to ring and she debated letting it go to voicemail, but knew she'd never hear the end of it if she did. Swiping across the screen to answer, Charlotte snipped, "Seriously, Paul?"

"Hear me out, Lottie. There's fresh blood here tonight and he's lookin’ for a race."

"You know I don't -- "

"He's talkin’ 10k."

She was so stunned that it took her several beats before she muttered, "You shittin' me?"

Paul let out a humorless laugh and replied, "Not in the slightest. But he says he'll only race you."

"Me? How the fuck does he even know who I am if he's new?"

"Well he didn't ask for you by name or anything. He just told me he heard about this girl that hasn't lost a race in the past year. Said if I could set up a race with her he'd put down the 10k."

"Shit. Um…can you buy me like twenty minutes?"

"Anything for you, Lottie. And that 10k, of course."

After hanging up without so much as a goodbye to Paul, Charlotte raced around, grabbing her keys and wallet before running out to her most prized and precious possession. It was one of the very few items she still had left from Los Angeles, but even it had changed since then. The 2015 Stuttgart 999 Widow that had once been a bold blue was now painted in a deep royal purple with lime green accenting the sleek lines she loved so much. She took a few extra minutes in the garage, quickly running through her pre-race checklist before sliding behind the steering wheel.

Eighteen minutes after her call with Paul ended, Charlotte was pulling up to the starting line. The crowd, which was always large, loud and intense for Paul's races, was even more electric than normal as everyone buzzed over the unusually high stakes that had been thrown down by the newcomer. The fact that he was driving a Devore GT probably didn't hurt either.

Shoving away the sharp pang she felt deep in her gut every time she saw one of those cars, she cut the engine off and climbed out to go greet Paul. Since there were literally hundreds, if not over a thousand, pairs of eyes on them, Charlotte just gave him a fist bump in greeting, knowing she couldn’t afford to have anyone there thinking she got special treatment just because of their close friendship.

"There's my girl!"

“Oh shove it Paul. You know I hate it when you call me that.”

“Why do you think I still do it? Especially before a race?” When she only narrowed her eyes at him, Paul took the hint and got down to business. "You got the dough?"

Charlotte scoffed, "When do I not?"

"Hey, you know I gotta ask." Holding his hand out, Paul just smirked as she laid the thick envelope in his hand.

"Don't get too used to that feeling. You know you gonna be handing all that plus another stack back to me in a few."

Despite the way his brows knitted together and he shook his head in her direction, Paul didn't say anything in response, much to her surprise, as he made his way over to her competitor. Usually she got at least one reminder to not get ahead of herself or get over confident, but she couldn't say she was disappointed to miss out on that.

Rolling her shoulders to release the last of the tension her rushed departure and drive had caused, she turned around to return to her car and felt her breath catch as her eyes landed on the stranger. Not that he was actually a stranger. At least not in the purest sense of the word. What in the hell is he doing here?  Charlotte stood, frozen, for what felt like hours but was really only a few seconds before her brain finally jump-started itself. Pulling her gaze away from the all-too familiar face, she forced herself to focus on steadying her breathing and mentally running through the course pattern - basically anything she could do to keep her mind off of him.

"Hey, Lottie! You ready girl?"

Bristling, she barely bit back the string of curse words she wanted to unleash on Paul as she plastered on her fakest smile and eased down into the driver's seat. Voice dripping with sugar, she answered, "Always."

Devilish grin breaking out across his face, Paul turned his attention back to the Devore and hollered, "How 'bout you, new guy?"

Shit. Realizing the last thing she needed before a twenty thousand dollar race was his voice haunting her, Charlotte hastily reached up to turn the keys but ended up almost knocking them out of the ignition. Double shit. The second attempt was slightly better, her fingers actually closing around the keys this time, but her hand was shaking so bad that she couldn't get them to turn. For fuck's sake, Charlotte. Get your shit together and calm the fuck down! After taking a deep breath to center herself, the third attempt was successful and she let out a sigh of relief as the loud roar of the performance engine surrounded her.

"Ok y'all! One minute 'til that flag drops!"

Charlotte released a shaky breath and tightened her hands around the steering wheel. Normally, this minute was Charlotte’s favorite with the delicious anticipation thrumming through her veins and the deep rumble of the powerful engine beneath her finding perfect synchronicity. But this time it was torture. It was taking every single ounce of self-control she possessed to keep her focus on the street ahead of her, on the task in front of her. She shook herself, trying to ease the tension in her body. She’d never be able to beat him if she didn’t loosen up, and she sure as hell was not losing to that fucker. Never again.

After what seemed like an eternity, Paul was stepping back up to the line, flag in hand. Taking one last, deep-cleansing breath, she felt everything but the road melt away as his hand went in the air. This was the one thing she could always count on. This was her one, true escape and she would not let him ruin it.

Just like the hundreds of times before over the past year, as soon as the flag dropped, Charlotte effortlessly worked her way up the gears, shooting out to the lead. If she had been in tune with her beautiful beast before leaving L.A., then they were basically one being – one machine – now. This track was a set up that Paul hadn’t used since her very first race out here, and the irony didn’t escape her. Knock it the fuck off, Charlotte. Focus. You have to win this race.

Throughout the whole race, there he was, right off her back bumper, his Devore GT – now a deep blue – haunting her, much like his memory had since he’d left her crying on her dad’s front lawn. A couple of times he even inched ahead, but these were her streets and she instinctively knew the perfect places to use to regain her advantage. Even with that knowledge, they were so close together when they crossed the line that she wasn’t actually sure which one of them won until Paul came up and pulled her into a tight hug with a huge smile on his face.

