#also it just comes across as a chance to shit on taylor instead of a real call for celebrities to use their voices to make a change

[jackleopard]

you really do find taylor haters in the weirdest places

[helloalycia]

𝐕𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇 [𝐎𝐍𝐄] — 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐎𝐑

summary: when you stumble across Jackie after she's just broken up with her boyfriend, you feel a moral obligation to make sure she's okay. Naturally, that turns into something more.

warning/s: none.

author's note: it physically pained me to write soccer instead of football for this lol, a few 'football's might have slipped in out of habit. But yeah, hope you like this! it's a three parter and jackie taylor deserved better oops

also y/bf/n = your best friend's name

two / three / masterlist / wattpad

My fingers fumbled for the catch at the back of my camera, opening it up and revealing the freshly wound up film. As I grabbed it, I barely had chance to think about my next move before the door behind me slammed into my back, knocking me forward and making the roll fly in the air momentarily.

"No!" I yelped, reaching out to catch it before it could hit the concrete stairs and roll away into oblivion.

"Shit, sorry," someone said with realisation as I caught the roll and sighed with relief.

Gripping the roll tighter than ever, I closed the camera and let it hang from my neck as I turned to see who it was. "It's fine, maybe I should stand somewhere other than the entrance to unload my– shit, are you okay?"

My brows furrowed with concern at the sight of Jackie Taylor, the captain of the girl's soccer team. Her presence wasn't what concerned me, but rather the obvious tears on her face that she awkwardly tried to wipe away when our eyes briefly met.

"Yeah, I'm–" she started, but was interrupted by her own sniffling, and she completely turned away in an attempt to collect herself.

This was the opposite of the Jackie Taylor I'd come to know over the years. Having witnessed her rise into captain as I photographed the team's success – the Yellowjackets – for the school paper had given me enough time with her to know she was usually a happy, confident girl. I'd never seen her cry like this before, especially not at school.

"What happened?" I asked gently.

She shook her head, forcing a smile. "Nothing, I just– I broke up with Jeff."

I wasn't sure what to say at first, familiar with her boyfriend but knowing they were known for having their breaks here and there. Still, this looked worse than usual.

"I'm sorry to hear that," I finally spoke, chewing on my lip. "Is there anything I can do?"

She shook her head, straightening up suddenly. "No. But do you know when the next bus arrives? I was supposed to get a ride home with him, but–"

"No, er, I don't really get–" I started, but amended, "I mean, I can check, but–"

"Forget it," she said with a sigh. "I'll figure it out. Thanks."

Without another word, she walked past me and down the steps. I watched her, debating whether or not to offer her a ride since I knew for certain I'd never seen her catch a bus in my life, and it was well after school hours so they might not even be running now. There was also the fact that she was clearly upset, and my conscious wouldn't rest easy knowing I'd left her alone.

"Jackie, wait," I called out to her, pocketing my film canister and jogging to catch up to her. She stopped, turning around, and I pulled out my car keys. "I can give you a ride."

A little surprised, her hazel eyes widened slightly. "Oh. Are you sure?"

I nodded. "Yeah. C'mon."

She silently followed me to my car, getting into the passenger's seat as I did the driver's. It was never awkward between us before, but our exchanges were always limited to greetings, soccer talk or photo ops. Now however, there was a slight tension in the air, mainly because of her situation. She didn't speak except for when she told me where she lived, and after that, I didn't speak up either, not wanting to pressure her into sharing if she didn't want to.

"Thank you," she muttered halfway through the drive, and I glanced over at her to see her watching me apologetically. "Is your camera thingy okay? Whatever I knocked?"

"The film, yeah," I assured her. "No worries. It was just the roll from the baseball game yesterday. So pretty low value considering they always lose."

It was a poor attempt to make her laugh, since it was universally known that the school baseball team were below average, especially compared to the Yellowjackets, but it seemed to work as she let out a quiet chuckle. I smiled, glad she was cheered up a little.

"Well, sorry anyway," she added politely.

I shrugged. "No harm done."

Another silence fell upon us the remainder of the drive to hers, but it wasn't awkward any longer. Once I pulled up outside her house, I tried not to let my amazement at how huge her place was show. I'd always known she was rich, but this was another level.

"Thanks for the ride," she spoke, pulling me from my stupor.

I met her gaze, expression softening slightly. "You gonna be okay?"

She nodded, and I had no choice but to believe her.

"Okay then. Well, see you tomorrow, Jackie."

She smiled a little before getting out the car and heading inside. Despite her feigned confidence, it was obvious she wasn't happy, and I only hoped she would feel better tomorrow. Whatever had happened between her and Jeff hadn't been like the usual, not judging by the state of her.

The next day after school was when I had chance to properly check on Jackie. I was at the Yellowjackets' practice, shooting for the yearbook, and she was there too.

"You gonna make us look good, right, Y/L/N?" Nat, one of the players, asked when she saw me heading on the field.

"Always," I returned with a smile, and she grinned as she jogged away to get started.

My eyes scanned the field before I spotted Jackie by the goal, using the post to stretch. I subtly approached her, not wanting to draw too much attention in case she hadn't told anyone about the breakup.

"Hey, Jackie," I greeted her, making her pause from her stretching. "How are you doing? Y'know, about the yesterday thing?"

She smiled gratefully, nodding. "I'm good, Y/N, thanks."

I wasn't sure if she was telling the truth, but I also didn't expect her to confide in me, so I simply nodded.

"Good, well... if you ever wanna talk about it, I'm here."

"Thanks," she said quietly, smile fading a little. "I appreciate it."

I gave her a genuine smile. "Anytime."

And with that, I left her to it, feeling a lot better knowing I'd at least offered up my help.

The Yellowjackets' soccer game was after school at the end of that same week, and I was paying them a visit beforehand to wish them luck and also gift them some candid portraits they'd asked for a few weeks ago.

When I let myself in their locker room, they were pretty much dressed in their uniforms, some helping each other out with braiding their hair back or engaging in some pre-game superstitions. It always made me smile because they never failed to hype themselves up and it showed.

"Heeeeeyyyyy! Y/N's here with our close ups!" someone shouted, and everybody cheered as I rolled my eyes playfully.

First on the pile of photos in my hand was Van, who I found searching in her locker whilst singing along to a song that was blasting from the stereo in the corner.

"There's my favourite goalie," I greeted, and she laughed as I handed her the photograph in a plastic wallet. "For you. The one you liked in the paper, right?"

She straightened up when she saw it, smile brightening on her face. "Oh, hell yeah, this is so badass! Thanks, Y/N!"

"No worries," I said dismissively, before moving around the room to hand out the rest of the photos.

Everybody seemed pleased with what they got, which was always reassuring to hear since it was supposed to be my best skill.

"Last but not least, Jackie," I said, finding the team captain by her locker, fixing her hair in the mirror that hung inside.

She flashed me a smile as I handed her the photograph. In it, she was mid-kicking a ball into the net, scoring a goal for the team.

"Y/N, I love it," she said with gratitude, eyes taking the whole image in before looking up to me. "Thank you."

I held out another photograph, earning a confused look from her. "It's a little bonus photo. Thought it might cheer you up after everything."

She raised her eyebrows slightly, before accepting the photo and studying it. This one was a photo I'd taken at the Yellowjackets' last game, moments after they'd won. Jackie was cheering with her teammates and I'd managed to take the perfect picture of her as she was surrounded by them, a grin on her face, eyes bursting with excitement. It was probably my favourite of the two.

"You didn't need to..." she started, but stopped herself. And then she surprised me with a hug, wrapping her one free hand around my neck. "I really appreciate it."

Before I could even think to hug her back, she pulled away to give me a heartwarming smile.

"Anytime," I told her, acutely aware of the mild butterflies in my stomach from her gaze, but that was merely because I wasn't stupid and Jackie Taylor was very pretty. "If you're ever thinking about you-know-what, just remember. At the end of the day, he's just some guy."

Her smile widened and then she let out a laugh. "Very true. I won't forget."

I smiled, nodding and taking a step back. "I'll leave you to finish getting ready. Good luck tonight. Not that you'll need it."

"Be sure to get my best side," she joked, turning her head to the left.

I laughed. "Jackie Taylor doesn't have a bad side."

She winked playfully, and I left her to it as I headed out to the field to get ready to photograph tonight's game.

As expected, the Yellowjackets won and I got a lot of good shots in of their winning goals. Even though a lot of the photos were similar to others I'd taken, I didn't mind it as it challenged me to try out different things with my camera, like messing with the shutter speed or even using a double exposure to create cool effects.

After snapping some final shots of the team celebrating on the pitch, I moved out the way of the friends and family who were there with them and focused on changing the roll of film in my camera. Just after rewinding the current roll and opening the back of my camera, I felt someone tap me on the shoulder unexpectedly. Startled yet again, my hands twitched and the roll flew up and out the camera. I managed to catch it before it could fall into the grass, and turned around to find Jackie failing to stifle her laughter.

"I'm sorry, Y/N, I didn't mean to scare you again," she said apologetically.

"Oh, it's fine," I said sarcastically, stuffing the roll into the canister in my pocket. "It's only the winning goals on film."

She sighed through her nose, her lips pursed into an amused smile. "Sorry. I came because the girls wanted a team photo."

I gave her a knowing look. "On it."

After gathering the team together and replacing my film, I took a few photos of them with their medals and trophy before my job was officially done for the afternoon.

"They come out good?" Jackie asked afterwards, as I put my camera away.

"I'd like to think so," I said sarcastically, making her roll her eyes lightheartedly.

"So, the party tonight," she started, piquing my interest. "You're coming, right?"

I quirked a brow. "Huh?"

"It's at the usual spot," she added.

I pursed my lips, unsure how to tell her that though I knew what she was talking about and I'd always been invited, the post-soccer game party wasn't my thing.

"You don't usually come, do you?" she caught on, crossing her arms with amusement.

"It's not really my scene," I admitted.

"Well, d'you wanna perhaps make a change tonight?" she asked, pleading with her eyes. "I'd love to see you there."

I wasn't sure why she suddenly wanted me there – maybe because I'd been extra nice to her recently and she felt she owed me? And I also wasn't sure if she knew the effect she had on people when she gave them her whole 'innocent doe-eyed' look, but maybe she did since it seemed to work.

"Fine," I gave in reluctantly, making her grin. I nodded to my best friend, Y/BF/N, who was sat in the stands as she made notes on tonight's game – she was a journalist for the paper. "Can I bring Y/BF/N?"

"Duh," she said like it was a dumb question. "You're both always welcome."

I nodded. "Okay, I guess I'll see you tonight."

She tilted her head, eyes sparkling with her usual Jackie mischief. "See you tonight."

"I'm so glad Jackie convinced you," Y/BF/N was saying with excitement as I drove us to the deserted clearing where the party was being held. "I've always wanted to go to one of these things, but you always say no."

"I've literally never stopped you," I said, giving her a sideways glance.

"I couldn't just go without you," she said, in a somewhat sweet way which made me feel guilty for never going to one of these things with her.

"Well, feel free to go crazy tonight," I said with a slight smile. "I'm driving."

"Oh, you bet I will," she said eagerly, making me laugh.

When we got there, the party was in full swing. A bonfire was set up in the middle, with a lot of people from our grade hanging about. Some were dancing, drinking and chatting away, celebrating the Yellowjackets' win. As Y/BF/N and I passed a few of our classmates to reach Jackie and the team, I was reminded why parties weren't my scene, but sucked it up for Y/BF/N.

"And there she is!" Nat shouted, spotting me first and pulling me in for a side hug. "When Jackie told us you were coming, I could swear she was bullshitting."

"It's good to see you too, Nat," I laughed.

"And Y/BF/N is out tonight too," Lottie noticed with a smile. "It's nice to have you both here."

"Anything to support the team," Y/BF/N played along, making everyone laugh. "Now, what's a girl gotta do to get a drink around here?"

As Nat tugged her away to find her a drink, Jackie approached my side and nudged me gently.

"I'm glad you made it," she said, eyes doing a once over of me which admittedly made me nervous. "You look pretty. And it's the first time I've seen you without a camera, who knew it was possible?"

I rolled my eyes, though a smile ghosted my lips. Judging from her stifled grin, she was impressed at her own joke.

"You want a drink?" she offered, already about to leave and grab me one, but I shook my head politely.

"Thanks, but I'm designated driver tonight."

"Me and you both," Shauna said, raising her cup of water.

I cracked a smile as Jackie looked back to me hopefully.

"Okay, well how about a dance?"

I tried to hide my surprise, unsure if I could handle dancing with the Jackie Taylor without freaking out. No, I wasn't insanely head over heels for the girl, but yes, I had eyes and knew I'd get nervous dancing with a flirt like her.

"Maybe when a good song comes on," I settled on the safe response.

She studied me curiously. "Hmm. And what's a good song?"

I listened to the music that was on now, definitely not my style, and truthfully answered, "Definitely not this. Maybe some [your favourite artist]?"

She sighed defeatedly. "Your lucky day. I don't think anybody brought that tape."

I shrugged playfully. "Shame."

It was her turn to roll her eyes, feigning annoyance, but she got me a cup of water nonetheless and I stayed to chat with her, Shauna and a few others in her team. Y/BF/N returned with Nat not long later, and conversation soon changed from the soccer game to the paper. I didn't mind, enjoying talking to them about it all, as did Y/BF/N, but then a few of them were after some more fun 'party' stuff, and headed over to get a little more drunk.

Shauna and I, designated drivers as we'd established, stuck together for most of the evening. She watched as Jackie danced the night away with the others, and I watched as Y/BF/N had the time of her life, flirting with some of the jocks. By the time an hour and a half passed and my social battery had completely drained, Y/BF/N was pretty drunk and I knew we had to leave.

I said my goodbyes to Shauna before finding Jackie to the do the same. She wasn't as drunk as Y/BF/N, but definitely tipsy. As soon as she spun around, a massive grin fell on her lips and she hugged me.

"Okay," I said with surprise, receiving a lot more hugs from Jackie Taylor this past week than I had in my life. "I've gotta get Y/BF/N home now, Jackie. Just wanted to say goodnight."

"Thank you for coming," she said, pulling back with a drunken smile, but alert eyes. "And for the photos you gave me. And in general, for being a really great friend."

Yep, definitely bordering drunk.

"Thanks for inviting me tonight," I said, patting her arm before letting go. "I... liked it."

Okay, maybe not, but she was trying to be nice and I had to return the favour.

Jackie Taylor wasn't stupid though, even in this state, and a quiet chuckle from her told me all I need to know. "You owe me a dance."

"One day, maybe," I breathed out, glancing at her.

She smirked. "I'll take it."

Jackie had always been friendly with me around school, but since that week, it was as if she made more of an effort to be. Whether it was saying hi to me in the hallways, smiling at me between classes or chatting to me more whenever I was taking photos, she was more involved in my life. I didn't hate it of course, but it was something new.

One weekend, I was running some errands around town when I decided to finish up at one of my favourite coffee shops and treat myself. Armed with my purse and current read, I headed in and ordered myself a mocha with the intention of settling in the corner of the store and having some 'me' time. Of course, when I collected my drink from the counter, a familiar voice called my name and I spun around with furrowed brows.

To my surprise, it was Jackie waving at me from her table by the window, seated opposite Shauna. It felt a little rude to ignore her, so I headed over and smiled at them both.

"Fancy seeing you here," Jackie said with a grin, before motioning next to Shauna. "Join us?"

I glanced at Shauna, who had a welcoming smile on her face, so I replied, "Oh, er, thanks. Good to see you guys!"

As I took my seat, I left my bag next to me, expecting my reading time to become nonexistent now that I'd joined the two soccer players.

"We're not bothering you, are we?" Shauna asked considerately, making me smile with amusement because she was so different to an oblivious Jackie.

"Nah, you're good," I assured her, before looking between them. "What are you two up to then?"

"Oh, just having a girls day," Jackie answered, leaning back in her seat and flashing me her signature smile. "How about you?"

"Just running some errands," I said with a shrug. "Picking up some more film, getting some stuff for my mum, not much."

"So, I take it you finished the English assignment due tomorrow?" Shauna asked.

"Oh, yeah, got that done weeks ago," I said like it was a silly question, and then I saw the look Shauna shot Jackie and realised. "Wait, you haven't finished it?"

Jackie scoffed playfully. "Oh, come on, of course I have!" When Shauna kept staring at her, she continued, "I just need to write the conclusion."

"And the introduction," Shauna mumbled.

"Okay, yes, fine," Jackie gave in. "But it'll be done!"

I quirked a brow at her. "You not even worried? Mr. C isn't known for his leniency."

"Oh, Mr. C does not scare me," she said with assuredness. "Besides, I reckon I can talk him into giving me a two day extension."

I exhaled, trying not to laugh. "Of course you can."

I was convinced that there wasn't something Jackie Taylor couldn't do, and judging by the satisfied smile on her lips, I think she knew it too.

The three of us stayed there as I finished my coffee, and continued to sit there chatting about all sorts. I'd never really hung out with them properly outside of school, so I was oddly surprised with how well we got along.

Eventually, Shauna checked her watch and was sorry to interrupt our fruitless conversation about the rumours regarding our Chemistry teacher and IT teacher hooking up.

"I'm sorry, guys, but I gotta shoot off," she said with a slight frown.

"Oh, no worries," I said, straightening up, ready to leave the booth so she could leave.

"Aw no, really, Shauna?" Jackie said with a pout. "It's not even been an hour!"

"Hey, I'm not stopping you from staying, but you'll have to catch the bus home," Shauna replied with a chuckle, making Jackie scrunch her nose with disgust.

As I got up, letting Shauna stand, I realised what the problem was and looked to Jackie. "I don't mind giving you a ride."

And just like that, her smile returned. "Really?"

I shrugged. "No biggie."

"Awesome, thanks, Y/N," Shauna said gratefully, squeezing my shoulder. "Can't have Princess Jackie stranded without a carriage."

I laughed as Jackie rolled her eyes at the insult, and Shauna tried to hide her smile as she said her goodbyes.

"It's not that funny," Jackie stated, when she saw the smile still on my lips.

"It kind of is," I said with a breathy chuckle.

She crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at me lightheartedly. Now that we were alone, I figured now was a better time than any to properly check in on her.

"So, how have you been doing?" I asked carefully. "Since the whole you-know-what?"

Unlike the last time I asked her a few weeks ago, she actually seemed to be doing a lot better, no hint of sadness in her eyes. "Pretty good. Think I might be over it now. You know how boys can be."

I hummed, awkward smile forming on my lips as I suddenly distracted myself with whatever was going on outside the window. I failed to remember how observant Jackie was though.

"Wait, have you never had a boyfriend?" she asked with surprise, leaning forward slightly.

I settled with shaking my head, and she tried to make me feel better by shrugging and sipping her milkshake from the straw.

"You're not missing out on much," she assured me.

I couldn't help but snicker, shaking my head, though grateful for her attempt at putting me at ease. "That's what people who've had boyfriends usually say."

She smiled, cheeks dusting pink when I caught her out, and now it was my turn to assure her.

"It's fine," I said nonchalantly. "Boys are gross anyway."

She snorted with amusement. "Amen. It would just be easier to date girls, wouldn't it?"

I was surprised she'd said that, staying quiet for a second too long, and her eyes widened with realisation.

Suddenly embarrassed, she stuttered, "Oh, you like– I mean, you're– you're a–"

"Lesbian?" I finished with an entertained smile. She nodded awkwardly, and I confirmed, "Yeah, but I don't exactly go around shouting it out. People don't tend to react well when they find out."

She exhaled softly, eyes flittering around the table nervously. "Oh. Well, I won't tell anyone if that's what you're worried about."

I shrugged, soaking in a flustered Jackie for a little longer, holding in my laughter. Truthfully, it was very amusing watching her figure out the best reaction because I knew she was harmless. It would have been easy to embarrass her a little more for fun, but she was clearly going through it with her deep pink cheeks, now matching the colour of her lips.

After a moment of collecting herself, her hazel eyes met mine in an attempt to return to normal. "So, are there any girls you're interested in?"

It was impossible not to laugh now as I gave her a questioning look. "Really, Jackie?"

She nodded quickly, eyes returning to the table. "Right. Sorry."

I giggled at her expression before changing the subject, knowing it would definitely make her feel better. Despite my confidence in my sexuality, a small part of me hoped she wouldn't treat me any different after finding out, and thankfully, she didn't. We still chatted like usual, enjoying each other's company, until she finished her milkshake and it was time to head off.

It might have been the sugar from her milkshake, or just her plain inability to sit still, but when I was driving home, she wouldn't stop messing around with the radio stations, trying to find a good song.

"Oh my god, you're driving me insane," I finally said, making her stop.

"Not my fault the radio is garbage," she said in a knowing tone.

I rolled my eyes playfully before nodding to the centre console. "I have some cassettes. Find something you like and please stop breaking my radio."

She smiled cheekily before doing just that, flicking through the tapes I had. Finally, she decided on some Mariah Carey and managed to keep quiet the rest of the way. Occasionally she'd hum along, but I much preferred that over her touching the radio a million times.

When we reached her house, I pulled up outside and offered her a smile. "Was cool hanging out with you and Shauna today."

"It was," she agreed, before grabbing her purse and resting her hand on the door handle. "We should do it again sometime."

I shrugged, not minding, and her smile widened before she got out.

Leaning her head down to look at me through the open window, she added, "Thanks for the ride. Again."

I cleared my throat, a smile ghosting my lips as I said, "In the wise words of Shauna Shipman, we can't have Princess Jackie stranded without a–"

"Ass," she mumbled, leaving before I could finish, but a smile crossed her expression as I laughed to myself.

I suppose hanging out with Jackie Taylor wasn't so bad.

[pqrachel]

So I came across @spicymancer's "Rumble after Dark" fighting game OCs and it kind of inspired me to think about a fighting game AU featuring a bunch of my OCs from different universes. (Mine wouldn't be as NSFW but maybe a little never hurt, since it's just for art anyways...)

None of this obviously would be canon but just thinking about the fighting game archetypes as a method of character exploration has been fun. And most of my fighting game experience comes from platform fighters so my archetype knowledge is a little whack but if you'll excuse that then,

My initial castings are these: (Long-ass ramble with multiple OCs and no sketches yet.)

Blanksford Series: -Gabby (Would be a Hit & Run Mix Up character. Using their teleportation and skateboarding to move around in a unique way. Might have a playstyle similar to Bridget Guilty Gear.) -Madi (While she's doesn't have any powers in-universe and wouldn't be much of a fighter on her own, her TTRPG char KyoVee would be a fun ranged zoner character. Definitely a lil shit, think Pac-Man / Pichu from Smash.) -Taylor (Give him a bit of gym time and training and he could be a well-rounded rushdown type of fighter, nothing too gimmicky prob my most standard fighter on the list. To make him more unique he could double as the announcer because that'd be super in character.) -Aeri (Even though she has powers in-universe she avoids conflict at all costs, so instead her TTRPG char (who doesn't have a name yet) would be an excellent grappler. A big orc with an axe. In my head I'm thinking of that scene in Drawtective where Gyorik put the bad guy in arm jail, mixed with Loxodont from Rivals 2.) -Artemis (Might take her off this list as I do sketches but for now she's a ranged zoner. Using her bow to keep distance, might play similar to Green Arrow from Injustice, idk) -Ultra-Dude (Of course I had to feature this dude as a heavy. He'd just be great for it. And it's not like I've been using him in-universe for anything other than that asshole with the strength and healing powers.)

Colostle: -Correll [Pirate Arc] (I think Correll would be a fun mid-range zoner. Using her spear to keep distance and her ice magic as a fun gimmick to make her a bit more unique. -Ivy Reyne (Definitely a fast and fun rushdown character. Like imagine Maypul from Rivals but grounded. She's agile AF and hits harder than you'd expect.) -Gratt & Tic Tac (I thought this would be a fun duo-fighter. Since Aanya's not my own OC I wanted to keep my Colostle reps pre-Tic Tac's death as far as timelines go but Tic alone wouldn't be enough. I didn't want to pair him with Correll cuz I thought that'd be a little hard and honestly the thought of leaving Gratt out felt bad, and with Tic Tac's help they could actually stand a chance.)

Mystic Mysteries: -Emra Corvus (The OG MysMys character. While I haven't focused on her a lot in-universe lately, I think she could be fun here. Using different elemental magic as stances. Like a mix of Robin and Shulk from Smash.) -Tehl (My biggest OC excluding actual gods and monsters. Xe'd easily be a heavy. Probably with a playstyle similar to Sylvanos from Rivals, instead of forest powers though xe'd used alien tech to backup xir playstyle.) -Dawn Ronik (I think she'd be a pretty well-rounded fighter. Again borrowing some of Tehl's alien tech for support but mostly just beign agile and powerful. Nothing too strong in any category but very hard to take advantage of.)

And my random OC to finish it off: -Syble (She was originally design as a rivals workshop character before I realized how much effort making an actual workshop character really was. She'd play kind of similar to Maypul or Shiek but with her own teleportation gimmicks. I've talked about these when I designed her and I think they're still on my tumblr somewhere though you might have to check back a bit to find them.) -pqkR6 (Easily a fighting game character, it'd be a robotic shoto fighter. Agile and able to take hits but also quick enough to get in its own damage.) -Hackphlegm (As a goblin sorcerer, he'd be a fun ranged hit&run/zoner type fighter. Might be too similar to Emra in playstyle would have to differentiate them somehow but other than that he's a solid inclusion.) -Darcy (Not a character I thought I'd bring back but looking at the archetypes I thought I needed more heavies. Darcy's werewolf form would be a grappler who's pretty big and would be weird to design around but fits really well into a fighting game.) -And also I might need one or two new OCs to tie it all together. (Off the top of my head I think one archetype I'm missing is the enby with a scythe archetype. You know characters like Thanatos, Testament, & Sawyer.) -And for another... (I'm also somehow missing a swordie. Like where's my over-inclusion of Fire Emblem characters. Like I have bladed weapons but they're mostly daggers. Gabby's skateboard maybe could be used like a sword but they wouldn't be a "swordie". Again Aanya's not my OC even though she's in my stories so I don't want to use her. Maybe make a few origin changes and my Terrarian could fit this role. Or Drake is an OC I haven't touched since I removed him from Blanksford canon years ago, he might fit here.)

