#and apparently a sexist pig on top of everything else

[altocat]

YEAh Hojo is so unpleasant and the icing on the cake of his whole horror is that he ACTUALLY gets dates.

Like... Sure maybe those women around him are paid but like. We have to consider the possibility. That he can actually charm people well enough in short bursts to get multiple women hanging off him in the beach scene despite acting Like That naturally. Like is he just that good in bed or something? Horrible thought to contemplate let me bleach my eyes but just??? Like what does he have going for him???

And worse, how are those women treated? Like from what little details we got about how he treats women and people he has control over in general, probably Not Well. BIG YIKES.

The level of sexually uncomfortable just oozing off Hojo is terrible already and then we add the absurdly sexist womanizer thing on top just urrrgh. Enough Red Flags to give a bull a seizure there.

I always saw it as people finding Hojo charismatic not necessarily because he's the strongest or best looking, but because he has CONFIDENCE. He says what he feels, he gets what he wants, and he gives no shits about how his actions impact others. He just does what he wants because he's Hojo. And people are drawn to that.

Think about it--does Hojo ever actually LOSE at any point throughout the entire Compilation? Okay, maybe Dirge. Technically. But isn't it enough that he's already sort of cheated death? In the OG? He gets the last laugh by injecting himself with Jenova cells and then goes out thinking he's given Sephiroth the advantage. The man is perpetually unfazed by everything. He's never truly rattled. He sadistically seizes whatever opportunity comes his way and he revels in it.

@heraldofcrow and I were shitposting about this earlier, but Hojo undeniably comes out on top this entire fucking series. Even if his plans don't ultimately succeed, even when his "creations" fail him. He's always five steps ahead of everyone and he just shrugs off whatever people throw at him. He literally gives no fucks.

I'm not saying Hojo has rizz.

I'm saying that Hojo is a MEGA CHAD and it turns out his offspring inherited his flawless MEGA CHAD genetics.

I'm joking he's awful

[jplupineislost]

This....sucks.

So I've briefly mentioned some of this stuff before but given my current circumstances, I think some transparency might be needed. I could potentially be homeless soon and I'm at the end of my rope.

Under the cut will be how I ended up in this position with some potentially triggering topics [harassment, assault, abuse] Links to help me keep my home are at the very end if you want to skip the triggering parts.

Around two years ago, I was living in an apartment with my mother through government assisted housing. Between the both of us, our combined incomes were far beneath the poverty line even for a one person household. We're both disabled, so our methods of getting income are limited. The apartment became a health hazard to my mother because of neighbors stealing packages that contained medical supplies and upstairs neighbors nearly constantly smoking cigarettes and weed with the smoke coming down to our apartment through the connected vents.

The smoke was so strong that it stuck to our clothes and doctors would run secret drug tests because they thought we were lying about not doing drugs. We both have asthma, but mine is not as severe whereas Ma also has COPD and was having to do daily breathing treatments due to the smoke. We did everything we could to get it to stop including contacting management to see if they could talk to the neighbors about smoking outside instead of inside; we were essentially told we either had to just deal with it or move. This is on top of the same neighbors causing several floods from their apartment into ours. Given our financial situation, there was nowhere we could go.

Ma's health started getting worse from the smoke to the point that her doctor's told us that we needed to move or she could be put in a home. So with no money to live anywhere else, it was looking as if Ma would be taken away and I would be left homeless.

Our situation was taken advantage of by someone Ma thought she could trust. An old friend she had known and lost contact with but found again years later had agreed to help us move by all three of us getting a house and splitting the bills based on income. It seemed like the perfect solution; space, no more smoke, and the ability to install disability aids- the apartments had not allowed us to make the apartment accessible, which led to several injuries over the time we lived there. I had managed to save income tax + stimulus money that was just enough for a home inspection and other necessary expenses, so I covered those with the agreement that Ma's friend would pay me back for his part. He never did.

We managed to get a house- one that turned out to not even be up to code but it was too late to back out now, which put me into dept with loans to fix. There are still many repairs needing to be done, but those have no choice but to wait.

Moving in, MF said the place he lived prior had bedbugs but he had treated his things already so not to worry about it. He lied. The back bedroom got an infestation we had no money to get rid of, leaving us to resort to cheap sprays that did very little. It also became quickly apparent that MF was incredibly irresponsible with money; he would spend hundreds of dollars on unnecessary expenses from video game loot to luxury items. He frequently was late on bills that usually fell to me to pay off with whatever savings I had, so anytime I had a savings, it would be gone shortly after so that things like utilities would not be cut off.

Conflict and arguments became common over various things. MF was barely less than a stranger to me, but I tried to be polite and get to know him. The more I talked to him, the more I became uncomfortable. He was a sexist pig who laughed about beating one of his exes.

And now we were stuck living with him. MF is also disabled and took advantage of that as well. He was manipulative and would put up the image of 'poor disabled white man' to get out of trouble who knows how many times at this point. Ma secretly got into contact with some of his past partners and people who lived with him, and they had pretty consistent stories; he made their lives Hell. He called them all crazy and jealous, but given the fact that he was also making our lives Hell, it was clear he was a liar. Every time he got caught lying and called out on it, he tried to gaslight us.

MF escalated his behavior knowing we had nowhere else to go and no money to do so. He tried pushing boundaries with me, getting too close when I was bent over and had my hands preoccupied or when I wore certain clothes. I would immediately tell him to not get that close to me and he would react negatively with anger and trying to make it out as if I was overreacting.

My mother is not as confident in enforcing boundaries as I am. She wanted to 'keep the peace' but was being abused when I wasn't in the room. I didn't find out until much later when she ended up physically injured with bruised ribs. This was also when her doctors found out how dangerous our living situation was.

Then Ma had major surgery for health related reasons. She was in and out of the ICU for over a week recovering, and the entire time, MF was going to the hospital and telling the doctors/nurses all sorts of lies from being Ma's boyfriend to husband, took me off her emergency contact, and refused to tell me what was happening to her. MF would up and leave without warning, and because of my work and other factors, I could not go see Ma while he was there. One day I told MF that we would go see Ma together so that I could actually get to see her in recovery.

The next morning when we were supposed to go, he left early by himself without saying a word. I had to take my little brother to work 'cause he didn't have a car and had to prioritize that so my brother wouldn't lose pay or his job. When I got to the hospital afterward, I had a suspicion and went to the front desk to ask where Ma was before I went anywhere. Found out then that MF had also lied about what room Ma was in. When I get there, a nurse was checking on Ma and asks who I am. I tell him, and he turns to MF and asks "Is this the one you said wasn't coming?" I was seething. Ended up having a breakdown shortly after because I finally learned what all was happening with Ma.

Ma's doctors and social workers, after several months, were able to find a way to get MF out of the house. He was given the options of leaving and owing only $500 a month in mortgage or being taken away by police. He didn't leave until the day before he would be forcibly removed. He stole several items of ours while leaving junk and spare furniture behind. Him leaving behind furniture was not out of kindness, but another way to lie and play the victim to people who didn't know what was happening. 'They kicked me out and stole my things' is the gist of what he told others so they would pity him and give him money/luxury items.

Since he was only obligated to pay $500 in mortgage, Ma and I had to figure out how to pay the bills he had been covering while living there. We managed it, but we could not cover that $500 with our incomes. MF did not pay that $500 and hasn't in over a year. We've been scrambling month after month to cover it. I got a better job and still can't cover it. We tried to seek legal action to hold MF to his contractual obligation of the $500....he put himself into a temporary hold at a mental clinic to be deemed 'incompetent' at the time. He's hopped around places to not be found, all the while threatening us and trying to sell the house while we're still living here.

He told us that he only has to wait it out until we have no choice left but to sell the house and he'll get his cut due to being a partial 'buyer'. Several times he even showed up without warning, coming into the fenced yard, digging through our trash, and getting into the shed. He only stopped as far as we know when threatened with the police.

For the past year, we've been struggling to cover his $500 and facing potential homelessness every month. We've been managing by the skin of our teeth, but it's looking as if our options are running out. Then with him trying to sell the house from under us, he may be able to succeed if we can't pay the mortgage, which will get him even more money than what he's already stolen from us. We're working on taking him off the mortgage, but that is taking time we may not have. We also can't legally get a roommate due to our state laws.

So I'm asking for help. If y'all could commission me, get stickers/magnets/etc. from my Redbubble shop, or donate through my Ko-fi, that would be greatly appreciated. Even just reblogging could help. I'm doing whatever I can to not lose my home.

Comm Info | Ko-fi | Shop | Adopts

[supernaturalfreewill]

“Hey, hey, hey,” Dean said, his beer raised halfway to his lips. You followed his gaze over your shoulder and saw several brawny guys, drinks in hand, eyeing you as you selected a pool cue and clearly shooting skeptical looks at each other and cracking jokes. “What do you think? I think we’ve got some takers,” he said in an undertone. You turned and caught that sparkle in his eye and couldn’t help but smile.  “You might enjoy this a little too much,” you said through a laugh.  “No such thing,” he argued. “They deserve every bit of it for being sexist pigs. You can’t tell me you don’t enjoy taking money from assholes.” “Hard to argue with both those points,” you said, chalking up your selected pool cue. You wiggled your eyebrows at Dean and flashed him a smile before turning around and heading toward the nearest table, starting to rack up the billiard balls and making sure to place the white cue ball inside the triangle. It didn’t take long before a guy with a big beer belly wandered over with one of his cronies. Dean watched carefully, always making sure that you were safe and nothing was moving an inch sideways. You could handle yourself, but he tried to make sure you never had to. “You need a little help there, sweetheart?” he asked. His voice was raspy and he smelled like cigarettes and body odor.

You glanced up at him and gave him your sweetest smile. “Oh, am I doing this wrong?” you asked, looking back down at the triangle on the felt. He reached across you, purposely leaning in a little close to you and grabbed the cue ball out of it and held it up. “This one don’t belong in there.” You pressed on hand to your cheek and laughed. “I guess I just gave away that I’m no good.”

The first guy’s buddy stepped forward now. “Well, you just need a man to give you a few pointers,” he said, twirling the toothpick clenched between his teeth and unabashedly looking you up and down like you were a piece of meat. You had a feeling he had more than pool in mind when he said that. You forced a flirtatious laugh and waved him off playfully.

“I don’t suppose one of you would be willing to give me a few? We could place a friendly bet, just to make it worth your while!” you said innocently.

They exchanged a look and an amused smile before the first guy turned back toward you. “You’re on, sweetheart.” Ugh. How you hated to be called ‘sweetheart’. You chanced a quick glance back at Dean and saw he was watching the whole exchange closely, sipping his beer. You shot him a wink to tell him you had them hooked. “It’ll just be fun to play. I don’t even mind if I lose!”

“So, is this daddy’s money or your husband’s you’re going to be putting up?” the smaller guy asked, turning to laugh heartily with his pal. You suppressed the urge to deck him right in the jaw and only giggled vaguely. “Well, all I’ve got on me right now is a $50,” you said innocently, batting your eyelashes at him and flashing the cash. “That’ll work for the first game. I’m sure if you want to play again after we can, uhh, figure something else out...” He not so subtly looked right at your ass and it took everything you had to force a doe-eyed smile and pretend you hadn’t noticed. You placed the money down on the nearby table and he added his on top of it. “Oh, you two are just awful,” you added in a fake, jesting voice. “Now which one of you is going to play? Someone besides me has to scatter the balls first?” “You mean break em?” The guy with the beer gut volunteered and broke the triangle. He sank two balls before missing and you smiled... that would be his last shot of the game.  You cleared the table shot after shot after shot after shot, all the while with the two of them growing more and more red-faced and angrier by the minute. Luckily, you were fast and in no time you sunk the last ball and shot them a satisfied look. You waltzed over to the wall rack and replaced your cue. “Nice doing business with you.” You went to grab the money off the table but there was suddenly a hand pressing down hard over the top of yours and you looked up to meet the seriously pissed off eyes of the guy you had just hustled. “You lying little bitch--” he growled out through clenched teeth. 

“I’m sorry,” you laughed wryly, “what lie did I tell you exactly? Because from what I remember you came over here and started making all kinds of assumptions,” you said carelessly.

“Someone really ought to teach you a lesson. You should know your place.”

Before you could respond, Dean’s voice came suddenly from over your shoulder. “She knows it. It’s right here taking money from dumbasses like you.” You heard him crack his knuckles. “Now, if you would kindly remove your hand and never fucking touch her again, be on your way and we won’t need to have a problem.”

There was an intense moment where none of you moved but the guy finally cursed you out one more time and lifted his hand off yours, apparently deciding that $50 wasn’t worth a bar fight. What you didn’t know was that Dean had quite deliberately flashed his pistol that was stowed inside his jacket.  You shook your head and spun around to smirk at him. “What a pair of dicks,” you said, folding the bills and shoving them in your pocket. “That got a little dicier than I would have liked at the end,” you said. “Nah, you were fine,” Dean said, looking at you with clear admiration in his eyes. “Goddamn, don’t I love watching you take money from douchebags.” He grinned at you and you laughed. “You really do. I don’t really get it.” Dean shrugged a little and licked his lips a little absently. “Look... You know your way around a table. You’re a badass. And it’s hot. How could I not enjoy watching that?” You felt your cheeks burning with a blush and shot him a look. “How many drinks have you had?”

“Honestly, just one. But after that win, you’re buying the next round.”

[wheresmynaya]

Lost in the Lights Ch.2 | Brittana

Okay so I’m breaking routine here by posting another chapter so soon but I’m just blown away by the response so far and I got excited. LIKE WOAH, I really thought I wasn’t going to reach many people with this bc like...sports. Guess we all just really love Brittana, huh?

Also, 9-0 baby! 😘

Available on ff.net (x) ao3 (x) 

No one is more surprised by the discovery of the Titans’ new quarterback than Santana. Actually, surprised doesn’t even begin to cover it. Santana’s flat out dumbfounded by the news.

Is it the fact that they’ve never had a female Titan, let alone a female QB? Is it the fact that she’s actually really good? Is it the fact that it’s Brittany?

Santana’s at a loss.

The blonde just didn’t strike her as the type to play such a rough sport. She’s like this walking ray of sunshine that irks Santana to no end and she’s only had to deal with her for like a week! No one would’ve ever guessed that Brittany was the one to lead the Titans to their first win but maybe that’s because there’s apparently this side of her that Santana just hadn’t seen yet?

Judging by the way Brittany dominated on the field, Santana had her all wrong.

Santana spends her entire weekend trying to stay on top of her tan before the Autumn chill sets in, but in between sips of cold sweet tea and scrolling through her social media feeds there’s Brittany. Again, she doesn’t know why the quarterback keeps disrupting her thoughts, but it seems like she can’t outrun the girl.

At the moment, Brittany’s everywhere Santana looks! Mainly on social media; one minute Santana’s liking a picture Quinn posted of them before the game on Friday and the next she’s being bombarded by shots of Brittany posing with her teammates. Mike and Sam basically make the same exact post with the whole New Year New QB, but what surprises her is that even Puck is on her feed doing the same thing!

To think that the guys would even allow having a female quarterback is beyond her, because the last time she checked they were all a bunch of sexist pigs. Then again, maybe Coach Beiste has finally taught them all a thing or two about respecting women enough to be okay with playing alongside them?

Santana has no idea.