“Damn, Troublem -- ”

Pulling away from Paul, Charlotte whirled around, eyes shooting icy daggers. “Don’t you fucking dare! You do not get to fucking call me that anymore, asshole.”

“Whoa… Char --”

“Not that either, Logan. You don’t get to call me anything. I don’t even know why you think you get to talk to me.”

“C’mon now. Don’t be like this.” If Charlotte hadn’t known better, she’d have thought Logan was actually begging her.

“Don’t be like what? You made your choice and this is mine! I dunno what the hell you’re doing here and I honestly don’t give a fuck. Unless you are looking for a free facial arrangement, I’d suggest you keep yourself far out of my sight until you leave.”

Without giving him a chance to respond, she turned back to Paul and, ignoring the questions swirling in his eyes, held out her hand. Forcing a calm she didn’t quite feel into her voice, she arched an eyebrow and sassed, “I think you owe me a huge stack of cash, mister. And at least a couple of milkshakes.”

Scrunching up his face as he placed the money in her hand, he parroted, “Milkshakes?”

“It’s the least you can do after calling me ‘girl’ twice tonight.”

Hands up in surrender, Paul conceded, “Milkshakes it is.”

After a half an hour of avoiding Logan while Paul finished up for the night and then another half an hour of racing across the city towards Charlotte’s favorite all-night diner, the pair was finally settling into her favorite booth across from each other. Before she could really get comfortable, however, he started hurtling questions at her. “So that was the Logan? What’s he doin’ here? Why didn’t you tell me he was here? How -- “

“Paul!” His rambling having ceased, Charlotte raised an eyebrow and asked, “You do realize I can only answer your questions if you actually let me talk, right?”

“Yeah, yeah...Technicalities.”

Rolling her eyes, she sighed, “Well, which one do you want me to answer first?”

“Was that really…”

“Yes. That was the Logan, as you put it. And in answer to the follow up, I have no idea why he’s here. I wouldn’t have even known he was in town if you hadn’t called me down for that friggin’ race.”

“Hon, I’m so sor -- “

Waving his apology off, Charlotte reassured, “I’m fine, Paul. Really. Sure it threw me a little bit when I first saw him, but beating his ass like that sure helped. Yelling at him didn’t hurt either.”

As Paul’s brows furrowed, she could tell that he didn’t believe her even before he asked, “You sure?”

Ignoring the way her chest still felt like someone had tied a rope around her heart, she smiled. “Absolutely. Plus I’m ten grand richer for it.” She waited until his expression had relaxed slightly before changing the subject by prodding, “You gonna order my milkshake or do I hafta revoke your best friend card for leaving me hanging like this?”

With a chuckle and a shake of his head, Paul stuck his hand up in the air to call the waitress over to their table. Taking advantage of his distraction, Charlotte let out a quiet sigh. If only she could convince herself as easily as she did him that Logan’s appearance hadn’t affected her.

~-~-~-~-~-~-

"Be the real you. The one that was always waiting to come out."

Choked by the tears she was trying to hold back, Charlotte whispered, "I don't know how to be her without you."

Reaching up to run his fingers through the hair at her temple, Logan insisted, "Yes, you do. You've always had this strength inside of you. I saw it that very first time we met. You just needed a little help finding it."

"No, I don’t! I need you. I need you to stay!"

"You know I can't stay, Charlotte. No matter how much I wish I could, I can't put you at risk like that."

"Then take me with you!"

"Baby... That's not the life for you."

"The only life I need is with you!"

He pulled her against his chest and Charlotte instinctively tucked her face into the crook of his neck, fisting her hands in the front of his shirt. Dropping his head so his lips were brushing over her ear, he whispered, "No. You deserve so much more. You deserve a real life and that can't include me. I was just a rock in space lucky enough to burn up in your atmosphere for a moment."

"No. You are so much more than that!"

"No, I'm not, Troublemaker. Not really. But I'll never regret a single second I spent with you. Even if I hate how it all started -- how I lied to you -- it gave me all of this precious time. I'd never trade that for anything."

While she was desperately searching for something, anything she could say to change his mind, to convince him to take her with him, Logan pressed a kiss to her temple. "I love you, Charlotte. So much."

"Then take me - " Senses on high alert after all of the drama of the night, Charlotte froze when she heard a slight rustling coming from behind Logan. Raising her head to look over his shoulder, Charlotte locked eyes with her father who was standing there with his gun trained on Logan's back. "Dad! Don't!"

"Shut up, Charlotte. This is between me and the thug."

"No, Dad! It's not - "

"Shh, baby. It's ok." Gently pushing against her shoulders, Logan separated himself from her before turning to face her father. Even without being able to see his face, she could feel the resignation rolling off of him.

"Logan...Don’t..."

"Charlotte, go inside. Now."

"Not until you put that fucking gun away. You don’t fucking need it. He isn’t a threat. To you and especially not to me."

His eyes flicking back to hers for the briefest of seconds, she saw her father's shoulders slump with his silent sigh as he dropped his arms to his side. His gaze hardened as he hissed, "You have ten seconds."

"Dad!"