[ticklishraspberries]

To the Moon and to Saturn (Eddie/Steve)

Summary: Steve and Eddie are...something. Oh, and Steve knows how to braid hair, for some reason, and decides to show off his skills on Eddie. (Commission for the lovely @happyandticklish!! Thank you so much!! Also, the title is from the Taylor Swift song, “seven” - hope y’all enjoy!!)

Eddie Munson knew he liked boys by the time he hit high school, but that didn’t make crushing on one any easier. He already sat at the bottom in the food chain of popularity, so the last thing he needed was for people to discover one more reason to label him as a freak.

So, when Steve Harrington got drunk off of a cheap six-pack, sidled up beside him, and knocked their knees together gently, it was almost too much for Eddie to deal with. They were outside of Eddie’s trailer that evening, joined by Robin, Vickie, and Nancy, who were all sitting on a blanket in the grass, engrossed in some conversation about something Eddie couldn’t be bothered to listen in on.

“Your hair is really long,” Steve said, stating the obvious.

“And you’re really drunk,” Eddie replied, hoping the nervous lilt in his voice came across as teasing instead.

So, yeah, he found Steve hot, but who fucking didn’t? He was all strong, square jaw and fabulous hair and that goddamn smile, how was he supposed to resist? But guys like Steve Harrington were off limits, he told himself. Steve seemed like a nice guy overall, but there was no telling how he’d react to being genuinely hit on by another guy, and Eddie sure as hell wasn’t going to take that chance.

Steve reached out, wrapping his fingers around a few of Eddie’s curls, examining them for whatever reason made logical sense in his intoxicated brain. “Do you do anything to it, or does it just, like, come out of the shower like this?”

“Pretty much,” he replied. “I assume you spend hours getting your hair to sit like that, all perfect and fluffy and shit.”

Great job, Eddie. Totally not gay to call his hair perfect.

Steve gave a little pout, letting go of Eddie’s hair. “Yeah, it’s like a whole process. I’m jealous. Your hair is just…naturally pretty.”

“Pretty?” Eddie asked, feeling his face flush.

Steve nodded. “Yeah, pretty.”

The moment was promptly interrupted by Robin’s cackling laughter at some joke that Nancy had made, pulling both of their eyes over to the girls.

“I feel very left out of the joke,” Eddie said, trying to break the tension.

Steve snorted. “Robin laughs at everything when she’s drunk, I doubt it’s even funny.”

He staggered a few steps over to the cooler, and let out a childish whine at the discovery that there was no more beer left.

“Trust me, you don’t need any more alcohol,” Eddie said.

“Okay, mom,” Steve replied, rolling his eyes.

God, he was adorable even when he was being insufferable, Eddie thought. Then, he promptly tripped over the cooler and nearly face-planted into the dirt.

The girls all turned at the sound, and Robin shrieked with laughter again at her best friend’s plight.

Eddie rushed over to help Steve to his feet, trying to ignore the flutter in his chest as their hands clasped together. “Yeah, you’re definitely cut off, dude. Come inside,” he said, ushering a stumbling, giggling Steve through the door of the trailer.

Steve plopped onto the couch, looking at his scraped palms with a sigh. “Why do I always end up bleeding every time we hang out, huh?”

Eddie snorted. “Because you love to put yourself in danger. I’m just waiting on the sidelines to save your ass.”

He walked over with a glass of water and a towel to press to the surface-level wounds, nothing compared to what he had seen Steve endure, but still worthy of care regardless.

“Thanks,” Steve muttered, taking a few generous gulps of water before allowing Eddie to look at his hands, patting away the dirt and the tiny bit of blood.

“Don’t mention it,” Eddie replied, before sitting down on the couch beside him.

Steve immediately scooted closer, his face so close that Eddie could smell the beer on his breath.

“I don’t just think your hair is pretty, you know,” Steve said.

“Oh?” Eddie asked, voice cracking ever-so-slightly.

Steve nodded. “I think you’re pretty. Like, really fuckin’ pretty.”

“You’re not thinking straight.”

Steve barked out a laugh. “Yeah, I’m thinking quite the opposite, which is ironic considering I thought I was pretty damn straight. But then you came along and all of a sudden I can’t stop thinking about your stupid smile, or your goddamn hair—”

Eddie shut his drunken rambling up with a kiss.

It was quick, nervous, and messy, but it didn’t last long. Their friends were just outside the trailer door, and they were drunk, and the early morning hours were flying by faster than Eddie wanted them to.

As they pulled away, Steve looked happy. Almost at peace. And then Eddie was helping Steve get into his bed, ushering the girls inside and providing them with every blanket and pillow he could find, giving them free reign to sleep wherever suited them best.

Nancy took the couch, and Robin and Vickie took the floor of the living room, all whispering giggly goodnights to each other and Eddie, who chuckled fondly at his friends (which was still a word that felt foreign on his tongue, but he was getting used to it) before shutting the door to his room.Then, he crawled into his bed next to Steve, who had already fallen asleep, and put an arm around his waist, careful not to wake him.

And so, the rest was history.

They hadn’t really spoken about that night since it happened. They just continued to spend time together, and occasionally that led to making out, but there was no label for whatever they were.

Eddie was fine with that. Dating in the traditional sense wasn’t really on the table for them. He wasn’t sure if the mental image of Steve bringing him home to meet the parents was hilarious or severely depressing. Perhaps it was a perfect mix of both.

All he knew was that he really liked Steve, and Steve seemed to like him.

Speaking of Steve’s parents, they were out of town for the weekend, and so Eddie had come around for a movie marathon in the basement. He had expected it to be a group, perhaps Robin or Dustin or anyone else, but no. It was just the two of them, and Eddie’s stomach did somersaults at the realization.

He had brought a few pre-rolled joints, with Steve’s permission, and it didn’t take long for them to be pulled out and lit.

“Won’t your parents freak out if they smell this?” Eddie asked.

Steve shrugged. “Who cares?” he replied, giving a grin.

Be still his beating fucking heart. That twinkle of mischief in Steve’s brown eyes, the stupid grin, the way his lips wrapped around the end of the joint…Eddie was completely and utterly doomed.

They passed the joint back and forth until it was short enough to burn their fingertips, and while Eddie’s tolerance was quite high, he felt sufficiently light and airy, although he suspected that the weed was not the only reason for it.

After bickering about which film to watch, a neck and neck battle between Footloose (Steve’s pick) and Cujo (Eddie’s choice) which ended in a game of rock-paper-scissors, which left Steve victorious, and Eddie pouting.

Barely ten minutes into the movie, however, the two of them were cuddled up and barely paying attention to Kevin Bacon’s face on the screen. Eddie’s heart was beating far too fast for someone who had smoked a depressant, but Steve’s touch was a whole other type of drug. Whatever the opposite of a depressant was. Stimulant? He didn’t know, because he had failed biology, chemistry, and health throughout his high school career. All he knew was that he was sort of falling for Steve Harrington, and no class he’d flunked in school could have taught him how to deal with that.

Especially when Steve began running his fingers through Eddie’s hair, making him practically melt into the couch. It was a fact that very few people knew, but having his hair played with was pretty high up on the list of things that left Eddie Munson completely weak.

“This okay?” Steve asked.

Eddie could barely muster up the ability to nod. “Feels good. Like, really good.”

Steve chuckled and continued, scratching at his scalp as his eyes returned to the movie.

But just as Eddie felt his eyes beginning to droop, sleepy from the relaxing sensation, Steve stopped. He couldn’t contain the little whine that left his mouth as it ceased, and was met with a laugh.

“Can I braid your hair?”

Eddie looked at him in confusion. “You know how to braid?”

Steve flushed. “Yeah, uh, Robin taught me. Her hair is a little too short for it now, but Max let me practice on her. I’m not very good, but it’s fun. I like to do stuff with my hands, it helps me focus. Besides, you seem to like it when I play with your hair.”

Eddie could have cried at how adorable Steve was. Of course he would learn how to braid hair, especially since he apparently wanted children: 3 boys, 3 girls, which was a bit excessive in Eddie’s opinion, but whatever. The mental image of Max making snarky comments as Steve fumbled with her long, ginger hair was simultaneously precious and hilarious.

“Yeah, go for it,” he said, smiling like a fool.

He didn’t mention the way Steve’s eyes lit up when he was given permission, and his fingers quickly got to work separating Eddie’s hair into three pretty uneven sections of unruly curls. And it felt really nice, but there was just one little problem that was keeping him from relaxing.

Steve kept accidentally touching his neck and ears, and another thing that very few people knew about Eddie Munson was that he was extremely ticklish. Or, well, he was when he was younger, and assumed that was something he would grow out of eventually, but years later, the slightest nudge of Steve’s knuckles against the shell of his ear made goosebumps spread over his skin.

He was sort of dreading the day that Steve discovered it, but now that it was so close to occurring, he felt a buzz of excited anticipation in his belly. There was something oddly alluring about the idea of Steve pinning him against the couch and pulling laughter from his lips with some well-placed touches. Still, he wasn’t gonna make it easy for Steve to find out, because it was just more fun that way.

It was quiet, other than the television, although the movie had long since lost their attention. Steve’s tongue poked out of his mouth in concentration as he crossed strands of hair over one another, forming some sort of messy attempt at a braid.

Eddie was about to give himself a metaphorical pat on the back for his composure when Steve lost a piece of hair, swore softly under his breath at being thrown off track, and went to grab the hair again, and ran his fingertips over the side of Eddie’s neck in the process.

Taken off guard, Eddie’s shoulder flew up as he gave a quick shout of laughter.

The basement seemed to freeze that way, Eddie’s shoulder pressed to his ear and Steve’s hands hovering mid-air.

“Are you ticklish?” Steve finally asked.

“Nope,” Eddie replied, a little too quickly. “Not at all, I just, uh…This movie’s funny.”

Steve glanced at the screen, deeming that nothing amusing was happening, and then back at Eddie, leaning in to look at his face.

“I think you’re lying,” Steve said, a smirk spreading across his face. The braiding was suddenly forgotten as he brought a hand to Eddie’s neck and deliberately wiggled his fingers.

Eddie’s reaction was immediate; a stream of uncharacteristically high-pitched giggles poured from his lips, and he tried to squirm away from the touch very unsuccessfully.

Steve just followed, using both hands to tickle his neck, making Eddie scrunch up like a turtle.

“Not ticklish, huh?” he asked, and Eddie could hear the grin in his voice.

“Nohot at all!” Eddie replied.

Steve snorted and let his fingers wander upwards, fluttering over Eddie’s ears. Since when the fuck were people ticklish on their ears? Well, all Eddie knew was that it really tickled, if the squeal that left his mouth was any indication. He folded forward at the hips, which only prompted Steve to scribble his fingers down his back, which felt just as torturous.

Well, it wasn’t really torture. Sure, his nervous system was going crazy, but it was sort of fun. Plus, any excuse for Steve to be touching him was a good thing in Eddie’s book.

“How am I just finding this out?” Steve asked. “You save the world with a guy and he doesn’t even tell you he’s ticklish?”

“That doesn’t even make sense!” Eddie cried. “Irrelevant information!”

Steve wrapped his arms around his middle, pulling him back against his own chest, kneading his fingers into the softness of his stomach. “I think that’s totally relevant.”

Eddie giggled, grabbing at a pillow instead of pushing at Steve’s hands, and tried to not read into that too much. “I doubt the Upside Down has t-tickle monsters!”

That made Steve laugh, too. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. But still, I wish I knew this sooner. You’re fun to mess with.”

He felt his cheeks turn red, partly from breathlessness, but mostly from Steve’s words. He leaned back into Steve’s arms, letting his head flop back onto his shoulder, and covered his blushing face with his hands.

Clearly, that was a mistake, because Steve just took the opportunity to tickle beneath his arms, making Eddie’s laughter reach a new octave, elbows shooting down to his sides.

“You trapped my hands,” Steve said, his lips too close to Eddie’s ear, the sensation of his breath enough to tickle. “I guess I’ll just have to tickle you until you let me go.”

God, where did he learn to tease like that? It was really fucking with Eddie’s head, in the best way. It somehow made him feel twice as sensitive, which would have been overwhelming if it weren’t so fun.

“I can’t!” Eddie said.

“Can’t what?”

“Let go!” To demonstrate his point, Eddie tried to lift his arms and immediately snapped them back to his sides as Steve’s fingers wiggled, laughter growing more frantic.

Steve laughed too, and Eddie couldn’t help but think that their laughs sounded quite nice together. Almost like music.

“Come on, I won’t tickle, I promise. Just pick ‘em up a little bit,” he said.

For some reason, Eddie trusted him, stomach doing flips as he slowly lifted his elbows, and Steve surprisingly kept true to his word, pulling his hands away from Eddie’s underarms.

He gave a sigh of relief, flopping his arms back down.

The relief was short lived though, because Steve only gave him a moment to catch his breath before latching onto his hips and squeezing, causing Eddie’s entire body to spasm. Loud, hysterical belly-laughter rang through the basement. It seemed as though Steve had hit the jackpot of tickle spots, and Eddie was sure it was how he’d die: Stoned, in love, and tickled to death. What a fucking way to go, especially considering all he’d been through.

“Woah!” Steve said. “Don’t buck me off the couch, dude.”

Eddie couldn’t even grace that with a reply, too busy giggling his head off. His hands gripped at the couch cushions, desperate for something to ground him, and not really wanting to push Steve away. Sure, the laughing was sort of making his post-smoking dry-mouth worse, but he was having fun!

It wasn’t until Steve kneaded his thumbs into the divots of his hips that he grabbed onto his wrists, a newfound strength overcoming him as he pushed the offending hands away.

“Sorry, did I take it too far?” Steve asked.

Eddie shook his head. “Just needed to breathe,” he said. “That was…Shit, man, I didn’t know I could laugh that hard.”

Steve grinned. “Yeah, I’m surprised you didn’t shake the whole house.”

Eddie gave him a little shove, and Steve squeezed his knee in response, making him giggle.

“You are cruel, Harrington,” Eddie said, but his tone held nothing but fondness.

“And you’re adorable, Munson,” Steve replied, leaning in to kiss him.

Adorable? Fuck, how was Eddie supposed to deal with being called adorable? He was already flustered and giddy beyond belief, but Steve referring to him as adorable had him ready to start skipping around the room like an excited child. But instead, he just kissed back.

Neither of them had noticed that the television was rolling the film’s credits, but it didn’t matter.

“You messed up my half-finished braid with all your squirming,” Steve said when they pulled back from the kiss.

“That’s completely your fault,” Eddie replied. “Now my hair’s probably a tangled mess.”

Steve looked him over, head tilted. He reached out and started fixing the aforementioned tangled mess upon Eddie’s head, his fingers gentle as he returned each strand to its proper place. “There. It’s still messy, but at least now it looks intentional.”

Eddie grinned. “Perfect.”

“So, do you wanna watch another movie? You know, since we paid so much attention to the last one,” Steve suggested, sarcasm lacing his voice.

Eddie gave a snort before a metaphorical light bulb went off above his head. “I have a better idea.”

Steve smirked. “What’s that?”

Eddie pushed Steve back against the couch cushions, clambering on top of him. Steve clearly thought it was going in a more saucy direction, so his shock was obvious when Eddie began tickling his stomach in earnest.

“Revenge!” Eddie cried, triumphant.

Steve’s laughter quickly filled the room, and Eddie knew then and there that he had fallen fucking hard. Suddenly, a boy that was once off-limits had become his…well, something. They would talk about that later, after Eddie was finished getting some well-deserved payback, and maybe another joint. Regardless, Eddie was just happy. Doomed wasn’t the right word for how he felt. Perhaps ‘in love’ would be a better way to describe it. Yeah, that sounded about right.

When he was younger, Eddie never thought he would be able to feel and express love for another boy, especially not to that boy’s face. And then Steve Harrington came around, and changed everything for the better. 

[the-bau-quinjet]

Tolerate It

Summary: Reader struggles with feeling like Hotch is growing distant.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!Reader

Category: fluff/angst

Warnings: the reader has thoughts/feelings of inadequacy

Word Count: 3200+

Notes: This is my entry for @railmereid‘s 2k writing challenge! It was inspired by Taylor Swift’s song tolerate it! I think there’s only one direct quote (I’m begging for footnotes in the story of your life). 

You met Aaron on accident. It could be said that a lot of people are met on accident, and that’s just how people meet other people. But with Aaron it felt different. It felt as though every little thing that went wrong that day lead you to the accident that would introduce Aaron Hotchner into your life.

After the shit show that was today, all you want to do is get home and sleep. Maybe also eat dinner, but honestly even food is on the backburner of your mind right now. 

Your drive home from work was the first uneventful thing to happen all day, a necessary moment of peace. You made it into your apartment without any trouble, swiftly moving to change into your fluffiest pajamas and sleep.

The second your head hit your pillow, the fire alarm sounded. The blaring alarm screeched in your ears as you groaned. You forced yourself out of bed to comply with the alarm. Without thinking, you put on your slippers, grabbed your keys, and walked out the front door. 

Once you made it to the street, you turned to see the building really was on fire. It looked contained to one patio, but it was big enough for you to give up your plans of sleep. Instead, you chose to turn on your heel and walk down the street to escape the crowd. 

You didn’t have a plan as to where you were going. You just wanted it to be quiet. Before long, you found yourself in a park. Looking around, you spotted an empty bench. Perfect. You can just sit, enjoy the quiet of the park for however long it takes to fix the fire issue. 

You start trekking toward the bench, now walking with a purpose, when you notice a man chasing his child. The child laughs loudly, joy so clear on his face. The man smiles at him, still running behind him. 

His smile is so infectious, it has its own magnetic force pulling you towards him.  Switching directions from the bench, you are now walking toward the grassy area they are playing in, not looking at your surroundings. You’re so captivated by the happiness on display in front of you, you don’t notice the change in terrain. 

You end up tripping on a rock, falling and tumbling down the slight decline to land in a heap at the feet of the very man whose smile distracted you.

To make matters worse, he was not stationary. No, that would have been to simple. He was, in fact, still chasing the child. So, rather than rolling to a stop and looking up at him, you rolled right into him, causing him to lose his balance and fall over you. 

The two of you were a tangled mess of limbs piled on top of each other. Slowly, carefully the two of you separated, gingerly moving arms and legs to avoid further injury. Helping each other rise from the ground, you were both speechless, equal parts amused and horrified at what just happened. 

“Are you okay?” 

You jumped at the sudden intrusion that brought you back to reality. Spinning around, you realized it was the child. 

It took you an embarrassing amount of time to form a response. “Oh, um... yes I’m okay. Thank you.” Turning back to the man, you finally realized what just happened. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

He chuckled, a small smirk appearing on his face before he replied, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Oh, good.” Your relief was short lived as you realized what you were wearing and how you were dressed. “Please tell me you didn’t see me roll all the way down the hill?” You cringed at the thought. 

“I could say it, but it wouldn’t be very honest.”  Again, a small laugh left his lips. 

“Do you think we could pretend?” You took a deep breath as he quirked his eyebrow. “Ya know, that I didn’t just make a complete fool of myself?”

“But that’s not true! Daddy said when something’s not true it’s a lie and lies are bad.” The boy chimed in again, earning a chuckle from both adults. You bent down to talk to him. 

“You are absolutely right, lying is bad.” You nodded along with him, matching his serious expression. 

He took in your expression, as if judging the sincerity of your statement. Slowly, a smile began to form as if he was glad you agreed with him. “Do you want to play tag with us?”

Looking from him to his father, you took the slight smile and nod of his head as an invitation to accept his offer. “I would love to.”

That series of accidents led you to where you are now, though. A year and a half later you are sitting in your shared home, watching Aaron Hotchner do paperwork for what feels like the millionth night in a row. More realistically, it is the ninth night in a row, but you’re feeling lonely and dramatic. Those nine nights have been spread out over the past month, interrupted by nights he spends away from home.

You yearn to be closer to him. All it would take is for you to cross the room, but it feels as though the distance from the couch you are lounging on to the desk he is working at is too far, like there is some impassible divide preventing you from interrupting him. 

So you just keep watching. It has been 36 minutes since you started your observing. If he sticks to his pattern, he’ll pause in nine minutes to stretch, giving him the opportunity to notice your eyes on him.  You’re hopeful that this time he’ll smile when he sees you. 

So you wait. You watch him read. You notice the way his head dips just a bit lower as he tries to focus tired eyes on the smudged handwriting of a fellow agent. You notice how his hand squeezes the pen tighter than before, turning the once smooth glide of ink across the page into rushed, jagged strokes of letters. You notice the barely there wince as he flips the page, the result of the familiar feeling of a paper cut he’s grown all too used to. You notice everything he does. Which is why you’re not surprised when he speaks. 

“You’re staring.” 

Glancing at your phone, you note the time. Nine minutes later. Right on schedule. The smile you hoped for is noticeably missing, replaced by a curious tilt of his head.

“I’m basking in your presence.” 

If he wanted to, he could figure out how lonely and dramatic you are feeling. But with the majority of his energy still directed towards the many reports on his desk, he only notices the surface level. Tired, slightly miffed, but enjoying that he is home.

There was once a time when he would have noticed it all though. A time when he noticed everything about you, sometimes before you had even noticed it about yourself. You’ve learned how to hide it though, to save him the energy that would be expended to profile you. 

“You should consider a new career path. Comedy could really be for you.”

His deadpan joke doesn’t surprise you, but him rising from his desk chair does. For a minute, you expect him to come to you. To attempt to cross the impassible divide you’ve built in your head. Instead, he turns into the kitchen. He pauses at the island, drinking from the glass he never brings to his desk to prevent anything from ruining his files. 

When he returns to his desk, squandering any lingering hope that he may have been done for the night, you rise. Unwilling to do what you had hoped of him, you turn away from his desk and move toward the stairs. Just before you lose sight of him, you turn back. 

“Don’t forget to sleep tonight.” 

Your tone is soft, emphasizing your concern to cover up the lingering loneliness. 

“I’ll be up soon.”

You respond with a slight nod of your head, another thing unnoticed by Aaron as his eyes never left the files. 

You flitter through the second level as you complete your routine to prepare yourself to sleep for the night. 

You can’t help but notice the cold sheets on the empty side of the bed as you wait for Aaron, knowing you’ll likely be asleep before he comes to bed. 

--

You’re surprised to wake up the next morning with Aaron still in bed next to you. You watch his chest rise and fall with the steady in and out of his breath. His face is fully relaxed, a sight you so rarely get to see. 

You’re not sure how long you watch him sleep, but you notice when his rhythmic breathing changes pattern indicating he’s waking up. His eyes flutter open slowly, allowing you to see the exact moment he notices you. 

“You’re staring again.” 

The smile you are still hoping for is again absent from his face, too used to the frown that has taken over his features near permanently for the past month.  

“I’m still basking in your presence.”

You notice the beginnings of a grin forming on his face. The twinkle in his eyes. The slight twitch of his lips. It’s nearly there when the moment is interrupted by the distinct, shrill ringtone indicating a call from the bureau. 

You watch as he sits up to answer the phone with his typical “Hotchner”. If you hadn’t spent the last year noticing everything you could about the man, you would doubt that he had been asleep less than three minutes ago. 

His brows furrow, his body leaning forward to sit a little straighter as he takes in the information from whoever is on the other end of the phone. His eyes trace the pattern of your comforter, up until he throws the blanket off of himself to rise to his feet. He’s changing into his suit before hanging up. Without even hearing his responses, you can tell where this is headed. 

After he hangs up, you speak before he has the chance. 

“I take it you won’t be here for dinner with my parents tonight? I’ll try to reschedule it.” 

The question should express your loneliness, but you do well to hide the full truth. It’s easy to sound understanding because you are. You do understand, which is why you never plan to tell him how you feel. 

The grim expression is enough for you to know you’re right, you don’t need the verbal confirmation. You nod your head, a smile on your face that doesn’t meet your eyes as he walks out of your bedroom. 

--

While Aaron was away, you did everything you could to keep yourself busy outside of your typical 9 to 5 workday. Aside from the typical reading, cleaning, and TV watching you normally do you; you successfully navigated another conversation with your parents about why it was necessary to reschedule dinner a second time and played action figures with Jack, always in agreement about how his daddy is a hero. 

Every night you found yourself staring at the door, hoping it would swing open and reveal him on the other side. Every night you grew less hopeful and more discouraged than the one previous. 

--

Five days after he left, Aaron returned to your shared home. Despite the late hour, you waited for him on the couch. Knowing he probably hadn’t eaten dinner, you kept some food warm for him. 

When the door swung open, you were in front of it in seconds. You pulled him into a hug, one he was too exhausted to reciprocate, and kissed his cheek. 

Moving farther into the house, he dropped his files on his desk swiftly turning to head upstairs. 

“I kept dinner warm for you.”

Your words stalled him at the bottom of the stairs. He turned around slowly, barely looking at you.

“I actually ate with the team tonight.”

His words hit you like a bus, but you turned to hide it. He didn’t eat with the team often, so you never blamed him when he stayed with them a bit longer than usual. 

“Oh, okay. I’ll just put it in a container for tomorrow then. Did you want to talk about the case?”

You’ve always been willing to help him carry the weight of his job, but you’ve been trying harder to get him to open up this past month. Typically he brushes you off, tells you he’s fine, and then buries himself in paperwork. 

He surprised you this time. Maybe he could tell you were upset, or maybe he was just too far in his head. Either way, rather than continuing on his path up the stairs, he moved to sit in the kitchen while you put the food away. 

You listened as he ranted about the local officers withholding information about the case. You listened as he complained about the poor weather. You listened to every word, slowly washing and drying the dishes until they were sparkling. You listened until you were practically asleep, leaning against the sink. You didn’t dare to interrupt in fear he would shut down again. Or maybe it was you shutting down, but that’s a thought for another time. 

When he finished talking, he rose from his chair, too worked up to sleep now, he sat down at his desk. 

You watched, noticing everything you could. 