It’s just crazy how this girl seems to have popped up out of nowhere and now Santana can’t get away even when she’s not at school. The weekends are sacred to her, it’s her time to relax and reset before having to deal with all the McKinley High imbeciles but seeing so much of Brittany has her thoughts running nonstop.

What’s worse is that Santana can’t describe why she’s so annoyed by it all!

\\

It isn’t until Monday rolls around that things finally start to come to a head.

The Titans’ recent win still seems to be the only thing anyone at McKinley wants to talk about, but Santana manages to evade all those conversations. She doesn’t know anything about the game other than the Titans have sucked for most of her high school career but she’s still obligated to cheer for them.

It’s a small price to pay when you’re a real winner. The Cheerios have way more titles and that’s really the only thing Santana cares about.

It’s all apart of her master plan to get the hell out of Lima once she graduates. With several National Championship wins under her belt, along with being Co-Captain since Sophomore year, Santana’s hoping it’ll help to expand her university options.

Although, she knows her future is practically mapped out for her – deep down she still has hope for a miracle. Until then, she just wants to make sure she’s well-prepared for anything which means retaining her position on the squad and making good grades.  

\\

Santana goes through the motions of the school day as usual, and as usual she fights the inescapable feeling of giddiness as she makes her way towards her final class of the day. She doesn’t actually mind the class – Miss Holliday is secretly one of her favorite teachers at McKinley – but she’s not the blonde that’s making her stomach fill with fluttery things.

She’s barely taken two steps into the room when she spots Brittany already sitting at their shared desk. She had been resting her chin in her palm looking bored as ever until Santana walked in. That’s when Brittany perked up and turned on her signature mega-watt smile.

It was getting harder and harder for Santana to scowl at the sight of it.

“Hi!” Brittany greeted happily as Santana took a seat next to her, “How was your weekend?”

It was always the same with Brittany, no matter what kind of look Santana threw her way. Brittany never seemed to be fazed by her grumpiness. She just took it in stride and continued to try and make conversation even if Santana never gave her much to work with.

Maybe that’s why Santana’s drawn to the blonde? She doesn’t scare easily unlike most at the school who wouldn’t dare be so persistent.

“Fine,” Santana answered with a sigh of indifference while she got settled and took out her binder and pen.

“Awesome,” Brittany nodded and picked up her own pen to start doodling, “I had good weekend too. I went to the park, did some chores around the house, hung out with some guys from the team and – “

The team caused a crack in Santana’s façade.

She looked to Brittany, trying to figure out how the girl sitting next to her was the same fierce player she saw Friday night. With the confusion and curiosity that’s been building ever since, the words just came tumbling out of her before she could catch them.

“You’re our new QB,” Santana stated but it sounded more like an accusation than an observation.

Brittany’s brows rose and a coy smile began to spread across her lips, “So you can say more than two words?”

Santana rolled her eyes at the sarcasm but even more so at how that smile made her stomach flip. She really needed to get her shit together.

“But yeah,” Brittany added coolly, “Seems like I am.”

Santana looked down at her binder, “You didn’t say.”

“You didn’t ask,” Brittany replied just as quickly.

Before Santana could get wrapped up in that giddy feeling again, she hardened herself. She was starting to see how Brittany could keep up with the guys on the team, the girl was quick and she had confidence.

Santana liked that…or whatever.

“Sup dudes!” Miss Holliday greeted the class as she strolled in just after the bell, “Is this Monday dragging or what?”

Some kids grunted in agreement. Brittany chuckled away and Miss Holliday smirked up at her.

“Awesome game, Chica!” Miss Holliday complimented as she walked down their row closest to Brittany. She held out her fist for Brittany to bump, “You kicked butt out there.”

“Thanks,” Brittany replied sweetly as their fists connected, “It was a team effort.”

“Spoken like a true leader. About time we got a little girl power in this school,” Miss Holliday nodded approvingly before moving down the row.

Santana watched Brittany giggle then get swept up in listening to Miss Holliday’s instructions for the warm-up activity. Again, Santana found herself in awe of how Brittany was the same girl who could break tackles and fire a football downfield. Brittany was friendly and soft and diplomatic, nothing like any of the guys on the team.

“You’re staring,” Brittany pointed out although her gaze remained on Miss Holliday now standing at the front of the class setting up the projector.

Santana doesn’t know why, but Brittany’s comment makes her cheeks burn.

She was glad when one of the kids closest to the door was asked to turn off the lights. In the darkness, she found some comfort and a little confidence. She was able to get a grip and act like a normal person.

“We’ve never had a female QB before,” Santana whispered. She had her pen in hand, trying to follow along with everyone else by doing the activity but her focus was elsewhere.

“So I’ve heard,” Brittany replied just as softly.

Santana didn’t know what to say next; this was the most they’ve spoken to each other thus far and she really didn’t know where the conversation was going.

What she didn’t anticipate though was fucking it all up with one sentence.

“Girls,” Santana breathed out and for some reason the word made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She didn’t realize she hadn’t said it in awhile, maybe not since seeing…  

Santana swallows hard at the memory trying to worm its way in. She pushes it to the back of her mind; now isn’t the time for it.  

“Girls,” She repeats herself with a steadier voice, “They aren’t supposed to play football.”

When Brittany looks at her, the friendly smile is gone and her pretty blue eyes are darker and fill with disbelief.

Santana knows she said the wrong thing the second the words leave her lips. It’s not exactly what she meant, but it’s too late to take it back now. Her words have already done the damage.  

“Huh,” Brittany scoffs and averts her eyes back to her work, “Didn’t expect to hear that coming from you.”

Santana frowns – mostly out of guilt – but her instincts have her on the defense, “What’s that suppose to mean?”

She watches Brittany’s jaw tighten before she’s turning to look at Santana again. Her brows knit together, “It means I didn’t think you were the small-minded type.”

Santana feels winded.

She’s been called many things in her life and has heard some creative insults aimed at her, but never has she ever been called small-minded. She’s surprised by how much that one actually hurts. After everything she went through last year, after all the backlash, after having to deal with real small-minded people she feels a little offended. She can’t be lumped in with them. It’s not possible, because she’s…

The word gets trapped her throat and Santana has to swallow hard again to steady herself.

She isn’t like everyone else.

On second thought, maybe she is if she’s still saying something like that?

“I’ve always been told that those who can play the game well should,” Brittany tells her firmly, “I think I’m someone that can and judging by your team’s standings for the past three years, you could use someone like me on that field.”

Santana gulps. She can’t remember the last time someone at this school spoke to her the way Brittany is. It’s not a tone she’s familiar with, but she knows she deserves it.

“I don’t know you very well, but I thought – I don’t know – I thought you’d at least be a little more accepting than the hicks I’ve come across in this town,” Brittany continues, “I guess I was wrong.”

Santana’s lips part to defend herself, but nothing comes out.

Brittany doesn’t notice, “It shouldn’t matter if I’m a girl or a boy or a damn alien from outer space. If you can play – if you want to play – then you should, no matter what the sport is. Anyone that thinks otherwise is just…well, they’re stupid.”

The last word has Brittany’s voice cracking and the sound finally has Santana sputtering for an explanations, “I – I didn’t mean to – “

“You should probably just pay attention to the board, Santana.”

Santana bites her lip at Brittany’s clipped tone – that might’ve been the first time she’s ever heard Brittany say her name. She does as she’s told though. It’s best if she doesn’t dig herself a deeper hole.

\\

Santana spends the rest of the day mulling over Brittany's words. Even through Cheerios practice after school, Santana can’t seem to get her head on right.

Maybe she really has become a product of her environment? Maybe all the small-minded people she's surrounded by have somehow managed to rub off on her after all of these years?

That can’t be the case, can it?

She hates that she has to ask herself that. Usually, Santana’s not one to have any regrets or remorse once she spits out her vicious words but this time she finds herself backpedaling when it comes to Brittany. She wasn’t trying to be a bitch, it just sort of happened and for once in her life she feels kind of horrible about it.

\\

“You okay?” Quinn asks hesitantly after she dismissed the squad for a water break. Santana was meant to lead warm-ups today but Quinn seemed more eager to take over and Santana didn’t mind considering she’s so distracted.

“Yeah,” Santana shrugs, “I’m fine.”

“You’re quiet today,” Quinn notes, “You didn’t even laugh when Bec accidentally called Coach Sylvester sir.”

Santana tries to mask her worries and shrugs again, “She’s not that far off, have you seen Coach lately? Very mannish.”

Quinn smirks, pleased to seemingly have her best friend back, “So true.”

Just then Coach Sylvester blows her whistle and barks orders at the squad. Santana’s reluctant to move, but she pushes herself up anyway.

“God,” She groans as they walk over to the others, “I’m over this year and it hasn’t even started.”

“Same,” Quinn chuckles, “Let’s go make fun of the JV squad later? I hear they need a ton of work and their practices runs longer than ours because they suck so much.”

If it were any other day, that suggestion would have Santana eager to get a front row seat but even that doesn’t help. Still, she has to retain some sort of normalcy even if thoughts of Brittany are trying their hardest to disrupt that.

“I can’t wait to see that train wreck,” Santana quips and together, she and her best friend fall in line with the rest of the squad.

\\

The remainder of the week is more of the same: class, Cheerios practice, homework then repeat. The only thing that’s out of the ordinary for Santana is the icy, cold shoulder Brittany’s giving her now.

Or maybe Santana’s the one avoiding her?

It’s all minor details. What’s important is that they aren’t speaking to each other anymore and Santana’s starting to miss Brittany’s usual cheerful greetings.

She knows what she needs to do to fix this. It doesn’t make it any easier for her to actually do it though. To admit that she was wrong, to apologize for her words, to accept responsibility for her actions? Santana’s not use to most of that!

It’s a weird kind of tension though between her and Brittany, so Santana’s not sure how much more she can take. Instead, she steals sideways glances in the dark and hopes Brittany takes pity on her and makes the first move.

Brittany doesn’t and soon one week’s worth of silence ends up turning into two.

\\

Santana had every intention of making amends by last Friday’s game, but things just kept coming up. There’s class and Cheerios practice, but now she actually has to study for upcoming quizzes and assignments. She can’t fall behind again so once practice ends, Santana usually gets changed right away and heads straight for her car without even glancing in the Titans’ direction.

Is she using schoolwork as a lame excuse to avoid dealing with her shit? Of course, she’s a teenager. Procrastination comes naturally to her!

\\

Later that night, Santana sits with both of her parents at the table for dinner. It’s a rare occasion to have Maribel and Hector home at the same time, but that quickly loses its novelty when Hector starts to grill Santana on her studies.

“Papi, it’s only the third week,” Santana gently reasons.

“And?” Hector gives her a stern look, “You need to stay on top of things, Santana.”

It’s a simple sentence, but Santana feels like there’s way more beneath the surface. Sometimes it’s hard being the daughter of a successful doctor whose father was also a doctor and his father before him. There is a long line of them in the Lopez legacy and that looms over Santana like a dark cloud, especially now that she’s in her Senior year.

It’s gone without saying whose footsteps Santana will follow, but it’s still a lot of pressure for her. It’s only a matter of time before her dad begins to lecture her again about college and the importance of good grades and extracurriculars while her mom tries to elevate some of that stress.

She’s never met two people who show their love for someone so differently.

“Don’t put too much pressure on her,” Maribel says and squeezes Santana’s hand from across the table lovingly, “You’re doing fine, mija.”

Hector frowns at his wife, “Fine isn’t enough. You think any of these Ivy League schools care about fine? Of course not. They’re going through thousands of applicants a year and fine doesn’t stand out. Fine doesn’t get into Harvard.”

Maribel narrows her eyes at his rambling.

“Don’t give me that look,” Hector huffs but his voice softens as he looks to Santana, “You know what I’m talking about.”

Santana can already guess what he’s about to say. She’s heard it so many times before.

“You can’t get complacent, Santana. You have a lot to make up for,” Hector adds just as Santana knew he would, “Especially after the year you’ve had.”

“That’s an understatement,” Santana mumbles as she pushes food around on her plate.

“What was that?” Hector raises a challenging brow.

“It’s nothing,” Santana dismisses and smiles reassuringly at her dad, “I’m on top of everything this year, Papi. I promise, you don’t have to worry. I won’t disappoint you.”

When Hector matches her smile, Santana feels a little relief even if it only lasts for a moment.

\\

It isn’t until they’re nearing the end of the third week of school when things on the Brittany-front begin to shift for Santana. They still aren’t speaking to each other, but the blonde practically pops up everywhere she goes – if not physically, then someone’s bound to be talking about her.

After securing a second win for the Titans, Brittany has quickly climbed the ranks on the popularity ladder. The buzz around her grows, but what’s odd is that despite her obvious talents and annoyingly charming smile the students of McKinley have mixed feelings about her.

More importantly, about having a female quarterback.

On her walks to class, Santana has overheard the murmurs of doubt in Brittany’s abilities. Some are frustrated at how a new kid was able to dethrone Finn Hudson who has been leading the team all of her high school career. Some think Coach Beiste is getting soft. Some think it’s all a hoax, but Santana doesn’t really understand that one.

Regardless of how they feel about her though, Brittany’s still able to part crowds any time she walks down the hall. It doesn’t look like she pays them any mind, but Santana’s been wrong about her before.

But with popularity comes the irritating gossip mongers and Santana happens to overhear Brittany’s first encounter with McKinley’s most annoying: Jacob Ben Israel.

\\\\\

Between her morning runs, class, football practice, weight training, homework and helping out with Pete, Brittany’s having a hard time finding a moment to relax. She should be use to the hectic schedule by now, but making the change from her old school’s system to Lima’s is throwing her off a little. The school days start earlier, football practices run later and the work is a little harder than she use to.

Then there’s everything going on with Santana and that might be the most frustrating.

For nearly two weeks, they’ve kept this thing between them going. Did Brittany overreact by saying what she said? She doesn’t think so. Maybe Santana didn’t think what she said to her was a big deal, but to Brittany it was. The things people say to her in Lima aren’t anything knew, but that doesn’t mean she’s immune to their sting.

Most times, she’s able to ignore them but it just hits differently when she hears the utter disbelief coming from a fellow female. It’s like, whatever happened to empowering and uplifting each other? Did Santana not grow up listening to the Spice Girls? Has she never watched She’s the Man? Bend it like Beckham? A League of their own?

It’s so irritating because she can’t even ask Santana, the girl avoids her like the plague! The only time they’re ever close enough is in English class and that’s only because they have to share a table.

\\

Brittany’s tired and achy and she’s so wrapped up in her thoughts as shuffles through her locker for her textbook for next class that she doesn’t notice she is no longer alone.

“Brittany Pierce!” Brittany hears someone say and the sound makes her flinch, “You’ve become quite the celebrity.”

She leans back slowly and peeks around her locker door to find a rather dorky looking guy with a huge cloud of hair. She notices the mic in his hand next and is instantly confused.

Is she on tv?

“Who are you?” She asks and glances around unsurely for a camera.

“Jacob Ben Israel,” He says and holds out his hand for her to shake, “Some call me JBI for short. I’m McKinley’s #1 source for news and the hottest gossip.”

Brittany shakes his hand; it’s grossly warm and sweaty as hell but she’s not surprised judging by the look of him. He certainty isn’t dressed like a journalist or one of those news reporters she has seen on tv.