Logan turned back to her, cupping her cheek to force her gaze back to his own. Running his thumb underneath her eye to catch the stray tear that had escaped, he leaned down and brushed a ghost of a kiss across her lips. He gave her hip a gentle squeeze before pulling away from her and walking back to his Devore GT. There was a moment of total quiet after he slid inside it and hope sparked within Charlotte. He’s waiting for me. But before she could take a step in that direction, the engine roared to life and he peeled off down the street. The tears she'd been fighting all night finally broke free, pouring down her face and tearing sobs from her chest, as she stared after the man and machine she'd come to love with her entire heart until she couldn't see the taillights any more.

Despite the agony ripping through her heart, an intense fury flooded her veins and she whirled around on her father.

"What the actual fuck is wrong with you?"

"With me? You better watch your tone, girl."

No longer giving a shit about who heard or saw them, Charlotte shrieked, "Yes, with you! He was already leaving! You'd gotten your goddamn wish already! Why? Why did you have to pull a fucking gun on him? Why couldn't you just let me say goodbye?"

"He's a goddamn criminal, Charlotte! You don't need to say goodbye to him. You should never have been spending time with him in the first place. I raised you better than that!"

"No. You didn't raise me. You tried to control me. You tried to keep me in a little box. To keep me from ever growing up. From ever making one goddamn decision on my own. You never gave a shit about what I wanted. Never even fucking listened to me."

"Don't you dare - "

"Oh shut up! I'm done. I'm done with you treating me like a fucking puppet. I'm done with you trying to control everything I do. I'm fucking done with you."

"If you are going to live under my roof -- "

"God, don't you get it? I'm not. I'm not going to spend time with you. I'm not going to live with you. I'm not going to talk to you. I'm done with you. For good."

Charlotte bolted upright as she tore herself from the dream, tears streaming down her face. It had been over six months since she’d last been forced to face that memory by her subconscious and she’d foolishly believed it wouldn’t happen again. Of course, she also hadn’t anticipated finding herself face to face with Logan ever again, so it was really just a series of miscalculations that had led her to this point.

She took a shuddering breath as she tried to stem the flow of tears, unwelcome flashes of that day still rolling through her mind. True to her word, it had been the last time she’d spoken to her father -- she’d stayed with Riya while she waited for her car’s repairs to be finished so she could head east -- and she couldn’t say that she regretted it at all. 

Logan, on the other hand, was a much more painful subject. All she had wanted those first few months after he’d raced out of her life was to chase him down. To convince him that being with him wasn’t ruining her life, but rather giving her everything she’d never known she’d needed. But she had no idea where he’d gone and didn’t have a damned clue as to how she would go about finding out. So she forced her way into the racing scene out here instead, using the time behind the wheel and under the hood to give herself an escape from all the thoughts and emotions swirling within her. 

All of her time spent begging her way into races also meant she ended up spending a lot of time around Paul, which was how they ended up forming such a tight bond. Even still, she couldn’t seem to really let him in, only telling him the bits and pieces he needed to understand why she was the way she was. By some miracle, that was enough for him, and he’d been there for her ever since, putting her back together when she shattered, talking her down when she raged. Despite the walls she kept between them, somehow this friendship had become even deeper than the one she’d once shared for so long with Riya.

Reaching a shaking hand out towards her nightstand, she grabbed her phone to call Paul. Despite how late it was, it only took two rings before she heard his voice, thick with sleep, rumbling in her ear. “‘S wrong, hon?”

Throat clogged by tears, Charlotte’s voice was wobbly as she only managed to force out, “It -- it was that dream.”

“I’m on my way.”

“No...no...don’t do that.”

“Lottie -- “

“Paul. I “ -- Charlotte let out a deep sigh -- “I don’t need you to come over. Just...just talk to me for a bit. Take my mind off of it.”

Not bothering to disguise his doubt, Paul asked, “You sure? I can be there in like fifteen minutes this time of night.”

“I’m sure. I just need a distraction.”

“So, you weren’t really okay with him just showing up like that, huh?”

“Paul.”

“What?”

“That isn’t distracting me.”

“Answer the question first.”

Groaning with frustration, she huffed, “Fine. I’m not okay. It threw me for a goddamn loop to see him there. Stole my fucking breath. Broke my heart all over again. Happy now?”

“Fuck, Lottie. Of course, I’m not happy! I just...I wish you wouldn’t shut me out all the damn time. I’d never left you alone tonight if I’d known.”

“I wasn’t trying to shut you out. I just hated the idea that he still has such a damn hold over me. I couldn’t stand admitting that I am that weak.”

“Hon, that doesn’t make you weak. That makes you human.”

“But how? How does he still have this power over me? After all this time? After the way he -- “

“Because that’s love. It’s never easy. It’s almost always messy. And when it is really real, it doesn’t let go, even when you desperately want it to.”

“But it wasn’t real! He wouldn’t have left me if it was real!”

“Shit.” Paul made an almost strangled noise before muttering, “I’m not trying to upset you more, Lottie. But I need you to do something you have refused to do all this time. I need you to look at it from his perspective.” Charlotte scoffed derisively, but Paul ignored it. “He didn’t leave you because he didn’t love you. He left you because he did. He wanted you to have the life that you had planned before he came bursting into it. And he knew that wasn’t possible if you were with him.”

“But -- “

“Dammit, Charlotte, no. You are gonna fucking listen to me this time. I understand that that wasn’t the life you wanted anymore, but look at it from his perspective. Going to college, going to Langston, had been your plan for years. You had known him for what? A couple months? Of course, it was gonna seem to him like you weren’t thinking it through. That you were making a rash decision. He didn’t want to be the reason you had regrets.”