--

Your weeks repeated much the same for the next few months. Your loneliness morphed into something new with each night you spent watching Aaron work. 

It’s one such night when everything changes. You were trying to watch him work, but your thoughts drifted away from his actions as you lost yourself in your memories. 

The first case Aaron went on after you moved in with him and Jack was the hardest for you. After a straight week of seeing him so often around the house, it felt like a slap in the face to come home and not have him there. Somehow you made it through, and you were clingier than usual when he came home. 

He noticed how it affected you. That was before you started hiding your feelings from him. He told you he thought about you in every spare moment. That he wanted to solve the case even more than usual just so he could come home to see you even just a few minutes sooner.

He calmed all of your fears, protecting you from your own intrusive thoughts about holding him back when he was working. 

You couldn’t help but think about every time he recognized how you were feeling and did what he could to help. How he would reassure you that he wanted to be with you, bringing you little key chains or stuffed animals from the cities he travelled to. How he would smile when he saw you. Where was that man now? 

You thought back to the first day you met Aaron. It was like he saved you from a terrible day, bringing a smile to your face after hours upon hours of crap. 

“Do you think we could pretend?” You laugh lightly to yourself at the memory of Jack telling you not to lie.  Not realizing you spoke the words out loud, you’re surprised to hear Aaron from across the room.

“Pretend what?” The confusion is clear in his voice and the furrow of his brows. 

“Hmm? Oh, um. I was just thinking about the first day we met.” Tears begin to brim your eyes as you think about how much everything has seemed to change. “And how you became my whole world and now I feel like I’m begging for footnotes in the story of your life.” The tears are now freely falling down your face. 

Aaron looks even more confused now. “What?” He’s frozen at his desk, pen in hand, reports on the surface in front of him. 

“I’m so sorry. I just feel like I’m taking up so much of your time and you have such important things to do! God, I’m so selfish. I’ve tried so hard to hide it though, so you can focus on people who actually need your help.” The panic in your voice grows as you speak, along with the tears falling from your eyes. 

“Y/N...” Suddenly, Aaron is on his feet, easily crossing the imaginary divide you’ve built in between the couch and his desk. He slows down, moving gently as he pulls you into him on the couch, moving your legs across his lap so he could pull you into his chest. “Sweetheart, you could never take up too much of my time.” He speaks slowly, so as not to start another round of sobbing. 

“What?” Your confusion is clearly communicated with the one word question, but you’re on a roll with your feelings so why stop now. “Are you saying it’s all in my head? Bu-, but, but you’ve been so busy every time you’ve been home! I’ve barely seen you, and I’ve tried so hard to not let it bother me because I know how important what you do is! I do, I understand it all so much. I could never be mad at you for working so hard. I just feel like you’re tolerating me being here when you have so many more important things to do.” 

Now breathless, your rant ends with more tears forming in your eyes. Aaron is quick to wipe them away as they fall. “You’re right. I have been busy.” His voice is full of concern and regret as he thinks about the past few months. “But please don’t ever doubt for a second that you are the most important thing in the world to me.” He pauses for a second before continuing. “Well, other than Jack.” This earns him a slight chuckle from you before you reply. 

“Jack is the most important to me too.” Your clear your throat, hesitant to voice your next question. “You’re not mad at me?”

Aaron looks so taken aback, you would laugh if you weren’t so nervous. “I could never be mad at you. Especially not for having completely valid feelings. I’m so sorry I haven’t been as present as I should’ve been. I love you so much, Y/N. More than I could ever put into words, and I will be doing a better job of showing you just how much you mean to me from now on.” There’s a slight edge to his voice, as though he’s annoyed with himself for you feeling this way. “Please, don’t ever hide your feelings from me. I never want to lose you.” His own voice is cracking, slight tears in his eyes at the idea of you not being in his life. 

“I promise.” You lean up to kiss him, trying to convey just how much you’ve missed him. 

“Let’s go to bed.” He lifts you up from the couch, carrying you toward the stairs. 

You shriek, clinging to him even more. “It’s only 9:15!” You laugh at his antics. “What about your reports?”

“I have more important things to do right now.” He smirks at you, quickly moving into the bedroom to show you just how much he cares about you. 

permanent tag list:

@mac99martin @goldeng1rl8 @measure-in-pain

[blackwoolncrown]

”This essay has been kicking around in my head for years now and I’ve never felt confident enough to write it. It’s a time in my life I’m ashamed of. It’s a time that I hurt people and, through inaction, allowed others to be hurt. It’s a time that I acted as a violent agent of capitalism and white supremacy. Under the guise of public safety, I personally ruined people’s lives but in so doing, made the public no safer… so did the family members and close friends of mine who also bore the badge alongside me.

But enough is enough.

The reforms aren’t working. Incrementalism isn’t happening. Unarmed Black, indigenous, and people of color are being killed by cops in the streets and the police are savagely attacking the people protesting these murders.

American policing is a thick blue tumor strangling the life from our communities and if you don’t believe it when the poor and the marginalized say it, if you don’t believe it when you see cops across the country shooting journalists with less-lethal bullets and caustic chemicals, maybe you’ll believe it when you hear it straight from the pig’s mouth.”

>>Copied here in case anyone gets paywalled when they click the above. The full article is...a lot.<<

WHY AM I WRITING THIS

As someone who went through the training, hiring, and socialization of a career in law enforcement, I wanted to give a first-hand account of why I believe police officers are the way they are. Not to excuse their behavior, but to explain it and to indict the structures that perpetuate it.

I believe that if everyone understood how we’re trained and brought up in the profession, it would inform the demands our communities should be making of a new way of community safety. If I tell you how we were made, I hope it will empower you to unmake us.

One of the other reasons I’ve struggled to write this essay is that I don’t want to center the conversation on myself and my big salty boo-hoo feelings about my bad choices. It’s a toxic white impulse to see atrocities and think “How can I make this about me?” So, I hope you’ll take me at my word that this account isn’t meant to highlight me, but rather the hundred thousand of me in every city in the country. It’s about the structure that made me (that I chose to pollute myself with) and it’s my meager contribution to the cause of radical justice.

YES, ALL COPS ARE BASTARDS

I was a police officer in a major metropolitan area in California with a predominantly poor, non-white population (with a large proportion of first-generation immigrants). One night during briefing, our watch commander told us that the city council had requested a new zero tolerance policy. Against murderers, drug dealers, or child predators?

No, against homeless people collecting cans from recycling bins.

See, the city had some kickback deal with the waste management company where waste management got paid by the government for our expected tonnage of recycling. When homeless people “stole” that recycling from the waste management company, they were putting that cheaper contract in peril. So, we were to arrest as many recyclers as we could find.

Even for me, this was a stupid policy and I promptly blew Sarge off. But a few hours later, Sarge called me over to assist him. He was detaining a 70 year old immigrant who spoke no English, who he’d seen picking a coke can out of a trash bin. He ordered me to arrest her for stealing trash. I said, “Sarge, c’mon, she’s an old lady.” He said, “I don’t give a shit. Hook her up, that’s an order.” And… I did. She cried the entire way to the station and all through the booking process. I couldn’t even comfort her because I didn’t speak Spanish. I felt disgusting but I was ordered to make this arrest and I wasn’t willing to lose my job for her.

If you’re tempted to feel sympathy for me, don’t. I used to happily hassle the homeless under other circumstances. I researched obscure penal codes so I could arrest people in homeless encampments for lesser known crimes like “remaining too close to railroad property” (369i of the California Penal Code). I used to call it “planting warrant seeds” since I knew they wouldn’t make their court dates and we could arrest them again and again for warrant violations.

We used to have informal contests for who could cite or arrest someone for the weirdest law. DUI on a bicycle, non-regulation number of brooms on your tow truck (27700(a)(1) of the California Vehicle Code)… shit like that. For me, police work was a logic puzzle for arresting people, regardless of their actual threat to the community. As ashamed as I am to admit it, it needs to be said: stripping people of their freedom felt like a game to me for many years.

I know what you’re going to ask: did I ever plant drugs? Did I ever plant a gun on someone? Did I ever make a false arrest or file a false report? Believe it or not, the answer is no. Cheating was no fun, I liked to get my stats the “legitimate” way. But I knew officers who kept a little baggie of whatever or maybe a pocket knife that was a little too big in their war bags (yeah, we called our dufflebags “war bags”…). Did I ever tell anybody about it? No I did not. Did I ever confess my suspicions when cocaine suddenly showed up in a gang member’s jacket? No I did not.

In fact, let me tell you about an extremely formative experience: in my police academy class, we had a clique of around six trainees who routinely bullied and harassed other students: intentionally scuffing another trainee’s shoes to get them in trouble during inspection, sexually harassing female trainees, cracking racist jokes, and so on. Every quarter, we were to write anonymous evaluations of our squadmates. I wrote scathing accounts of their behavior, thinking I was helping keep bad apples out of law enforcement and believing I would be protected. Instead, the academy staff read my complaints to them out loud and outed me to them and never punished them, causing me to get harassed for the rest of my academy class. That’s how I learned that even police leadership hates rats. That’s why no one is “changing things from the inside.” They can’t, the structure won’t allow it.

And that’s the point of what I’m telling you. Whether you were my sergeant, legally harassing an old woman, me, legally harassing our residents, my fellow trainees bullying the rest of us, or “the bad apples” illegally harassing “shitbags”, we were all in it together. I knew cops that pulled women over to flirt with them. I knew cops who would pepper spray sleeping bags so that homeless people would have to throw them away. I knew cops that intentionally provoked anger in suspects so they could claim they were assaulted. I was particularly good at winding people up verbally until they lashed out so I could fight them. Nobody spoke out. Nobody stood up. Nobody betrayed the code.

None of us protected the people (you) from bad cops.

This is why “All cops are bastards.” Even your uncle, even your cousin, even your mom, even your brother, even your best friend, even your spouse, even me. Because even if they wouldn’t Do The Thing themselves, they will almost never rat out another officer who Does The Thing, much less stop it from happening.

BASTARD 101

I could write an entire book of the awful things I’ve done, seen done, and heard others bragging about doing. But, to me, the bigger question is “How did it get this way?”. While I was a police officer in a city 30 miles from where I lived, many of my fellow officers were from the community and treated their neighbors just as badly as I did. While every cop’s individual biases come into play, it’s the profession itself that is toxic, and it starts from day 1 of training.

Every police academy is different but all of them share certain features: taught by old cops, run like a paramilitary bootcamp, strong emphasis on protecting yourself more than anyone else. The majority of my time in the academy was spent doing aggressive physical training and watching video after video after video of police officers being murdered on duty.

I want to highlight this: nearly everyone coming into law enforcement is bombarded with dash cam footage of police officers being ambushed and killed. Over and over and over. Colorless VHS mortality plays, cops screaming for help over their radios, their bodies going limp as a pair of tail lights speed away into a grainy black horizon. In my case, with commentary from an old racist cop who used to brag about assaulting Black Panthers.

To understand why all cops are bastards, you need to understand one of the things almost every training officer told me when it came to using force:

“I’d rather be judged by 12 than carried by 6.”

Meaning, “I’ll take my chances in court rather than risk getting hurt”. We’re able to think that way because police unions are extremely overpowered and because of the generous concept of Qualified Immunity, a legal theory which says a cop generally can’t be held personally liable for mistakes they make doing their job in an official capacity.

When you look at the actions of the officers who killed George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, David McAtee, Mike Brown, Tamir Rice, Philando Castile, Eric Garner, or Freddie Gray, remember that they, like me, were trained to recite “I’d rather be judged by 12” as a mantra. Even if Mistakes Were Made™, the city (meaning the taxpayers, meaning you) pays the settlement, not the officer.

Once police training has - through repetition, indoctrination, and violent spectacle - promised officers that everyone in the world is out to kill them, the next lesson is that your partners are the only people protecting you. Occasionally, this is even true: I’ve had encounters turn on me rapidly to the point I legitimately thought I was going to die, only to have other officers come and turn the tables.

One of the most important thought leaders in law enforcement is Col. Dave Grossman, a “killologist” who wrote an essay called “Sheep, Wolves, and Sheepdogs”. Cops are the sheepdogs, bad guys are the wolves, and the citizens are the sheep (!). Col. Grossman makes sure to mention that to a stupid sheep, sheepdogs look more like wolves than sheep, and that’s why they dislike you.

This “they hate you for protecting them and only I love you, only I can protect you” tactic is familiar to students of abuse. It’s what abusers do to coerce their victims into isolation, pulling them away from friends and family and ensnaring them in the abuser’s toxic web. Law enforcement does this too, pitting the officer against civilians. “They don’t understand what you do, they don’t respect your sacrifice, they just want to get away with crimes. You’re only safe with us.”

I think the Wolves vs. Sheepdogs dynamic is one of the most important elements as to why officers behave the way they do. Every single second of my training, I was told that criminals were not a legitimate part of their community, that they were individual bad actors, and that their bad actions were solely the result of their inherent criminality. Any concept of systemic trauma, generational poverty, or white supremacist oppression was either never mentioned or simply dismissed. After all, most people don’t steal, so anyone who does isn’t “most people,” right? To us, anyone committing a crime deserved anything that happened to them because they broke the “social contract.” And yet, it was never even a question as to whether the power structure above them was honoring any sort of contract back.

Understand: Police officers are part of the state monopoly on violence and all police training reinforces this monopoly as a cornerstone of police work, a source of honor and pride. Many cops fantasize about getting to kill someone in the line of duty, egged on by others that have. One of my training officers told me about the time he shot and killed a mentally ill homeless man wielding a big stick. He bragged that he “slept like a baby” that night. Official training teaches you how to be violent effectively and when you’re legally allowed to deploy that violence, but “unofficial training” teaches you to desire violence, to expand the breadth of your violence without getting caught, and to erode your own compassion for desperate people so you can justify punitive violence against them.

HOW TO BE A BASTARD

I have participated in some of these activities personally, others are ones I either witnessed personally or heard officers brag about openly. Very, very occasionally, I knew an officer who was disciplined or fired for one of these things.

Police officers will lie about the law, about what’s illegal, or about what they can legally do to you in order to manipulate you into doing what they want.

Police officers will lie about feeling afraid for their life to justify a use of force after the fact.

Police officers will lie and tell you they’ll file a police report just to get you off their back.

Police officers will lie that your cooperation will “look good for you” in court, or that they will “put in a good word for you with the DA.” The police will never help you look good in court.

Police officers will lie about what they see and hear to access private property to conduct unlawful searches.

Police officers will lie and say your friend already ratted you out, so you might as well rat them back out. This is almost never true.

Police officers will lie and say you’re not in trouble in order to get you to exit a location or otherwise make an arrest more convenient for them.

Police officers will lie and say that they won’t arrest you if you’ll just “be honest with them” so they know what really happened.

Police officers will lie about their ability to seize the property of friends and family members to coerce a confession.

Police officers will write obviously bullshit tickets so that they get time-and-a-half overtime fighting them in court.

Police officers will search places and containers you didn’t consent to and later claim they were open or “smelled like marijuana”.

Police officers will threaten you with a more serious crime they can’t prove in order to convince you to confess to the lesser crime they really want you for.

Police officers will employ zero tolerance on races and ethnicities they dislike and show favor and lenience to members of their own group.

Police officers will use intentionally extra-painful maneuvers and holds during an arrest to provoke “resistance” so they can further assault the suspect.

Some police officers will plant drugs and weapons on you, sometimes to teach you a lesson, sometimes if they kill you somewhere away from public view.

Some police officers will assault you to intimidate you and threaten to arrest you if you tell anyone.

A non-trivial number of police officers will steal from your house or vehicle during a search.

A non-trivial number of police officers commit intimate partner violence and use their status to get away with it.

A non-trivial number of police officers use their position to entice, coerce, or force sexual favors from vulnerable people.

If you take nothing else away from this essay, I want you to tattoo this onto your brain forever: if a police officer is telling you something, it is probably a lie designed to gain your compliance.

Do not talk to cops and never, ever believe them. Do not “try to be helpful” with cops. Do not assume they are trying to catch someone else instead of you. Do not assume what they are doing is “important” or even legal. Under no circumstances assume any police officer is acting in good faith.

Also, and this is important, do not talk to cops.

I just remembered something, do not talk to cops.

Checking my notes real quick, something jumped out at me:

Do

not

fucking

talk

to

cops.

Ever.

Say, “I don’t answer questions,” and ask if you’re free to leave; if so, leave. If not, tell them you want your lawyer and that, per the Supreme Court, they must terminate questioning. If they don’t, file a complaint and collect some badges for your mantle.

DO THE BASTARDS EVER HELP?

Reading the above, you may be tempted to ask whether cops ever do anything good. And the answer is, sure, sometimes. In fact, most officers I worked with thought they were usually helping the helpless and protecting the safety of innocent people.

During my tenure in law enforcement, I protected women from domestic abusers, arrested cold-blooded murderers and child molesters, and comforted families who lost children to car accidents and other tragedies. I helped connect struggling people in my community with local resources for food, shelter, and counseling. I deescalated situations that could have turned violent and talked a lot of people down from making the biggest mistake of their lives. I worked with plenty of officers who were individually kind, bought food for homeless residents, or otherwise showed care for their community.

The question is this: did I need a gun and sweeping police powers to help the average person on the average night? The answer is no. When I was doing my best work as a cop, I was doing mediocre work as a therapist or a social worker. My good deeds were listening to people failed by the system and trying to unite them with any crumbs of resources the structure was currently denying them.

It’s also important to note that well over 90% of the calls for service I handled were reactive, showing up well after a crime had taken place. We would arrive, take a statement, collect evidence (if any), file the report, and onto the next caper. Most “active” crimes we stopped were someone harmless possessing or selling a small amount of drugs. Very, very rarely would we stop something dangerous in progress or stop something from happening entirely. The closest we could usually get was seeing someone running away from the scene of a crime, but the damage was still done.

And consider this: my job as a police officer required me to be a marriage counselor, a mental health crisis professional, a conflict negotiator, a social worker, a child advocate, a traffic safety expert, a sexual assault specialist, and, every once in awhile, a public safety officer authorized to use force, all after only a 1000 hours of training at a police academy. Does the person we send to catch a robber also need to be the person we send to interview a rape victim or document a fender bender? Should one profession be expected to do all that important community care (with very little training) all at the same time?

To put this another way: I made double the salary most social workers made to do a fraction of what they could do to mitigate the causes of crimes and desperation. I can count very few times my monopoly on state violence actually made our citizens safer, and even then, it’s hard to say better-funded social safety nets and dozens of other community care specialists wouldn’t have prevented a problem before it started.

Armed, indoctrinated (and dare I say, traumatized) cops do not make you safer; community mutual aid networks who can unite other people with the resources they need to stay fed, clothed, and housed make you safer. I really want to hammer this home: every cop in your neighborhood is damaged by their training, emboldened by their immunity, and they have a gun and the ability to take your life with near-impunity. This does not make you safer, even if you’re white.

HOW DO YOU SOLVE A PROBLEM LIKE A BASTARD?

So what do we do about it? Even though I’m an expert on bastardism, I am not a public policy expert nor an expert in organizing a post-police society. So, before I give some suggestions, let me tell you what probably won’t solve the problem of bastard cops:

Increased “bias” training. A quarterly or even monthly training session is not capable of covering over years of trauma-based camaraderie in police forces. I can tell you from experience, we don’t take it seriously, the proctors let us cheat on whatever “tests” there are, and we all made fun of it later over coffee.

Tougher laws. I hope you understand by now, cops do not follow the law and will not hold each other accountable to the law. Tougher laws are all the more reason to circle the wagons and protect your brothers and sisters.

More community policing programs. Yes, there is a marginal effect when a few cops get to know members of the community, but look at the protests of 2020: many of the cops pepper-spraying journalists were probably the nice school cop a month ago.

Police officers do not protect and serve people, they protect and serve the status quo, “polite society”, and private property. Using the incremental mechanisms of the status quo will never reform the police because the status quo relies on police violence to exist. Capitalism requires a permanent underclass to exploit for cheap labor and it requires the cops to bring that underclass to heel.

Instead of wasting time with minor tweaks, I recommend exploring the following ideas:

No more qualified immunity. Police officers should be personally liable for all decisions they make in the line of duty.

No more civil asset forfeiture. Did you know that every year, citizens like you lose more cash and property to unaccountable civil asset forfeiture than to all burglaries combined? The police can steal your stuff without charging you with a crime and it makes some police departments very rich.

Break the power of police unions. Police unions make it nearly impossible to fire bad cops and incentivize protecting them to protect the power of the union. A police union is not a labor union; police officers are powerful state agents, not exploited workers.

Require malpractice insurance. Doctors must pay for insurance in case they botch a surgery, police officers should do the same for botching a police raid or other use of force. If human decency won’t motivate police to respect human life, perhaps hitting their wallet might.

Defund, demilitarize, and disarm cops. Thousands of police departments own assault rifles, armored personnel carriers, and stuff you’d see in a warzone. Police officers have grants and huge budgets to spend on guns, ammo, body armor, and combat training. 99% of calls for service require no armed response, yet when all you have is a gun, every problem feels like target practice. Cities are not safer when unaccountable bullies have a monopoly on state violence and the equipment to execute that monopoly.

One final idea: consider abolishing the police.

I know what you’re thinking, “What? We need the police! They protect us!” As someone who did it for nearly a decade, I need you to understand that by and large, police protection is marginal, incidental. It’s an illusion created by decades of copaganda designed to fool you into thinking these brave men and women are holding back the barbarians at the gates.

I alluded to this above: the vast majority of calls for service I handled were theft reports, burglary reports, domestic arguments that hadn’t escalated into violence, loud parties, (houseless) people loitering, traffic collisions, very minor drug possession, and arguments between neighbors. Mostly the mundane ups and downs of life in the community, with little inherent danger. And, like I mentioned, the vast majority of crimes I responded to (even violent ones) had already happened; my unaccountable license to kill was irrelevant.

What I mainly provided was an “objective” third party with the authority to document property damage, ask people to chill out or disperse, or counsel people not to beat each other up. A trained counselor or conflict resolution specialist would be ten times more effective than someone with a gun strapped to his hip wondering if anyone would try to kill him when he showed up. There are many models for community safety that can be explored if we get away from the idea that the only way to be safe is to have a man with a M4 rifle prowling your neighborhood ready at a moment’s notice to write down your name and birthday after you’ve been robbed and beaten.

You might be asking, “What about the armed robbers, the gangsters, the drug dealers, the serial killers?” And yes, in the city I worked, I regularly broke up gang parties, found gang members carrying guns, and handled homicides. I’ve seen some tragic things, from a reformed gangster shot in the head with his brains oozing out to a fifteen year old boy taking his last breath in his screaming mother’s arms thanks to a gang member’s bullet. I know the wages of violence.

This is where we have to have the courage to ask: why do people rob? Why do they join gangs? Why do they get addicted to drugs or sell them? It’s not because they are inherently evil. I submit to you that these are the results of living in a capitalist system that grinds people down and denies them housing, medical care, human dignity, and a say in their government. These are the results of white supremacy pushing people to the margins, excluding them, disrespecting them, and treating their bodies as disposable.

Equally important to remember: disabled and mentally ill people are frequently killed by police officers not trained to recognize and react to disabilities or mental health crises. Some of the people we picture as “violent offenders” are often people struggling with untreated mental illness, often due to economic hardships. Very frequently, the officers sent to “protect the community” escalate this crisis and ultimately wound or kill the person. Your community was not made safer by police violence; a sick member of your community was killed because it was cheaper than treating them. Are you extremely confident you’ll never get sick one day too?

Wrestle with this for a minute: if all of someone’s material needs were met and all the members of their community were fed, clothed, housed, and dignified, why would they need to join a gang? Why would they need to risk their lives selling drugs or breaking into buildings? If mental healthcare was free and was not stigmatized, how many lives would that save?

Would there still be a few bad actors in the world? Sure, probably. What’s my solution for them, you’re no doubt asking. I’ll tell you what: generational poverty, food insecurity, houselessness, and for-profit medical care are all problems that can be solved in our lifetimes by rejecting the dehumanizing meat grinder of capitalism and white supremacy. Once that’s done, we can work on the edge cases together, with clearer hearts not clouded by a corrupt system.

Police abolition is closely related to the idea of prison abolition and the entire concept of banishing the carceral state, meaning, creating a society focused on reconciliation and restorative justice instead of punishment, pain, and suffering — a system that sees people in crisis as humans, not monsters. People who want to abolish the police typically also want to abolish prisons, and the same questions get asked: “What about the bad guys? Where do we put them?” I bring this up because abolitionists don’t want to simply replace cops with armed social workers or prisons with casual detention centers full of puffy leather couches and Playstations. We imagine a world not divided into good guys and bad guys, but rather a world where people’s needs are met and those in crisis receive care, not dehumanization.

Here’s legendary activist and thinker Angela Y. Davis putting it better than I ever could:

“An abolitionist approach that seeks to answer questions such as these would require us to imagine a constellation of alternative strategies and institutions, with the ultimate aim of removing the prison from the social and ideological landscapes of our society. In other words, we would not be looking for prisonlike substitutes for the prison, such as house arrest safeguarded by electronic surveillance bracelets. Rather, positing decarceration as our overarching strategy, we would try to envision a continuum of alternatives to imprisonment-demilitarization of schools, revitalization of education at all levels, a health system that provides free physical and mental care to all, and a justice system based on reparation and reconciliation rather than retribution and vengeance.”

(Are Prisons Obsolete, pg. 107)

I’m not telling you I have the blueprint for a beautiful new world. What I’m telling you is that the system we have right now is broken beyond repair and that it’s time to consider new ways of doing community together. Those new ways need to be negotiated by members of those communities, particularly Black, indigenous, disabled, houseless, and citizens of color historically shoved into the margins of society. Instead of letting Fox News fill your head with nightmares about Hispanic gangs, ask the Hispanic community what they need to thrive. Instead of letting racist politicians scaremonger about pro-Black demonstrators, ask the Black community what they need to meet the needs of the most vulnerable. If you truly desire safety, ask not what your most vulnerable can do for the community, ask what the community can do for the most vulnerable.