She can hear her dad’s voice in her head chastising her for judging a book by its cover so she gives JBI a polite smile, “Oh okay. Nice to meet you.”

She goes to turn back to her locker, but JBI is quick to start the questions.

“So you’re the first female QB here at McKinley High. You’re new to the school and you’re the first to ever bench Finn Hudson and you’ve already led the Titans to their second victory this year. Hoping for a third this Friday?” JBI pauses and holds out the mic for Brittany.

She clears her throat, she’s not sure where the camera is so she just looks at him, “Of course. There are a lot of really great players on the team and I’m confident we can win a lot more games this season.”  

“Awesome,” JBI replies enthusiastically, “A winning streak isn’t something a lot of the students here have experienced. You’re off to a great start this year. You’re bound to be nominated for Homecoming Court!”

Brittany almost laughs at that.

She’s been nominated at her old school before – even won a couple times – but that’s because she was voted for by her peers, peers who have known her for years. She doesn’t expect any nomination this year, the only reason anyone knows her is because she plays football. If she were to be nominated, it wouldn’t be because she’s well-liked or something like that. It would be because she sticks out like a sore thumb.

“Sounds cool,” Brittany replies despite disagreeing with him.

“So tell us,” JBI’s voice takes a dip. It’s sneaky, almost mischievous, “Would you rather be crowned the King or the Queen?”

Brittany’s stomach flips. She doesn’t like this interview thing anymore.

“What?” She asks because the question confuses her but she finds him wearing this sly grin like he’s just found her weak spot.

He hasn’t, but Brittany’s guard instantly goes up.

“Don’t be shy,” He coaxes with the wag of his brow, “You know what I’m talking about. You’re a female QB, no way you’re strai – “

“Hey!” Suddenly Santana’s there, of all people, and there’s fury in her eyes as she shoves JBI’s mic to his chest, “Fuck off.”

Brittany blinks like she’s caught in a daydream. Her eyes shift from Santana to JBI whose grin widens upon seeing the Co-Captain.

“Now this is a pairing I’m sure everyone would love to see,” He says as he talks into the mic again like nothing’s happened, like Santana isn’t about to beat him over the head with it. He looks to the camera – the kid’s been lingering over Brittany’s right shoulder thus far – and says, “It’s the infamous Santana Lopez, gracing us with her presence.”

Santana rolls her eyes, “I’m not gracing you with shit. Your little show sucks.”

“That’s not what my viewer count says. I’m sure you remember,” JBI quips as he turns back to the pair, “So Brittany, you didn’t answer the question.”

Brittany feels like a deer caught in the headlights; she can’t even remember what the question was, but thankfully Santana interrupts again.

“I said beat it, loser, before I shove that camera so far up your dumb ass you’ll be spitting out polaroids,” Santana snaps.

To Brittany’s surprise though, JBI doesn’t move right away.

“That doesn’t make sense, we’re not even using that kind of cam – “

Santana grits her jaw and takes a threatening step forward. Her voice dips low and gravely, “Try me, Jewfro. Please. I’ve been itching to kick you square in the nuts.”

That threat has JBI reaching to protect his crotch before he turns and runs down the hall with his camera-friend following him.  

Brittany watches Santana smirk like she’s so proud of herself for being able to instill the fear of God in someone before she’s averting her gaze. When her stormy brown eyes land on Brittany, the blonde feels a cold chill.

The smirk’s gone and in it’s place is a familiar scowl. Brick by brick, her wall goes up.

“I know you’re new here, Pierce, so a little word of advice,” Santana warns as she turns to the lockers, “Don’t talk to him. He’s a wannabe journalist that reports nothing but bullshit. He’ll twist your words if you let him, trust me. I’ve seen it happen many times and I don’t want you to get caught up in his shit.”

Brittany’s at a loss for words.

Santana hasn’t spoken to her all this time and now all of sudden this? Why would it matter to Santana what she did or said or who she spoke to? Why would she care, she doesn’t even know Brittany?

There’s so many questions beginning to swarm her, but none make it out of her head.

“Thanks,” Is the only word Brittany ends up saying around a shy grin.

There’s a hint of smile on Santana’s lips when their eyes catch for a quick second, but it disappears just as fast.

“It’s whatever,” She says and Brittany hears a locker door slam, “I’ll see you in class.”

It isn’t until Santana’s halfway down the hall that Brittany finally realizes that their lockers are right next to each other’s. She can do nothing but laugh at the small coincidence.

\\

The second time Santana speaks to her, it’s because Brittany accidentally scared the crap out of her.

It’s Thursday now – the last day of practice before the Week 3 game – so Brittany wants to get a jump on warm-ups. She knows there’s a thirty minute buffer between Cheerios and Titans practice, but she has to account for the extra time it takes to pick up her gear from Coach Beiste’s office first since everything’s stored in the boys’ locker room.

Usually, she gets the whole room to herself and plays a little music from her phone to get amped up. This time though, there’s one Cheerio that’s already there and this particular Cheerio surprisingly has a beautiful singing voice.

Brittany feels like she’s being lured in by one of those sirens she has read about in Greek mythology. She thinks she should probably make her presence known because creeping around a locker room is kind of weird, but she’s so in awe of the girl’s voice.

More importantly, the owner of that voice.

“Jesus!” Santana gasps when she rounds the corner to find Brittany lingering by the hampers. Her hand flies to chest to steady her beating heart, “What the hell are you doing, Pierce? Trying to give a girl a heart attack?”

Brittany thanks the heavens when she finds that Santana’s fully clothed already.

“I’m sorry!” Brittany blushes, “I didn’t think anyone would be here.”

Santana just shakes her head before eyeing Brittany again. There’s a flash of concern when Santana says, “You look like shit, worse than yesterday when I saw you with JBI.”

Brittany’s not sure how to take that. She hasn’t been sleeping well, that’s for sure, but it worries her that her tiredness is beginning to show. At least, that’s what she hopes Santana is talking about.

“I’ve been super busy lately. Guess I’m just ready for the weekend,” She says instead as she fumbles with the shoulder pads in her hands, “Sorry for interrupting you.”

“Interrupting me?”

“Yeah, you were singing. It sounded really pretty.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Santana brushes off before crossing her arms over her chest, “Why are you in here so early? Doesn’t your practice start at 4?”

“Why are you in here so late?” Brittany challenges, “Didn’t your practice start at 3:30?”

Santana cocks her head to the side, “I had to talk to Ms. Pillsbury about something.”

“Who?”

“She’s the guidance counselor. You’ll probably meet her soon, she’s on all the Seniors about their college application due dates. Figures, she’d want to start off with me.”

Brittany wants to know more. Afterall, she’s naturally curious when it comes to getting to know new people so the questions build but she doesn’t voice any of them. Not that Santana would give her any answers anyway.

Santana’s looking at all the gear Brittany’s toting along with her duffle bag and her brows furrow, “Did you carry all of that here?”

Brittany looks down at her gear and nods.

“Why?” Santana scrunches her nose, “Don’t you have a locker or something?”

Brittany shakes her head, “I was never given one. Coach Beiste said Coach Sylvester is meant to assign one to me, but I guess she’s been busy.”

“Doubt it. She hates Coach Beiste so in turn, she hates you.”

Brittany frowns; what’d she do?

“She’s probably just giving you a hard time because you’re a Titan instead of a Cheerio,” Santana answers then walks off. She goes to grab the clipboard that hangs above the hampers, dangling from it is a key, “I can assign you one, it’s part of my Co-Captain privileges. This side is reserved for the squad, obviously, but the set by the showers are all free. You can leave your football stuff there too, doubt anyone in here is going to want to steal it.”

Brittany’s taken aback by Santana’s random act of kindness for a second time that week. She let’s her smile shine, “Thanks. It really helps having everyting in one place. I don’t have to waste so much time walking back and forth.”

Santana nods and there’s that hint of a smile again before she’s leading the way over to the section of lockers that’s now become Brittany’s.

“Top or bottom?” Santana asks as she scans the list attached to the clipboard. Brittany smirks and notices the moment Santana realizes what she has said, “As in locker preference.”

“Duh,” Brittany jokes with a straight face, “What else would you mean?”

Santana’s face is flushed now and Brittany tries her hardest not to laugh. She’s kind of cute when she’s flustered like that.

“I’ll put you down for top,” Santana answers stiffly. Now her eyes are solely glued to the clipboard in her hands, “I guess I can unlock the bottom one too though so you can have the entire segment. You can – uh – decide which you want to use or whatever.”

“That works for me,” Brittany replies casually before she starts to undress.

Santana practically runs into a wall when she sees Brittany pull her top up over her head and let it drop onto her open duffle bag.

“I’ll just leave you to it then,” Santana calls over her shoulder as she scurries off.

Brittany watches the whole thing curiously. Has Santana never changed in front of other girls before or something? That’s the only explanation she comes to for how awkward she’s being.

Brittany doesn’t dwell on it, just continues getting dressed.

\\

By the time Brittany’s got her practice gear on, Santana appears again. She looks a little shier than before and she’s fiddling with her hands.

Brittany just smiles and reaches down for her helmet, “You going now?”

“Yeah,” Santana answers, “Just trying to enjoy the last bit of A.C.”

“It’s not that hot out,” Brittany chuckles and motions to her pads, “At least you don’t have to wear all this.”

“True,” Santana smirks, “Now that would suck.”

Brittany chuckles again. She likes this version of Santana, she hopes she can see her more often but there’s still a giant pink elephant in the room so Brittany doesn’t get too excited.

“I’ll see you out there I guess,” Brittany says.

Santana nods and turns to leave, but then stops and turns back to face Brittany again.

“Actually, I just wanted to say,” Santana starts.

Brittany wonders if this is it. If she’s finally going to get an apology after what Santana said to her the other week, or at least the start of a conversation about her opinion? Anything would suffice by this point.

Brittany waits.

“I just wanted to say,” Santana repeats and her voice is so shaky. It’s completely unlike the confidence she possessed when she told off JBI, “Have a good practice.”

It’s not what Brittany was anticipating her to say – and judging by the uncertainty on Santana’s face, it wasn’t what she was anticipating to say either – but she’ll take it.

“Thanks,” Brittany grins as she walks by her to leave, “You too.”

\\

By Friday night, Brittany’s feeling better than she has all week. Although they’ve yet to acknowledge Santana’s misjudgments, baby steps in the right direction have been taken.

Kind of.

First Santana defended her against JBI then on Thursday she assigned Brittany a locker and today? Today Santana brought her a drink from the Cheerios special lounge while Brittany was getting ready for the game.

“What is it?” Brittany asked hesitantly as she eyed the color of it. She’s sitting on the benches in the locker room completely dressed now in her uniform. All that’s left are the final touches like a quick dance party to get her pumped and applying a little Game Day eye make up.

“It’s a bunch of healthy stuff like fruits and veggies. All fresh so that explains the color, no preservatives. There’s some vitamin supplements in there too,” Santana explains like it’s all a bother.

Brittany’s beginning to see through that though.

“I don’t take drugs,” Brittany replies and tries to give the bottle back.

Santana rolls her eyes and there’s that hint of a smile again, “Does Vitamin D count as a drug? If so, then Puckerman is definitely on something stronger.”

Brittany frowns at the accusation, “Wait, seriously? The team can get in a lot of troub – “

“Easy, Pierce, I’m sure he’s just all-talk,” Santana amends, “I wouldn’t open an investigation on him or anything.” Then there’s a pause and for a second she looks a little shy as she motions to the bottle in Brittany’s hands. Her voice comes out softer, “Drink that. It’ll help with the tiredness and it’s good for your immune system too incase you’re about to come down with something.”

“You think I’m getting sick?” Brittany chuckles and turns back to apply thick black stripes to the apples of her cheeks.

Santana lifts a shoulder casually before standing, “You almost fell asleep in class today.”

Brittany blushes. Did she really? She’s so tired, she can’t even remember.

“What does that have to do with getting sick?” Brittany wonders.

“It’s almost that time of the year and bugs move quick,” Santana explains, “A lot quicker if you’re not taking care of yourself…for example, not getting enough sleep.”

That takes Brittany by surprise. Santana caring about her? Why? But despite the surprise, Brittany feels warm and fuzzy all over.

“Alright Doc, I’ll drink it,” Brittany jokes as she finishes up drawing on the left stripe. She turns to Santana as she twists off the lid and makes a show of taking a long drink.

Santana actually laughs this time before she shakes her head.

“I feel better already,” Brittany beams as she stands. They’re close now and it’s then that Brittany really notices the height difference, “Thanks for this. What do I owe you? Pressed juices like these probably cost an arm and a leg here.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Santana dismisses and takes a step back to put some distance between them, “Just bring home another win.”

“You got it,” Brittany winks and goes to take another swig while she watches Santana leave the locker room.

\\

Unfortunately, it’s a rocky start this time for the Titans. It’s not that Brittany isn’t playing at her best because she always brings 110% to the field no matter how she’s feeling. It’s actually her teammates who aren’t as focused as she is for some reason. There’s still a lot of work to be done when it comes to being a cohesive unit, but today they’ve really taken a step back.

They’re down by 17 points when the half is called.

\\

“Alright, what’s going on out there?” Coach Beiste questions. She’s fuming as she eyes everyone for an answer, “What I’m seeing is that Pierce is the only one here that’s come to play.”

Karofsky scoffs and folds up his arms, “I’m so over hearing about her!”

“Me too!” Azimio chimes in, “First we let in Hummel and now her? What’s next? She gonna join the Puck Heads in the off season and change the game for them too? The rest of us are chopped liver now. It’s not good for my reputation!”

“Your reputation? You were a loser just like the rest of us before Brittany came,” Mike replies but the two don’t take kindly to being called a loser and start shoving at him.

“Cut it out!” Sam tries to breaking it up.

Brittany looks over at them and grimaces. Dave and Azimio both have been a pain in her ass since she’s joined the team, but she thought they were past this by now? They’ve got a winning record, they’re actually improving on being a better team, so what’s the issue all of a sudden?

Coach Beiste shakes her head at them, “Give me a break! One person doesn’t win games. You don’t have to like Pierce but you’re going to give her your respect if you want to play on my field. It’s as simple as that. You work together, you listen and respect each other. That’s what it means to be a team, is it not?”

Brittany eyes her teammates. Aside from the select handful that actually like her, the guys look at her like she’s the enemy. It makes Brittany feel really unsettled.

“Is it not?” Coach Beiste presses.

There are mumbles amongst the squad but it’s not enough for Coach Beiste.

“Louder!”

“Yes, Coach!” They say in unison.

“Okay then, let’s starting acting like a team out there and win this game!” She says with the clap of her hands.

\\

They’re in the fourth quarter now and the Titans have managed to make it a close game despite their rough start. Coach Beiste’s pep talk must’ve worked because the team is playing harder than the first half, but Brittany still senses the undertones of resentment.

She packs it away for now and just focuses on making plays. Afterall, she’s meant to be winning this one for Santana. Well not for Santana; it’s more like paying her back for the drink earlier.

Brittany nods resolutely and looks to the sidelines to see the Co-Captain shaking her pompoms. She does a high kick and yells out a cheer in time with the others, but the smile she’s wearing is what catches Brittany’s eye.

She shakes her head and focuses on the snap.