Charlotte sat, stunned, in silence for several moments, trying desperately to find fault in Paul’s argument. Because he couldn’t be right. The only way she’d even started to put herself back together was by holding onto the anger she felt at how Logan had toyed with her, lied to her. If Paul was right and Logan had actually done it out of love? It would destroy her.

“Lottie?”

“Whatever. I don’t need this bullshit. Thanks for nothing.” For the second time that day, she hung up on him without a goodbye.

~-~-~-~-~-

Paul’s eyebrows shot clear up to his hairline when he locked eyes with her, and Charlotte couldn’t hold back her laugh. “You look as though you’ve never seen a badass bitch like me here before.”

Surprise coloring his tone, Paul stammered, “I, uh… I didn’t expect to see you tonight. Especially after I told you he was here.”

“Fuck him. I’m not gonna hide like some scared little bitch just because of him. I’m not gonna let him win like that.”

Paul’s lips pursed and his nose scrunched up as he opened his mouth to say something, but apparently the sharp look she shot him had him reconsidering because he just shook his head at her instead.

Satisfied that he was going to let the subject drop, at least for the moment, Charlotte asked, “You got any open slots tonight?”

“What happened to not runnin’ in my races? To worrying about people thinkin’ I’m playin’ favorites?”

Ignoring the derision in his voice, she shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t really care tonight. I’m just looking for a thrill ride, to be honest.” I’m looking for a goddamn escape from this endless loop of loss and pain I’ve been in since my eyes landed on him yesterday.

“Do you really think this is a good idea?”

“Do you really think questioning me is a good idea? Or turning me down, for that matter? We both know how well I draw a crowd.”

His eyes were conflicted as he studied her, clearly torn between what was good for business and what he thought was good for his friend. Eyes narrowing in impatience, she prodded, “Well, you got room for me or not? It’s not that hard of a fucking question, Paul.”

His shoulders fell and she let a smug smirk spread across her face. “Fine. Yes, I need a fourth in the last race tonight.”

“I knew you wouldn’t let me down, lover.”

“Yet that’s what I feel like I just did.”

Brushing his concern off with a wave of her hand, she couldn’t resist asking, “Is he set to race at all tonight?”

“He actually already did a run. Totally demolished Hector, Suki and Tej.”

“Not surprised. Those three are good, but they aren’t smooth enough to out-maneuver Logan.”

Paul chuckled, “Yeah, I think they’ve got that figured out now.”

Longing over what could have been threatened to suffocate her, so she shook her head in an attempt to clear her mind and changed the subject back to a safer area by asking, “Okay, so how long ‘til I’m up?”

“Well, lucky for your late-arrivin’ ass, you only have about half an hour til I’m gonna call y’all to the line.”

“Perfect. I’m gonna go do a quick once-over on Eva then.”

“Like that car actually needs it. It’s more perfect now than it ever would have been comin’ off the line.”

Charlotte shot him a wink over her shoulder as she headed back towards her car. “You know me, lover. I’m all about thorough perfection.”

Approximately thirty-four minutes later, Charlotte was cursing herself as she slipped back to fourth after taking the hairpin corner too fast and too wide. She hadn’t driven this badly since she’d been back in L.A. and, if she were being honest with herself, it was because her concentration was absolute shit. Snippets of memories kept flashing across her mind: her first driving lesson with Logan, picking out her car at the garage, her first job with the crew. As if she could banish the thoughts by driving faster, she pressed the throttle down a little harder. It was something she would never do under normal conditions, knowing that keeping control was her only shot at regaining her lost position, but nothing had been normal in over twenty-four hours. I have to fucking win this. He can’t know how bad he’s rattled me.

Through the next few turns, she could feel the razor’s edge she was balanced on, the tires squealing as they fought to maintain their hold on the pavement, but that only spurred her on as she retook third and then second place. Coming up on the next to last corner, a hard right hander, she was back on the bumper of the car in first. She knew that this was her best shot at getting an edge on him, so she dove deep into the turn, but memories of Logan walking away from her popped into her head, shattering what was left of her focus.

Charlotte recognized the tell-tale silence of the tires leaving the pavement before she felt the car start to tilt. Focus snapping back into place, she tried steering into it, hoping she could correct her mistake and even out, but it was too late. Time seemed to slow as her car started tumbling, her heart aching over how much damage the bridge support she knew she was hurtling towards was going to do to her beloved car. As the sickening crunch of metal meeting concrete overwhelmed her senses, Logan’s face filled her mind until everything went black.

~-~-~-~-~-

The first thing that Charlotte recognized as she started to regain consciousness was the tight grip on her left hand. The second was the beeping that was sending piercing pain through her head. She tried to peel her eyes open, but the smallest sliver of light was so excruciating that she instantly clamped them closed again. Where am I?

“Logan?” Charlotte groaned. Even the sound of her own voice hurt. Why am I in so much pain?

“No, sweetheart.” The hand holding her own squeezed gently. “It’s Paul.”

Her face scrunched up but she quickly tried to relax when the movement sent sharp pricks of pain through it. “Paul?” I know that name. How do I know that name?

“Yeah, uh… You know, Paul, your best friend?” Even through her haze she could hear the concern ratchet up in her companion’s voice.

Suddenly, as if someone had pulled open the curtains in her mind, the fog within it lifted and pieces started clicking into place. The dream, the memories, the accident -all playing through her mind like a movie. Her eyes flew open as she tried to turn towards Paul, whimpering pathetically as her body protested the movement.

Free hand coming up to run soothingly along her temple, Paul murmured, “Easy, sweetheart. Easy. You really did a number on yourself.”