A WORLD WITH FEWER BASTARDS IS POSSIBLE

If you take only one thing away from this essay, I hope it’s this: do not talk to cops. But if you only take two things away, I hope the second one is that it’s possible to imagine a different world where unarmed black people, indigenous people, poor people, disabled people, and people of color are not routinely gunned down by unaccountable police officers. It doesn’t have to be this way. Yes, this requires a leap of faith into community models that might feel unfamiliar, but I ask you:

When you see a man dying in the street begging for breath, don’t you want to leap away from that world?

When you see a mother or a daughter shot to death sleeping in their beds, don’t you want to leap away from that world?

When you see a twelve year old boy executed in a public park for the crime of playing with a toy, jesus fucking christ, can you really just stand there and think “This is normal”?

And to any cops who made it this far down, is this really the world you want to live in? Aren’t you tired of the trauma? Aren’t you tired of the soul sickness inherent to the badge? Aren’t you tired of looking the other way when your partners break the law? Are you really willing to kill the next George Floyd, the next Breonna Taylor, the next Tamir Rice? How confident are you that your next use of force will be something you’re proud of? I’m writing this for you too: it’s wrong what our training did to us, it’s wrong that they hardened our hearts to our communities, and it’s wrong to pretend this is normal.

Look, I wouldn’t have been able to hear any of this for much of my life. You reading this now may not be able to hear this yet either. But do me this one favor: just think about it. Just turn it over in your mind for a couple minutes. “Yes, And” me for a minute. Look around you and think about the kind of world you want to live in. Is it one where an all-powerful stranger with a gun keeps you and your neighbors in line with the fear of death, or can you picture a world where, as a community, we embrace our most vulnerable, meet their needs, heal their wounds, honor their dignity, and make them family instead of desperate outsiders?

If you take only three things away from this essay, I hope the third is this: you and your community don’t need bastards to thrive.

RESOURCES TO YES-AND WITH

Achele Mbembe — Necropolitics

Angela Y. Davis — Are Prisons Obsolete?

CriticalResistance.org — Abolition Toolkit

Joe Macaré, Maya Schenwar, and Alana Yu-lan Price — Who Do You Serve, Who Do You Protect?

Ruth Wilson Gilmore — COVID-19, Decarceration, Abolition [video]

[reidyoulikeabook]

Invisible String

Ship: Fem! Reader x Spencer Reid

Warnings: None, this is just fluff.

Word count: 3.2k

Summary: You and Spencer Reid don’t know it, but you’ve almost met quite a few times. What happens when you do?

A/N: This is potentially a bit on the wrong side of the cheesy line, but I was listening to invisible string by Taylor Swift and couldn’t get this idea out of my head. Pls bare in mind I’m from the UK and my only understanding of the US college system is from Google searches, so pls be forgiving of any misunderstandings about that.

November 6th, 2007

Dr. Spencer Reid. As you sat, thumbing through the article he’d written about the formation of ionic compounds in a chemical whose name you could not for the life of you spell or pronounce, you couldn’t help but resent the man.

Sure, the paper was very well-written and as cohesive as possible given the complex subject matter. But Dr. Spencer Reid, whoever he was, was the current source of your resentment at selecting chemistry to make up your science credit. Highlighting the name of a substance you’d have to look up later, you sighed. It was getting late but you had to hand in a critical summary of the paper on Friday.

It didn’t help that Dr. Reid was: a) a triple doctorate holder by the age of 22, or b) that your chemistry lecturer was none other than his old chemistry lecturer from Caltech and practically glowed with pride whenever he got to bring him up.

You chew on the end of your pen, having now distracted yourself from the notes. Not that you were particularly focused anyway.

In another life, maybe you’d have been a budding chemist who could describe an ionic lattice off rote. In this one, however, you’d just have to settle for slogging through the list of chemical processes and hoping you understood it well enough to please Dr. Reid’s biggest fan.

***

April 16th, 2008

Spencer hated flaking on commitments. It caused him a great deal of anxiety, the feeling of disappointing someone. He didn’t have much choice in this circumstance though.

Diana had taken ill over the last weekend. Nothing serious, some stomach bug or other. She’d become severely dehydated though, and had been hospitalised as a precautionary measure. Truth be told, he might not have gone if she hadn’t caught him on the phone. He was already feeling guilty for not having visited since Christmas. He wrote her letters everyday, yet still felt like he was neglecting his duties as a son. Rubbing his hands over his face, he lets out a deep sigh. Then takes out his laptop, to send another email.

Dear. Dr Abraham

I sincerely apologise again for my last minute cancellation. Excluding any unforeseen circumstances, myself and SSA Hotchner will be available to present the lecture on May 12th.

Yours sincerely,

Dr. Spencer Reid.

***

May 12th, 2008

Considering this was your third year on campus, you sure were bad at finding your way around. In your defence, they were doing maintenance in one of the main buildings, meaning that lectures got shuffled around and relocated. You probably had a higher change of attending the right lecture by accident than on purpose.

It doesn’t help that you’re running a little late this morning. You rush into Room 203. A lot of the seats are taken, you have to meander your way past quite a few people until you end up sat almost directly in the middle. Only moments before the lecture starts.

“I’m SSA Hotchner, and this is SSA Reid. We’re members of the BAU which is based at FBI quarters in Quantico. Today, we’ll be talking to you about profiling.”

This is not your forensic linguistics lecture.

Panic hits you, hot in your gut. Scanning the room anxiously, you suddenly become conscious that you’re drawing attention to yourself when you feel the eyes of the man who is not SSA Hotchner on you. Fuck.

There’s no way for you to escape now, not without disturbing half the lecture hall.

So you sit back in your seat, resigning yourself to sit awkwardly in the lecture you’re not supposed to be in and hoping nobody notices.

But then, it’s really interesting, actually. The work that Dr. Reid does sounds similar to work you’ve done in forensic linguistics, analysing patterns of speech and minor phrase formations that can give things away about the perpetrator. By the end of the seminar, you’re sat leaning forward. Enraptured by almost every word coming out of their mouths.

It seems to be the general mood: everyone is enamoured. People are clammering to speak to them at the end. After a brief inner battle, myou decide that you should talk to them too.

What’s the harm?

You’ve decided that you’ll speak to Dr. Reid, since he seems to share more of a field focus. However, as you’re heading down, you spot him. Dr Adams, your chemistry lecturer from last year. Oh shit, it’s that Dr. Reid.

Speaking to SSA Hotchner will just have to do instead.

----

“I’ve been majoring in forensic linguistics and criminal psychology,” You tell him, “Do you think ... I mean, I know it’s a pretty exclusive team to get on to. But is that the kind of thing that could maybe get me there one day?”

Hotchner nods, “Forensic linguistics is something that comes in very useful in the investigative aspects of cases. The FBI is always looking for new angles and perspectives, those are both good subjects to study if you were thinking of signing up to the academy.”

"Thank you, Agent Hotchner,” You say, suddenly a little bashful as you notice the queue of people lingering behind you, “That was a really interesting lecture. It’s definitely something I’ll think about.”

“You should talk to Dr. Reid if you have a particular interest in the linguistic aspect of profiling. He’s more specialised in that area than I am. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to discuss any research you’re conducting at the moment and suggest materials that might be helpful in furthering your understanding of the area.”

“Thank you,” You smile, and he nods at you again.

Stepping away from Agent Hotchner, you look to your right. Dr. Reid is still engaged deeply in conversation with Dr. Adams. You glance at your watch. There was time before your next class, you supposed, so you could wait. It couldn’t hurt to find out more, could it? It wasn‘t like you were getting your hopes up or anything.

It’s then that you feel a pair of arms around your waist, a familiar scent of cologne.

“Hey!” You whip around to see your boyfriend, grinning widely.

“Hey,” You reply, “How’d you find me?”

“I was walking past when I saw you talking to that FBI agent. Seriously, FBI?” He asks, with a disapproving quirk of his eyebrow, “You want to grab a coffee before Psych?”

You want to say no. But he’s got his hand on the small of your back, leading  you out of the room before you even get a chance to reply. You glance back over your shoulder, making eye contact with Dr. Reid for all of two seconds before you’re swept away.

“Seriously though babe, FBI?”

Unsurpisingly, you don’t mention your potential change in career path to him.

***

March 8th, 2009

“Come in,” Hotch calls. He looks up from the paperwork on his desk to see Spencer entering the room, clutching a report in his hand.

“That last case we were on. I was doing some more research, just for future reference about linguistic patterns. Have you read this?” He asks, sliding a copy of your paper across the desk.

Hotch gives it a cursary look over, nodding, “Yes. It’s interesting. She’s signed up as an NAT. I believe I actually spoke to her at one of our lectures last year.”

"Her work is really impressive for somebody whose only studied this at a master level.”

Hotch almost smiles, “Yes. That’s exactly why I’ve recommended to the bureau that she signs up for profiling classes. Her work shows a lot of promise. They’re sending over a copy of her completed thesis, if you’d like to read it.”

“Yeah, I’d like that, thank you,” Spencer says, struggling to conceal the smile playing on the corner of his lips.

“I’ll email it to you as soon as I receive it.”

Spencer nods, smiling properly to himself as he leaves the room. It wasn’t unusual, exactly, for him to share new research that was relevant to cases. It was important that they all kept themselves fresh and acquainted with new theories about the field. Hotch, however, didn’t miss the excited way Spencer had presented it to him. Talking about how impressive you were, as if to subtly hint. He thinks it’s quite typical, actually, that Spencer could take such an interest in someone he only knew via an essay.

Although Spencer’s response does get Hotch to send a follow-up email, inquiring about whether you’d agreed to the classes. If Spencer was this impressed with your work, it must be good.

***

June 1st, 2009

The Metro that morning is packed. It doesn’t help that you’ve not been living here long, and don’t exactly know the route from your flat to the station off by heart yet.

You'd also had to make a detour to the post office. Your, firmly ex, boyfriend had mailed over the last of your things. Really, it was good riddance. His hounding you about your choice in job had only worsened. The relationship had been hanging on by a thread long before you’d moved away last month. You were more than a little grateful that it was finally over, that you could draw a line under it all and focus on your career.

Unfortunately, that hadn’t stopped you having a little cry to yourself on the way over.

Rushing, you make it onto the Metro just as the doors are about to close, falling against the railing on the left side. You grip onto it for dear life.

On the other side of the carriage, Spencer notices someone hurrying for the train. He had been buried deep in the paper he's reading, but the bustle had pulled his attention. Your back is to him, and there’s a scarf at your feet. He wants to say something, to try and get your attention, but he can’t from where he is.

“Miss, I think you’ve dropped something,” The woman you’re standing in front of says, gesturing to the scarf pooled at your feet.

You meet her eyes, sniffling slightly, “Thank you.”

Spencer watches as you pick it up, back still to him. Crisis averted, he turns his attention back to what he's reading: the published copy of your thesis Hotch had emailed him last week.

***

September 2nd, 2009

"This is SSA ____, the newest member of our team. She’s recently graduated from the academy and has an excellent knowledge of linguistics that the bureau feels will be a great advantage to this team. She’s had her induction and now will be joining the team on a probationary basis. She’ll be spending a little time with each of you in between cases to make sure she forms well-rounded knowledge of all aspects of what we do.”

It’s a little overwhelming, having everybody’s eyes on you.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Emily is the first over, offering her hand for you to shake.

“You too, it’s really nice to meet all of you,” You say, shaking hands in turn with her, Morgan, Rossi, J.J, and Garcia.

“Hi,” Spencer calls from behind you.

You turn around to face him. You remember what Hotch had mentioned to you about him being a bit of a germaphobe, so you keep your hand by your side.

“Hi,” You say, “Dr. Reid, right?”

“You can call me Spencer,” He says, a little bashful, “I read your thesis, the study about you did about the construction of passive clauses as an indicator of guilt in adolescent offenders. It was fascinating.”

You feel yourself getting a little warm under his gaze, “Thank you. I'm surprised you’re even aware it existed.”

Hotch interrupts then, “Reid, do you want to sit with ____ while she goes over the case file? It’d be useful if you could go over how you’d go about constructing a linguistic profile.”

That’s how you end up spending much of your first day: with Spencer, huddled up over case files as he explains his profile-building process to you. Spencer’s an incredible teacher, you think. He explains his thought process without ever being condescending, leaving little gaps for you to answer.

You’re incredible, Spencer thinks. You seem to grasp exactly what he’s saying, filling in the gaps based on the clues that are actually in front of you, not letting yourself be guided too much by bias.

***

October 29th, 2009

Spencer loves everyone at the BAU. They’re all the family he never had, and he has relatively good friendships with all of them. Just, they aren’t quite the same as they are with you.

He struggles to put his finger on it, exactly. It’s a unique relationship. He shares very familial bonds with a lot of them: he and Morgan are brotherly, Rossi is fatherly, Garcia’s somewhat like an overexcited little sister.

The friendship he has with you is special. You always listen to him, even as he rambles on about inane things that anybody else would tell him to shut up about. In fact, sometimes about the exact things that they do tell him to shut up about. Just last week, he was rambling on about Star Trek when Morgan told him, not altogether unkindly, to “give it a rest, kid.”

“What was that you were saying?” You’d asked, sidling up to him, “I’ve never watched Star Trek but I thought the quote was beam me up Scotty.”

He’d looked at you, considering you for a moment, “You don’t have to-”

“I know. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know Spence. You think I’d ask for a 15 minute lecture on Star Trek if I wasn’t interested in it?”

A warm feeling flooded his chest. The look on your face was so genuine, and you’d perched on the edge of his desk as he gesticulated, getting deep into the lore and how the misconception had come about. He still didn’t pinpoint exactly what it was, until he got to the end of his spiel. And then you asked him a question. You asked him a question to make sure you understood what he was talking about. You were listening the whole time, and you genuinely cared about the point he was making.

It's then that he realises, it was hard to pinpoint because it wasn’t friendship. He likes you. Shit.

***

November 2nd, 2009

You like everybody at the BAU. They’re all quite patient with you, really, happy to walk you through how they do things. Morgan’s taught you quite a bit about the tactical side of things already, and Rossi has been working with you on your interrogation techniques. Emily’s generally just a great mentor, always happy to listen and support however she can. She’s more experienced, but still relatively new to the team too, so you feel like there’s a certain understanding between you.

However, you’d definitely be lying if you said the person you hadn’t learnt the most from, or spent the most time with, was Spencer.

It hadn’t gone unnoticed by the rest of the team, either. You seemed to gravitate towards one another, forever sitting side-by-side on the plane. Sharing a line of thinking that usually led to devolved rambling, and scribbling, until you came up with something coherent.

It isn’t until November 2nd that you realise you have feelings for him.

You’re sitting at your desk, filling out a case report that Emily had promised to go over with you before she left for lunch.

“Hey,” Spencer’s familiar soothing voice comes, as he sidles up to you, “I got you something.”

Looking up, you notice the coffee cup in his right hand, “You are my caffeine lifesaver.”

He hands it to you, smiling a little nervously, “It’s actually not that.”

“Oh?”

His other hand is tucked behind his back, and he pulls it foward towards you, brandishing a red sweatshirt.

“I know you uh, left your red sweater behind at the hotel on the last case. And I know it was your favourite one, and I was shopping yesterday and I saw this and...” He trails off, embarassed, “It’s not the exact same, but it’s the same kind. I just thought you might like it.”

You swallow, hard, “Spencer that’s so sweet. C-Can I hug you?”

He nods. Standing up from your desk, you wrap your arms around his frame.

“That was so thoughtful.”

He squeezes you a little, really leaning into the hug, his face pressing against your shoulder. His tousled hair tickles your nose a little and you smile, clinging onto him, relishing in the feeling of safety and warmth.

It hits you then. When you realise you don’t want to let go. When you realise he makes you feel fuzzy. Loved. Cared for in a way you haven’t felt in a long time. Eventually, you have to let him go, and it’s in a daze that you return to your desk. You’re so concentrated on your overwhelming realisation, you don’t realise how reluctant he is to let you leave his embrace.

***

December 22nd, 2009

Driving Spencer home from the office was really just an excuse to get some time alone with him. You’d said something about the Metro being busy, one of the services being cancelled. He hadn’t factchecked you on that.

The BAU had tentative plans for boxing day, with the caveat being that no emergent cases arrived in the meantime. It was only really four days you wouldn’t see him, but that was longer than you’d ever gone without seeing him in all the time you’d known him. You worked together everyday, and it was unusual for you to go a full weekend without seeing each other. Recently, you’d got into the habit of going out for Sunday brunch together.

Pulling up outside his house, you hear him sigh.

“I know it’s only four days, but I’ll miss you.”

Smiling, you turn to him, “I’ll miss you too.” 

Something in you changes then. He’s looking at you. You may be relatively new to profiling but you can see something behind his eyes, feel the charge of unsaid words electrifying the air.

“Can I hug you?” He asks.

“You can always hug me,” You reply, undoing your seatbelt and opening your arms for him.

He embraces you the way he always has: tightly. Like he doesn’t want to let go, couldn’t imagine ever letting you go. His face nuzzles to the crook of your neck, and then you feel his thumb brush your chin. Tilting your head down.

You exchange a look. His eyes flicker from your eyes, to your lips, and back. You nod your head, just slightly.

He kisses you then. Tender. You melt into one another, lips moving quickly as you drink one another in. Kissing each other breathless, your fingers intertwine in his hair and his hand comes up to cup your cheek. Nothing has ever felt so right.

***

June 10th, 2011

Neither of you have ever really believed in fate. It’s hard to - especially in your line of work - to want to interpret the workings of the universe as deliberate. Maybe you’d think a little differently though, if you knew about all the near-misses. All the times you could have met. But fate knew better. She waited until you were ready.

And as you exchange vows, promising each other your forever, you both know you couldn’t possibly deny that this was meant to be.

------

Taglists: @takeyourleap-of-faith @sassiest-politician

(let me know if you would like to be added to/removed from this list!)

[isthisthingeven0n]

the list : d.d

brief summary: you grew up with david, and he always wanted there to be more than just friendship between you both. however, now adults and david is dating someone else, you coming back into his life causes him to have doubts about what he wants. (1.8k)

requested: yes by the sweetest anon, i hope you like the outcome!  warnings: none that i’m aware of 

all my links

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website know it hasn’t been approved me unless specified. all rights reserved. - i have to start doing this as I had some shit on my other blog with plagiarism)

DO NOT STEAL MY WORK - IT IS ALL MY OWN WRITING

“Are you sure you don’t want anything?” You call out as you gather your things in the kitchen, your back turned to the guys as David sighs quietly to himself.

Ilya can’t help but roll his eyes at David’s lovesick expression that remains plastered across his face whenever you’re around. “Dave,” Ilya slaps his chest, causing David to snap out of his trance.

“No!” David blurts out, and you turn around quickly.

“Okay,” You nervously chuckle, thinking nothing of it as you head towards the front door. “I’ll see you later.”

With that, you close the door behind you, and David groans loudly as he buries his face into his hands whilst Ilya and Zane share a knowing look.

“Dude, you gotta get it together.” Ilya states as David shakes his head in his hands. “It’s only Y/n, we’ve known her since High School.”

“That’s the problem,” David mumbles. “it’s Y/n.”

It was true, David had known you for many years but for at least half of them he was sort of (most definitely) in love with you whilst you remained oblivious to it. He grew up alongside you as you had boyfriends, was the shoulder for you to cry on after a breakup and one of your best friends. Yet, David always wished he could’ve been something more.

There had been moments between you both, flickers of something more than just friendship, but nothing came of them.

Yet, David had moved on and was happy. At least, he thinks he’s happy until you walk into any room he’s in with your bright smile and joyful laughter; before he realises David’s back in High school, pining after his best friend.

“Look, David, you have a girlfriend.” Zane states, knowing Taylor is out of town currently. “You can’t be drooling over Y/n like this.”

“I know, I just,” David sighs as he thinks of you, knowing he should think of Taylor in that way. “whenever she’s around I just forget any other girl exists, and I just want to be with her.”

Ilya rolls his eyes once more. “God you need help.” He mutters as he rises to his feet, clapping his hands together as both David and Zane look up.

“What are you talking about?” Natalie speaks up as she walks through into the open space with Todd by her side.

“About David and Y/n.” Zane motions to David who simply shrugs his shoulders meekly at Natalie’s raised brow.

“She finally tell you then?” Todd smiles brightly, unaware of Natalie’s eyes widening. “Why’re you all looking at me like that?” Todd asks as wide eyes stare at him from across the room. “Oh no.” He mutters.

“Oh no is right.” Natalie remarks.

“Y/n likes David?” Ilya asks, sounding astounded by the idea as he looks over at David and back to Natalie. “You sure?”

Natalie sighs before nodding. “She has for a while now,” Natalie starts, and David falls back down into the sofa, his mind dazing over in shock as Natalie continues. “but then David started dating Taylor, so she felt like her chance was gone.”

“Okay,” Ilya begins pacing around the room. “so, Y/n likes David, David likes Y/n, but David also likes Taylor.”

“Thank you Captain Obvious.” Natalie mutters. “Look, David, you gotta sort this.”

“But how?” David asks weakly as he looks around at his friends before Ilya’s face lights up.

“I’ve got an idea.” Ilya smirks as he rushes out of the room, returning with the portable whiteboard. “We make a pros and cons list.” He suggests, ignoring Natalie shaking her head.

“Ilya, that is a terrible idea.” She tells him, but Ilya chalks it up on the board instead.

“Actually, it might not be that bad.” David comments, now standing up as he approaches the whiteboard and twiddles the pen in his fingertips as he eyes the pros and cons list. “If I can think of more cons, then I’ll know she isn’t right for me and Taylor is.”

“Your logic is so fucked.” Todd looks down to Natalie who remains silent, hoping that something will come of this for everyone’s sake.

*

Exhaling deeply, David stands back as he admires the board completely covered in the pros and cons of possibly dating you. “I never realised there could be so many.” David half laughs, now feeling more conflicted than ever before.

“Yeah, this is way harder than I anticipated.” Ilya comments, resting his hands on his hips. “Anyway, wanna order food?”

David nods as he walks out from the room, going to grab his phone whilst Ilya heads into the bathroom.

Both remain unaware as the front door opens, and you walk in with bags in hand. “God, it was crazy out there.” You huff, placing the bags on the kitchen counter. “Even though you said you didn’t want anything, I got you guys Starbucks!” You call out, picking up your drink as you notice the whiteboard out and covered in writing.

You can’t help but be intrigued by the board, and as you read over it, your heart drops. The board is about you, your pros and cons in David’s eyes.

“Y/n,” Ilya speaks up softly, emerging from the bathroom as he sees you standing there, trying to force back tears in your eyes as you remain still, gaze fixated on the board. “I can explain, we can explain.” Ilya starts, but you hold your hand up, silencing him.

“Ilya, I ordered pizza from-” David’s voice becomes closer until he’s stood metres from you and his smile drops instantly. “Shit.” He mutters. “Y/n, I, you weren’t supposed to see this.”

A light scoff leaves your lips as you step backwards, glaring to David. “Gee, I wonder why.” You retort. “You’re unbelievable David.” Your voice softens as you turn around, grabbing your bags from the counter and leave without saying another word, too afraid of your own voice and what will be said.

“Fuck!” David yells, gripping his hair in his fists as he groans loudly. “How could you do this to me, Ilya?!” David shifts the blame to Ilya who stares, utterly dumbfounded.

“I wasn’t the one who wrote the fucking list, David.” Ilya reminds David. “You gotta talk to her, man.”

“I,” David starts, but Ilya stops him.

“No, I mean right now.” Ilya states firmly, pointing to the front door. “Go, you idiot!”

Without needing to be told a third time, David jogs over to his front door, opening it and thankfully, you’re still loading your shopping back into the car as you wipe your eyes repeatedly.

“What, David? You wanna tell me about my pros and cons?” You speak up, slamming your boot shut as you near your car door.

“No, I, I wanna explain, as it wasn’t fair you saw that. It wasn’t something you should ever have seen really.” David begins to try and explain, but seeing you so upset, it causes his mind to fall apart. “Y/n, I, I know we’ve always been friends, and I’ve always cared about you- which you knew already.”

“Thought I did.” You mumble to yourself, causing your heart to ache even more.

“But I gave up the possibility of us ever being together a while ago, and then I met Taylor.” David tries to sound happy about his relationship, that it’s a good thing that he moved on. “Before I knew it I was swept up in this new relationship, and then you came back from your trip, and my feelings kinda dug themselves back up and you’re all I can think about.” He half laughs, realising how ridiculous it all sounds.

“David, don’t, please.” You tell him, now opening your car door as you lean against it, but David simply steps closer.

“Y/n, I can’t help how I feel about you, and I know you feel the same.” A nervous smile crosses his lips as you stare blankly at him. “Todd told us, and that’s kinda what caused all this. We were trying to figure a way of trying to decide if we should date, and it was so fucking dumb as I already know you, and I know you’re close enough to perfect.” David laughs light-heartedly. “And I’m so sorry I hurt you Y/n, just please, give me a chance?”

Silence falls between you both as you remain lost in thought. And then, you break it as you exhale quietly. “You’ve got Taylor, David. I can’t do that to her.” You force a small smile, ignoring the tears that fall down your cheeks. “Maybe we just weren’t to ever be.” You chuckle, forcing back pain in your voice as you climb into your car.

“Taylor broke up with me.” David blurts out, just as you’re about to close your car door.

“What?” You ask, staring up at him as he stands in front of your door.

Lowering his gaze, David tries to keep himself composed. “She broke up with me before she left. She knew something wasn’t right  between us and didn’t want it to carry on and get messy.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” You can’t help but ponder over why he never spoke up, listening along with stories as you all sat together in his house and would leave to speak with her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because all I want to do is kiss you, Y/n.” David admits. “I want to be there with you in the mornings, make breakfast or try to at least. Sing shitty songs in the car and film dumb TikTok's together. I just wanna be beside you, and finally, let myself love you after all these years.” David confesses, feeling a weight lifting off his heart as he finally looks at you, seeing you focusing back at him.

“Wow.” You breathe out, now rising to your feet as you move past your car door, closing it as you stand in front of David. “You actually love me?”