“Down!” Brittany calls out. She catches the other team’s Line Backer’s movement from the corner of her eye. The defense looks hungry, but so are they. She smirks and braces herself, “Hut!”

The ball is snapped and Brittany quickly hands it off to Puckerman. So far their run game has been pretty weak tonight, but Puckerman surprises everyone and kicks into gear. He plows through the defense at full speed, breaking tackle after tackle, until he crosses over for a first down and steps out of bounds.

He spikes down the ball and makes a sawing motion with his arm while the crowd goes wild. Matt runs up to congratulate him with a hard pat on the back.

“Yes!” Brittany jumps up and down as she cheers.

Over on the sidelines, the Cheerios are just as excited as they chant:

“First and ten, first and ten! First and ten, let’s do it again!”

Brittany sees Santana watching her with a huge grin and it makes her feel warm all over again. She knows it’s silly to think that Santana’s cheers are just for her – same goes for that smile – but she can’t help but dream.  

Yeah, she’s decided. She’s really going to win this game just for her.

Brittany quickly runs up to their new line of scrimmage and everyone starts to take their position. She smacks Puckerman on the back when he jogs up next to her to get in formation.

“Nice carry, Puckerman!” She compliments.

“Sawed right through them!” Puckerman shouted excitedly back.

“Let’s keep up that energy,” Brittany praised and called out another play. They were in field goal range now, but like always – Brittany wasn’t here to play it safe especially with the new set of downs.

This time she wanted to try another play-action route since it worked pretty well in the pre-season game. Mike and Sam have proved to her that they have great hands, but they needed to work on their speed and timing. Now was a perfect time to test that. With Puckerman on a roll, the defense was sure to up their coverage on him rather than the receivers which would work perfectly in Brittany’s favor.

“Blue 82!” Brittany repeats and looks to her sides for confirmation that they’ve picked up the slight change.

Mike and Sam give her the barest nod before they’re glaring at their defenders. Brittany kicks up her foot and Mike quickly changes position so that he’s next to Sam now on the right side of the field.

“Blue 82!” Brittany calls out again and readies herself for the snap, “Down…Hut!”

The ball is hiked and she fakes the hand off to Puckerman so smoothly that the defense follows after him just as planned. While they chase him down to the left side of the field, Mike and Same cut up the right. Brittany holds onto the ball longer than she likes, making sure she gives her receivers enough time to breakaway from their defenders.

The other team’s Line Backer is trying his hardest to break through her O-Line though. Thankfully, Matt ends up making a key block for Mike and Brittany’s able to step up in the pocket and fire down a quick pass. It’s a little lower than Brittany wanted, but Mike makes the catch and pushes past a defender for another first down!  

Everyone went wild, but the play clock was still going since Mike hadn’t made it out of bounds.

Brittany motioned for everyone to hurry into position – this time she was going for a slant route with Matt being the intended receiver. She kept her eye on the seconds ticking away, but the team was able to make it in time to get set.

“OG 30!” She called out. She was really starting to feel that adrenaline kick in but she kept her cool and held out her hands, “Down…Hut!”

Again, Brittany caught the ball and dropped back as everyone began to move. Despite the grumpiness during half time, the guys that made up her O-Line – mostly Dave and Azimio – did their jobs correctly and held the line. Brittany looked to her right and faked a throw before turning to her left and firing at Matt.

He juggled the ball in the air, but ultimately was able to secure possession of it and ran up the side of the field for an easy touchdown!

“Let’s go!” Brittany pumped her fist in the air. That was their best drive all game and now with the new points on the board, they’re finally up by 6! With just a little over ten minutes left in the final quarter, Brittany’s feeling good about their odds in coming away with another win.

\\

She was right to feel confident; Titans end up winning the game 27 – 21. When the final whistle was blown, everyone was cheering and some of her teammates rushed to congratulate her efforts. She happily returned the sentiments, but she couldn’t help but glance over at the sidelines to see if Santana was watching her again too.

And she was, alongside Quinn and the rest of the Cheerios.

Brittany just grinned as she pulled off her helmet and let down her hair, happy that she was able to make good on her promise to Santana.

\\

Despite how great she felt after Friday’s win, Monday morning was a different story.

Everything hurts and she was so exhausted that she didn’t even go for her usual morning run which is telling because she’s one of those rare people that actually works well with routine exercising. She guesses all those late nights studying combined with her patchy sleep schedule have finally taken its toll on her body.

She thinks back to what Santana said Friday about getting enough rest. God, she hopes she isn’t coming down with anything. Getting sick is just not what she needs right now.

“Hey mom?” Brittany taps on Whitney’s bedroom door. The curtains are already drawn and welcome in the morning sun so she knows her mom’s awake already. Whitney appears in the doorway of the master bath in her work uniform and instantly looks worried.

“You feeling okay, kiddo?” She asks as she crosses the room to press at Brittany’s forehead.

“I don’t think I’m sick, but I feel horrible,” Brittany explains.

“Yeah, you don’t have a fever. Have you been getting enough sleep?” Whitney asks.

Brittany shakes her head. Whitney eyes her with concern.

“It’s not the dreams again, is it?”

Brittany shakes her head again, “No. I haven’t had one since the last time I told you. I think I’m just worn out.”

“You’re a busy girl,” Whitney nods.

“Is it okay if I stay home today?” Brittany asks hesitantly, “It’s the only day of the week that I don’t really need to be at practice. I think I can access most of my schoolwork online so – “

“It’s okay, Britt. Just rest today,” Whitney says, “Missing a day isn’t going to break you and I know you’ll catch up when you’re feeling better.”

Brittany fills with relief and gives her mom a weak smile. She’s so happy that Whitney’s so understanding, but she guesses that’s come from experience with everything that happened at the beginning of the year with her dad’s passing. Many mental health days were taken, but Whitney never made her feel bad for it. If anything, she always encouraged them.

“Thanks mom,” Brittany says before taking herself back to bed. She’s able to fall asleep fast for once and she doesn’t wake again until she has to use the bathroom.

\\

When she wakes up the third time, it’s just after three. She sees a text from her mom saying that Gran has Pete and she’ll pick him up once she gets off of work so that Brittany can continue resting.

She smiles and sends a text back to thank her before getting up. After a quick snack and a big glass of OJ, Brittany heads to the couch for another nap.

This time, sleep doesn’t find her as easily as it did the other times so she turns on the tv and tries to find something to watch. She decides to put on something she considers boring in hopes that maybe it’ll bore her right to sleep.

Miraculously, her plan works and she settles in for another nap.

An hour or so goes by when Brittany begins to stir because Pete’s trying to squeeze onto the couch next to her. His cold feel touch her bare ankles beneath her blanket and she flinches at the feel.

“Honey, what did I say in the car?” Whitney whispers, “Let your sister rest.”

“I am,” Pete pouts, “I just wanted to sit with her.”

“How about you come help me with – “

“It’s okay, mom,” Brittany pushes to sit up. Pete instantly beams at her, “I’ve slept enough I think.”

“Feeling better?” Whitney asks and brushes her hand over Brittany’s wild hair.

She nods and does a little stretch, “Much better.”

“Good to hear,” Whitney says and bends down to press kisses to Brittany and Pete’s head, “I’m going to make dinner then. Just leftovers so it shouldn’t take long.”

When she heads off for the kitchen, Pete snuggles in closer to Brittany.

“Did you get to watch cartoons all day?” He asks curiously.

Brittany shakes her head, “Nope, but I did take many naps.”

“Nice!”

“Totally.”

\\

Brittany and Pete are watching tv together a moment later when Brittany hears a knock at the front door. Pete jumps up at the sound and rushes to see who it is.

“Don’t open that door, Peter!” Whitney calls out from the kitchen, “Let your sister get it.”

Pete pouts and hangs back as Brittany moves to get up. She chuckles and ruffles up his hair as she passes by. When Brittany takes a peek, she’s shocked by what she sees and quickly opens the door.

“Santana?” Brittany greets. She’s both confused and pleasantly surprised.

“Who are you?” Pete asks curiously with his head tilted up at the Co-Captain.

“Hi,” Santana smiles kind of nervously as she glances between the two. She’s dressed in her Cheerios warm-up gear – she must’ve just finished practice – and has her binder tucked under her arm.

“Uh…I’m Santana,” She answers softly, “And you are?”

“I’m Peter!” Brittany’s brother holds out his hand to shake, “Everyone calls me Pete though, so you can too if you want.”

Santana quirks a brow at him but smiles as she shakes his hand anyway, “Nice to meet you, Pete.”

“Pete, can you go help mom?” Brittany instructs. She waits until he’s run off then asks Santana out of disbelief, “What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t in class today,” She says.

“Yeah…I didn’t feel well.”

“Didn’t I say you were going to get sick?” Santana smirks.

“I’m not sick,” Brittany sighs, “I was just tired.”

“Right,” Santana keeps the smirk and motions to her binder, “Well, I brought you the work you missed. It’s kind of important for the paper due in a few weeks.”

Brittany just blinks. Maybe she’s still asleep and this is all a dream?

“Here,” Santana offers and goes to flip through her binder for a couple handouts to give to Brittany.

The blonde accepts them although she’s still trying to grasp the fact that Santana’s standing on her doorstep, “Thanks.”

“Sure,” Santana nods and it looks like she’s about to turn away.

“Wait. How’d you know where I lived?” Brittany quickly asks before she can run off.

“Mike told me,” Santana shrugs, “Actually, Mike told Quinn and Quinn told me. Apparently you two are neighbors?”

“Yeah, he likes to tell everyone that,” Brittany chuckles before she gets a sudden burst of confidence and asks, “Did you…want to come in?”

“Uhhh,” Santana looks unsure but then she gives Brittany a small smile, “Okay.”

Brittany opens the door a little wider and leads Santana into the living room. She pushes the blanket she brought down from her room to the side so they can both sit on the couch. Brittany starts to flip through the packet Santana gave her and she’s already dreading the assignment.

“Woah,” Brittany gasps, “This is a lot.”

“Yeah,” Santana nods, “I can help you with it though if you want? Miss Holliday said we can work in groups if we wanted, but we’ll be graded individually.”

Brittany blinks blankly again, “Huh, that’s funny.”

“What?”

Brittany just shakes her head and shrugs, “Just the other week you were insulting me then you stopped talking to me for awhile and now you’re being super helpful. I just can’t get a read on you.”

Brittany wasn’t trying to make Santana feel cornered, she just wanted to open up the conversation. She was over ignoring the obvious, so she went straight for the kill and brought it up head on.

Santana’s shoulders dropped, “Look, I’m…I’m really sorry about that. I was so out of line.”

“Yeah, you really were,” Brittany replies but she isn’t trying to rile Santana up by being argumentative, “You know how many times I’ve heard something similar over the years? Ever since I started playing sports it’s always been: you run like a girl, you throw like a girl, you’re pretty good…for a girl.”

Santana looks apologetically at Brittany and goes to fiddle with her hands in her lap. Brittany notes the familiar motion and decides its something she does when she’s nervous.

Brittany adds, “Like being a girl that plays sports is somehow less than, like it’s a bad thing. I’ve never understood it. I’m just as good as they are.”

Santana shakes her head, “No. I’ve seen you play. You’re so much better.”

“Thanks,” Brittany chuckles weakly, “You know, when I first started I wasn't trying to make some big statement. I didn't want the pressure of being the first female whatever, I just wanted to play. And my family, they've always been super supportive no matter the sport, especially my dad.”

Brittany feels the lump in her throat slowly start to form at his mention and takes a deep breath before speaking again.

“He use to come to every game. But people are so stuck on how I've disrupted their precious norms and it makes things harder than they need to be. No matter where I go, the people will either love me or hate me for this. It's crazy. I'm just a girl who loves playing football, why's that so odd?”

“It’s not,” Santana reasons, “You’re a good different, a kind of different a place like this needs.”

Brittany smiles fondly at Santana’s kind words, “Then why did you say what you did?”

Santana pauses for awhile trying to find the right words but in the end she just shakes her head and sighs, “Probably because I’m a bitch?”

Brittany flinches, she doesn’t think that’s the case.

“You’re just…you’re not what I imagined. I thought football players were rough and you’re not like that at all. You’re soft, delicate. You treat with kindness.”

“So does Kurt,” Brittany offers kindly, “And Mike, Sam too.”

“You know what I mean,” Santana replies.

“Yeah, I do. It’s called a stereotype,” Brittany smirks, “Football players happen to come in all shapes and sizes though. Some are soft and delicate like you say I am and some aren’t, but out on the field we’re all the same. We’re one team.”

Santana nods, “I’m sorry about what I said. You have every right to be on that field, same as the guys. I’m sorry if I made you feel otherwise. I guess I’m still trying to adjust too. It’s not really something you see here…”

“I accept your apology,” Brittany grins.

Santana lets out a deep sigh, “This town can be so old school sometimes and it sucks how there are younger generations out here that don’t know any different. They don’t see how wrong it is to have such a shit mentality. I guess I forgot what progression looks like until you came.”

Brittany knows Santana’s being genuine now and it makes the wait for this conversation worth it. She goes to joke, “Well it’s a learning process. Now you know for the next time you come across someone who doesn’t fit the status quo.”

“Yeah,” Santana matches Brittany’s grin, “I really do.”

“Well hello,” Whitney greets as she enters the living room. She glances between Brittany and Santana as Santana rises to her feet. She stands up straight and proper, “You going to introduce me to your friend, Britt?”

Brittany gulps at the label. She doesn’t know if she’d call Santana a friend just yet.

“This is my mom Whitney. Mom, this is Santana,” Brittany says while Santana gives a polite smile, “We have class together. She was just bringing me some work I missed today.”

“That’s so kind of you,” Whitney compliments Santana.

“It was nothing,” Santana replied and glanced to Brittany, “I tried to warn her about the risks of over-doing it. I can’t imagine having a schedule like hers.”

Brittany’s brow rises at the overly polite tone. Who knew Santana was a little suck up when it came to parents. She smirks as she watches it unfold.

“Stubbornness, she gets that from her dad’s side,” Whitney jokes, “Would you like to stay for dinner? We’re just having leftovers but there’s plenty to go around.”

“Lasagna!” Pete cheers as he runs in from the kitchen.

Santana chuckles but shakes her head, “Thank you, but I should probably get home before my mom starts to worry.”

Whitney nods, “Of course. Well, it was lovely meeting you. Come on Petey, let’s make our plates.”

When they both wander off, Brittany’s again standing alone with Santana in the living room.

“So you’re a kiss-ass,” Brittany jokes, “Never would’ve guessed it.”

Santana rolls her eyes despite smiling, “I have a thing with parents. They love me, okay?”

“Sure, sure,” Brittany giggles, “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone that you’re secretly kind. Wouldn’t want to ruin your rep.”

“I appreciate it,” Santana quips playfully before gathering her things, “Well, I really should head off before my mom starts blowing up my phone.”

“Cool,” Brittany nods and leads the way over to the front door to walk Santana out, “Well. Thanks again for bringing over the work I missed.”

“No biggie,” Santana waved off as she turned to leave, “Glad you’re feeling better. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Brittany waved and watched Santana make her way over to her little red Mazda with a pleased smile.

Maybe they weren’t exactly friends yet, but compared to the downward spiral they’ve been experiencing…they weren’t enemies either.

And in football terms, that’s called forward progress.