“How bad…”

“You’ve gotta really bad concussion, a broken arm, some bruised ribs and quite a few cuts and scrapes. Your spleen ruptured so they had to take that out. Plus, I’m guessing you are basically one huge bruise right now.” When his grip tightened this time, she could feel how terrified he’d been.

Desperate to reassure him she was okay and lighten his mood, Charlotte smiled as best she could with a split lip and playfully chided, “I meant Eva, ya goofball.”

Paul’s eyes narrowed and she sucked in a breath. Maybe that wasn’t a good idea.

“Are you serious right now?”

What started as a joke quickly turned serious when she didn’t get an answer. Her car had to be in pretty bad shape if he wasn’t even going to brush her off with a reassurance that it would be fine. “Well, sorta? I mean, you know what she means to me. I need to know how bad I messed her up.”

“I… I can’t fuckin’ believe you.” Dropping her hand as if it was burning his skin, he pushed out of his chair and paced over to look out the window.

“Paul. C’mon. You had to know I was gonna ask.”

“You could have fuckin’ died, Charlotte.” His voice was so quiet she almost couldn’t hear him from the bed even though he was only two feet away.

Ignoring her impulse to snap at him for using her full name, she kept her tone gentle as she reminded him, “But I didn’t.”

Whirling on her, his eyes held a fire she’d never seen before. “I don’t even know why I fuckin’ bother. You wake up after bein’ out for three friggin’ days and the first person you ask for is that goddamn asshole? And then your next question is about the car?”

“Paul -- “

“Whatever. So glad you’re still alive.” Before Charlotte could even open her mouth to reply, Paul was already storming out of her room.

Hours later, she was still staring at the ceiling, wondering how things had escalated so quickly. Why she’d been such a bitch to the only person who seemed to give a damn about her. How her heart seemed to hurt even worse than her battered body did. Everything seemed to circle back to one central thought. Everything was fine until Logan showed up. Why did he always have to ruin her life?

~-~-~-~-~-

A little over a week later, Charlotte was going out of her mind with boredom at home. She’d been released a few days after she’d woken up, but she hadn’t heard from Paul since he’d stormed out. And seeing as how he was the only friend she’d made here, it left her feeling extremely isolated and with too much time to think. She’d run through her mistakes leading up to the accident at least a hundred times. The fight with Paul had circulated through her mind a few hundred more times than that. 

But the thing that she couldn’t escape at all was her run in with Logan, her brain constantly firing questions about it. How did he find me? Why did he find me? Did he ever really love me? Should I have listened to him when he wanted to talk?

Letting out a groan of frustration, she tried to bury the thoughts as she grabbed her phone off of her chair’s armrest. Pulling up Paul’s number, she was about to hit send to try calling him for the thirty-seventh time when her doorbell rang. Damn, does he have ESP or something?

“It’s open!” As soon as the words left her mouth, Charlotte cringed, knowing she was in for one hell of a lecture about leaving her door unlocked.

“You know, considering you’re the daughter of a cop, you aren’t very smart about security sometimes.”

The sound of Logan’s voice had her flinching so hard that she had to bite back a groan as her hand instinctively came up to cradle her ribs. Her voice was still a little breathless as Logan came around the corner into her living room and she seethed, “The fuck you doin’ here?”

Seemingly unfazed by her hostility, he shot her a grin. “Checking up on my Troublemaker.” Ignoring her protest of his use of the nickname, he added, “You know there are a lot less dramatic ways of getting my attention, don’t you?”

“Screw you, Logan. I wasn’t trying to get your attention and you know it.”

“You sure about that?”

“Pretty fuckin’ sure.”

Pulling his hand out from behind his back, he opened it up and let something dangle from his fingers. Her breath caught when she realized what he was holding. “Where...Where did you get that?”

“Found it after the accident. Must have flown out while you were trying out your new stunt routine. Needs some work, by the way.”

Biting back the snide remark that she knew would only spur him on further, she asked hotly, “So what?”

“If you really wanted nothing to do with me, why do you still have my necklace?”

“To remind me not to make the same horrible mistake twice.” When Logan’s eyes widened, she knew she’d hit her mark.

His lips pursed briefly before he let out a deep breath and asked, “Seriously, Charlotte. How are you?”

“None of your goddamn business, Logan.”

“Char -- “

“No. You lost the right to ask me that when you drove off and left me behind.” Thirteen months, two weeks and six days ago, to be exact. Not that she’d been counting. “You can get the fuck out of my apartment though.”

“But -- “

“No, Logan. Whatever it is you think you need to say to me? You can shove it. Better yet, choke on it and die. Because as far as I’m concerned? You’re already dead.”

“Please, Char. Please.”

Rolling her eyes at the desperation in his tone, even as it tugged painfully at her heart, she taunted, “Fine. What’s so damned important? How did you end up in the same city as me?”

“I, uh…um…”

Realization dawned and her fury hit a level she’d never experienced before. “Are you fucking kidding me? You came here looking for me, didn’t you?” She waited, refusing to continue until he admitted it. When he finally nodded his head, she seethed, “How fucking dare you? Who the fuck do you think you are? Why now?”

“I…” he trailed off into a sigh as he stared at the plush carpet beneath his feet.

Her fury building with each second he spent not talking, Charlotte waited for several long moments before she hissed, “Spit it out, Logan. You came here, looking for me. You found me. Now fucking talk so I can be done with your sorry, pathetic excuse of a being for good.”