David laughs quietly. “I think I always have, weird right?”

“Super weird.” You chuckle. “But kinda cool, cause I think I’ve always loved you too.”

“Oh,” David stumbles over his thoughts, as you lift your hand up, resting it on his shoulder. “that’s pretty cool. So er, what now?” He asks.

Running your hand along his shoulder, you move your fingers across to the back of his neck. “This is usually the part where you kiss me.” You mutter, smiling shyly to him as he nods.

“I think I can do that.” He whispers before resting his arm around your waist, tugging you closer into his embrace as his lips ghost yours. “I love you.” He breathes out as his lips part.

“I love you too.” You mumble back, finally allowing yourself to open up after all these years, never thinking dreams could come true.

[st-kitten]

Kinda Hot In Here, Innit?

Summary: Aokaga in the hot spring after a game.

Warning: Close to smut (if that's a thing).

Seirin High with their overly fatigued team and Touou High with their hotheaded champions found themselves sprawled in the hot springs after a nail-biting game, more, between the aces of each team. They'd thought that this kind of play only happened the first time when the anxiety of surpassing one's own limits was the most palpable. But, even after a friendly rematch (just to settle the grounds for once), neither of the teams had been able to break each other's spirits. What was anticipated to be a heated conclusion had ended with a nerve-racking tie.

'I can't believe this,' muttered Hyuga, crossing his arms swiftly, creating ripples in the water.

'Hate to agree with you,' said Imayoshi, his narrow eyes squinting ever more than usual.

'Will there ever be a conclusion?' asked Hyuga. No one answered.

'No conclusion, only concussion,' whispered Izuki, earning nothing but eye-rolls and hitched breaths from the men.

'Aomine was perfect as always, isn't that right?' remarked Imayoshi, a glare from Hyuga spiting him.

'Hn,' the bluenette hummed.

'What matters is that we had fun playing, right Kagami-kun?' asked Kuroko, turning toward the redhead leaning against the cool rocks of the spring, eyes closed. He had AirPods stuffed into his ears, his phone lying around on a deck, away from the water.

Kagami didn't say anything, so the team assumed he hadn't heard Kuroko or had dozed off. They resumed talking about the match and its peak points. Much to their disappointment, everyone was too exhausted to drag the conversation and decided to visit the sauna.

'Yes, sauna sounds good,' soughed Kiyoshi, massaging his aching back.

'I can't wait to get out of the water,' complained Imayoshi, getting up hastily and accidentally hitting Sakurai, gaining at least ten apologies at a go.

'Yes, the sauna we go, the better,' said Izuki, instantly getting kicked into the water by Hyuga.

Kuroko looked at Kagami, contemplating whether or not he should nudge his friend, but seeing him relaxed in the water changed his mind and he simply followed the rest of them.

Kagami could barely hear the ambient conversation over the music that played in his ears. No matter his ambitious play, at the end of the day, fatigue took over him and he succumbed to the ache latched onto his body. Somedays, he just wanted to lie in one place doing absolutely nothing. The hot water from the springs had seeped into his tired body, allowing him to let loose and forget about the next course of action. For now, he just wanted to unwind the rigidness in his body. Suddenly, he felt the steam hiss in his ears as one of his AirPods was yanked out. Assuming it fell in the water, Kagami jolted upright hands already in the water attempting to grasp it. He was startled to feel a presence tower him.

'What girly shit is this, bakagami?' He recognised the coarse voice instantly. His rival, his equal, Aomine Daiki stood in front of him, one hand on the waist and the other pressing the AirPod in his ears, the music echoing in both, Kagami and Aomine's ears.

'Tch... Give it back, bastard' grumbled Kagami.

'Don't tell me. You like Taylor Swift?' Kagami could hear the taunt in Aomine's voice.

'I- It's- That's on shuffle. Why do you care anyway?' Kagami replied.

'I don't.'

'Why're you here? Go with the others.'

'No.'

'What do you mean, "no"?'

'Exactly what you heard, bakagami. No.'

'Then go sit in the corner. Don't bother me.'

Aomine smirked at the redhead's remark. He'd seen Kagami's rudeness coming from a mile away.

'Sure,' he said, slowly stepping back and leaning on the deck, a couple of feet away from Kagami. He saw him tense, arms tightening to fight the tension he'd took on himself. The idiot plays too hard sometimes, thought Aomine. He'd long confessed to himself that Kagami was a miracle in making, but seeing him take the journey this hard made him want to smack the man into his place. He knew that the same road Aomine took won't guide Kagami up there, but taking things down a notch wouldn't harm him either.

'At least change the song, will you?' he commented.

Kagami's eyebrows quirked and angrily realising that Aomine still had an AirPod embedded in his ear, he grabbed his phone, pressing "next". The last thing he wanted was to be mocked for having a differing music taste by his "rival". He tossed his phone onto the deck and huffed, massaging his shoulder, which seemed to have gotten a cramp.

[cue Mine by Bazzi]

He watched Kagami struggle to release the strain in his shoulder rather comically. Kagami under the public eye was very perplexed and clumsy.

'Tch, you're only making it worse, baka,' he said, strolling toward Kagami, who rolled his eyes and continued to massacre his already exhausted shoulder.

'Turn around.'

'What?'

'Turn around,' said Aomine, twirling his finger in the air, signalling the redhead to do as directed.

Kagami gulped, trying to determine why he'd been asked to do so.

'Why?'

'I'm going to get rid of that stupid cramp in your shoulder. What else?' answered Aomine. His words hit Kagami like several hundred basketballs and he yelled, blushing, 'What the hell, Ahomine? I don't need y-'

Aomine interrupted his sentence by manhandling Kagami by his waist and spun him around. Kagami gripped the tall stone with his arms, trying not to slip and fall.

'What're you-'

'Shh...' Aomine's voice vibrating behind his ears made Kagami shudder a little. He had run out of excuses and timidly waited for Aomine to pull a trick or two. But, instead, he felt calloused hands press on his shoulders, kneading his shoulder blade tenderly, to his surprise. Kagami definitely was not expecting this.

'You play too hard, bakagami. Take it easy.' Aomine's voice shed the usual mischief and sounded more solemn, something Kagami hadn't heard from the ace who destroyed his opponents like squashing a grape with two fingers.

Kagami scoffed but didn't reply. He wasn't prepared to have that kind of conversation with Aomine. But, he did agree, Aomine's hands had a way to ease the pain in his shoulders and slowly release the knots packed in the muscle. He didn't know why he was enjoying this contact, in a hot spring, with only a pair of boxers on, and with a crowd of people right next to the water, who'd take any chance to tease him were they to see the scene. He soon felt comfortable and let his shoulders fold under Aomine's touch.

Aomine saw and felt him relax and smirked to himself. All Kagami needed was a little push. Or fifty of them. It was then when he finally noticed how well-built Kagami actually was. All those years of hefty practice and grit had served him well. He could feel the sculpted muscles play along with his massage. Kagami's arms, which were propped against the boulder looked even more humongous in the dim light at night. If he didn't know better, he'd also call it hot. Kagami... was hot. Aomine almost choked at his thoughts, but there was no use denying them. As if he wasn't massaging Kagami's nearly naked body by his own will and secretly liking the way he arched his back whenever Aomine ran his thumbs across the redhead's spine. It made him wonder how Kagami would react to being touched in other places.

He was answered rather graciously when Kagami half-sighed, half-moaned as Aomine kneaded a rather rigid spot. More than happy to continue, Aomine chuckled into his ear, 'Glad you're having a good time.'

'Sh-Shut up, bastard.'

'Or what?'

'Or th-' Kagami turned around, temporarily breaking contact with the bluenette, facing him. Aomine simply stretched his arms over Kagami's shoulders and locked his hands behind his neck.

'Yes?' His smirk grew wider at the sight of another blush creeping on Kagami's face.

'What's the big idea, bas-'

'Quite the idiot, aren't you?' Aomine stopped him mid-sentence, inching closer to him.

Kagami halted in his tracks, physically and mentally, feeling Aomine's scent trickling through his nose, dampening his senses. His gaze automatically lay upon Aomine's smirking lips. He licked his own lips reflexively, not knowing why. He was tempted to take a small risk, but like the idiot he was, he simply froze and stared at Aomine's mouth like a deer stuck in the headlights.

'Want to get a closer look?' Aomine whispered, moving as close as he could get without touching the redhead's mouth. He could feel Kagami quiver, goosebumps rising on the neck Aomine had locked his hands behind. Kagami had wanted to reject the boiling urge to slam his lips onto Aomine's, but he got beat to it as he felt soft lips peck his mouth. Like a vintage television snapping shut with monochrome static broadcasting itself, Kagami's mind exploded into pieces and before he could fathom what was happening, he felt Aomine press his lips slightly harder, locking onto Kagami's perfectly, obstructing any escape. Kagami surrendered to the kiss and let himself go with the flow. He kissed him back, and not wanting to stand there like a stick, held Aomine by his lean waist. He could feel the bluenette smirk even when he was engrossed in pecking his lips. Aomine slid his tongue against Kagami's teeth demanding entrance, which Kagami gladly provided. Their tongues waltzed together in sensual sync, eliciting swoons from the two men. Aomine held Kagami's neck, the other hand pushing him against the boulder, their torsos meeting. Aomine's slender front fit perfectly with Kagami's bulky build.

'Hngh,' Kagami groaned and snaked his hands up to the bluenette's locks, gripping his head, wanting to never let go.

Waste this night away with me, you're mine!

Like slippery dolphins, their bodies moved against each other in the water, their hips craving the to and fro a bit too much in their tightened boxers. They could feel themselves respond to the intimacy, but neither wanted to eject the carnal desires out of their minds yet. The gradation of intensity augmented and they kissed each other in a frenzy, bestowing sloppy, wet, and impatient kisses upon each other, hungrily tearing apart the veneer of reluctance.

Aomine was drowning in astonishment seeing Kagami's response and could only strike back stronger. He pressed Kagami once more, letting go of his warm lips and making his way to his neck, letting his animal instinct drive the momentum. Kagami felt himself look up naturally, leaving Aomine a playground to work on. His grip on Aomine's waist grew firmer. Feeling his neck getting sucked on by the alluring man he'd let approach him this way felt a thousand times better than he'd envisioned in the mere seconds of their contact. As a response, Kagami tugged at his hair a little too harshly, making him grunt and pull away. But it didn't last long as they both found their way back to each others' lips, tongues gliding against one another. Long gone were the hesitancy and the rivalry. Aomine and Kagami kissed each other with the same passion they'd played against each other with, which was perhaps, what made them accept each other this way. To the world, it hadn't been more than a few minutes, but to them, it had felt like languorous hours, their hearts beating rapidly, hands in a battle to hold the other tighter, and lips claiming each other their own.

Aomine pulled away, panting ever so slightly, a thread of warm saliva tying the two together. He dared to look at the redhead once and the look he saw in Kagami's eyes drove him wild within an instant. He looked at him with an appetite, a thirst that Aomine instantly recognised as his own. He felt the same, he thought. A tinge of happiness overpowered the sense of relief. Kagami too knew at the back of his mind, that he wasn't an idiot to have thought so.

The distant chatter of Seirin and Touou high dismantled their moment and they pulled away from each other, Aomine putting the AirPod back in Kagami's hands, the ones which had ravished him seconds ago. He climbed out of the spring, holding the thick towel near his waist, covering the blemish implanted by Kagami's fingers. He walked inside the changing room leaving a flustered redhead smiling like a high school girl, controlling the urge to squeal. Kagami let out the breath he'd been holding and shuddered as the crisp air hit his abdomen, getting up and heading toward the sauna to meet up with his team, clutching his phone tight, the song changing to the next.

Kuroko waved at him, not noticing his red cheeks and the fact that all his tension had disappeared. Touou's team burst into the streets, exiting the hot springs, engaging in yet another conversation. Their ace, however, walked behind the group, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket, earphones blocking the loud chatter of his teammates, and Taylor Swift musically reminding him of a certain redhead.

The TS song in the fic is Long Live (Pirated Version cuz we're waiting for Speak Now TV).

[stxleslyds]

NIGHTWING #81

UMM... HOW ABOUT NO. 

Ever since Tom Taylor took over Nightwing I have only made a post about one issue of his (I will leave it here Nightwing #78), that issue was beautiful, it was a solid start and the little things that made me feel a bit icky were not mentioned in the post because the issue was good.

Then the issues felt like connectors or just very bland story wise. I had problems with the book also feeling like a Nightwing and (fake) Oracle book instead of just Nightwing. There were many instances where Dick alone could have gotten himself out of situations without Barbara, but because she was there the opportunity to show that he can do things was taken from him. I guess what I am trying to say is that the book has disappointed me but I didn’t feel like making a post because it was too early and this is an ongoing book that Taylor said he planned on continuing for a while, but now I can’t not make a post.

A few days ago, I finally read the Red Hood story in Urban Legends (I have a review for that one too I will link it here Red Hood part 4) and I couldn’t stand how OOC and disappointing the story/characterization has been. I am saying this because I am only reading these two books at the moment, ONLY these two, and all I have gotten from them is shit.

I know it’s still early to say that the Nightwing book is bad but…I hated this issue, I hated it with all of my heart. But now that I am a bit calmer, I have come up with some ideas of what is truly going on with the Melinda situation.

Anyway, let me give you my thoughts.

There are big Wilson Fisk vibes coming from both Blockbuster and Melinda Zucco. Those two will lie, manipulate and be evil every chance they get. They are working together to make Nightwing disappear. I know it. The whole “make us all much wealthier and to extend your power beyond the city” idea does not include Nightwing.

Melinda might not want to burn anything down but she sure isn’t a hero. This woman accepted the position of Mayor after watching Blockbuster kill the former mayor. I understand that talking with the BHPD isn’t the best idea but this woman feels way too comfortable in the presence of a killer.

She is cunning and she has plans, I strongly believe that she might be a villain and that she will betray Blockbuster and take all the power (if it reaches that point) to herself.

Heartless is just another weirdo, he tricks both Nightwing and the reader into thinking that he has a soft spot for kids but surprise! He doesn’t. There isn’t much to say about him, he just has very complex gadgets and doesn’t know how to fight. I don’t even have any ideas about who he might be.

What I know though is that there was absolutely no need for Dick to think that he had “underestimated” Heartless, my love you threw your stick at him while he was looking directly at you, there was a 50/50 chance of him catching it. I swear I don’t understand the need to write him thinking that mostly because Taylor then has Dick swiping the floor with the guy, not only is it a simple fight (for Dick) but it’s also boring for him. Taylor’s writing is so annoying sometimes, he just loves to write extra things that are out of place like the “Tim Drake. Thought of by many as the best Robin” why the fuck did he put that there? Honestly, what was the point of having Dick say that, I don’t read a Nightwing book to have Tim Drake praise. If it doesn’t offer anything to the story that is being told then keep the thought to yourself Tom...

Moving forward the scene in the pier was quite nice, mostly because it’s Dick’s quick thinking that gets everyone to safety, he knows exactly what to do and how to contact the Maritime distress channel.

He has hope for his city, he knows there is good in it and he believes help will show up when lives are about to be lost. I loved that, just like Heartless said, Nightwing IS Bludhaven’s Guardian Angel. Once again, I am having Daredevil vibes from Dick (like from the show)

After the fight we get to see consequences of Dick not healing properly from a shot to the head. He loses his consciousness which is extremely dangerous but luckily Tim is at arm’s reach to help him out of the pier.

There are many things I want to talk about from the scenes that happen after Dick wakes up in his apartment so here we go.

First of all, Bitewing is adorable, she loves Dick the most and was happy to see him awake once more, what a good girl!

Secondly, Barbara, honey, you do not have three names, you aren’t Batgirl anymore, you are a grown woman that needs to move on from a mantle that has other people that can do something else/better with it. And we all know that this Oracle is just the ableist version of Oracle. So yeah…all I ask is for Barbara to move on from Batgirl, Cass and Stephanie are right there, enough is enough.

In these panels we have Dick, Tim and Barbara being kinda dismissive about the homeless kids, and it has been happening for so many issues, what is the point, Taylor? You made Dick a millionaire and you just can’t have him say or think for a second that he will monetarily help those kids and make sure they are put somewhere safe? You are really going to wait up until you have Dick running for Mayor or something to help the kids? I just don’t get it. Kids living on the streets and each time they are mentioned the three heroes of the book act like it’s normal and doesn’t need fixing. What the fuck.

Then we have the gang finding out that Melinda Zucco is the new mayor, the woman has an FBI file and a redacted one! This makes me think two things, either things are like I thought in the beginning of the post (she is evil and very good at it) or this woman is actually FBI and she is undercover (this one is less likely because of what happens at the end of the issue).

What we can see from the file that Barbara found is very little, but in these two pictures we can see that maybe she was put in foster care and x age? Also, she was apparently investigated in April of 20xx, the investigation must have been recent, why would the FBI investigate a minor or college student? What if these files were implanted by Melinda for someone to find them, and for her to have some sort of proof of her lies? If the file is about her being left in foster care or something while would the file be redacted? I don’t know, everything about her is shady and I don’t trust anything from or about her.

This could be a complex and very interesting character but Tom Taylor and DC really love to do stupid shit for shock value (more of this later).

All the new information (the Maroni, Blockbuster and now this very shady Mayor) has Dick saying that it is a bit too much for him and yeah, it is too much, you know who could help? Red Hood. I am of course not talking about current DC comics Red Hood, I am talking about the Red Hood that I would love to see, just yesterday I had an ask about who would I like to see working with Jason and I said Nightwing because Dick puts a lot of responsibility on his shoulders so it would be nice if they negotiated and each could work on different crime areas in Bludhaven, if only DC would hear me…

Anyway, now that we come to the end of the scene let’s talk about Barbara’s shirt.

That was unnecessary and not funny. That’s all it was. Yeah, I know it’s a meme and I know it was included for funny ha-ha purposes but I am not laughing. Bruce has been written as abusive towards his kids for so long, Jason, Tim and Dick have been physically harmed by Bruce and writers use it as just something that happens, there are never repercussions for the Bat. And this shirt sucks because Dick was Robin there and he was a kid, so having Barbara or anyone wearing a shirt with Batman hitting Robin!Dick right in front of Dick is just disgusting. What if someone wore a shirt that had Joker beating Jason with a crowbar in front of Jason, would that be a funny ha-ha too? What about Dick wearing a shirt with the Joker shooting Barbara, is that a funny ha-ha? The answer to those questions is no, it’s not funny.

The idea of that shirt shouldn’t have been pitched, drawn or included after the editor took a look at it.

The picture is a meme in our world, not in theirs. And the readers aren’t laughing.

 Back to the issue, Dick is left alone in his apartment to rest (seriously? You think the man that showed up to help Bruce in Gotham with a knee brace is going to rest?) but he can’t, he just found out that Mayor Zucco might be trouble for Bludhaven and might be working with not only Blockbuster but the Maroni family. He is not waiting one more second to have a chat with her.

Dick is obviously still concussed so of course he grabs a mask that has a camera that Oracle can view, and of course he enters yet another window without being careful.

Melinda and Audre were obviously waiting for him.

But here is where the real bullshit begins. Dick is unmasked.

I am so mad; it’s been four issues and Dick gets his ass in a trap and is unmasked by a villain? Are you kidding me right now?

But that’s not all, after Dick breaks free and accuses Melinda of being the daughter of the man that killed his parents, she pulls out a uno reverse card and says that her actual father is John Grayson, and that she is his sister.

How about no. Absolutely not. Go away.

Let’s re-visit Melinda’s appearances in the book so far so we can start theorizing about her real intentions or if she could be saying the truth.

Back in issue #78 where she is first introduced to us, after Melinda watches Blockbuster kill the mayor, she goes home and tells her Audre that she is now mayor because Blockbuster did what he does, so she knows that this guy is trash and a killer. But that’s not all, Audre asks her if she came across Dick Grayson to which Melinda answers “I am not ready for him yet”. Audre suggests she talks to him sooner rather than later because she might not have “another chance”, and the issue ends with Melinda agreeing with her while she is looking at a Flying Graysons poster with a red circle framing Dick’s face.

That whole thing? Shady. Melinda, obviously, wanted to talk to Dick Grayson, probably to tell him that she is his sister, but why is there a time limit, why is Audre telling Melinda that she can’t wait too long? Is it because her undercover work is ending soon? Is it because it’s not real at all and she needs to tell that lie in order to move forward with some sort of plan? I don’t know…

In issue #79 Melinda (and Audre) are out in the open with Maroni and they are talking about her becoming the next Mayor, Nightwing was watching from afar so this is his first contact with her. And it might be the first time that Melinda and her friend see Nightwing in action too. I cannot tell if she is aware that Nightwing/Dick Grayson are the same person here.

In #80 she doesn’t make an appearance.

But now in #81 she is taking her place as Mayor of Bludhaven, there Commissioner McClean takes her somewhere she didn’t expect to go (she is shown not knowing that Maroni and Blockbuster were in the next room over). Once in the room she refuses to take the cash from McClean but she will take the money as a transaction (for a second I thought she wouldn’t take the money but she did because she is very corrupt) and talks to Maroni once more. Before I talk about what happens with Blockbuster let me say this, she acts so distant to Maroni, she calls him Mr. Maroni every single time and she comes off as cold and feeling no type of way while talking with someone that is part of the family that actually raised her, and this is not because she is in a room full of other people, she did it too in #79. It seems weird that she acts that way with someone that took her under his wing since she was eight years old.

When she sits with Blockbuster he says “tell us your plan for my city” to which she says all of this: “My plan, Blockbuster, is to make us all much wealthier and to extend your power beyond the city. But to do so in a way that builds on the good work you’ve already done I have no interest in burning anything down.”

At the start of the post I said she gave me big Wilson Fisk vibes and that right there is why. She is shady, she has plans on top of plans, she calls Roland Desmond Blockbuster to his face but says that he has done good work for Bludhaven, which is weird because Blockbuster destroys Bludhaven a couple of times a year…

As I said before whatever she has planned does not include Nightwing, and here is where I kinda start theorizing a bit more, what if Blockbuster told Melinda Nightwing’s real name, he used to know who he was once upon a time…

Later in this issue when Nightwing is going to Melinda’s place Audre is already waiting for him right next to the window (with a sword), so, was he making an insane amount of noise or were they told to be ready for him?

Melinda traps him and takes his mask off, she barely seems surprised about Nightwing being Dick, she barely reacts when he jumps at her. She is in complete control of the situation and proves that by disarming Dick, as fast as he accuses her of being Zucco’s daughter she tells him that her real father is John Grayson.

She is in complete control. She has to be lying, she put a stop to whatever Dick had to say and do in seconds. This woman is trained and she is manipulative as fuck!

And if she isn’t lying then fuck DC and fuck Tom Taylor, this woman is either younger or the same age as Dick, John Grayson was not a cheater, the man is dead, has been dead for so long, don’t throw dirt on his name at this point. I refuse to believe this is true.

I honestly think that she is evil, and knows more than we are aware of, her first appearance was shady as fuck, let's suppose that she didn’t truly know that Dick was Nightwing, why on earth did she have a Flying Graysons poster with a red circle on top of Dick’s face? That doesn’t seem like something a sister would do! And why would this be information that is so important that she NEEDS to tell him in a certain amount of time?

It’s fucking insane. Tom Taylor, if she is actually Dick's sister then shame on you. Disgusting, what is with writers and cheating, what the hell is going on? Dick doesn’t need to think back to his parents and see a cheater in one of them. This better be Melinda being a cruel and vile human being that is trying to emotionally hurt Dick/Nightwing so she and Blockbuster can do whatever its they want to do.

That’s all I have to say.

[sunjaesol]

juke | human au | title: fearless // taylor swift

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

As they were walking up the front lawn of her childhood home, nerves wrecked her body. Even her hand, snug in Luke's, felt clammy and sweaty and suffocating. God, this was such a mistake — going home, not him. He didn't even realise what he had gotten himself into by falling for the youngest darling of the matriarch.

Or rather, she shouldn't have fallen head over heels for the swoon-worthy Luke Patterson, but she never really stood a chance.

But everything had happened so fast! One second banter easily flowed between them, warm and easy flirtatiousness without consequences, the next she was at IKEA helping him pick out a bookshelf while he somehow knew whenever she needed pizza and a good cuddle. They were very much in a committed relationship, something the Molina women very much frowned upon.

It wasn't as if they were all deeply scared of love and relationships, but the Molina family was a matriarchy. All women raised families on their own, no man to help. Divorced, cheated on, died, a donor, infertile and therefore adopting children — men were of zero priority.

So, coming home with her boyfriend whom she deeply loved? Definitely a risk. She was surprised he was still standing, that she hadn't scared him enough yet.

Spinning on her heels in front of the door, she shot him an anxious smile. "Are you... sure you wanna do this? We're, like, really intense."

Luke smiled, tender. "Do I wanna meet the family of my girlfriend? 'Course I do." When her expression didn't change, he added, "Jules, just 'cause they all did the 'no guy' thing, doesn't mean you have to follow that, right? And I'm not scared."

Oh, God. His courage was as admirable as it was stupid.

She chuckled, antsy. "You haven't met my mom though."

His smile widened as he dipped down to kiss her, gently, hands caressing her cheeks. For a moment, stress fled her system.

But then the door flew open.

"There you are!" Mom exclaimed, a glass of red wine in one hand and music booming over her shoulder. "And is this the boy toy?"

"Mom!" Julie grumbled, embarrassed to be caught kissing (God, she's twenty-three!) as well as putting Luke in a bad position.

First impression of him: seeing him kiss her beloved daughter on the doorstep. Great.

"Hi," Luke said, dazzling her with a smile while he stuck his hand out. "I'm Luke. And I'm, uh, older? So..."

"Meh," Rose trailed, lamely shaking his hand. "Still a boy toy. Anyway, come in! Food's warm!"

Following her mom inside, Luke shot her a strange look, like it was only registering now all her tall tales were, well, true. Shrugging with a sheepish grin, she placed their shoes and jackets in the wall closet and then made the agonising trek to the loud, jumbled chatter.