[purplesurveys]

1010

survey from diggitydoo

Have you ever felt a baby kick? Yes, when my mom was pregnant with my brother. What color pants/shorts are you wearing? I’m only wearing a duster gown; no shorts underneath. I just got it last night, actually - my mom wanted to donate clothes to victims of a recent fire incident in Manila and so she asked my sister and I to sort through our closets for clothes we were willing to give away. My sister ended up giving away a comfy-looking duster gown that she never even wore and even smelled brand new to boot. It ended up in my hands, ha. But apart from that we gave away a lot of stuff that aren’t old uniforms or costumes (which is what most people tend to ‘donate’, ugh), so we just hope they end up with people who really need them. When is the last time you did something truly fun, and what was it? Last night I went on our org’s Discord server and we played Jackbox games for around an hour or so. It was my first time to socialize again after around two months and I really, really needed that moment. I even met the org’s newest roster of applicants for this semester, which was neat. :) What was the scariest moment of your life? Men terrorizing me or near-car crashes I’ve had.

Have you ever heard of Leonard Cohen? The name is familiar, but that’s the most I know.

Pancakes or flapjacks? I guess pancakes, since I don’t even know what flapjacks are. What kind of computer are you on? It’s a laptop. Do you eat Chinese food? If so, what's your favorite dish? For sure. Pork buns or minced pork with eggplant. With century egg on the side, yum. What are you usually doing at midnight? Either passed out or desperately trying to sleep because I don’t want to lose any more hours of sleep and risk being cranky for the whole of the next day. Have you ever developed feelings for a friend, but you were already with someone? No. The worst thing that’s happened was being someone’s ball date (and unbeknownst to me, they apparently had feelings for me at the time) while I was already with someone. If so, how did it turn out? He figured it out by himself, which I still feel bad about. But the timing was super off and I just couldn’t find a moment to sit him down and set the record straight...ah well. It was just super complicated at the time. Give me your brief definition of love. My favorite love-related quote is “Love never says ‘I have done enough’” and for the longest time, that has been my guiding principle when it comes to it. Definitely a tad bit cheesy, but telling myself that over and over makes it easier to continue loving the people I care for and be patient with them when they’re being asses. Gab included, then and now. What is the most beautiful part of the human body, male or female? It differs for everyone but I’m a thigh girl through and through. What kind of shoes do you wear? Uh...various ones? I have sneakers, flats, heels, flip-flops, probably a couple more kinds that I can’t place at the moment. What is the worst thing you've ever done when you were really angry? Resorting to physical violence. I was a kid constantly exposed to violence in my old home, and at the time I genuinely thought that’s how most things were settled or pacified. I still feel like shit about it to this day, and my backstory isn’t an excuse at all; but the past is the past and I’ve been trying to make up for it by being a much more gentle angry person in the last few years. Are there any pills you take on a daily basis? If so, what? Nope. Do you like the smell of coconuts? For some reason I can’t stand anything coconut (which is a damn shame considering I’m Filipino) but I love dishes with heaps of coconut milk in them, like curry. That’s the one coconut-related thing I enjoy, but otherwise I’ve never learned to appreciate the taste and smell of buko juice, coconut shavings, coconut pies, and everything else coconut. What is the heaviest you think you can lift? From what my old PE class showed me, around 70 to 80 lbs. Do you take Tums? Idk what that is so I guess I don’t. Have you ever walked on a pier at the beach? I’m not sure if I’ve been to a pier before. I bet it feels wonderful and freeing and I’d love to visit one; but I also can’t keep myself from associating piers with the recurring image of Jennifer Connelly’s character standing on one from Requiem for a Dream. How about under one? No. At what age do you first remember feeling butterflies in your stomach around someone? Not sure if it was 11 or 12, but it was definitely one of those years. Do you feel that way around anyone now? Yeah, if they allowed me to see them. But I’m shut out now so I haven’t had that sensation in a while.

Do you ever talk to yourself or think deep thoughts while on the toilet? No. Do you ever sing to yourself? Sure. I’m sure most people do every once in a while. What is a sound that relaxes you? Ocean waves have never failed. How hard has it been to reach your main goal in life? ‘Main goal’ sounds so overwhelming; I make it a point to avoid one overarching goal and instead make little goals and plans here and there depending on where I am in life. Do you remember the song about hoes in different area codes? Never heard of it. What is your main heritage? Filipino. What kind of pickles do you prefer, if you like pickles? I hate pickles. What kind of cheese do you prefer, if you like cheese? Mozzarella and feta are my faves, but I love cheese and am willing to be adventurous when it comes to it. If you could have a sea creature as a pet, what would you want? Eh, they can stay in the sea where they can actually survive. I don’t exactly have the best track record when it comes to keeping fish as pets. How about a farm animal? Probably pig. So, do you have hoes in different area codes? No, and ew. What is the most annoying song you can think of that came out recently? Haven’t been exposed to a lot of new music lately and the songs I do get to hear on the radio whenever I drive are actually pretty good. This totally doesn’t answer your question but my favorites so far have been Birthday by Disclosure, Kehlani, and Syd; and Plain by Benee, Lily Allen, and Flo Milli. What is a song that you hate to admit you like? Any Kanye song I like. What inspires you to get off your bum and do something productive? Not wanting to go into another downward spiral. Do you ever use Urban Dictionary? Extremely rarely. I only do when there’s a new slang I’m completely unfamiliar with. Do you find the definitions on there to be generally funny or stupid? Stupid for the most part. I find them too immature or vulgar, but that’s one of the points of the website so I guess I’m just not in their target audience lol. What comes to your mind when you hear the word 'transformation'? Uh, the Transformer robots.

What was something you regularly played with as a child? My cousins’ toy soldiers.

Have you ever given in to peer pressure? Eh, a few times. If so, what did you do? I’ve been pulled to drinking sessions here and there when I really shouldn’t be drinking because I had an important test tomorrow or something else was happening the next day that was just as significant. What part of your body have you had the most problems with in your life? Teeth, I’m pretty sure. I’ve had braces, needed a tooth extracted, gotten a cavity, and gone through a severe toothache.

Do a lot of people check you out when you're in public? Idk I never look around because being aware of it would just freak me out and make me feel like I’m naked. What is a good name for a turtle? Would depend on their personality. And this applies to all kinds of pets, at least for me. I don’t decide on their names until I have a good grasp of their attitude. Can you imitate any accents well? If so, which one(s)? Stereotypical Filipino mom and valley girl. Do you like having your ear nibbled on? Sure. What makes a good kisser a good kisser? I’ve only kissed one person so I’m not the best judge for this; but I always like it when my lower lip is tugged or grazed on. How many times a year do you have a family thing? This is a little vague for me. Do you mean get-togethers? Giant-ass reunions? Movie nights? Game nights?  What are the best things to put in a smoothie? I only like one kind of smoothie and it’s sold by a local joint – and I think I’ve already shared this before but that smoothie of theirs that I like has “apple, banana, cinnamon, oats, coco sugar, chia seeds, greens, and soy milk,” according to their menu. So I guess those are the best ingredients for me, ha. Do you ever eat with your eyes closed and just focus on the taste? When I find something extremely delicious, yeah. What do you dislike most about where you live right now? For the most part I can’t wait to get out of suburban residential villages. I’d love to finally experience living in a condo in a super busy and active city. Has anyone ever given you a rose/roses? Yes.

Are you watching your weight? Not really. I’m trying to gain pounds though, if anything. I haven’t eaten much in the last two months. Have you ever become really good friends with someone you found online? I trust y’all with my life, so that’s one. Apart from Tumblr, the best friends I made were probably the people in the AJ/Punk fandom, back when I had a stan account on Twitter. I don’t remember most of their names now and we fizzled out pretty quickly when both parts of the ship left WWE, but I look back on that period with fondness. Those people made high school a lot easier for me. What makes your best friend your best friend? She doesn’t care whether I’m on top of the world with happiness or completely self-destructive and crying my eyes out; she has always been present. Do you have a drunk uncle? *rolls eyes* We don’t wanna open up that can of worms... Do you hear weird noises in your house at night? Nope. What is something you do that is generally more like something the opposite sex does? Based on personal experience and not to come off as sexist, but it’s liking wrestling. I have never met a girl in real life who has even the most remote interest in pro wrestling or can tell me who Hulk Hogan is. And the ones I’ve had discussions with - from shallow/casual to in-depth - have all been guys. Seeing girls who are into wrestling is like finding a rare Pokemon, at least in real life. What is the girliest thing you do, if you're a girl? Idk. What is the coolest tattoo you've ever seen? Probably the spork tattoo of Josh, a crew member from Good Mythical Morning. It’s just a line tattoo. Of a spork. On his arm. But he managed to make it so goddamn fascinating lmao; and apparently, as I learned just now, it has a pretty touching backstory to it too, which makes it a million times cooler. Have you ever created anything artistic that you're proud of? If so, what? I’ve never finished any of the crafts I bought. Never finished a coloring book page much less an entire coloring book, a painting, a gem painting...it’s something I’ll have to bring my butt to do one of these days. I can’t imagine how fulfilling it would feel. Do you only eat the middle of the oreo, if you eat oreos? I eat the whole thing but I honestly find Oreos too sweet and I’ve always much rather preferred Oreo-flavored stuff instead of the actual cookies.

Do you know anyone with a huge ego? My mom. If so, is there anything else about them you actually like? She’s fed me for 22 years and gave me an education, I guess. Though it’s something I appreciate more so than like. Have you ever used a racial slur, even jokingly? Probably as a dumb kid, when historical context wasn’t a thing to me yet. I still wince thinking about it, but I suppose what matters is being better and more responsible moving forward. Do you have any friends who are more like siblings to you? Angela and to some extent Andi. 

If so, what about them do you like most? They are both understanding when it comes to me - almost to a fault. What do you like on your hotdogs, if you eat hotdogs? When you say ‘hotdogs’ here, it refers to the sausages itself. The sandwich kind of hotdog isn’t super popular here. What is everyone else in your house doing right now? My siblings are still resting in their rooms; my dad is preparing for work, I think. What is the most money you've ever had at one time? Something like P10,000 or P15,000 when my mom needed me to pay for something in cash. How long do you think it would take you to run a mile? Idk, maybe 10 minutes. I won’t be fast, that’s for sure. Look down. What do you see? My legs and the pillow I’m sitting on. What is a subject that makes you uncomfortable? Right now, probably my failed relationship. I haven’t gotten to the sharing stage yet and remotely thinking about it gets my voice all shaky. What is a subject you can talk on and on about and not get sick of it? Paramore. What kind of mood were you in most of today? It’s only 7:52 AM. My only mood so far is just woke up. Has anyone ever walked in on you naked? Yeah. Because people in this damn house never knock. Tell me an inside joke you have with someone. The word ‘ariba.’ What is the worst thing someone could do to you emotionally? Break my trust. So simple but it packs a punch. What is the worst thing you've ever done to someone emotionally? Idk if I’ve ever been that aggressive. When I want to do something destructive towards someone I always end up asking what it would feel like if the action was done to me, and it’s always been enough to sway me away from doing the thing. How do you feel now about the first person you ever dated? Sad. How about the last person (your last ex)? Same person. What is the best invention ever invented? Air conditioners.

What is something that needs to be invented? Portable air conditioners. What always makes you burp? My burps come randomly. What are you doing tomorrow? It’s my last weekend before my new job, soooooooo...I’ll be bumming around for my last two days of freedom.

[let-it-raines]

Striking Out (1/1)

For someone who has never picked up a bat, Emma Swan knows more about baseball than some of the guys on the field. To be fair, she’s that way with every sport. It’s her job, and it’s one she takes seriously. She’s been an on-air sports broadcaster for the past four years, and she’s damn good at it, better than some of the former professionals and pundits that she works with every day. 

So when she gets a chance to cover the World Series, a chance to follow her home team, she knows that nothing is going to stop her from doing her job. 

Well, except for Killian Jones asking her out on live television.

Rating: Teen

A/N: For @wellhellotragic who sends me the most wonderful prompts that are usually much fluffier than the things she writes...I think I’ve just given away her greatest secret 😉💙

Found on AO3 | Here |

Tag list: @ultraluckycatnd @ultimiflos @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @shireness-says @captainsjedi @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @andiirivera @superchocovian @cs-forlife @qualitycoffeethings @notoriouscs @mariakov81 @jonirobinson64 @bmbbcs4evr @thejollyroger-writer @lifeinahole27 @galaxyzxstark @idristardis

-/-

The video restarts, and she presses play again, watching it for what has to be the tenth time tonight. Or this morning, really, since she knows that it’s three in the morning, the sun long since set, and her eyes have been glued to her laptop ever since she got back to her hotel room.

Sleep would probably be a good idea right now, but she can’t seem to stop watching herself barely keep her shit together while on National television.

Seriously.

National television.

She’s going to murder Killian Jones, and she doesn’t even care if that’ll get her on TV for reasons entirely separate from her job.

“Killian,” she starts, holding the microphone to her mouth as she speaks and Killian wipes the sweat from his brow, pushing back his long hair before placing the World Series Champion cap back on top of his head, a bright white smile between his lips, “you hit the home run that brought the Yankees to their win. You’ve had an incredible season, an even more incredible post-season. How is it all feeling right now?”

His grin somehow gets impossibly bigger, the lines around his eyes crinkling, and she recognizes the look in his eyes like she always does. She’s been interviewing him for three years now and following his career around long before she’d actually met him through work, so she recognizes a lot of his mannerisms. It’s odd for her to know every career statistic that he has, to know about all of the publicity about his private life, and yet to have only talked to him while he stands on a field sweating under the glow of stadium lights or in the dimness of the locker room.

But that’s her job. She’s a reporter for ESPN, which is pretty damn awesome, and unlike a lot of people she works with, she actually likes to know what she’s talking about. She’s not a former athlete, not some kind of all star with household recognition, and she’s a woman. Those three facts make her life impossibly harder, and if there’s anything she’s learned in her nine years working here, it’s that for every step that one of her male colleagues takes, she has to take ten. It’s idiotic, sexist, and all around wrong, but if she’s on TV spouting out facts that are incorrect, there’s twenty thousand men at home tweeting her and the network telling them to get the “dumb bitch” off their TVs.

Charming, right?

But it’s her reality. Most people only care about how she looks, about how her ass looks in a skirt, but that’s not what she cares about.

(Even if she has a good ass.)

She cares about the game.

And anyone who cares about baseball, cares about Killian Jones.

He reaches up to scratch behind his ear, which is a tick of sorts that she’s noticed, before he leans into the microphone. “Right now, it’s pretty unbelievable. It hasn’t sunk in yet, not really, but I’m happy to be here wearing this hat, having the trophy. It’s been a long road for me personally, for the team, and I’m in a bit of euphoria over it all.”

“How in the world are you not burning alive?” Ruby says in her earpiece, and she has to keep herself from rolling her eyes with the forced smile on her face. “He’s so hot. And I can’t even see his ass.”

Her producer being her best friend is both the best and worst thing to ever happen to her.

“I bet,” she says to Killian, looking up in the blue of his eyes as chants start to ring out across the stadium. Ruby won’t stop talking in her ear, and that’s definitely something the two of them are going to talk about later. “You had a bit of a rocky beginning to the season with your injury from last year, so how’s that arm feeling?”

“Good as new.”

“Perfect, it looked like.”