“I heard rumblings about this girl out here. Hadn’t lost a race since she’d shown up on the scene around a year ago.” He finally lifted his gaze back up to meet her own and there was so much pain in his eyes that it almost broke through her anger. “I…it felt like a sign. I knew it had to be you. It was too much of a coincidence – the timing lined up and god knows you have the skills and the brains.”

Charlotte let out a harsh scoff, “It’s not like you didn’t know where I was before that. You knew I was coming out here for college.”

“But you never made it there.”

Shock reverberated through her entire body and she fought to keep her furious expression in place. How does he know that?

As if he was reading her mind, he added, “I only made it about two weeks before I broke down and drove out here. I went straight to the college, to the main office, and asked if there was a way they could help me find you. I told them as much of the truth as I could – that I wanted to surprise you, so I didn’t know which dorm you were in. Somehow, I convinced them to help me but when they looked you up in the system, it said you’d withdrawn before your first class.”

He came for me?

Fighting off the surge of hope threatening to overwhelm her, she mocked, “So what? Am I just supposed to fall at your feet now? You tried once, over a year ago no less, to find me, so that makes everything all better, right?”

“It wasn’t just once.” She raised a skeptical eyebrow so he pressed on, “When I struck out at the school, I tried to figure out where you might have gone. I chased down every single idea I had, no matter how crazy or far-fetched it was. Still, I couldn’t find you. So after about a month and half, I broke down and went to your dad’s.”

Charlotte gasped, “You didn’t.”

“I did. I knew it was a long shot. Stupid as hell, too. But I was desperate and hoping that his law-abiding nature would force him to tell me the truth. And maybe a part of me was hoping that it would be simple and you’d just be there. Of course, you weren’t and your dad told me he had no idea where you were and to go fuck myself. As irritated as I was, I wasn’t surprised that he wouldn’t tell me the truth.”

“He did.”

“What?”

Dropping her gaze to where her hands were folded so tightly in her lap that her fingers had turned white, she whispered, “He did tell you the truth. He had no idea where I was. Still doesn’t.”

“I don’t…”

Shrugging her shoulders, Charlotte told him, “I haven’t talked to him since right after you left. So I guess you were right about one thing. I didn’t need you to be strong.”

She didn’t miss his wince at her words, but he only shook his head before continuing his tale, “When I didn’t get anything out of him, I’d officially run out of leads. From that point on, I tried like hell to push you out of my head and my heart. But I couldn’t. So when I heard all that, I had to come find out for myself whether or not it was really you.”

Charlotte’s eyes had slid closed as Logan admitted that he hadn’t been any more successful at forgetting her than she was at forgetting him. She had to. If she kept looking at that pitiful look on his face while he was saying all the things she’d longed for him to say, she was going to give in. She was going to forgive him and give him back her heart. But she couldn’t. She’d never survive him pulverizing it again.

Forcing more heat into her words than she really felt, she smarted off, “Well, now you know. So if you’d kindly see yourself out, I’d really appreciate it.”

Instead of turning towards her front door, he walked even closer until he was able to kneel so closely beside her that she could feel the heat rolling off his body. “I can’t do that, Troublemaker.”

“Why not?” Lord, she hoped her voice didn’t sound as whiney to him as it did to her own ears. Judging by his smirk, she definitely wasn’t that lucky.

“For one, you still haven’t answered my question.”

It took her a second to remember what his question was. “Fine. I’m fine. Now will you go?”

“Nope. Because I need one more thing from you before I do.”

Desperate to get him out of her space, she instantly told him, “Anything. I’ll do anything.”

“Tell me you don’t still love me.”

She inhaled so sharply that her body screamed in protest. “What?”

She fought to keep her eyes from closing after he raised his right hand so that his fingers could run gently through the hair at the side of her face. She’d been so distracted that she didn’t even realize he had leaned closer until she felt his breath hot against her ear as he murmured, “Tell me you don’t love me and I’ll go. You’ll never hear from me again.”

“I don’t… I don’t…”

“Yes?”

“Dammit, Logan.” She’d swear her face leaned into his touch all on its own. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you doing this? Why are you torturing me?”

Startled, he pulled away from her and she felt the loss all the way to her toes. His voice was rough as he muttered, “I’m not trying to.”

“But you are. You show up after all this time, when I’m finally starting to put the pieces of my shattered heart back together. You weave this story of how you love me, how you never stopped -- “

“It’s not a story!”

She kept talking as if she hadn’t heard him, “Then you beg me to tell you I don’t love you, as if you already know the answer. Like if I tell you that I do still love you, you’re going to stay. That we’ll suddenly have this happily ever after.”

“What’s so wro -- “

“And then when things get tough again, you’ll bolt. And I’ll be left here, probably broken beyond repair this time. So, no, I won’t play this game with you.”

“Babe. I swear. I learned my lesson. I’m not goin’ anywhere this time.”

“Where have I heard that before?”

Dropping his head, Logan whispered, “I know I promised before. But, I swear, I thought I was doing what was best for you. You had college, your whole life ahead of you. I was a fugitive. I didn’t see how all of that could work together.”

“Because you never even asked me! Not once did you even think to ask if that was still the life I wanted! If you had, you’d have known, I didn’t give a fuck about Langston anymore!”

“But I -- “

“No, Logan. It’s your turn to listen. Being with you did more than just show me how to stand up for myself, how to be strong. I learned who I really was -- am. And I learned what I really want out of life. None of which had anything to do with that stuffy college.”