As expected, all the California-based Molina women were present. Which meant ten, including her, all staring at Luke like he was a weird specimen. Her hand squeezed his beneath the table in support, and he was finally squeezing back just as tightly.

Was it bad she felt some sick pleasure he understood how fucked he was? Probably. It seemed warranted.

When everyone had their plates filled, the interrogation began.

"So, Luke, how old are you?" Victoria asked.

"Twenty-five."

"Going around town with a twenty-three year old?" She sniffed. "Interesting..."

"Do you have any siblings?" Donna inquiried.

A wry grin ticked up his lips, sensing the irony of the situation. "I, uh, I'm an only child, actually. Mostly raised by my dad, 'cause my mom worked long hours."

Shoving a fork of meatloaf in her mouth, Julie withheld a guttural wince at his words. Luke Patterson was the poster child of everything the Molina's didn't like and she brought him in their cave.

"What do you do for a living?" Abuela croaked, peering intensely.

His smile didn't falter, but instead widened. "I'm in a band, but I also bartend a couple of nights a week."

"A band, huh?" Mom leaned forward, intrigued. "Has Julie told you I used to be in a band?"

"How can I not, mom?" Rolling her eyes, Julie added, "You'd tell him anyway..."

"I was in The Petal Pushers, the best protest punk-rock feminist group of the 90s." Her fist punched in the air as she spoke and Julie could imagine the fingerless leather gloves and purple streaks as she did. "What kinda... band do you have?"

Her endearing Luke didn't read the warning signs humble himself, so he enthusiastically perched himself at the end of his chair as he said, "Punk-rock too, actually! Yeah, we're really killing it right now at all the clubs."

She smirked. "I'm sure you do."

"What are your plans with Julie?" Elena asked, one of her cousins.

Both her and Luke froze at that. Shit. That... was not something they've discussed. A relationship of seven months was still pretty fresh, not ready for a confrontational talk about futures and plans.

He scraped his throat, briefly let his gaze flicker to her, and then uttered, "I'm, uh, a one day at a time kinda guy."

Julie cringed, not hiding it this time. To her, it was an alright, albeit lame answer. But to her family? Horrible. So, so horrible. Gah, she had to put an end to this!

Abuela scoffed, nearly choking on her hard seltzer. "One day? At a time? What is this, the 70s? My little girl deserves more than carpe diem!"

Mimi hissed. "Wrong, wrong answer, boy toy."

The questions kept shooting at lightning speed, each one more outrageous than the other, while Julie's grip on her fork tightened and tightened in anger.

"How many times a week do you shower?"

"What's your least favourite colour?"

"Do you pick up women? Is that how you make extra money?"

"What's your view on children?"

"Can you handle spice?"

"How did you even find our darling, huh? Did you lure her into that bar of yours?"

"Is Luke short for Lukas, or Lucrative?"

"Alright, enough!" Julie screamed, standing up with a stomp of the foot.

A hush crossed the table, aghast and surprised, her mother perpetually amused as always (too many in drugs in the 90s, she presumed) while Abuela feigned to be sleeping. 'Resting her eyes' would likely be the excuse.

"This is insane! Stop acting like this and start treating Luke with a little respect!"

From the corner of her eye, she vaguely noted he was staring at her, gobsmacked. He did well, given the circumstances, but she couldn't just idly sit there and let him take all this shit.

Mom puffed, leaning back in her chair. "We haven't been disrespectful, Julie."

"You have, mom! Can't I just have a boyfriend without—"

"We've invited him," she interrupted. "That's enough of a courtesy."

And before Julie could fire back, furious beyond belief, Rose added, "You know how the Molina cookie crumbles, honey. No men stay. Not for long, anyway."

That smug response made her explode. "Mom! Can you just for once—?!"

"I love her though," Luke quipped, shy.

The fight halted instantly, all ten women gawking at him like he just spoke a new language.

And he did, to Julie at least. Luke loved her? Even after all of this? She obviously knew he wasn't impartial to her, those seven months equalling tenderness and partnership like nothing she's ever experienced before, but... love? He was in love with her?

How could she abide by the 'Molina Women Rule!' rules when he confessed that, no hesitation or stutter heard?

And so, Julie's heart melted. "You love me?"

"Of course, I do," he whispered. "Why else would I be here?"

Elena nodded, sympathetic. "Good point."

Unable to stop her smile from becoming a dazzling, lovesick beam, she repeated his words with as much conviction as she could muster. "I love you too, Luke."

Abuela shot up from her sleep with a cough and a snicker. "Yeah, right."

Mom waved her glass around, congratulating them. For the first time tonight, her tone held kindness instead of poorly veiled contempt. "That's very sweet, Luke. Tell me in seven more months how you're feeling then."

Though Julie couldn't expect her to suddenly change her ways. Damn.

Mimi scowled. "We're letting 'I'm a one day at a time kinda guy' slide?"

Disgruntled chatter rose again, and that was her cue to go. Tapping Luke's shoulder, she mouthed home — something she hadn't done before and wasn't sure which apartment she meant either, but it left flutters in her chest regardless — and he nodded in understanding.

Oh, God. He loved her. That still hadn't set in.

"And if you'll excuse us, me and Luke are going," Julie continued. "Thanks for dinner, mom."

The woman laughed, baring all her teeth. She clearly had a fun time. "See you at Victoria's birthday, mi amor. And Luke? Who knows!"

He forced a chuckle at her remark. Awkwardly bouncing on his heels, he waved at all the ladies. "It was really cool to meet you all. Now– now I know why Julie's so incredible. So... thanks." A true smile appeared. "This was great."

No one said anything after that. Abuela gurgled her drink and her cousins prodded at their leftovers, mom peering at her like she was trying to find something. Sometimes, Julie and Rose were so alike, and other times, they were complete strangers. She liked that. It kept dinners like these exciting, she supposed. Mom seemed to think the same.

They bid goodbye one last time with a kiss on the cheek, and then they hurried out the door. A giggling breath left as the cool wind hit her skin. Luke was buzzing with adrenaline, unable to keep his limbs still.

Clambering in her car, the comforting quietude wrapped around them as the doors slammed shut. A beat passed. No one spoke.

"What the fuck," he whispered, horrified. "What the fuck. What the fuck did just happen? What the fuck—"

Julie squealed. "You love me!"

"That's what you got from that?!"

"Of course!" Her arms curled around him, teasing. "You love me!"

"That shouldn't be the most surprising thing tonight, Jules," he grumbled, though a playful shimmer sparked within his beautiful eyes. "I thought I was, y'know, obvious."

She shrugged, bashful. "It's always nice to hear, no?"

"Oh, man," he sighed, eyes flickering across her face as though he couldn't decide what to focus on, as though she was indescribably stunning. Her heart swelled tenfold at the thought. "I love you, Julie. So fucking much. Even with your crazy family."

Laughing, she reached forward and kissed his lips, fingers pressing in his neck and their silly grins preventing them from deepening the warm touch.

"Let's go," he mumbled, noses nudging, eyes hooded and pouring with the love she somehow hadn't noticed before. "Before they're ready for round two."

But before he could move away, she kissed him again, better this time, and cherished his sigh when they slowly seperated.

"I love you too," she whispered. "Like, a lot."

He grinned, breathless. "Good to know."

Victoria's birthday was four months later, and Luke attended as well. And also for Mimi and Elena and mom and Abuela and Donna and every other Molina member. And when Julie got surprised with a 24th birthday party, she figured out Luke and mom combined their powers to host it.

Molina women were independant and lived life by their own rules... which included Julie.

Loving Luke Patterson unconditionally probably made her the most unique Molina of all.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

@bluefirewrites @blush-and-books @ourstarscollided @thedeathdeelers @pink-flame @constantly-singing @willexx @unsaid-emily

[infcrnalstars]

to the moon & to saturn

summary:

"Love you to the moon and to Saturn/ Passed down like folk songs/ The love lasts so long" -seven, taylor swift

aka

JJPope Rain Kiss :D

trigger warnings: references to past abuse, some violence, alcoholism, underage drinking

*also posted on ao3, user infernalstars

☆☆☆

JJ’s day had been complete shit.

First off, he had to go to school again. You return from a deserted island and immediately have to learn shit again? Load of horse shit if you asked JJ.

Kie and John B kept him away from the alcohol and the weed. JJ’s time on the island was the longest he'd been sober in a long time. He'd needed to cut back, become less dependent on the stuff especially given his father’s alcoholism.

His friends were just looking out for him, but his patience was running thin. Adjusting back to normal life was hard. So much had changed for him on that island.

Magic fucking island.

He needed something to cope. None of his coping mechanisms were healthy, they all verged on self destruction on a good day.

And his self-destructive habits didn’t stop at (attempts at) drinking all day. They stopped just short of murder.

He has always been an all or nothing kind of guy.

He lashed out at all his friends, getting angry with them when they tried to support him. It had been coming all day, but he finally cracked when they sat down to watch a movie.

They usually spent their time outside, out on the boat. Hardly spent time watching movies, but after their time on the island the indoors were nice.

Plus, it was storming out.

Sarah and John B were curled up together on the love seat. Kie was on the opposite end of the couch and god…JJ was so fucking aware that Pope wasn't here tonight.

JJ got up off the couch, needing a distraction. He walked over to the liquor cabinet to find it locked. He tugged on the lock pointlessly, hitting the cabinet door hard.

“What the fuck,” he cursed.

“J? You okay?” John B asked, coming into the kitchen.

“Why the fuck is it locked,” JJ asked.

“Because I know you,” he said calmly.

“You know me?” JJ asked bitterly. His fists were clenched, body tense.

He had an anger like a wildfire inside of him. He knew exactly where it came from too and he hated it.

John B sighed. “Listen, we know you need to get sober. I know it would be harder once we got back so I took preventative measures.”

“Who are you to tell me what to do? You’re not my dad!” JJ said, voice raised. He hit the counter hard and relished in the pain that flared in his hand.

“I’m just trying to help,” John B protested.

“Well stop trying, it’s my goddamn life,” he shouted, shoving past him.

John B went to grab his arm and JJ’s instincts took over. He punched John B right in the face and he couldn't even tell you why. John B wasn’t a threat, he wasn’t going to hurt him, but out of pure survival instincts he punched him right in the nose.

He stormed out, leaving John B reeling in shock. He heard Kie and Sarah calling out to him, fussing over John B’s injury. God, he hated himself more than words could describe.

He could go to his dad’s house. It's not like his dad was there anymore, but stepping inside that house it feels like he's drowning. Like he's sinking to the bottom of the ocean with an anchor strapped to his chest.

And he had almost drowned before. He knew what it felt like.

He could go to Kie’s, but the chances that her parents let him stay were slim. Especially when she wasn’t even there. He could go back to the chateau and ignore John B and the others.

He could.

He didn't want to be there right now. He couldn’t stand the thought of being there.

He wanted his best friend right now. He wanted Pope right now.

He hadn't spoken to him since they got home safely. He couldn't stop seeing Pope laying next to him in the sand, both of them watching each other.

Their hands meeting in the middle. They hold on and don't let go.

Kisses stolen under palm trees, under the blistering sun. Confessions shared late at night when the others are fast asleep. Sneaking off to go get supplies and making out in the secluded woods.

He didn't know what to do with all the feelings he was feeling inside of him. It was overwhelming.

They needed to be let out. Like they had been on the island. Where no one seemed to mind that the two friends were suddenly much much closer.

That they seemed to cling to each other.

It had just made sense.

JJ and Pope just made sense together.

He ignored the thunder overhead as he walked towards Pope’s house. He was so lost in his mind, he wasn't thinking straight. He left his bike at the chateau and he wasn't going back there. He didn't want to face John B when he was like this.

He just wanted to see Pope. That's all he needed.

He was soaked from head to toe, his hair sticking to his forehead, but he ignored it. He ignored the way he shivered, the way goosebumps rose on his arms. He ignored the dull pain in his hand from where he hit the counter, his split knuckles from punching John B.

He was so close to Pope’s now.

He'll be sick in the morning for sure, but it didn't matter. He could see Heyward’s in the distance.

JJ was walking up to the shop as Pope was coming out, putting something in the back of his dad’s truck. He grimaced in the rain.

JJ picked up his pace. “Pope!” he called out, jogging as lightning flashed overhead.

Pope spun around, staring at his best friend as the rain fell around them. Time seemed to still for a moment as they looked at each other. It was like they were meeting eyes across the fire all over again.

Time stilling. The daunting realization of ‘you, it’s always been you’. The undeniable love he felt for the other boy suffocated him in the best way possible.

JJ’s heart skipped a beat. He stopped a few feet away.

“JJ? What the fuck,” Pope whispered. “You're--It's storming--”

JJ nodded. “I need… I didn't know where else to go.”

I need you.

He needed him.

It was a confession whispered once in the middle of the night, on the magic island that brought them together. Now, here, on Kildare Island, he couldn’t bring himself to say it for some reason.

“What happened?” Pope asked, still standing in the rain.

There he was, standing in the pouring rain for him. Thunder rumbled overhead. They should go inside.

Neither of them moved.

“I'm having a bad day,” JJ said, voice cracking. “You said I could always come here if I needed somewhere to go. So, I'm here.”

“You're having a bad day,” Pope repeated.

JJ nodded. A bad day because you weren’t there, he thought.

Pope had never heard such honesty from JJ. “What happened?”

JJ shook his head. “I fought with John B. I’m just...I just know I need you right now.”

“JJ--”

“I don't know why I walked here, you know? My dad's house is closer,” JJ laughed bitterly. “Kie was at the Chateau. I could have gotten a ride.”

Pope just stared at him. Lightning lit up the sky. He could see that JJ was crying now.

“I just...we all act like everything is fine now that we're home. I don’t...My...I'm not fine, Pope. I'm not fine and I need my best friend and you've been so distant,” JJ said, stepping closer.

“What happened on the island, we can pretend it never happened, but goddamnit don't push me away!” JJ raised his voice over the rain. “Please. I can't do this without you. I don’t care if whatever happened on the island was a fluke...I don’t fucking care. God, don’t hate me. Please don’t hate me.”

Pope said nothing for a moment, just stared at him.

“Please say something, I—”

Pope stepped forward, closing the distance between them. He grabbed JJ’s face in his hands and kissed him like his life depended on it.

“I don't want to pretend it never happened,” Pope said, pulling away. He still held onto JJ, he didn't let go. “I'm terrified.”

“Me too,” JJ whispered. “But we can do this together. We’ll figure it out.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Pope agreed.

He leaned forward again to kiss him. JJ met him in the middle, wrapping his arms around the other boy.

They kissed and kissed and kissed.

Rain poured down around them, but neither of them seemed to care. Not as they laughed and held each other close.

The world could be falling apart around them, but they had each other.

"We should go inside," Pope said. "You're freezing."

JJ shook his head. "I don't care. I don't want this moment to end."

Pope smiled, leaning his forehead against his. JJ wanted to cry more than he already had been. This time because he was so overwhelmed with love that he didn't know what to do with himself.

"Me neither," Pope said.

The sky broke open with a cry of thunder. Pope kissed the tip of his nose.

"Let's go dry off," he said. He grabbed JJ's hand in his and guided him back inside.

JJ didn't protest this time. Instead he let the boy he loved guide him out of the storm.

[bethhxrmon]

passed down like folksongs, prologue - steve x reader

prologue- who knows if she never showed up what could have been

series summary: Living in Hawkins was never easy for anyone. However, it becomes ten times more difficult than usual when you catch feelings for one Steve Harrington. What should be a simple schoolgirl crush ends up being complicated by your step-brother, Tommy Hagan, and the mysterious goings on in the town of Hawkins. [masterlist]

pairing: steve harrington x female! hagan! reader

chapter summary: You arrive in Hawkins due to your recently-divorced mother’s relationship with a man in the town. Moving involves growing pains, but you make friends along the way.

warnings: swearing, slut shaming

word count: 1.2k

a/n: I’ve returned from the dead with a whole series to give y’all! It’s the folklore fic that I’ve mentioned a few times already. You don’t have to listen to Taylor Swift or know the album to understand it as it’s just a loose outline for my plot of the story. This prologue’s got a lot of exposition, but it picks up I promise! Let me know if you like it!!! (also if you saw me repost this to try and actually get it in the tags, no you didn’t)

~*~*~*~

When you first arrived in Hawkins, Indiana it was a bright and sunny afternoon in 1979. Your mom was recently divorced and decided to pack up everything in your hometown and leave. Moving away was saddening, but the pull of being somewhere new was intriguing.

However, what your mom didn’t mention was that she had a boyfriend only months after some papers were signed. All she bothered to mention was that she had a special friend that you would love. You weren’t completely sure what that meant.

Well, you weren’t sure until you met Mr. Hagan for the first time. He was accompanied by his perfect and well-behaved son, Tommy, who was around a year older. Inclined to believe the man, you and the other boy are left in the living room of his house as your mom and his dad went off to the kitchen to talk about something.

“Your mom’s a whore,” was the first thing out of his mouth as soon as all adults were out of ear-shot.

You stared in shock, “A-a what?”

“Your mom made my parents break-up and now my dad wants to marry your mom,” he said in a huff.

“That’s not true! My mom said your dad’s just a friend.”

“Keep telling yourself that, you’re supposed to be my stupid step-sister.”

As confused as you were at the time, it turned out that Tommy was right. Your mom did end up marrying his dad. It was a pretty wedding on the surface, though a lot of the decorations were gaudy. Those were the words of the various guests. People who didn’t seem too keen on your mom or you.

Despite the growing pains, you were shoved into Hawkins Middle School. The first person you met was Barbara Holland, a mild-mannered girl who was nothing but kind to you. She was even kinder after figuring out you were stuck living with Tommy, of all people. That also meant hanging out with Nancy Wheeler too, it quickly became a nice trio of friends.

That was exactly what you needed as most of the small town looked down on your mom, insisting that she was part of ruining one of the final, perfect families of the town. It was something Tommy never let you forget. Just because he couldn’t back-talk your mom didn’t mean he couldn’t make your life hell to some degree.

You weren’t all that close to your step-dad, though he did get you a greenhouse for your birthday when you mentioned that you liked plants. It was a chance to physically get out of the house, and you weren’t going to turn that down. The first things you planted in there were some daffodils and white carnations.

Oftentimes, you were home and Tommy would have other people over. Namely his girlfriend, Carol, and his best friend, Steve. You weren’t sure if they were best friends, but if that wasn’t the case, then you didn’t get why he was around all the time.

All was as fine as it could be barring your mom’s issues with the next-door neighbor. You didn’t know much about them, but your mom took their white cat and dyed it a bright green color. Tommy insisted that your mom went off the deep-end when all of that happened. Though, his dad insisted she was the perfect burst of vitality or something in that zone. That didn’t stop him from getting a heart attack when you just barely started high school. The old man survived, but Tommy blamed your mom and you by some odd extension.

It never mattered that his dad was fine. He still stole your diary that you used to take everywhere with you regardless of that fact. You thought you just misplaced it and put it somewhere silly. Surely it would turn up at any time. It wasn’t anything you hadn’t done before.

However, when it did turn up, it was when you got up from sitting with Nancy and Barb and saw the unthinkable. Tommy pulled out your diary and handed it over to both Carol and Steve. All you could do was pretend like you didn’t see and convince yourself that this wasn’t happening. You turned away before you could see what their reactions were.

Of course, that meant you didn’t see Steve’s obvious hesitance. He shook his head in disbelief, “Tommy, this is crazy.”

“Yeah, crazy as in all the stuff she writes in here! You gotta check it out!” Tommy insisted.

Carol shrugged as she took the diary and opened it to a random page before she started to laugh, “Steve, come on.”

“Uh, I think I’m good. C’mon, she obviously saw us. It’s a dick move, even for you guys,” Steve said.

Tommy rolled his eyes, “You’re just worried that she writes a bunch of creepy shit about you.”

“No, this is just shitty,” he replied and took the diary right out of Carol’s hands.

The bell rang right as he got up. You planned to pretend as if nothing happened. If anything, you made an effort to avoid Tommy. Of course, that meant colliding right into Steve Harrington. He probably read that stupid diary. Not that it mattered. You didn’t know enough about him, or care enough about him, to write anything serious about him.

Instead, he practically shoved the thing right into your hands, “Uh, I think that’s yours.”

He was on his way before you could say anything. You didn’t bother to do anything other than put it in your backpack. Then, the day continued as it always did with classes and sticking with Nancy and Barb as always.

It was around dinner time when you got dropped back at your house after doing homework and talking with Barb and Nancy. The Wheeler household was the best place to hang out because Mrs. Wheeler always had snacks ready and dinner was always ready at the same time every night. Your mom ended up getting stuck with a lot of the cooking and she tried her best, but it didn’t always work out. Meaning that takeout was commonplace.

How Steve got wrapped into third-wheeling with Tommy and Carol at your house was beyond you. All you knew was that he was watching some sitcom in the living room.

“Hey, I’d wait before going upstairs. Um, Tommy’s, well… you know,” Steve attempted to explain as his face reddened a bit.

You nodded slowly, understanding, “Okay then, guess I’ll just stay down here.”

You set your backpack next to the coat rack before taking off your jacket and shoes. Steve was all but sprawled across the couch so you took the loveseat that was next to him.

Nothing was said for a while, both of you avoiding any conversation about the diary. Instead, the television filled the awkward silence. You weren’t interested in what was going on, but you had no clue how to say that you wanted to see if there was anything on.

“I saw you guys’re out of ice cream,” Steve said.

You shrugged, “Um, yeah, probably.”

“Do you wanna go to the store and get some?”

“I don’t have a car…” you trailed off.

Steve laughed, “I meant do you wanna come with me and get some ice cream? Tommy and Carol take forever and I can’t be bothered to flip through all these channels right now.”

“Uh, okay.”

“If you don’t wanna, you don’t have to, I just thought I’d suggest it or whatever-”

“No, I’m fine with going.”

Going to the grocery store with Steve Harrington on a Wednesday night wasn’t how you thought the day would turn out. If nothing else, you knew it would fix the awkwardness of all the nights you and Steve would be stuck in the living room that was to come.

taglist: @flyingrichardgrayson​ @holidayharringtons​ (let me know if you’d like to be tagged!)

[clumsyclifford]

hm hi maybe i will officially ask you if you want to hurt me and write a therapy fic. i vote malum but. you do as— no you know what i'm me this is a malum prompt i'm sending you okay love you bye

hiya taylor i hope you realized when you asked for this that it would be angsty as fuck, so i really can’t apologize for uhh writing something angsty as fuck!! BUT with a hopeful ending because we know how i am

tw for suicide ideation, suicidal thoughts, depression

read it here on ao3

-

Michael is winded from the moment they walk onstage.

He’s been all smiles all day. Somewhere he’d heard that smiling was supposed to trigger some kind of happy brain chemical, a creepy fake-it-’til-you-make-it strategy. It has not worked. Michael is exhausted from the effort he’s put into looking like he’s okay. The smile has become a grimace, and he doesn’t have the energy to make it look more realistic. Cameras capture upturned lips and that’s enough to convince them he’s happy, which is the important thing. 

He doesn’t intend to watch those videos when they’re edited together. He can’t even bear to look in the mirror these days. The travesty of him that stares back out with dead eyes only makes him feel worse. At this point he’d doubted whether or not he could actually feel worse.

Standing in front of almost thirty thousand people, it turns out he can. Or at the very least he can feel equally bad in a different way. He’d been drowning before, but he’s choking now. Dying either way. 

If he died onstage, slain where he stood, what would his band do? What would the thousands of fans do? Maybe it would be a mercy. Michael’s a liability right now. He’s frozen in front of thousands of people at the fucking O2 Arena, for fuck’s sake. The band is supposed to be skyrocketing and Michael is a faulty engine, fuel that’s caught fire. If they keep him around they’ll catch fire too, and then they’ll all be free-falling, instead of just him. 

They’d hate him if he died onstage, though. Michael would hate himself too. At the O2, of all places, really? How much more of an attention whore can you be? Couldn’t have waited for a smaller venue to have a heart attack? Or maybe a hotel room? Someplace you could be alone?

Shit. Fuck. The loud cheering has wavered, and all three of his bandmates are giving him concerned looks. Michael fights for breath and finally — for better or for worse — manages to take in the oxygen he’d been missing. And then he forces yet another smile, for his bandmates — but he can’t look at them, can’t see the looks on their faces, not right now — and for the stadium. The sound of screaming doubles in intensity. Michael is already so tired, and they’ve only just started the show.

Luke yells something lead-singer-y and Michael’s hand shakes against the strings of his guitar until he starts playing, closing his eyes for a moment so muscle memory can take over. 

It’s too loud. One way or another, he’ll drown; his lungs aren’t working the way lungs are supposed to, and if they’re not filling with air they might as well fill with water.

Holy shit, he thinks, because he knows enough to know that these are Dangerous Thoughts. But he can’t deal with that right now because they have a show, and after the show he’s fully booked with Pretending He’s Fine from now until forever.

On the opposite side of the stage, Calum catches his eye, and Michael tries to infuse his hollow smile with warmth, sincerity, anything to make that worried expression melt away, but he’s not stupid enough to think it’s worked, even when Calum turns away. Although Calum does turn away, so maybe it means he knows Michael’s lying and just doesn’t care.

You’re in the middle of a show, you fucking idiot, says Michael’s evil subconscious. They’re not going to stop the show in the middle just because you look like you’re seconds from death. You always look like that. 

Right. Right. Michael’s done this to himself. Calum’s not crippled with concern, and he shouldn’t be; he’s Michael’s best friend, not his fucking therapist. Not that Michael has a therapist. Nor does he want one. No random stranger would give a fuck about his bullshit problems, and neither would a random stranger with a PhD.

Fuck. The crowd is getting louder. Is it possible for them to get louder? Or is that all in Michael’s head? Or is everything all in Michael’s head? Are the in-ears keeping the fans’ screams out, or Michael’s screams in? Fuck. Shit. Oxygen is being awfully unreliable today. It’s so loud. Michael closes his eyes again. He knows this song. He’s played this stupid fucking song a thousand times. He could play it in his sleep. He could play it in his casket. That might be what he’s doing right now.