Even under his hat she can see the rise of his brow. “You been looking at my arms then, love?”

He is such a flirt. It’s ridiculous. At least he’s not one of the creepy ones. She gets it a lot as a part of her job and the general state of men, but she’s thankful for the fact that Jones never crosses the line. And she’s watched his interviews. He seems to simply be a flirt naturally, no trying necessary.

“Me and a couple million other people.”

He barks out a laugh, his head thrown back a bit, and she can see the sharp underside of his stubbled jaw. “Well, my sister-in-law tells me most people are looking at my ass, so that’s kind of a relief.”

“Oh my God,” Ruby groans, “there are so many things you could say. But don’t. Ask him one more question.”

“So, Killian Jones, World Series Champion and MVP, now that you’ve done something every baseball player dreams of, is there anything else that you want to do?”

His mouth snaps closed, his teeth disappearing in exchange of a closed lip smile, and he tilts his head to the side while his eyes flicker up and down her face, very obviously scrutinizing her before his lips part once more.

“Yeah,” he says, adjusting his hat, “I think I’d like to go on a date with you. What do you say, Swan? You want to go out on a date with me?”

“Emma Swan,” Ruby grits, her voice yelling in Emma’s ear, “if you do not say yes, I will lock you out of the apartment. Think of the ratings.”

Later, she’s definitely going to talk to Ruby about sexual harassment. Not that this is what that is. She could say no. Yeah, he asked her on live television. That’s kind of dickish. But he’s not forcing her into it. Ruby might be, but that’s an issue for another time. Right now her issue is that she kind of feels like both vomiting on Killian’s shoes and punching him in the stomach for putting her on the spot like this.

Three years of interviewing him, and this is what he’s going to do.

No part of it surprises her.

“Yes.”

The video has three million views, and every time she refreshes it, there are more. She’s gained fifty thousand followers on Twitter, about the same on Instagram, and she had to turn all of her notifications off because her phone was literally going to shut itself down. She once tried living off of Tom Brady’s diet for a week, but this is the craziest thing she’s ever experienced.

This is not how her day was supposed to go. Not at all.

She needs, like, an entire bottle of wine and whatever the most expensive thing on the room service menu is. But she doesn’t have that. All she has are texts from Ruby.

Ruby: Are you still mad at me?

Emma: I am literally a meme online.

Ruby: So what does that mean?

Emma: You owe me big time. I can’t believe he asked me out.

Ruby: You’re hot. I’d ask you out.

Emma: That’s not helping.

Ruby: I wasn’t trying to. You could have said no.

Emma: You threatened to lock me out of the apartment!

Ruby: Semantics.

Ruby: Our ratings today were incredible. That’s because of you.

Emma: That’s because it was the seventh game of the World Series. That has nothing to do with me.

Ruby: Eh, maybe. Have you checked your Twitter?

Emma: I turned it off. Why?

Ruby: Your lover retweeted the video of him asking you out, and added a caption to it. Go check it out, but please don’t go nuclear on him. You cannot kill someone.

Emma: I can when they ask me out knowing I can’t say no.

Ruby: KJ is literally the nicest guy in that locker room. He’s flirty, but he would go to the ends of the earth to make anyone feel comfortable. He’s the reason you get to go into the locker room in the first place. You know that, right? Most teams are still full of sexist pigs.

Emma: What? He gives me access to a bunch of sweaty men and because of that I have to sleep with him? That’s regressing women by…a lot.

Ruby: Literally, you don’t even have to go on the date. You know that, right?

Ruby: Eat a Snickers. You’re not you when you’re hungry. I don’t want you to be pissed.

Emma: I’m not pissed...anymore. I’m just confused. Why would he ask me out like that?

Ruby: Again, you’re hot. And you guys literally flirt all of the time on camera. Apparently, people have noticed.

Emma: We do not, and if you suggest that again, I will come to your hotel room and wake Graham up so that you’re stuck with him being grumpy all day tomorrow.

Ruby: Go eat that Snickers.

Her best friend may very well be the most ridiculous person in the world, but Emma loves her. She really does. Ruby is definitely a little more on the wild, unfiltered side than she is, but honestly, that makes everything all the more entertaining. And she knows that she’s right about the whole date thing. She could have said no, she doesn’t have to go, and this is something that will blow over in a few days time. Everything has the possibility to go viral now, but it always goes away and fades into oblivion. And literally, she doesn’t have to do anything she doesn’t want to. She’s an adult. She’s not going to put up with any kind of shit, and that includes being goaded into a date with Killian Jones.

…even if they may or may not have flirted with each other on and off for a few years.

But he flirts with everyone. It’s just how he is, just how he talks, and that’s what she tells herself every time he says something that’s a little more on the flirty side. That’s what she kept telling herself tonight to keep from raging over her day.

Seriously. She gets the chance as a woman not named Erin Andrews to cover the one of the biggest sporting days in the year, and all anyone can talk about is that she got asked out on a date.

(To be fair, journalistically, she understands that this makes a great story.)

Rolling over on the mattress and sinking into the plush cushions, she opens up her twitter app, her notifications flooded to the point where she gives up scrolling through them and goes to Killian’s page, knowing his handle by heart.

(It’s her job, okay?)

@killianjones29: @emmaswanespn How do you feel about pizza? I know a great place back in Manhattan.

“Oh my God,” she mutters to herself, clicking on the replies before quickly clicking out of them. The internet is a very weird place, and she does not need to see all of that.

She loves pizza, but she is not responding to that right now. He probably is out drunk right now celebrating with all of his teammates and whatever girls are around, and she doesn’t have any interest in that.

Not at all.

-/-

The date is all that she hears about at work, especially now that baseball is over for the year and she’s not on air as much as she usually is, mostly sitting behind a desk talking for segments or writing articles online, doing prep work for next season and training and everything else that she has to do. But whenever she tweets, posts a picture, writes an article, does anything with an online presence, her comment section is full of questions about her date with Killian and whether or not it’s happened yet.

BREAKING NEWS: it has not.

But it’s consuming anything she does online and taking over all of the office conversation. Granted, most of that is coming from Ruby and Ashely, but still. It counts.

And it’s going to drive her absolutely insane.

She needs a vacation or something.

Luckily, though, Killian doesn’t tweet her again. He doesn’t message her, doesn’t post a picture of the two of them on Instagram. It’s all radio silence on his end, and she chalks the entire thing up to a rush of adrenaline. He’d just won the World Series. If she had done that, she’d be asking everyone out left and right.

Well, not everyone, but a lot more people than usual.

“Are we out of milk?” Graham asks, staring into the refrigerator and very obviously seeing that they’re out of milk. “When did that happen?”

She holds up her bowl of cereal in answer. “I’m not working today, so I’ll go get some more groceries. You can leave me a list before you go to work, okay?”

He grumbles something in response, not that she can really hear over the crunch of her cereal. She loves Graham. She really and truly does, but living with Ruby and her boyfriend is definitely an adjustment to living with just Ruby. But hey, rent is cheaper, so it all works out in the end, especially when Graham cooks more than anyone else in the apartment.

“Emma Swan,” Ruby yells from her bedroom, her voice only muted because of the walls in between them. Emma doesn’t bother saying something back, knowing that Ruby is about to run into the living room and yell at her for whatever it is she’s upset about. Sure enough, not thirty seconds later, Ruby is sliding across the hardwood in her socks with her laptop in her hands until she unceremoniously plops down onto the couch, nearly making Emma spill her cheerios. “Did you see this?”

“Did I see what?”

Ruby shoves her laptop into her lap, and Emma groans before she hands off her cereal to Ruby, knowing that she’s most likely going to finish it off for her anyways. It’s a video, one paused on Kelly Rippa’s face, and she has no idea why Ruby is freaking out until she presses play and sees the video transition over to Killian Jones himself sitting on one of those barstools in a light blue checkered button down that hugs his arms and dark navy pants that make her think thoughts that she usually reserves for late at night when she’s either by herself or with someone that she met at the bar.

(And, if she’s honest, at some baseball games. The pants really work for some men.)

“So,” Kelly continues, a bright smile on her face as her hands move around, “we know all about you being a baseball star and that your biggest fans are your nieces, which is adorable by the way. But what we don’t know is about your love life. And a handsome man like you has to have a love life.”

Blush rises on his cheeks, and he does that nervous tick thing where he scratches behind is ear. If the opposing team could read Killian Jones like she can, they would win almost every game. Maybe that’s a career opportunity if broadcasting doesn’t work out for her.

“Ah, well, you’d be surprised. There are only so many women out there like you, Kelly.”

Kelly absolutely beams, laughing a big, belly laugh, and Ryan Seacrest leans forward on his chair. Seriously, how many jobs does this guy have? When does he sleep?

“What about the interviewer that you asked out? Emma Swan? That didn’t go anywhere?”

The crowd cheers, and she sinks down on the couch, finally understanding why Ruby is showing her this video. When she glances to the side, Ruby has a shit-eating grin on her face, and Graham is peering over their shoulders.

She’s going to move cities and live alone or something. Then she wouldn’t have to deal with this.

“Ah, if I’m honest, no. It was bad form to have asked her out on the spot like that, but the adrenaline pumping through my veins had me a little out of my mind. She’s a, well, I work with Emma a lot. She’s bloody brilliant, knows my game better than I do. Hell, she knows everyone’s game better than they do. And I fancy her a little and maybe didn’t think too much about the implications of asking her out on TV, so I honestly feel like I need to reach out to her and apologize.”

“He fancies you,” Graham teases, and if she could reach him, she’d slap him.

“That’s actually kind of sweet” Ruby sighs, “and not as asshole misogynistic as you thought it was.”

“I’m still not going out with him even if he obviously has taste in knowing that I’m brilliant.”

“Yeah, well,” Ruby shrugs, “he’d have to be blind not to realize that.”

-/-

“I want you to go out on a date with Jones.”

At the sound of the words, she immediately tosses her head down onto her desk, unable to stop herself. It’s been four and half months since the now infamous question was asked to her live on air, and while it did eventually die down, it’s never quite stopped. And maybe she’s annoyed by it, maybe she’s not really because her social media engagement has increased tenfold since then which helps a lot with work, but mostly she wants for it all to go away so that she doesn’t have to deal with it until she flies down to Florida for spring training in two weeks.

“No.”

“Emma,” David scolds, and she only opens one eye to look up at him from her desk, her picture frames and cup of pens in her way. He’s got his hands on his hips, which intimidates literally everyone in the office but her, so she knows that he means business.

“David.”

“It’s not a real date.” She opens her mouth to say something, and he holds his finger up, effectively making her press her lips together as she props her chin up on her forearm. “And don’t say it’s sexist to make you do this. If the man asked me out on a date, I’d go.”

“You’re married. To a woman, I might add.”

David chuckles at her before sitting down in the chair across from her desk, crossing his leg over his knee and looking at her with that disapproving gaze that makes her feel more like his daughter than his employee.

“You obviously don’t have to do this. This isn’t a mandatory assignment, but I’ve been talking with some of the higher ups about how to increase our coverage. You’re one of our most current and in demand on-air talents, and we get more views and clicks talking about you and Jones than anything else. It’s entertainment, Emma. Him asking you out was a huge thing, and instead of you going on an actual date with him, we’ve talked to his manager and asked if he’d be willing to do some type of interview.”

She raises her brow. “What kind of interview?”

“You fly to Florida, do some of your regular coverage of the team and of some of the others, but then you spend a day with a small production team and Jones, letting him walk you through a day in the life when they’re prepping for the season. We have it be a big segment, you get paid, there’s more exposure, we ride on the Swan-Jones media exposure that we’ve been getting before it goes away.”

“Nice to know you’re just using me.”

David shrugs his shoulders before he leans forward to take a peppermint out of the bowl on her desk, the plastic crinkling as he opens the package and pops the peppermint in his mouth. “Again, you don’t have to do it, but you have to admit that it’s a great idea. You’re breaking barriers every time you work a baseball game. One day you could get your own show, be a commentator, do whatever you want. This will help.”

It’s true. She knows that it is. It’s actually a great idea. She could do a version of Vogue’s seventy-three questions, not that she could think of that many, and it would give her the opportunity to boost her own career as well as Killian’s. Yeah, she’d have to talk to him again, but it’s probably better for it to be behind the scenes (and in front of the camera obviously) than be sprung onto the field and forced to talk to him with a camera streaming live television two feet from her face.

Can she damn herself for actually wanting to do this for her career?

And maybe so the questions and comments about the date that never even happened will stop. Killian Jones is a fascinating guy with a damn good story. How bad can this be?

-/-

Florida is a swampy wasteland, and the humidity is going to kill her. New York can be bad. She knows this. She’s experienced it for most of her life. Sometimes she has to shower multiple times in one day simply from walking outside, but she can feel the humidity seeping into her skin the moment she steps out of the car and onto the pavement in front of Steinbrenner Field.

Of course, she knows this about the weather. She comes down here every year, but there’s something particularly miserable about the weather today. She knows that it’s supposed to rain tomorrow, that the water and humidity are hanging heavily in the air, but she literally already has sweat dripping down her back underneath her blouse.

If she was allowed to wear her gym shorts and a sports bra and nothing else to work, she totally would. That would be highly inappropriate and likely get her fired or have her demeaned online, but it honestly might be worth it to handle the heat that’s happening right now. And if Jeff’s grumbling is anything to go by, he’s feeling the heat too. Considering he’s wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt with camera equipment slung over his shoulder, he most likely is going to pass out today.

It’s March.

How the hell do people live here during the summer?

After letting Jeff get a few exterior shots of the complex for B-roll footage, they walk through the front doors and ask a receptionist where to sign in to get their credentials and approval to get into the locker room and out on the field. It takes far longer than it should for that to happen considering the receptionist, a snippy older lady, doesn’t believe they’re there for legit reasons, but after she calls one of the Yankees team managers, they finally get approval to walk through a set of glass double doors and down a hallway lined with framed jerseys of legends of the past, Jeff filming the walk and making her slow down every few seconds even though she’s already thinking that she’ll have Killian walk through the halls while they talk since it’ll be nice backdrop.

She’s a fan of the West Wing style interview.

If she’s not walking, she’s not talking.

Okay, that’s a cheesy motto, but it tends to work when it comes to interviewing. People are more likely to be sincere and to feel comfortable when they have something to focus on other than sitting down in an uncomfortable chair with bright lights beaming down on them. Athletes, especially, are not the type to want to sit still unless they absolutely have to.

So West Wing style it is.

“Emma Swan,” a woman with red hair calls, waving her down when she and Jeff come to the end of a hall. She’s dressed in a green suit, which very weirdly works for her, and any woman who can pull off a green pantsuit has her respect. “Hi, hi, hi. I’m so sorry about the confusion up front. That is completely on me for not calling up and telling Loretta. I’m Ariel Fisher. I work in public relations for the team. I spoke with your boss on the phone. I can’t believe we’ve never met before.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” She reaches forward to take Ariel’s hand, shaking it three times before releasing it and motioning to Jeff. “This is Jeff Madden. He’s my one-man crew for the day.”

“Pleasure,” Jeff grunts, not really one for words when it comes to new people.