Looking at her through his lashes, he asked tentatively, “So what do you want?”

“I want to work with cars. I want to race them. Maybe I don’t want to be a part of a criminal enterprise like Kaneko’s crew, but I love the street racing life. So that’s what I’ve spent the last year doing.”

Instead of the look of disapproval or disappointment she expected to see on Logan’s face, all she could find was admiration. “So what did you do about it?”

“I dropped out of Langston, which you apparently already knew. Then I enrolled at the city’s technical college in their automotive mechanic program. In my spare time, I rode around the city streets, learning their characteristics as I honed my skills.”

“Still, it isn’t easy to work your way onto a scene like this.”

“No, it isn’t. But I pestered Paul enough until he fell in love with me and took pity on me.” A small wave of satisfaction washed over her when Logan’s face morphed into a scowl. “After that first race, he, and all the regulars, realized how much skill I had. Finding races got a lot easier after that. Plus, Paul hooked me up with a shop that works with performance cars, so I’m interning there when I’m not in class.”

“Damn, Char” -- his face fell as she flinched involuntarily. “I’m sorry, is it Lottie now?”

“No, it’s fine. I just...I haven’t...I don’t…”

“Hey, I get it. I’m not asking you to just jump right back into where we left off, ya know. I just want another chance.”

“I know, Logan. I…” Charlotte let out a sigh. She wanted, so badly, to give him that. But how could she trust this time would be different? She’d watched him walk away from her two times already. She knew she wouldn’t survive a third. Choosing to be honest, with him and herself, she asked, “How do I know I can trust you?”

“Know? You don’t. But I think me showing up here has to count for something, doesn’t it?”

Brow furrowing, she realized there was still an important piece to this puzzle she was missing, “How are you here, anyway? I know I sure as hell didn’t tell you where I live.”

The left corner of his mouth twitched up, “Paul told me.”

“No, seriously. How’d you find me?”

“Paul.” Reading the confusion on her face, he continued, “He wasn’t happy about it, but he made some comment about you needing to talk to me and you asking for me in the hospital and then wrote your address down for me. Confused the hell outta me, but I wasn’t gonna question it.”

Charlotte made a mental note to call Paul soon, both to rip him a new one and also thank him profusely. Pushing that from her mind, she took a deep breath and, for the first time in over a year, she listened to her heart. Holding her hand out to Logan, she waited until he laced his fingers with hers before whispering, “I can’t.”

Looking stricken, Logan tried to pull his hand out of hers. “Oh...okay…”

“Logan. Look at me.” He hesitated, but when she squeezed his fingers, his eyes finally met hers and she smiled even as her tears started to fall. “I can’t tell you I don’t love you. Because no matter how fucking hard I tried, I couldn’t push you out of my heart.”

A sharp gasp slipped past his lips as he searched her face, as if he couldn’t quite believe what she was telling him. When his fingers tightened around hers even more, her smile grew even bigger. “You mean…?”

“Yeah, baby. I...I’m willing to try this again. But -- “ Logan surged off the floor, wrapping her gently in his arms and for the first time in a long, long time, she felt whole again.

Face buried in her hair, he promised, “Anything, Charlotte. I’ll do anything you want. Anything you need.”

“I just need to take this slow, okay?”

“Done. You set the pace. All the way.”

She couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle at the wonder in his voice. “Hey, Logan?”

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me.”

 Tags:@burnsoslow @anotherbeingsworld

A/N: This was my first ever attempt at writing for Logan. I really hope I did this sweet, amazing boy justice. For the record, I completely understood his reasons for walking away at the end of RoD - even respected him for it - but I also know that it wouldn’t have set well with my girl, which is how this idea came to be. Thank you all so much for reading!!

[feminist-propaganda]

Single Mothers Will Probably Cry During Every Episode Of Queen’s Gambit - Episode 5

Beth has been listening to all of her mother’s advice. Episode after episode. She just needs a lot of time to process it, and she doesn’t need it all at once. But when she needs it, shes uses it.

In Episode 4, Middle Game, Alice was completely absent and Beth was completely lost. She listened to Alma’s advice, which was downright bad (your emotions are your strength) and she lost against Borgov. She also lost Alma and started flirting with substance abuse.

The lesson from Episode 4 was “Don’t block me out”, and I finished my essay with a note about how it’s important for young women to identify with their mothers in order to become balanced individuals, with an “integrated personality”.

Beth learned in Episode 4 that she needs to identify with her mother, even if this is scary. She also understands that the world might be telling her that her mother is a freak. But at the same time, the world is telling her that Alma was in the right. Drinking heavily, the way Alma was doing it, is completely accepted in society (Alma drank on airplanes, at the hotel and in restaurants). But Alma died, which seems to have left a mark on Beth. 

If the world was wrong about Alma, than the world is also probably wrong about Alice.

And so for the first time since the series has started, we hear Alice speak, we hear her say something else than “Close her eyes”.

Lesson 5 : The Strongest Person is the person who isn’t scared of being alone.

I’ll go ahead and quote the entire sequence, because it’s just that beautiful and meaningful to me:

“Dark’s nothing to be afraid of. In fact, I’d go as far as saying as there’s nothing to be afraid of. Anywhere. The Strongest Person is the person who isn’t scared of being alone. It’s other people you got to worry about. Other people. They’ll tell you what to do... how to feel. Before you know it... you’re pouring your life out in search of something other people told you to go look for. Someday you’re going to be all alone so you need to figure out how to take care of yourself.”