Fuck.

-

Michael is in a constant game with himself, pushing his own limits just to see where he’ll snap. The way he sees it, it’s like exercising a muscle; wherever he breaks, he grows back stronger so he won’t break there again. At this point his threshold is high enough that when he’s feeling particularly masochistic — although when isn’t he — he really has to work for the breakdown. 

It’s a blessing and a curse to be able to handle this much. It means that even when everything is wrong, Michael doesn’t collapse. Which means that he can still play an entire concert at the O2 Arena without having a meltdown, but also that by the time he actually does break, his insides are charred from all the damage control that hasn’t quite succeeded in containing it. 

At least a hotel room is a better place for it than an arena stage.

He can feel it creeping up on him, and he knows it’ll be soon. It won’t take much. There’s already enough wrong as it is. The hotel room is too cold. It’d been nice for a little bit, immediately after the show when he’d been sweaty from the performance, but now it’s making him shiver.

He has sweatshirts, hoodies, blankets. But that would be cheating. Michael stays where he is, sitting at the chair by the window in the tank top he’d played in, staring outside at the sprawling mass of London with all its flickering lights. Sitting by the window is also definitely not helping the temperature situation, but Michael isn’t shying from the crash; he’s trying to induce it. 

Just then, Calum comes out of the bathroom, still towel-drying his hair, and Michael knows what’s next.

Sure enough: “Hey,” the same way one might talk to a baby animal, like if Calum talks too loud he’ll startle it. “You okay?”

Guess, Michael thinks, swallowing. Take a guess. What do you think? “Fine,” he says, because that’s his line. Calum won’t believe it, as well he shouldn’t, since Michael is lying.

“You don’t seem fine,” says Calum. His voice moves around behind Michael as he gets dressed in joggers and a hoodie. “I saw you when we went on to play tonight. You looked like you’d seen a ghost.” There’s a pause. “Like you were a ghost.”

Michael swallows again, and it’s more difficult this time. His eyes sting; his fingers twist anxiously around the hem of his shirt. “That’s a bit dramatic.”

“Well, you didn’t see yourself,” Calum says. 

“Was probably the lights.”

“Don’t be like that, Michael. It’s not like I think you’re okay. I know you’re pretending for the rest of the world, but you don’t have to pretend for me.”

Fuck.

This conversation is not going to be your breaking point, Michael thinks fiercely to himself. Calm down. He inhales raggedly, although it does nothing for his composure. He’s breathing around thorns only by telling himself that they’re roses, and all the while they shred the walls of his lungs, making it more difficult to cling to oxygen when he takes it in.

I’m not pretending, he wants to tell Calum, but he can’t. “Well, you don’t have to worry about me,” he returns. Fuck. His voice sounds shaky and the lights of London are swimming in his vision.

“I don’t worry because I have to,” Calum says. His voice is closer, but before Michael can figure out what he’s doing, he’s taken the seat across from Michael at the window, dropping a flannel into Michael’s lap. “I worry because I love you. You’re shivering.”

Is he? Michael hadn’t noticed. He looks down but he can’t see anything, but if he blinks then the tears will fall and Calum will notice and Michael will have to admit that maybe this is his breaking point and he doesn’t want it to be but he is cold and when he blinks even his eyes feel cold and he quickly looks back at the window and moves his hands on top of the flannel and Calum says, “At least put it on, it’s cold enough in here without wearing a tank top,” and Michael’s throat closes up because however much he can control himself around cameras and crew members and friends and fans, something about Calum makes him completely unravel.

Maybe it’s not that this is his breaking point. Maybe it’s just that this is a safe place to break.

(Maybe it’s a little bit of both.)

So he picks up the flannel and pulls it around his shoulders without putting his arms through the sleeves, and he sniffles and says, “Thanks,” voice all fucked up and wobbly.

“Yeah,” Calum says softly. “What’s on your mind?”

“I’m tired,” Michael whines, and that’s the last he manages before he’s crying like a little kid, tears streaming — it’s been so long since Michael’s cried and he’d forgotten that tears were this relentless, fresh new ones falling now matter how many times Michael tries to squeeze them away — and Calum moves like he’d just been waiting and pulls Michael into a hug, where Michael hides his face and tries to hold his breath because he’s going to die eventually and it will probably happen soon and Michael would at least like to die in Calum’s arms, while he has the chance. But the sobs wracking his body force him to inhale so that plan falls through almost immediately. Because Michael can’t even die right. Fuck.

“Oh, babe,” Calum murmurs. His arms are tight around Michael. “I’m sorry, love, honestly, I’m so sorry.”

Michael can’t stop crying or else he’d say why are you sorry? even though he knows this is more of a sympathetic platitude than anything. Calum does sound sorry but surely he knows it’s not his fault — that this is Michael, all Michael, Michael’s fucked up brain and fucked up self and total inability to get his shit together like everyone else. The more successful the band gets, the worse he feels, and he knows that’s not what’s supposed to happen and he feels even shittier that he’s not being fucking grateful for everything the band is giving him and all the opportunities he has thanks to this, and instead is so stuck in his own fucking head that he’s tallying the passing days like an apocalypse survivor, counting each one he lives through. Or possibly counting down until his death. 

The wrenching sobs slow to nothing. Calum doesn’t try to get Michael to talk, and that itself gets Michael to talk. The silence is worse, and Calum is here, and Calum is safe, and Calum loves Michael. 

“I am not okay,” he mumbles into Calum’s shoulder, which should be a given at this stage, but Calum only squeezes him a little tighter and doesn’t interrupt. “I know that’s a shock.” Calum hums. “I can’t explain why. I don’t know. I just know that this…isn’t how okay people feel.”

“Yeah,” Calum says quietly.

“I don’t know what to do,” Michael says helplessly. “I don’t — I don’t know. But I keep — like — the things I think, you don’t even…you don’t want to know. If you’re worried now, you definitely don’t want to know.”

“I am worried,” Calum says. “But you can tell me if it’ll make you feel better.”

“I don’t want to. It’s not your job to be my therapist.”

“I’m not trying to be your therapist, I’m trying to be your friend.”

“It won’t make me feel better. I’m not going to tell you,” Michael says, though that just means Calum will draw his own conclusions, which might be worse. Not that anything is worse than Michael’s actual thoughts. He adjusts his grip on Calum, tightening his hold. The flannel is falling from around his shoulders, but he doesn’t want to move to pull it up.

“That’s okay.”

“I hate this,” Michael whimpers. It hits him like a hurricane how true that is. “I don’t like this. I don’t want to not be okay. It’s not worth the effort.”

“I know,” Calum says, rubbing circles on Michael’s back.

None of them are okay, truthfully. That’s why Michael can cry on Calum’s shoulder; he knows Calum would cry on his. It’s possible he’s a little worse than the rest of them, but he’s not alone. There’s a twisted comfort in knowing that he doesn’t really have to explain himself to Calum.

“I’m sorry,” he says mournfully.

“Don’t be sorry, you’ve got no reason to be sorry.”

Michael nods, though he’s still sorry. But they won’t get anywhere if Michael’s always apologising. It’ll only serve to annoy Calum, and right now Calum is all Michael has. If the world got any bigger it would crush him, so he keeps it close; it’s only him and Calum and the chill emanating off the window and the flannel dragging against Michael’s back.

Later, when the world expands again, when Michael can bear it, when he’s expelled all the water out of his lungs and stuck plasters over the cracks in his facade to hold himself together, Calum will sit with him on the bed with his laptop open before them and type up a search for virtual therapy despite Michael’s half-hearted protests. Later, Michael will sort himself out a little, Calum by his side to pull him over gaps when Michael’s too much of a coward to step across. Later, much later, a Michael of the future will write about the Michael of the present like he’s a distant memory, using past-tense verbs to make the most tragic sentences into a success story. That Michael is okay, or at least more okay. 

“I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I really think you’re going to be okay,” Calum whispers into his ear now, pressing a lingering kiss to the curve of his jaw. 

Which doesn’t make anything better in the long run, but certainly doesn’t hurt to hear right now. 

“Thank you,” this Michael sighs, as Calum tugs the flannel back up over Michael’s shoulders. 

“Of course,” Calum says lightly. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Present Michael can’t see past this moment, but as he takes his first deep breath in days, inhaling the familiar scent of Calum and warm from Calum’s embrace, he thinks that if the future were to hold more moments like this one, it might just be worth living through.

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Kismet {3}

Henry Cavill x Famous OFC Aliya Taylor

Warning: Plot Heavy, Slow Burn, Mild Cursing, Flirtation, LOTS OF WORDS

Words: 7.7k

Summary: Aliya is a singer turned model turned actress. Since she was fifteen, she’s been creating her empire in the entertainment world. As the daughter of a famous fashion model/designer and Hollywood director, you’d think life is easy for her, but her past has been anything but easy. Due to past trauma, she’s forever changed and no longer trusts any man that is not in her family and a select few in her team. She’s sworn off love and serious relationships and has planned never to fall again, but love isn’t something that can be planned. It just happens when it’s meant to. Can Aliya outrun a love that seems hellbent on holding tight to her, a love that is Kismet?

Note: I did something a little different this chapter with POVs. You’ll see it toward the end. Let me know if it was confusing or if you guys liked it. Also there are Google Translations in text. If they are wrong, I apologize. I hope you enjoy this. ❤️❤️

If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!! 😘  As always, thank you so much for reading. ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Interactive***

***Henry Images NOT my own**

Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 

-Aliya-

A few days later, you found yourself on a flight back to LA. Usually, you’d be relieved to get home so you could shower in your own bathroom and fall asleep in your bed. Today you weren’t relieved. You were filled with a different emotion—anxiousness. Looking down, you stared at the picture of Henry in his bed with little to nothing on. You’d tried to drill into your head that you needed to end the flirtation as quickly as possible, but instead of doing anything of the sort, you continued thinking about him. It didn’t help that you found yourself looking through his pictures daily. That was what probably kept this lingering attraction to him. It had to be his looks your deduced.

Your text messages and conversations flitted through your head on a daily basis. You found yourself smiling at something he’d said or texted, and you always realized it at the most inopportune times. You doubted anyone noticed, but it bothered you that you noticed. When the plane landed, you made your way through airport security. As you did, you noticed the paps from the corner of your eye snapping away, capturing every move you made. After signing a few autographs, you climbed into your waiting truck.

The drive to your house gave you time to think about your next move. Instead of work being the most important thing on your mind, it was Henry. His suggestion was fresh on your mind. You wondered if he'd bring it up again. When your driver dropped you off and brought your bags to your bedroom, you took the time to enjoy the quiet and comfort of your own surroundings. Traveling was part of your job, and in your life, you’d seen the inside of plenty of hotels, but you always preferred being home. You felt more like yourself here.

The next hour was spent unpacking and decompressing while fighting off the jet lag. The music that you had blasting was working with keeping you distracted, and you were grateful for it. After unpacking, you began working fearing idle hands. Halfway into trying a different angle with the magazine, you heard the chime of Henry’s phone. Pausing where you sat, you waited to see if it would chime again. It didn’t, so you went back to work. 

Every minute you sat there instead of looking at the phone, you were filled with such an overwhelming desire you rush across the room to look at it. It was a desire that was new to you. It had been years and years since you’d had any impulse close to this. You thought you’d had one hundred percent success when you cauterize every ventricle that could produce impulses and emotions like this to your heart.

 As your legs carried you across the room, you realized you must not have been entirely successful.

 MSG Your Phone: How is Firefly in Studio City?

 Of course, he was still persistent. You didn’t expect anything less. Part of you had expected him to bring it up again. You stared at the text for several minutes, unsure of what to reply. The war within you waged again. You knew that if you agreed, there would be a chance you wouldn’t leave immediately. He was that charming. Deciding not to respond, you called your trainer instead, hoping that a workout would help to either distract you or help you decide.

 The next hour and a half was spent sparring with your trainer. He didn’t take it easy on you, something you were grateful for. After twenty minutes, you were dripping in sweat and fully enthralled in the workout. After a sparring match, he pushed you through a HITT routine that kicked your ass. You were certain he decided to give you the athlete routine because you’d never been this out of breath. No matter how tired you were, you pushed through it. By the time you’d finished, you were flat on your back on the mat completely out of breath, but you’d also come to terms with a decision.

 MSG Henry’s Phone: See you then.

 After cleaning up a bit, you decided to take your chances on Rodeo for some shopping. Before you got out of your car, you pulled on a hat and some sunglasses and said a silent prayer. You’d learned long ago that if you blended in, you usually would be left alone. As you shopped, you did notice a few eyes, but they always looked away. They must have decided that you weren’t anyone special because of how you were dressed. Maybe it was a good idea to shop in your workout clothes that still had splotches of sweat all over them.

 When you got home, you realized you had two hours left. That meant you couldn’t take forever in the shower, which would be impossible since you had to do your wash routine because of how sweaty you’d gotten during your workout. Deciding on a co-wash rather than a full wash routine, you saved yourself an added hour in the shower. As you stepped into your room, you saw Alicia sitting there.

 “My God, I’ve been calling and texting for weeks,” she half whined and shouted.

 “I have an explanation. My phone wasn’t with me,” you rushed out.

 Alicia looked confused when she looked at the bed and saw the phone that eerily resembled yours. You proceeded to tell her everything as she followed you around your closet. You didn’t leave one thing out. It was only with Amaya and Alicia could you be this honest. They’d been with you through everything, well Alicia had. Amaya began as your assistant and was for five years before you decided to get another so she could achieve all her goals. Now she was doing very well as the owner of her own boutique and on track to opening another location.

 “Holy Shit, lemme see.”

 You showed her Henry’s phone and took the time to scroll through his pictures yet again. You were verging on a stalker now. Every picture she went to that showed less and less clothing had her gasping louder and louder.

 “Oh my god. You have to jump on that.”

 “Leece!”

 She snickered as you shook your head. You didn’t know why you were surprised. She’d always been the more outspoken one between you. she said everything that came to mind. She also wasn’t plagued with the same tragedies as you.

 “Only you would find yourself in a situation like this,” Alicia scoffed.

 “Tell me about it.”

 “So you’re going to get your phone back.”

 “Yes,” you confirmed.

 “And dinner,” Alicia added.

 “What? I hadn’t planned on dinner.” You were sitting at your vanity, applying a lite layer of makeup.

 “It’s night. It would be a shame just to go to get your phone back. Sit a while,” Alicia slid in with a grin on her face.

 “Leece, there have been two women texting and calling him this entire time. I don’t do messy, and that screams messy.”

 “You don’t know that,” she protested.

 You walked out of your closet and to the bag that had the dress you’d just bought. “It’s not a good idea.”

 “Which is why you’re putting in major effort.”

 You slipped on the dress while shaking your head objecting.

 “I am not. I like to look good.”

 Alicia scoffed again. “Chic, please. You’re wearing makeup. I see the flat iron over there, which means you’re going to straighten your hair and probably curl it to since the curling iron is next to it. You only do that when you plan on doing those curls that make you look like an Egyptian goddess. Plus, the clothes everywhere in the closet says you were indecisively trying to find an outfit,” Alicia pieced together.

 Groaning, you dropped your head back. “God, this is crazy. I don’t know this man at all.”

 “But?”

 “I don’t know. When we bumped into each other that time, I felt this—electric charge between us. Looking at him—I felt like—like I was under some spell. It’s weird,” you explained before you sat in front of the mirror, ready to use the flat iron. “Then this week, I swear I felt like I needed a release every damn day,” you confessed.

 Alicia walked behind you and took up the flat iron and began the process for you. “Every day I looked at his pictures, and then he’d text almost every day and his voice,” you added before you groaned loudly again. “What is wrong with me, Leece?”

 “You’re horny.”

 Glaring at her you rolled your eyes. “Shut up.”

 “It’s either that or you’ve met the one,” Alicia added.

 You nearly leaped to your feet from shock. The only thing that stopped you was the fact that Alicia had a hot as hell flat iron in your head.

 “The one? Shut all the way up!”

 That was when Alicia laughed, which made you grunt again before crossing your arms like a child. As she continued doing your hair, you caught up with what you’d missed in each other’s lives over the last weeks.  For the next almost forty minutes, your conversation took your mind off of what the rest of the night held for you. Before you knew it, she’d finished, and you were standing in front of the mirror, fully put together. It was a beautiful dress, one that wasn’t overtly sexy, but it also wasn’t plain.  When you got into your car, Alicia left you with a parting message. “Que sera sera.”

  -Henry-

He said seven, but he was there at six-forty-five. He hated being late. It was probably the Brit in him. As he sat at the table, he’d requested he sipped water rather than a beer. His nerves would have him going through two or three before you got there. He found himself worrying that you wouldn’t show. After going around it for ten or so minutes, he finally decided that you would show up, but then it sent him in another mind maze on if you’d stay. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been like this over a woman.  It was almost laughable—almost.

 Thankfully the table he’d chosen afforded him some privacy, which meant he could fall apart in peace. He’d never been more nervous in his life, and that included the times he’d auditioned for Superman and Witcher. He remembered his mother’s words; “Nerves aren’t a bad thing; they symbolize that something or someone matters.”

 He didn’t know how you mattered in such a short amount of time, especially since you hadn’t talked often, and you’d never spent more than one minute in front of each other. He flicked his wrist to check his Garrick watch for the tenth time. Seven o’clock. Instinctively, he looked around, trying to see if you’d arrived. There was no sign of you. There was no sign of you for the next five minutes. He tried not to be alarmed or discouraged, noting that not everyone was as punctual as he was. It was then he wished he’d ordered something a lot stronger than water.

  <With Aliya>

When you arrived, you were appreciative that there were no paps. They always increased your anxiety, and right now, you didn’t need any more anxious energy. After the valet took your car, you walked up to the hostess with young features, including kind eyes and a sweet smile. When her eyes met yours, you knew she’d recognized you.

 “Hi. Welcome to Firefly. Do you have a reservation?” You were impressed she got through that calmly without missing a beat.

 “Um—I’m not sure. There’s supposed to be a guy here. He’s pretty tall, black hair, um—built he looks like he works out, oh, and the most amazing blue eyes that you’ve ever seen,” you listed off. You didn’t want to just drop his name if he’d managed to get in without being recognized.

 “Of course, you’re the Aliya he meant,” she said with an excited smile.

 “Huh?”

 “He said he was expecting an Aliya to join him. I should have known it was you,” she explained.

 You looked around, making sure you weren’t drawing attention.

 “Follow me. I’ll take you back,” the hostess instructed.

 You didn’t move. Your anxieties controlled your limbs now.  The hostess stopped and looked at you with a concerned expression on her face. You toyed with the handle of your clutch, trying your best to calm yourself enough to move. As you followed her through the restaurant, you were pleased the route didn’t have you parading through the restaurant.

 When she stopped at a drawn closed red curtain, you took a deep breath and prepped yourself. She pulled it open, revealing the man of the night.

 “Mr. C, excuse me. Your party is here.”

 She stepped to the side and gave you the first view of him. He looked as incredible as ever. With the lights behind him, it put him in the most romantic glow. You squeezed your clutch, feeling the butterflies flit in your belly. This was not good, you thought.

 Long moments passed with the two of you just staring at each other. Every second that passed, your attraction toward him only grew, and the more your attraction grew, the more you felt as if there was a strong gravitational pull between you. It didn’t make any sense to you.

 “Well, I’ll leave you now. Your waiter will be over in a few minutes,” the hostess informed before she walked off.

 You still stood there, gawking at him. When he stood, you followed his height. He was tall, and that took your breath away even more.

 “Hi.”

 He sounded surprised and out of breath.

 “Hi,” you echoed pretty much identically to him.

 It felt like a surreal moment, one you didn’t have a lot of experience with in this fashion. You’d been in surreal moments before, but they were less than ideal. When he moved behind you to the other side of the table he pulled out the chair there.

 “Please,” Henry said ushering to the chair.

 He looked tempting and welcoming all at once. You’d only planned on getting this far. Anything past this would have you venturing into unchartered territory, somewhere you didn’t like going. Sitting in the seat, Henry pushed it in for you before he walked back around to his.

 “Thank you.”

 The silence returned, and when your eyes met again, anything you thought to say faded away. How could anyone think straight when looking into eyes like those?

“Hi, I’m Tamara. I’ll be your server tonight,” a new voice began snapping you both out of your daze. “Holy mother, you’re—you’re Henry Cavill. I’m such a huge fan,” she rushed out.

 Henry smiled appreciatively as he slightly bowed his head. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

 “Wow. No problem,” Tamara said as she shook her head as if trying to snap herself out of it. She looked successful, but when she looked at you, her eyes widened even more.

 “Oh my god! You’re—you’re—a twofer. I’m a huge fan of yours too.”

 Smiling you flicked your hair over your shoulder. “Thank you.”

 “Wow, okay. Do you guys know what you’d like to drink or an appetizer?”

 “Afraid not, we just sat down.”

 “Okay. I’ll give you a few more minutes,” Tamara said.

 “Actually, I’m not staying,” you informed.

 Both pairs of eyes landed on you. Henry didn't look surprised, but Tamara looked as if you were insane and she wanted to tell you.

 “Oh.” That “oh” was filled with so much judgment. You almost laughed.

 “Can you give us a few minutes, Tamara?” His smile must have been his secret weapon. Tamara instantly fell under its spell, smiling back at him like an awestruck teenager as she nodded her reply.

 “Sure thing,” she managed out before she walked away. That was when you took up your clutch to get the thing that brought you here.

 “I only came here to give you back your phone and get mine,” you informed as you took his phone out to hold out to him. Henry didn’t take it. Instead, he looked at it then to you.

 “Is that the only reason you came tonight?”

 You were speechless now, and you didn’t know why. Yeah, he was gorgeous, and his eyes felt like they were actual x-ray beams that were boring into you. Yes, his aura was something that was wreaking havoc on you, and his scent was just bombarding you, overloading all of your senses. None of that should have mattered. He was not the first beautiful face you’d encountered.

 “Honestly, you could have mailed it to me a week ago, making tonight unnecessary. You didn’t. You held on to it and decided to come tonight,” Henry theorized.

 “To give this back to you,” you reiterated.

 “If that was your only reason, you should have chosen a different outfit.”

 Your smile began small but gradually spread wider and wider until you were full-on blushing. He was too damn charming. It was the accent; it had to be.

 “It’s Friday night. I’m starving and have nothing to do. We’re both here at one of the best restaurants in LA that also offers privacy. Let’s stay. If after drinks and appetizers, you can’t stand me, I will have no objections to going our separate ways. No hard feeling and no strings,” Henry suggested.

 You studied him for several long moments. Slowly, you licked your lips. The action brought Henry’s eyes to them.

 “And if we get through drinks and appetizers and somehow make it to actual dinner and dessert, what then?”

 With his smile, you realized you were in danger. No man should be this gorgeous. No man should have a perfect face, including eyes and smile that would stop any war. The shiver that rushed through you had him smiling even more extensively. Looking from him, you dipped your head to gather your senses.

 “Don’t you want it back?”

 Henry leaned back into his chair and shrugged. “Eh, I’ve been without it for twelve days. What’s another few hours? Hang on to it,” he replied as he lifted the menu to his face.

 With his face blocked from yours, you were finally able to breathe. He had to know his effect. There was no way a man went through his life, not knowing his effect on the opposite sex. Pressing your palm to your belly, you tried to will the butterflies to calm. You placed his phone on top of the table to the left and your clutch to the right. He still held his menu up. It gave you a little more time to think about what you should do. The exhaustion you felt before your belly growled were the only two deciding factors. You took up your menu and scanned it.

 Neither of you spoke for a few moments. You wondered if he was also taking notice of the things you were.

 “Have you ever been here?”

 “Um—no. First time,” you answered.

 “I've been here once or twice. My friends love the food.”

 You nodded with your head in the menu. You busied yourself with figuring out what you’d eat instead of thinking about his scent.

 “You know, for you to figure out if you can’t stand me, you have to talk to me,” Henry teased.

 Peeking out from the menu, you glanced at him. “What if in talking I realize I can’t stand you?”

 He smiled again, which had you wanting to return it. “Funny.”

 You shrugged. “ I have my moments.”

 “I do have to say this before another moment passes,” Henry began. You put the menu down, giving him your full attention. He looked serious.

 “You look incredibly beautiful tonight.”

 That was not what you were expecting. Your heart was racing with just those simple words. In a second, everything and everyone around you disappeared, leaving just the two of you in the dim glow of candlelight. Wow, you thought.

 “Sorry to interrupt the moment,” Tamara softly breeched. “Any idea what you’d like?” You quickly looked away from him. Flustered, you glanced back to the menu.

 “Yes, um, a coconut mojito, please,” you requested.

 “Great choice. They are to die for here. And you?”                  

 Henry pursed his lips to the side as he looked over the menu for a few quick moments, then looked back to Tamara. You couldn’t help but stare at his lips.

 “A Guinness, please.”

 “Sure thing. Any appetizers?”

 Henry glanced at you to take the lead.

 “Uh—I’ll have the blackened shrimp with crispy chilled cucumbers,” you informed.

 “I’ll have the chicken samosas, please.”

 “All right. Coming right up. When I bring them back, I’ll take your main course,” Tamara said before she walked off.

 Once the two of you were alone, you found your hand in your hair twirling it lost in your thoughts while skimming the menu. It took a few moments to realize it, but when you looked at him, his eyes were planted on you, and that was when you realized what you were doing.

 “I’m sorry. It’s a habit I have.” Putting your hand on the table, you tried to get over the impulse to put it right back in your hair.

 “No need to apologize,” Henry voiced while looking in your eyes.

 You’d noticed it from the moment you saw him at the table. Whenever he spoke, he looked into the eyes of whoever he was speaking to. It was a refreshing discovery, one you liked—a lot.

 Clearing your throat, you focused on the current goal of the night. “So I hear really good things about Witcher season two and the Superman movie that is being planned.”

 “Oh yeah?”

 “Yeah. All the comic people are excited about you reprising your role as Kal-El, and the gamers are loving Witcher,” you expressed.

 “Does that include you?”

 “Actually, I am interested. Superman happens to be my most favorite superhero.”