“So,” Ariel claps, “I’ve got a bit of a busy day today, but now that you have your credentials, if you go down the stairs and to the left, you’ll find the locker room. The team is in the gym right now, so feel free to get some footage. I think Killian should be with you within thirty minutes or so. If you need anything at all,” she hands over a card, “call me. But I think you’ll be just fine. Killian is too excited to do this interview, which I think is funny since he’s usually not one for such personal interviews. I think he nearly murdered me when I had him go on all of those morning talk shows.”

Ariel’s phone beeps, she looks down at it, immediately picks it up, and then walks away, her heels clacking against the tile before she disappears behind another door.

“Well she’s a talker,” Jeff whines as they start toward the staircase, looking out the windows at the field. It’s not Yankee Stadium, but it’s always so impressive. The view from inside the facility may be even better. Maybe she can get players from all of the teams to ask her out so she can get this kind of access everywhere. Is that weird? Or wrong? It might be wrong.

“Everyone is a talker to you.”

“True.”

When they walk in the locker room, she immediately notices the similarities to the one at home. It’s basically a replica with its deep blue carpets and chestnut lockers, leather chairs sitting in the middle over the logo with television screens placed throughout that the room. She’d bet that the door to the left leads to the physical therapy rooms while the one to the right leads to the gym, and the one at the opposite end is definitely the showers. It makes sense to keep things the same, but it makes her laugh a bit since it’s going to make their footage the slightest bit confusing.

Whatever. She’s not really here for the background footage.

That makes it sound like she’s here for Killian, and while that’s technically true, she’s here for the baseball.

It’s always been baseball.

Really, it’s always been any sport. She couldn’t play most of them growing up, not outside of school anyway, but no matter what foster home she was living in, she could always find a baseball game or a tennis match or even a swim meet. And all over the country, all over the world (even with a few changes there, especially in regards to what sports are played), sports are the same. Her life was always in upheaval, never feeling steady, but she could watch people hit the balls out of the stadiums every day and feel that comfort of knowing that it’d be the same tomorrow when she could never have that reassurance anywhere else.

For someone who could never afford to play anything, she’s always felt like someone who was destined to be a part of the team.

Meeting David Nolan was obviously some kind of fate to make that happen because this is never how she imagined her life at any age, especially not as young as twenty-seven.

A set of doors to the right opens, and all of the sudden the peace and quiet of the locker room evaporates to be filled with the sound of feet against carpet and voices bouncing back and forth as the team walks into the room, all of them drenched in sweat, the smell already reaching her nostrils. It’s a hazard of the job, but she’s kind of used to it at this point.

Most of the team knows her, having met her before or simply recognizing her since she travels to nearly every one of their games to cover them, so it’s a string of nods and short greetings before they all branch off to their lockers or the showers, the door finally closing behind the man she was waiting for.

In a totally professional sense.

Killian walks next to Robin Locksley, the two of them chatting about something, but she doesn’t really care or notice when her eyes are glancing over the way that his gray joggers hug the muscles of his thighs as they lay low enough on his hips that she can see the dip of the v into his pants and the trail of dark hair that leads…that is an entirely inappropriate thought, one that could get her fired, so even as her body hums, she looks up his body, attempting to ignore the muscles of his stomach and his arms (seriously, where is his shirt?) and look directly at his face.

His face doesn’t exactly help to make her thoughts disappear.

He’s gotten a haircut since the last time that she saw him, and while she’ll miss the long hair, she kind of likes the short cut and the few pieces of fringe that are falling onto his tanned forehead. And even if his hair is shorter, his beard is slightly longer, but not in a gross way where food would get caught in it.

(She has a lot of opinions about beards like that, okay?)

“Pick your jaw up from the ground,” Jeff whispers into her ear as he nudges her shoulder.

Her mouth snaps closed, and she has that lingering thought of how much shit Jeff is going to give her for this later. He’s not a talker to others, but man does he love to mess with her.

“Swan!” Killian says as he smiles a beatific smile at her, his step quickening a bit before he’s standing in front of her and taking her hand, shaking it once before bringing it to his lips. That is…not a handshake. “Good to see you. I figured you were going to stand me up.”

“Yeah, well, I get paid to be here.”

“Funnily enough, so do I.” He winks at her, and her stomach twists. This job is so strange. “I need to take a quick shower, but then I’ll be all ready to go for the interview. This is our free time, so I’ll try to hurry.”

“Take your time. I have to spend all day with you. I don’t want you to smell.”

Killian’s brow raises, but he doesn’t say anything else, simply smiling at her before walking away and back through the doors she thought would lead to the showers. Wow, it really is the exact same.

“Do you want something to eat, Emma?” Robin asks her as he sheds his shirt before changing into a t-shirt that looks like it’s from his days at Vanderbilt. “We’ll have lunch soon, but we have snacks.”

“Are they donuts?”

“No,” he laughs, sitting down in his locker, “they’re not. Someone should have prepared knowing that you’re going to be here.”

“Damn right. How’s Roland? Still adorable?”

“Absolutely. He’s back home with his mom, but I get calls every day asking about when I’ll be playing back home instead of here.”

“I want to know the same, kid. It’s so hot down here.”

“It is pretty miserable.” Robin reaches down to undo his shoes, loosening the laces. “So, are you and Jones going on that date for this interview?”

She groans, unable to help herself. Robin is one of her favorite players, mostly because he’s a fantastic human being, but knowing him so well also means that he likes to tease her. It’s the same with Will, Arthur…Killian. But Robin feels more like David, like a fatherly figure, than any of the others.

“Am I ever going to live that down?”

“Never. But if it helps, we all gave Killian hell for that.”

“Yeah,” she sighs, “that helps a lot.”

“Alright, Swan,” Killian claps when he comes out of the showers dressed in a pair of blue joggers and a fitted gray t-shirt, his feet still bare and hair still wet, “let’s talk.”

-/-

“Favorite player growing up?”

“Chipper Jones.”

“Because he had the same last name as you?”

“Exactly.”

“Of course. Okay, favorite cheat day dessert?”

“Cheesecake but one with fruit flavoring. Chocolate isn’t my favorite.”

“What are you most likely to be doing on an off day?”

“Either sitting on my ass watching TV or spending time with my family.”

“Sport you like to watch the most besides baseball?”

“Tennis.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I like the physicality of it and the strategy behind it.”

“Do you have a secret talent no one else knows about?”

“I can quote the entire Soup Nazi episode of Seinfeld.”

Emma can’t help but chuckle at that considering it’s one of her favorite episodes of TV of all time. She can’t help but chuckle at a lot of his answers. They’ve been slowly walking through the facility for the past thirty minutes, and she’s been asking him questions off of her list to try to get to know him a bit better. For the interview, obviously. Some of the first ones were about baseball, things that she knows but her viewers might not, but then they melded into questions about favorite junk foods and movies and whether or not he washes his pants every day or if he simply buys a new pair since they’re always so damn white.

It’s entirely comfortable, especially since the date has not been brought up, and she finds herself laughing at some of his answers, at the ease and charm and cheekiness that comes with it all. She may have been reluctant to do this, but she can already tell that this is going to be a great segment.

“Okay,” she laughs, still unable to stop chuckling at the thought of him quoting that entire episode, “what would you do for a living if you didn’t play baseball?”

“I was going to enlist in the Navy.”

She’s taken back by the immediate answer and the somber way that he says it. This is very obviously something that he didn’t have to think about.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs, only one side of his lips forming a smile that makes him seem entirely boyish. “I didn’t have a lot of money growing up, and I couldn’t afford to go to college. My brother was in the Navy, so it felt like the natural conclusion for me. But then Vandy gave me that scholarship, and my entire life changed.”

“You met Locksley there, right?”

“He was a senior when I was a freshman, but yeah. We roomed together at a summer training camp, and apparently not much has changed since then.”

She laughs at that too before looking down at her phone at her list of questions, trying to decide what she wants to ask now. So many of them are dumb and playful, but she’s not entirely sure that she wants to ask him what his favorite color is.

“So, you’re twenty-eight and a World Series champion for the first time. That’s the ultimate baseball dream. How does that change expectations going forward? Has your life changed at all since then?”

Killian hums next to her and stops in front of a set of floor-to-ceiling windows with the field behind him, fresh green grass vibrant against the bright sun. It’s pretty much the perfect picture.

“Well, for one, I haven’t had a date with you.” She rolls her eyes even as she smiles. She should have known he’d say that, and from the smile on his face, he’s proud of himself. “But I don’t think my life has changed. It’s incredible to have that accomplishment, for sure. I’m proud of my team and what we’ve done. But I still wake up and put the work in every day and then spend my free time with my friends, my family. I like being a normal guy. The only reason anyone knows who I am is because I know how to hit a ball with a bat. It doesn’t make me special.”

“And going forward?” she prods, letting his answer settle within her while still trying to get a little more out of Killian.

He smiles that million-dollar grin before turning around to look out at the field, his hand pressing against the glass. “I want to play the game. I want to have fun and be competitive. Breaking my arm two years ago, not being able to play, it put me in a really dark place personally and professionally. The injury wasn’t serious, obviously, but it could have been. The wreck could have been worse, and I could have lost the sport that has really helped develop my life.”

“Have you been back on a boat yet?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, tapping his knuckles against the glass. “It was a freak accident. It’s not something that’s going to happen every time. I doubt I’ll ever be in a boating accident again, but I’ve had to learn that I can’t let fear dictate my life. And I look damn good in a pair of swim trunks.”

It’s a tactic she’s watched him use for years. He jokes in serious conversations, in serious situations, and she gets it. She does the same, but he’s being vulnerable with her and with the camera knowing this is all going to air. She’s getting to see more into the inner mechanisms of how he ticks, and it’s not something she’s going to take for granted.

“I think it’s time to go get lunch,” she tells him to change the subject. “Wouldn’t want you to wither away and lose that boat body.”

“I always knew you liked my body.”

If she rolls her eyes one more time at him, they’re going to get stuck that way.

(She listens to David too much.)

For the rest of the day, she and Jeff are pretty much flies on the wall even though she asks the occasional question to Killian or his teammates as she sits through lunch, batting practice in the cages, batting practice on the field, and more physical therapy and training. It’s a packed day, one without a lot of downtime, and she’s exhausted simply watching it happen. But none of the guys seem to mind, each of them going throughout the day without much complaining, except for Will Scarlett. That’s par for the course for him, though.

But then it’s time for their game. They’re playing the Marlins, and she camps out behind third base to simply watch, her feet propped up in the seat in front of her as she gets to enjoy it all, not having to worry about working or taking notes or preparing questions to ask when the game is all over. It’s been a long time since she actually got to sit and enjoy a game, and it’s remarkably pleasant even if she is sweltering under the heavy humidity, dark storm clouds inching closer and closer with every passing minute. She wouldn’t be surprised if it started pouring down rain within the hour.

It doesn’t, though. The rain holds off until the game is over, until the fans have left, and she’s sitting in the therapy room watching Killian get his legs messaged as she asks him a few final wrap-up questions for the interview. When it’s all over, Killian is walking with her down the hallways to exit the facility, Jeff following behind them still mumbling about how heavy his equipment is.

Seriously.

When they get to the exit, the rain pouring down outside, they both stop in front of the glass doors, Killian dropping his duffle bag to the ground.

“Thanks for today,” she tells him, meaning it. “I really appreciate it since I know it’s all kind of crazy for you guys. I’ve got to edit it, but I think it’ll air right before the first official game.”

“It was no problem, love. I enjoyed it. Truly.” He reaches up to scratch behind his ear. “Listen, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable when I asked you out. That was not my smartest move, and I’ve felt awful about it ever since even if do keep making unfortunate jokes about it.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s – I mean, I was pissed at first, but it’s fine. It was a heat of the moment kind of thing.”

“You were pissed?”

“Oh yeah. Think about it. I’m a woman covering baseball, and I get asked out on live television by one of the most well-known faces in the sport? I have to say yes for ratings. It’s not even a question. And then it opens up the opportunity for more men to think that they can hit on me or ask me out, and before you know it, I’m dating half of the men in the MLB.”

“You’d have a busy calendar.”

“Yeah,” she laughs, shaking her head, “I would. I don’t – I thank you for your apology, but I am curious about one thing. I know you say it was the adrenaline, but what was the real reason you asked me out?”

“Off the record?”

“Off the record.”

“I fancy you.” His lips press into a soft smile, and his eyes crinkle the slightest bit, blue eyes bright under the harsh lights of the room. His eyes are ridiculously blue. “You’re very obviously beautiful, but you’re also brilliant. I’ve watched you work, read your analysis of games. You know the game better than most anyone, and you kick ass showing people that you don’t have to be a former player to love and know the game. That’s always been a pet peeve of mine. Just because you don’t play the game doesn’t mean you can’t love it. And in the spirit of full honesty, I knew it would be the last time I saw you until the new season. I didn’t want to pass that up.”

Oh.

Oh.

His words make her stomach twist, something unfamiliar and yet familiar all the same even if she hasn’t felt it in a few years, and she’s sure that her heart beating is visible through her shirt. Or maybe Killian can hear it from how loud it is, but really, she’s trying not to think about any of that.

This is not how today was supposed to go.

She’s always known that he was a genuine guy, if not the slightest bit cocky, but damn. She either feels like she just took a ball to the gut or hit a grand slam. She can’t tell.

“Anyways,” he continues, his hand rubbing at his stubble-covered chin, “my plan didn’t exactly work out. If you’re not interested, I sure as hell can’t ask you to be. I can’t wait to see the segment.”

With those words, he opens the door and steps out underneath the covered awning, the rain beating against the metal. She is pretty much glued to the ground, but in a move that she one day knows she is going to chalk up to adrenaline, much like Killian did, she takes the steps out the door to yell down at Killian.

“I’m interested.”

He stops walking and twists around, both brows practically in his hairline. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” Killian smiles at her. “I’m still willing to take you to that pizza place in Manhattan.”

“What about a pizza place in Tampa?”

“I can do that too.”

After they’ve exchanged numbers, something she still can’t believe she’s doing, Killian walks away to head to his car while she’s left still standing under the awning. Jeff walks up next to her, his shoulder hitting hers, and it’s only then that she remembers that he’s here.

“Dude. You went on for months about how you were not going to date him, and you basically just asked him out.”

“Shut up.”

“I got it on film.”

She reaches back to slap his shoulder, disbelief settling down inside of her. “I hate you.”

“Just trying to document this fairytale romance.”

“You want to come to the pizza place and document that too?”

“Nah,” he sighs, beginning to walk ahead of her. “I don’t need to see that. It’s been bad enough watching you two all day.”

“It was work,” she protests.

“Work with a hell of a lot of flirting. Dinner is on you tonight since you’re getting a free one tomorrow.”

“I could pay on the date. You don’t know.”

“Come on,” he laughs, waving her ahead. “I need you to pull up the car so the camera doesn’t get wet.”

This is a weird day.

-/-

It turns out that she doesn’t have time to go and eat pizza with baseball players who charm her. She and Jeff get assigned to cover other teams and spring training games while they’re in Florida, so she has to text Killian and cancel before traveling throughout the state. It’s disappointing, but it’s kind of a relief. Jeff kept teasing her about it all, which made her second guess everything, and her stomach was beginning to twist and turn in an unpleasant way instead of the small flutters of excitement and anticipation that she felt after she told Killian she was interested.