The episode starts with Beth coming home to Kentucky after she’s lost Alma in Mexico. Beltik calls her and offers her to train her. He aknowledges that she is q  far better player than he ever will, however, he thinks he might have something to contribute in order to prepare her for the next championship where she needs to win against Benny.

Half of the episode shows us this growing intimacy between Beth and Beltik. He shares his books with her, cooks for her, waits for her on the porch as she comes back from grocery shopping. She even goes as far as inviting him to live with her for a while.

When he kisses her, she even encourages him. But once they’ve had sex, she rolls over, lights a cigarette and starts reading a magazine. This is bizarre behavior coming from a woman. We, viewers aren’t used to this. We usually expect the woman to want to talk, giggle and make plans for the future. But Beth is emotionally detached from the situation. An ice queen. Where did she leard this. What model is she using?

Of course - she is using Alice’s advice. 

The thing with single mothers that i think most people don’t understand, is that they aren’t looking for a new husband to adopt their kids and play house with them. They are single mothers. They want to be single and at the same time they are taking care of their children. Showing up for their descendants. Single Mother isn’t a stop before regaining the town of Married Mom. It is where the train stops and these women get off. They aren’t trying to remove themselves from that situation. 

This is mostly why society hates single mothers and tries it’s best to discourage them. 

It makes married women extremely uncomfortable. The reason is makes them uncomfortable is married women deal with a lot of abuse in their own homes. And they stay in these situations of abuse because they don’t always know how to exit them. Most of the time they don’t have the financial ressources to exit these environments. They stay in unfulfilling marriages because they believe that single motherhood is the only thing worse than that. This is why when they meet single mothers, they tend to encourage them to find themselves a new partner. It’s painful for them to imagine that there is another way. 

Men dislke single mothers because they perceive cingle mother to be defiant. They believe single mothers hate men, or actively campaign against them. They find it important to let single mothers know that they are good men. That they are good fathers and good husbands. If they cannot convince the single mothers of this, they might change their tone and become agressive, and accuse the single mother of being bitter or resentful.

In general, the message we send single mothers the message that it’s just oo hard, and that they can’t raise children by themselves. And to make sure their message gets across they represent single mothers in pop culture as failures. 

Single mothers might be poor and they might be tired, but at least they don’t have a man in their home terrifying them, harassing them, destroying their personalities, bringing down their self esteem, being manipulative and dominant every chance they get.

Single mothers are women who once believed in having children with a man, and realized at some point that if they stayed in that situation they would quite literally lose their minds. Think I’m exagerating? Look at Alma.

The episode is called Fork, and in chess it:

“is a tactic whereby a single piece makes two or more direct attacks simultaneously. Most commonly two pieces are threatened, which is also sometimes called a double attack . The attacker usually aims to gain material by capturing one of the opponent's pieces.”

In the first half of the Episode, Beltik is obviously the attacker. He is the one who calls Beth on the phone and shows up at her house to play chess. The name of the episode tells us he wants to attack two of her pieces simultaneously. The purpose of the fork is for the attacker to take at least one of the pieces they attack. The defendent can only save one. 

I would argue that Beltik launched an attack on Beth’s mind and her body. Beth never surrendered her mind, instead she gave him sex and moved on. Thus, Beth is maintaining her intellectual independance, her inner peace & her most prized possession: her clarity.

If Beth had given him her mind, and kept her body, say saved it for mariage, for might’ve lost her drive, and never made it to Moscow, which we know is the ultimate destination for this brilliant young mind.

After a couple of weeks, Beltik understands that he won’t get Beth to settle down with him, and that all she cares about is Chess. She would probably refuse if he asked her to marry him. He leaves, and as he exits the home he lets her know that he’s figured out her addiction to the tranquilizers. That’s a very dominant move, but Beth is so strong that she doesn’t even bat an eye.

Instead, we see her sleeping in the master bedroom, smoking in bed and listening to cassettes in Russian as she studies Borgov’s personality. She is lazer focused on what her goals are and gives herself the means to achieve them.

The second part of the episode takes place at the Ohio State University where the 1967 U.S. Championship is held. Benny and Beth exchange some snide remarks as they gaze onto their competitors. They both know they are by far the best players and they will probably compete against each other at the final. In Vegas, they were co-champions. If she wins, she goes to Europe. But can she get past him? Can she beat him?

She certainly seems like she wants to. She asks him why he carries that silly knife around, or when she finds him lecturing a college student about Chess she asks “found yourself a reporter did you?”.

Benny wants her to meet him at the Student Union to have a couple of beers. At first she says no, but later she allows herself to be talked into it. They play speed chess and he wins. Over and over again.

The next day, he finds her on campus and says “It’s gonna be you or me”. She responds “Are you trying to psych me out?”

She ends up winning the game in 30 moves. Just like she gave Beltik sex, in exchange for her freedom, she gave Benny that glorious night at the student union, where all of the boys watched as he won speed chess. She sacrified that for the title - which gets her to Paris, than Moscow, where she belongs.

Alice’s advice was never to fear being alone. There’s a lot of strategies people use to avoid being alone. Shacking up with someone they had sex with once, which Beth could’ve done with Beltik is a way. Being worried about what the college students from Ohio think about your speed chess is another way.

The last scene before playing the match we see Beth gazing at the college students engaging in small talk, as they sit on the grass ouside of the buildings. She sits on the bench, at ease with herself. She doesn’t need anyone by her side to feel okay. That is her strength; that is what gets her past Benny and Beltik and across the Atlantic ocean to Paris.