 “Really, not Batman?”

 You snorted and shook your head. “Batman sucks, Superman, though—more substance.”

 His smirk was wide. You could tell he liked that answer.

 “Is he your only favorite?”

 “No. There’s WonderWoman, Aquaman, Storm, Mystique, although she lost her way for a tiny bit and  Black Panther,” you listed.

 “Aquaman, huh. I didn’t suspect that.”

 “I like to deliver the unexpected,” you quickly followed up with a smile that Henry returned. You couldn’t help but bit your bottom lip.

 “So a Guinness man, huh?”

 “Yes, of course, I’m British. I was born on the Bailiwick of Jersey on the Channel Islands.”

 “Really?” You couldn’t believe you didn’t know that. He nodded with a smile.

 “Interesting. Isn’t that right between England and France?”

 “You’ve been?” The surprise and excitement in his eyes was bright.

 “No. I just know.”

 “Not many people do. I’m impressed,” Henry complimented.

 “Is that how you know French?”

 “Yes, also my mother spoke French to me, and I learned it. How do you know French?”

 He seemed genuinely interested in the words that came out of your mouth. Usually, when you interacted with men in the industry, it was different. You could always tell they seemed to be pretending on some level. With Henry, you didn’t get any air of fakeness. He seemed like a genuine person. That was rare in the entertainment industry.

 “I went through finishing school, where they taught a bunch of stuff. A lot of it was useless like etiquette, how to sit, talk, and act as a true proper lady. How to speak, and the art of conversation. The proper way to set the table with the right place settings and what each fork is for and each spoon because that is incredibly important in life. Let’s see--,” you tapped your jaw, trying to remember all the useful useless things you learned in your childhood.

 “Oh, How to host events, the useful skill of ballroom dancing mixed with aristocratic dances. I also learned more useful life skills like languages such as French, German, Chinese, Spanish, Gaelic, and Russian. I learned how to cook, manage a budget, even how to take care of a household and one of the best things. Ready for it?”

 Henry nodded. “How to be marriage ready, so when a suitable gentleman caller comes calling, I'm ready and willing to receive him and show what an asset I am for him to marry,” you finished in your perfect southern voice.

 Henry looked shocked, scared, and confused, but he also looked very amused. His expression was enough to have you laughing loudly. As you laughed, he joined in.

 “Finishing school. Wow.”

 “Yep. From six to thirteen,” you added.

 “Wow. I would have never guessed. So you know the difference between a soup spoon, dessert spoon, and appetizer spoon?”

 You cringed remembering the torturous lessons that went on for weeks about that topic.

 “Unfortunately,” you blandly confirmed before Henry was laughing. In seconds you were laughing with him.

 You were so busy laughing, neither of you realized when your waitress came back with your drinks. As she placed your drinks down, you troubled her for a side plate of sliced pineapples, lemon, and lime wedges. While she hurried for your items, you stirred the mojito with the spoon that was on the table. When she returned you thanked her.

 “Mojito, huh,” Henry began with a smirk. Rolling your eyes, you scoffed.

 “I’ll bite. Tell me what my drink choice says about me.”

 Henry raised his hands defensively. “I didn’t say a word.”

 “I know you have a few to say. By all means,” you laid out signaling he had the floor.

 “Okay, since you you insist.” You smiled and rested your chin on your hand, giving him your undivided attention.

 “Mojito screams fun, party. It also says you’re relaxed, confidant, and adventurous. Mojito also says you have a lot of intrigue and spice. You have attitude and a bold personality. You’re not afraid to tell someone off and not afraid to do your own thing. You don’t kiss anyone’s ass.”

 It was easy to get mesmerized by what he said. There was something to the way he spoke, everything he said sounded almost poetic. You didn’t know if it was the accent or the tone of his voice, but you loved to listen to him talk. Smirking, you nodded.

 “Sounds accurate.”

 Henry chuckled, “Really?”

 “Maybe,” you coyly replied. Popping a slice of pineapple into your mouth, you smirked at him.

 “Go on. What do you have to say about my drink choice?”

 You pinched your lips because your instinct said just be blunt, be you, but because this was technically a not date/date, you felt you should sugarcoat a little.

 “Hmmmmm,” you exaggerated while pretending to think hard about his assessment. Henry snorted.

 “Guinness, my dad drinks Guinness, he’s British, and my grandfather on my mom’s side drinks it too, he’s Irish. What do they both have in common? They’re both from stuffy upbringings where boring is smiled upon.”

His laugh was loud, so loud; you knew people were looking around, trying to find it. Thankfully the curtains were drawn, giving you both continued privacy. When he quieted down, you continued.

 “You are not afraid of complex. Guinness, to me, is very complex. The taste is very harsh, which must mean you are not afraid of less than ideal situations or people. You have a political character, which includes having a lot of charm and poise. You know how to present yourself, and people appreciate that. You’re authentic and know who you are and what you want and don’t take shit getting it.”

 As you spoke, Henry looked more and more serious.

 “You also are a partier, you have to be Guinness is heavy and has a high alcohol content, and with it getting drunk is easy. That also must mean you hold your liquor well,” you finished.

 He looked impressed. You knew you were right or damn close to it.

 “Or you could just be a really great poser,” you added.

 The sound that you were beginning to love every time you heard it started up again—his laughter. Unable to help it, your hand found its way back into your hair to continue twirling.

 “Nice.”

 “Thank you. Accurate?”

 He glanced up with just his eyes to peer into yours, stopping your breath in the process. “Maybe. You forgot one thing.”

 You audibly gulped before you spoke. “What’s that?” It was a whisper.

 “I always get what I want because I don’t stop until it’s mine.” He never looked from your eyes, and that was what shook you. Man, you’d never been thirstier, you thought.

 “Good to know.” It was another whisper.

 You watched him take up his drink and hold it out. “A toast.” You followed his action and waited for him to continue. “To lost phones and main courses,” he finished. You smiled and tapped his glass before taking a hefty sip of your drink before popping the lime into your mouth right after. The increased burn tingled your tastebuds in an exhilarating way.

 “Adventurous indeed,” Henry muttered in a way that had your belly flipping.

 Keep it together, Aliya, you hammered in your head.

 Through drinks and appetizers, you talked. There never seemed to be one moment of uncomfortable silence between you. Henry spoke about how he got into acting and why he continued. You shared with him how you got into singing, then modeling and finally acting. When you spoke, he gave you his undivided attention and never looked bored. When he told a story about his family during his childhood or growing up with four brothers, you hung on every one of his words. Things were going swimmingly well, so well, time seemed to stand still but speed forward all at once.

 The more he talked, the more tid bits you found you liked about him. He definitely didn’t come off as the pretty boy he was made to be in the press. He was more than a pretty face, and you were attracted a lot more to his mind than his face. His looks didn’t hurt, though. You found yourself just gawking at each of his features. You watched his hands as they moved when he told his stories, he was such an animated talker.

 Every time he smiled, you stared at his mouth, and you took your time there. His lips looked soft. He looked like he was a good kisser. You didn’t even bother chastising yourself for the thought. What was the point? From his mouth and perfectly imperfect teeth, you drooled over his perfect jawline. If Da Vinci was still alive, you were sure Mona Lisa would be a blip on his radar. You moved to his clean and kempt hands and exposed forearms, intentionally staying away from his sizable arms and shoulders. You knew if you fixated on them, you would probably drool.

 When the waitress returned to inquire about your dinner orders, Henry didn’t speak. He sat there calmly and patiently, giving you the time needed to answer. While his body language spoke of confidence, the look in his eyes silently screamed uncertainty. Even the waitress looked to be silently telling you to stay and give him a chance. You gave your order and watched as he did the same.

 The rest of the night went by in a whirl. You talked, laughed, flirted, and teased each other. He revealed he was a mama’s boy but assured there would never be a scenario where his mother would have priority over his relationships because there would be no need. When you told him that both of your parents’ opinions mattered to you, he didn’t seem phased one bit.

 You loved that nothing seemed forced between you. After a little while, thanks to his down to earth aura, you forgot he was an actor and saw him as a normal man. The more you saw him as a regular guy, the connection you felt between you continued to increase. With its increase, his effect did as well. It was exhausting pretending to be un-phased by him, especially since that was not the case. You’d never reacted to any man like this before, your body was on high alert, and that scared you.

  -Henry-

Things were going incredible, better than what he’d hoped. You were a dream, and it went way past your looks. You were smart, funny, snarky, and honest. With each word you spoke, he found himself hanging off every single one. How could he not? He was sure you’d noticed even though he tried to keep himself restrained. The more he tried to do that; the more your personality compelled him to break free. It was a delicate balance he had to figure out. Never had he been this comfortable with another woman or felt such a clear connection to. Before, in passing, it intrigued him. Now with you sitting across from him, it mesmerized him.

 Everything you did mesmerized him. Your voice was like a sultry melody he had to hear all the time. Your laugh the one thing that had his heart racing. The way you licked your lips as if you wanted to savor the taste on them. The way you toyed with the curls in your hair dazed and distracted him. He wanted to sink his fingers into it as he gently brought your lips to his. It was an overwhelming urge that took every ounce of his energy to cage.

 He’d hoped that if you came tonight that he would have answers to so many questions he had since you’d met, but after everything he found out, he just had more questions. He thought he’d find things out that would dispel this attraction he felt for you, but he had no luck in that department. By the time the bill came, he was even more attracted to you. When he handed his card to the waitress, you protested, offering to split it instead. It was refreshing. Every woman he took out expected him to pay and never lifted a finger or raised a voice of splitting the bill after they’d ordered everything that was expensive on the menu. It was laughable. With you, it was unexpected, and even that had him wanting you even more.

 As the two of you walked out of the restaurant onto the sidewalk, he breathed a relieved sigh that there were no flashing cameras. Somehow, on other dates, the paps always found out where they were even with him taking every precaution. He suspected it was always his date but never voiced it. That wasn’t the case with you now.  The valet handed you your car keys after you insisted you could walk to it rather than have him bring it around.

 “I’ll walk you,” he offered.

 “You don’t have to.”

 “I do. I was raised proper, and my mother would have my ass if I did anything else.”

 You snorted, nodded, then led him on the path. As he watched you walk before him, your curves made it impossible not to watch. You walked for an audience and deduced you were so used to walking a runway that you didn’t even realize when you were doing it. When you dropped at a car and opened it, he held the door.

 “The food was delicious. I can see why your friends like it,” you expressed.

 “Yeah, you know you’re getting when you come here. Would you come again?”

 You shuffled your head from side to side with a smile. “Maybe.”  That was when your hand found its way back into your hair, and there went his focus for the next fifteen seconds, at least.

 “Eh-em, is it past your bedtime?”

 “What time is it?”

 Quickly glancing at his watch, he spoke, “Eleven-Forty-five.”

 “Well, a girl does need her beauty sleep.” He could hear the tease in your voice.

 “You have more than your fair share.”

 You bit your bottom lip as you stared at him for a few seconds. When you looked away, he saw the soft smile tickle your lips.

 “Is it yours?”

 “I’m a night person,” he replied. You nodded.

 “What were you thinking?

 “I know a great bar. The drinks are good, and the atmosphere is even better.”

 You didn’t speak right away; you watched him instead. He wanted to know what you were thinking so badly.

 “Either you’re looking for an excuse to drink more Guinness, or you actually like my company.”

 He chuckled, “I have Guinness at home, so it’s not that,” he clarified.

 Neither of you spoke for a few moments, and each passing second he felt the draw to you intensify. He wondered if you too felt it, you looked like you did. When you cleared your throat, it brought him back to reality.

 “Okay. We can do that. Where is it?”

 “On Cantina about fifteen minutes away.”

 You nodded and turned to your car. He held the door as you climbed into the driver’s seat.

 “See you there,” you said before he shut your door.

  ~~~~~~~~

He was there first. It was no surprise he was sure he blew two red lights on the way. When you walked in, it didn’t take any time at all for you to pick up right where you left off. Things were that easy. You ordered Tequila with pineapple juice, which just furthered his notion that you were this adventurous spitfire that he was sure would keep him on his toes.

 “So you split time between London and LA,” you guessed.

 “Pretty much, most of my time is in London, though. I have a flat there. I come here for meetings mainly; then, I’m back home.

 “Which do you prefer, here or there?”

 “Eck, tricky question. I’m here for work. It’s easier here for work, but London is closer to Jersey and my family. The weather is better here, but privacy is better in London for the most part. I feel more me in London.”

 “So you’re big on privacy.”

 He took a sip of his Gin and Tonic and nodded. “I haven’t had it any other way. I’m still lucky to retain most of my privacy. I've been spoiled,” he joked as he looked at you. “I take it that’s different for you.”

 You shrugged and finished your tequila then raised your hand for another. “Somewhat. I’m hounded by the paps wherever I go except Australia. I manage it well, it’s not too bad, but then again, I’ve had some time to adjust. It could very well be a hard pill to swallow for someone not accustomed to it,” you voiced.

 With every tequila shot, you had the more of your personality came out. You knocked them down back to back, further confirming everything he’d guessed earlier. After four shots, that was when your silliness came out and the curse words. While this side of you wasn’t too drastically different than the one at dinner, he did note that you had been holding back then.

 The two of you went back and forth, speaking different languages in full conversation, and it was the perfect way he’d want to spend any date. When he turned the conversation onto you knowing Gaelic, he admitted he hadn’t been one hundred percent successful with learning it and was at an abysmal forty-five percent you outright laughed at him. He suckered you into saying something, but when you spoke, he didn’t expect to be even more attracted to you because of it.

 He also didn’t expect to let his inner geek out when he confessed his love of ancient history, Egyptology, Greek, and Ancient Rome. And technology. He expected you to look at him like he was some alien when he told you that he enjoyed building computers and putting together small technical crafts, but you didn’t. Instead, you looked genuinely interested.

 After a few hours, you’d moved to a dark corner of the back, and both of you were visibly loser and were no longer holding your tongues.

 “So if curiosity kills the cat, I guess I’m dying tonight,” he began, leaning closer to you so you could hear him over the music. You smiled widely. “Did you look through my phone?”

 You snorted and laughed before you slapped your hands to your face covering it. That was all he needed. You brought your hands through your hair and tousled it.

 “How else was I to know whose phone it was?”

 He nodded and took another sip from his beer. “How much did you see?”

 “Well—not much,” you timidly began. That was when he eyed you. Your adorable “yikes” face had him snickering. “A few pictures, names on texts, a few contacts,” you confessed.

 He nodded and turned his body to yours. “Pictures?”

 “Don’t worry, I didn’t see any nudes,” you rushed out

 “I don’t have nudes.”

 “No, just suggestive nudes,” you countered.

 He smiled widely and nodded. The look on your face said you were embarrassed.

 “Bingo,” he shouted.

 “Yeah. I promise I saw nothing after that picture,” you assured.

 After he took a few gulps from his bottle, he shrugged. “Interesting, I didn’t think it was possible for me to feel more exposed than in my Superman leotard.”

 You laughed loudly bringing the eyes of the bar patrons to which you dropped your forehead on his arm, hiding your face. That had the two of you burst into a fit of laughter for the next few minutes.

 “How embarrassing,” he finished.

 “I really shouldn’t say this, but you have nothing to be embarrassed about. No big deal, right? You’re an actor, you’ve been in situations worse than this.”

 He nodded because it was true, but that paled in comparison to this.

 “Did you look through my phone?”

 With a smile, he nodded. “I did. I fought not to, but who was I kidding I couldn’t not look. One to find out whose phone it was, then curiosity got the better of me,” he fully divulged.

 As soon as he said it, you began laughing at him. He deserved it.

 “How much did you see?” He snapped his head forward and tried to keep a straight face.

 “That much, huh,” you guessed. “I don’t have nudes, so I’m safe there.”

 “Are you sure?”

 You looked to think for a few moments. He saw the terror in your eyes, and the moment you began to second guess what you had on your phone.

 “Some pictures, contacts, texts not the messages though just names,” he said, deciding to put you out of your misery.

 “I completely get that feeling now. While I have nothing to hide, I’m not shy in any way, shape, or form, but it feels strange to have someone see me naked without me wanting them to.”

 “I understand.”

 Your eyes met, and that was where they stayed for a long while, and still, it didn’t feel awkward.

 “Look at it this way. The mystery is off the table now and the uncertainty about seeing the other naked. Been there, done that,” he joked.

 Again, you laughed loudly, which had him laughing with you.

 “Interesting view.” When his straight face returned, your eyes met.

 The draw to you almost had him leaning in to you.

 “It’s late,” you quietly said.

 “It is,” he said before he finished his beer. “Can I walk you to your car?”

 You nodded, then the two of you made a move to leave with you settling the tab before he even reached for his card. When the bartender took your card, you winked at him. You were a keeper, he thought. Once you stepped outside, he saw your shiver.

 “Oooh, it got colder.” He took off his sweater and draped it around your shoulders, which brought your eyes to his.

 “Thank you.”

 “My pleasure.”

 You slowly walked to your car, so slowly you barely moved. It gave him all the time to think of something witty to say, something that wouldn’t come off weird. You made him nervous, and it was a task and a half to pretend as if you didn’t. When you stopped at the car and turned to him, your smile was soft.

 “Thank you for staying for a main course and a nightcap.” Your smile got wider.

 “I could still stand you,” you offered with a smile and a shrug.

 “Thank god, I had a lot riding on that.”

 You guffawed, “I bet.” Together you laughed, making him not want the night to end.

 You didn’t make a move to get into your car, and he wondered if you were waiting for him to make a move. He didn’t want to make a move, and you be offended. He watched you bite your bottom lip, and it was then he fully decided you were what I he wanted and that he would make you his. You dug in your clutch and held out his phone.

 “Before I forget and we do this whole thing again.”

 He took the device and scaled its weight in his hand. It felt foreign somehow.

 “Thank you,” he echoed as he held yours out to you. You didn’t hesitate taking it, but you didn’t unlock it and look through it. Instead, your eyes were right back on his.

 “Thank you.”

 “You’re welcome,” he added before you cleared your throat again and looked away.

 “You should hurry and text Francesca and Abby back, they seem to be getting anxious or desperate, you decide. An anxious or desperate woman is not a good thing for a man,” you advised as you opened your car door.

 “Get home safe.”

 “Will do,” you answered back once inside. “You do the same.”

 The draw was still there. He doubted it would go away any time soon.

 “Goodbye, Henry.”

 This one felt different than all the others. The others felt teasing. This one felt final. He didn’t like how it made him feel.

 “See you later, Aliya.

 He was not accepting this was the end. As he watched you pull out, he asserted, this was just the beginning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[cozy-the-overlord]

Okay, so yesterday when I woke up the first thing I saw was this post from @lokistan, which as you can see from my reblog made me immediately think of “gold rush” by Taylor Swift. It made me realize that out of all the folklore/evermore songs I’ve annotated and analyzed, I had yet to do “gold rush.” So I decided to remedy that immediately (I actually started writing this yesterday, but then my computer glitched and I lost all my work and I was too mad to start over again right away). And yes, I am aware that I just spent the last two hours of my life on something that probably no one will read, but I don’t care-- I love doing stuff like this so much. Here’s my interpretation of “gold rush”!

“gold rush” is the third track off of Taylor Swift’s ninth studio album evermore. It immediately stands out from the rest of the album sonically due to its ethereal production and Taylor’s lilting, dreamlike vocals. This is fitting as Taylor described this song as taking place “inside a single daydream where you get lost in thought for a minute and then snap out of it" (x). The daydream in question revolves around a person the narrator comes across and is so enchanted by that she begins to picture a life with them, while still being very aware that such a life can never really exist.

Gleaming, twinkling

Eyes like sinking

Ships on waters

So inviting, I almost jump in

The opening to the song also serves as the opening to the daydream with an immediate departure from reality—the narrator sees this person as a magical thing, thinking of sparkling, shining imagery in regard to them. The “gleaming, twinkling” serves a double purpose: gleaming inspires thoughts of shining metal such as gold, which makes sense as this is the person around whom a gold rush is about to begin, while twinkling evokes images of stars and stardom (twinkle twinkle little star anyone?), which serves to show that this person is both incredibly popular and totally out of reach.

In the second two lines, Taylor plays with enjambment, a poetic device in which the sentence continues even after the line break, which can be utilized to give the sentence a double meaning. “Eyes like sinking” sounds like a version of the common love song trope of being so fascinated with the beauty of your lover’s eyes that you could drown in them (Taylor herself has used this trope many times before, including in reputation’s “Gorgeous”: “ocean blue eyes, looking in mine, I feel like I might sink and drown and die”). This continues to show that this person is incredibly captivating and that the narrator especially is entranced by them.

However, the song continues so that the full sentence reads “eyes like sinking ships on waters,” which completely changes the image. A sinking ship is something that’s irrevocably doomed, something that you need to escape from in order to save your life. By using enjambment in this way, Taylor gives us an image of this person while simultaneously giving insight into the narrator’s internal struggle: this person is captivating, fascinating, enchanting and the narrator is undeniably drawn to them, but she also realizes that trying be with this person would not only never work, but would probably hurt her more in the long run. In other words, she’d go down with their ship. Even so, she still finds this churning water inviting, so much so that she almost jumps in—almost, because she does know better.

But I don’t like a gold rush, gold rush

I don’t like anticipating my face in a red flush

I don’t like that anyone would die to feel your touch

Everybody wants you

Everybody wonders what it would be like to love you

In the chorus, we have the lilting vocals and ethereal strings of the opening replaced with a conversational tone and a firm backbeat. While the opening was the daydream, the chorus is something closer to reality as the narrator giving her reasons for not wanting to get involved with this person.

The main reason is that she doesn’t like a gold rush, which she repeats several times throughout. A gold rush occurs when gold is discovered somewhere, resulting in a horde of people rushing to the site hoping to stake a claim and get rich. However, there’s never enough gold to go around, and with the perilous journey to the gold mines and the amount that the miners have to give up to get there (in the California Gold Rush of 1849, people on the east coast of the United States were leaving behind their entire lives to either travel across the country by wagon or to sail around the tip of South America in order to get to California for a chance at some gold), people actually tend to end up losing far more than they gain.

To the narrator, this person is the recently discovered gold. They’re gleaming and rare, and now everyone is in a mad scramble to get a piece of them. She realizes that she is not the only one who is desperate to be with this person, and that chances are she’d be one of the miners who loses everything should she try to go after them. She wouldn’t be in control—she’d only be “anticipating my face in a red flush,” anticipating embarrassment, getting flustered over a person she could never have.

Walk past, quick brush

I don’t like slow motion double vision in a rose blush

I don’t like that falling feels like flying ‘til the bone crush

Everybody wants you

But I don’t like a gold rush

The second part of the chorus imagines the overwhelming nature of any relationship she would have with this person. She emphasizes how just a quick brush with this person is enough to mess with her abilities to comprehend reality: being with this person would cause “slow motion double vision” and make her think that “falling feels like flying” until she hits the ground and the bones crush (a visceral image). She ends the chorus with an adamant “I don’t like a gold rush.” However, her daydream is far from over.

What must it be like to grow up that beautiful?

With your hair falling into place like dominoes

I see me padding cross your wooden floors

With my Eagles t-shirt hanging from the door

The lilting vocals are back as the narrator once again allows herself to ignore the elephant in the room and just focus on how entrancing this individual is. She goes as far to imagine a life with this person, where there’s a sense of intimacy and familiarity (also, apparently there’s some debate about whether the “Eagles t-shirt” references the band The Eagles or the Philadelphia football team? It doesn’t really matter, as the point of the line is to show that she’s imagining a place with this person where she feels at home and safe with them, but for the record I assumed it was the football team because Taylor’s from Pennsylvania).

At dinner parties

I’ll call you out on your contrarian shit

And the coastal town

We wandered round had never seen

A love as pure as it

And then it fades into the gray of my day-old tea

Cause it could never be

She continues to imagine a life with this person, focusing (as Taylor does best) on the simple moments. “Contrarian” describes a person who goes against popular opinion often just for the sake of going against popular opinion, and the narrator imagines a level of closeness with this person where she could call them out on it. She also conjures up grander memories—visiting a coastal town where their love is the purest thing within it. However, she seems to wake up from this daydream before returning to the reality-steeped chorus when she allows it to “fade into the gray of my day-old tea”—a image that certainly contrasts with the gleaming, twinkling gold of the person she’s dreaming about. I especially love that she specifies that the tea is not just gray, but day-old—it shows how her life is mundane and emotionless. The tea’s gone cold and she hasn’t drank it yet, because she’s wistfully dreaming about something else.

Because the chorus is exactly the same as the first, we’re going to skip to the next verse.

What must it be like to grow up that beautiful?

With your hair falling into place like dominoes

My mind turns your life into folklore

I can’t dare to dream about you anymore

Again, she’s allowing herself to fall into this daydream, but there’s a heightened sort of awareness this time. Instead of imagining an intimate, peaceful relationship, the narrator admits that it’s all in her head—she’s turning his life into folklore. Folklore, besides being the name of evermore’s sister album, also refers to “the traditional beliefs, legends, and customs, current among the common people” (“folklore, n. 1.” OED online), stories that are often passed down orally through generations and change slightly with each retelling. She’s realizing that her dreams about this person are nothing more than stories that she’s changing in order to live vicariously through them. Here, she admits that it’s useless to continue doing so: “I can’t dare to dream about you anymore.”

At dinner parties

I won’t call you out on your contrarian shit

And the coastal town

We never found, will never see

A love as pure as it

And it fades into the gray of my day-old tea

Cause it will never be

Here we have the same daydream as before, only modified to fit reality. She’s not going to call this person out on anything, because they don’t have that level of familiarity. They’ll never find this magical coastal town, and both they and it will never see this pure love because it doesn’t exist. This time, when the daydream fades into the gray of her day-old tea, it’s not with the wistful “it could never be,” but with a firm “it will never be.”

Gleaming, twinkling

Eyes like sinking

Ships on waters

So inviting, I almost jump in

We end where we begin, with the reminder that she could jump into this beautiful disaster, that she almost does, but she stops herself because she realizes it will never work out the way she wants to—she’ll only end up hurting herself. She spares herself from the gold rush.