But work is work, and it’s going to come first. So she sweats (thanks heat) and interviews players from teams she usually doesn’t interact with and films a few segments to air to give everyone a glimpse at spring training. While on the road or on a flight, she works on editing Killian’s interview all while texting back and forth with him, something they seemed to fall into without her realizing it.

And despite the fact that she talks for a living, texting seems to be so much easier.

Killian: Is this entire interview going to be me making strange faces?

She laughs under her breath at his text. She’s taken to sending him bad screenshots of the video because, well, it’s highly entertaining, and the poor man most likely thinks that she’s going to screw over his public persona with these awful little clips.

Emma: You have a very expressive face.

Killian: Where are you today?

Emma: I’m on the plane back to NYC right now. I need to get into the studio to finish this up with some of our legit editors if I want it to air on Thursday.

Killian: It really shouldn’t take so long for you to edit me to be charming.

Emma: It’s a hell of a lot of work. You have no idea.

Killian: Maybe your questions are the problem.

Emma: Shut your mouth. My questions were awesome.

Killian: They were. Are you working the game on Thursday?

Emma: Yep. I’ll be in my little corner. If you hit a home run, maybe I’ll interview you after the game.

Killian: I like that kind of motivation, love.

Emma: Good. I like winners.

They land at JFK an hour before midnight, and it takes a ridiculous amount of time for her Uber to get to her apartment. The hallway lights are all turned off, and it’s a miracle that she doesn’t wake up Ruby or Graham in her quiet tip toeing back to her bedroom, especially when she curses over stubbing her toe on an end table in the hallway. But everything is still quiet, and when she gets to her room, she drops her bag, takes off all of her clothes except her underwear, and then collapses into the mattress, falling asleep almost immediately.

She really missed her bed.

But she doesn’t get to sleep long, her alarm blaring in her ear early the next morning, and she doesn’t bother doing anything but showering and throwing her hair into a tangled bun on top of her head before going into the office and sitting down with the editing team, looking through clips and cutting questions, helping them to decided what transitions and music to use all the while she practically has all ten hours of footage memorized.

There’s a lot of weird clips, most of which come from Jeff trying to be funny. He’s an eclectic guy.

Ruby comes in the room right at the time that everyone is watching her pretty much ask Killian out, and she sinks a little further into her rolling chair hoping to disappear so as not to deal with any of it. But Ruby doesn’t say anything, doesn’t make a quip, doesn’t tease her, and of every weird thing that’s happened, that’s the one she was expecting the least.

Ruby never keeps her mouth shut about anything.

By the time midnight rolls around, she’s got a completely edited video, several clips to post online to her social media, and she’s sent it all off to David and the executives to be approved before airing tomorrow afternoon.

It’s a relief to have it finished, to have another project checked off the list, and she files away all of the video footage into her folder on Killian, which sounds much creepier than it actually is.

Killian: Good luck today!

Emma: Why are you telling me good luck? You’re the one playing a game.

Killian: Your piece is airing. That’s a big deal, Swan.

Emma: It’s really good. You only come off as a slight jackass.

Killian: That’s the ultimate level of jackass.

The snort that escapes her is through no fault of her own, and she tries to stifle it with the throw pillow on the couch.

It obviously doesn’t work.

“So did you ever go on a date with him?” Ruby questions as she swipes red nail polish over her fingernails.

Ah, there’s the question she’s been waiting for.

“Nope.”

“But you’re texting Jones, right?”

“Possibly.”

“Definitely, Ems. I saw the footage. You basically asked him out. Why haven’t you gone out? You two have had a standing date since October.”

“We’ve been busy. We’ve got high-paced jobs.”

“It’s Opening Day, and we’re both sitting in our living room still in our pajamas. You have time.”

“I know, I know.” She waves Ruby away, twisting her head to look at her. “It’s…complicated. I don’t know. We text all the time, we both know that we’re interested. But I got called away to work and he’s just now back in New York. We’ll figure it out.”

“You better. Not everyone can say that their best friend is dating a baseball player.”

“Yeah, well, not everyone can say that their best friend is dating a detective or that she herself is a badass producer.”

Ruby waves her nail polish brush in the air. “Touché. I know we were just talking about how much time we have, but you’ve got to be at the fields in two hours. You know that, right?”

“My call time isn’t until three.”

“No, yours is at noon. You’re working the pre-show, remember?”

“Oh shit.”

She practically rolls off of the couch before running back into her room to get dressed, pulling on her pants and tucking her blue and white stripped top into them. She’s sure someone will say that she looks like a sailor, but considering she can’t wear a jersey to work, this will have to do. Luckily, she washed her hair last night, so she doesn’t have to worry about anything more than spraying some dry shampoo into her hair and curling it the slightest bit, knowing that someone will be around the studio to fix it at some point. It’s definitely not putting her best foot forward, but the pre-show completely and totally slipped her mind since she’s never gotten to work it before.

It’s likely the most high-profile day of her career, and she’s in a rush to get ready because she forgot.

How sleep deprived is she that she forgot?

(She’s going to blame Killian since she did stay up late talking to him.)

But she makes it there with time to spare and to go over her notes, especially since she’s not going on air until the second hour to introduce Killian’s interview, and by the time all of that rolls around, her entire day is a blur of muted colors and harried questions until there are claps on her backs and wishes of congratulations for her piece.

She did it.

She finished it.

And it was good.

Damn good.

And then it’s Opening Day at Yankee Stadium, and she’s sitting in an open press box near the field watching the game, reviewing stats, and cheering on the team that she’s come to call her own.

If there’s a specific player who she likes a little bit more than the others, well, that’s her business.

Killian plays an incredible game with several assists and three RBIs, and his stat sheet alone makes her realize that she’s going to get to go out on the field and interview him when it’s all over. An idea sparks in her mind, one that’s likely a little reckless but also probably ratings gold – as well as good for her personal life – and after she’s pulled her hair up into a ponytail and fixed up her makeup, she has Ruby attach her microphone pack to the back of her pants and makes her way through the gates to get out near the on-field press so that she can move in to get her exclusive.

Killian sees her before she even steps on the field, and his lips curve into a bright smile, making his cheeks more flushed than the sweat already made him. His pants have grass stains on them, his hair is drenched underneath his cap, and he looks like a verifiable mess.

She likes that mess.

“You give a girl one exclusive and suddenly she’s everywhere you go,” he teases, stopping right in front of her.

“No one even said I was out here for you, Jones.”

He clicks his tongue. “I assumed.”

“That’s a bold assumption.”

“There is so much flirting going on right now,” Ruby groans in her ear, reminding her that she really is out here to do a job. “You guys need to work out all of this sexual tension. Not on the field, obviously. But somewhere.”

“I’m a bold man.”

“Obviously. Funnily enough,” she laughs, switching her microphone on and nodding at Jeff as he follows behind her (the poor man is likely so tired of this), “I am actually here to ask you a few questions.”

“Fire away.”

Her stomach twists once more, but this time it isn’t a feeling of dread. It’s one of excitement, one she’d like to feel forever, and the thrill of anticipation works its way over her in chills that don’t match up with the heat today.

She may not have liked being put on the spot back in October, her entire world flipping and changing in a way that she wasn’t sure that she liked, but she thinks this question is about to go over a little better than the first time, especially since she’s the one asking. After all, she’s the professional here when it comes to asking questions.

“Killian Jones, you played a great game today, and I think a celebration is in order.”

He raises that one eyebrow, his smile faltering before ticking back up again, and she knows that he’s already picked up on what she’s about to do. He’s a perceptive one.

“And what do you suggest, love?”

“I hear there’s a pizza place around here that’s pretty good, and I am a hell of a good time on a date. So, what do you say? You want to go out with me?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

And then Killian dips his head down to glide his lips over hers, his hand threading into her ponytail and pulling her closer to him so she can feel the heat and firmness of his body all the while her hands grab onto his jersey, nails and microphone digging into him. She doesn’t care, though, and definitely doesn’t think about the fact that she’s making out with someone on television, mostly because that someone is Killian. His lips are warm, a little salty from the sweat, but really all she can think about is how good this kiss feels and how much she wants to keep on doing this and feeling like she’s the one who scored tonight.

(Obviously not on television, though, and maybe with fewer baseball puns.)

They eat pizza the next night.

And the morning after with Emma walking around Killian’s apartment jokingly wearing one of his jerseys because she told him under no circumstances would she be wearing one in public or showing him any bias simply because they’re together.

Two years later, though, when Jones is her actual last name, she folds and wears a number twenty-nine on her back while sitting behind the desk filming her own show.

Killian is her most frequent guest.

[eleanor-writes-stuff]

the way you make me feel (is kinda annoying, actually) - ONE-SHOT

Rey’s childhood leaves her with a warped defense mechanism, the kind that makes it hard to trust people and leaves her suspicious of all kindness and frames even the most basic human wants and needs as a weakness.

So naturally, she doesn’t have the best reaction to her instant connection with her new TA.

(In other words, Rey’s not sure who she’s more annoyed at: Ben Solo for being so attractive, or herself for being so attracted to him.)

Here’s a (hopefully!) fun modern college AU in which Rey really, really doesn’t want to be attracted to Ben Solo but oh no, she is anyway. Oh, and what’s this? Actual feelings on top of physical attraction?? Double oh no. (Yeah, full disclosure: this is not my best work.)

Also available on AO3. And hey, maybe check out my Twitter or Ko-fi? 

“So then he took me to this underground poker night thing, and I swear I saw Professor Ackbar at one of the tables–”

Finn’s retelling of his fourth date with Poe is cut short when he bumps into Rey, who’s just bumped into Rose, who’s abruptly come to a complete standstill in the very doorway of their lecture hall.

“Rose, what’s–”

“Guys, look!” Rose whisper-screams before Rey can ask why she’s suddenly decided to do her best impression of a live statue. “New TA alert!” she squeals as quietly as one can in a half-empty room with at least sixty other people present, pointing at Hux’s usual desk in the corner in the least subtle way known to mankind.

“Thank fuck,” Finn cheers a little too loudly, garnering them curious looks from other students filing into the room. “One more day with Hux and I would’ve gotten rid of that weasel myself.”

Rey is vaguely aware of Rose scoffing at his bold proclamation and Finn defending himself, but all of that fades into background noise when she finally catches sight of the newcomer occupying the TA’s desk. He appears to be completely focused on a pile of loose papers spread before him, allowing Rey’s eyes to rove over his dark curls, furrowed brow, prominent nose, plush lips…

Thankfully, Rose puts an end to her uncharacteristic gawking before the man himself notices by hooking their arms together and leading Rey to their usual seats in the third row, cheerfully greeting familiar faces as they pass. And Rose isn't the only one handing out bright smiles and friendly laughter – the air of relief, of sheer joy in the room is palpable, after weeks of suffering through Hux’s miserable presence and the uncertainty of not knowing if Holdo and the dean would side with a bunch of undergrads over one of their own.

Really, Rey muses as everyone settles into their seats and Holdo sweeps into the room precisely on time as always, they should’ve known better than to doubt their professor.

“Good morning, everyone!” Holdo calls out, her gentle, lilting voice accompanied by a blinding smile. “Before we start, let’s address the white elephant in the room, shall we? Armitage Hux, as I’m sure you’ve all noticed given the general air of celebration in this room, has been removed from his position as TA. He has also been removed from the department, and in fact from this campus entirely. His unethical and discriminatory actions and what they represent go against everything I, the dean, and this university stand for, and I can only offer you my sincerest apologies for not catching onto his behavior sooner.”

“But I can promise you this debacle will never happen again, certainly not on my watch and not on Mr. Solo’s here,” she says, gesturing at the man sitting just behind her. “And on that note, I’d like to introduce you to your new TA for this semester. Ben, why don’t you come up and say a few words?”

The man – Ben Solo, apparently – nods with a distinct lack of enthusiasm, but plasters on a polite smile and proceeds to stand up anyway.

“Jesus Christ,” Rose mutters as Ben walks toward Holdo. “Is there a height requirement to TA this class or something?”

Rey merely shrugs, her eyes intent on following the movements of this absolute mountain of a man. Because sure, Hux had been ridiculously tall too, but Ben Solo… Ben Solo is a whole different breed, tall and broad and built and…

Oh no, he’s hot.

Blood rushes to Rey’s cheeks at the realization that she finds her new TA attractive, broad shoulders and lush hair and thick lips and all, and of course that’s the exact moment his eyes happen to meet hers.

“Hi, everyone,” he says, and Rey can’t even bring herself to react to his voice because he appears to be addressing her directly, making her skin prickle and her throat dry and her heart pound. She drops her eyes down to her hands, and doesn’t look up until she feels him look away. “Um, I’m Ben and, as Amilyn here just mentioned, I’ll be your TA for the rest of this semester. I’m also a second-year grad student here at Chandrila U, so uh, that’s one thing I guess we have in common. Oh, and I’m really, really glad Hux is gone too, so make that two things.”

Faint laughter ripples through the room, and the effect it has on Ben is devastating: his eyes light up, his smile relaxes into something closer to a grin, and a little puff of laughter escapes him. What makes all of this ten times worse is the fact that he’s looking at her again, and Rey nearly gives into the smile tugging at her lips in response before she realizes what she’s doing.

She quickly puts a brake on the stupid, girly smile and twists her lips into a scowl instead, internally berating her apparent lack of self-restraint. She’s been attracted to people before, and it’s never fun brushing that aside and pretending nothing’s amiss, but this… this is stupid on so many levels: this is a man she doesn’t know, this is a man in charge of her grades, this is a man she absolutely cannot allow herself to crush on, no matter how deep his voice is or how distracting his lips are or how compelling the sad look in his eyes–

Belatedly, Rey realizes that she’d forgotten to duck her head while lost in thought and that she now appears to have been scowling at her new TA for the past ten seconds for no reason at all.

This is what happens when she allows outsiders and hormones and feelings to complicate things.

She looks away then, and scrutinizes the abysmal state of her nails until a scraping sound indicates that Ben Solo is once again safely tucked away in his little corner desk. The next time she looks up, Holdo has returned to the lectern and is pulling up her slides for the day.

Class passes by in a flash after that, as it always does. Holdo is known for interactive and informative lectures that are always succinct and lively, making her a campus favorite. It’s the reason why Rey, along with more than a third of her classmates, opted for a notoriously heavy poli-sci class as their elective in spite of all the ‘easier’ options available to them, and it’s a decision she’s almost never regretted.

And with Armitage Hux, TA from hell, abuser of power, and thinly-veiled racist/sexist/classist pig, finally gone, Rey can now confidently say she has zero regrets about signing up for this class.

At the end of lecture, Amilyn raises her voice to be heard above the din of nearly a hundred and fifty students rushing to pack up and hurry to their next class or lunch. “One last thing! Ben and I have been hard at work all weekend regrading your papers in light of Hux’s misconduct, and your new grades will be available in an hour’s time. All right, class dismissed!”

Sitting in the third row gives Rey and her friends the distinct advantage of being closer to the doors, allowing them to rush out before everyone else gets stuck at the bottleneck. Today, though, another person manages to make it out with them.

Ben Solo passes through the doors at the exact same moment as her, his arm brushing her shoulder as they walk out. He murmurs an apology, one Rey is fully prepared to acknowledge with a simple, wordless nod, only to follow it up with a question. “Rey Niima, right?”

Her name said in that voice, coming from those lips, has Rey twisting her face into a grimace in reaction to the unusual fluttery feeling in her stomach right now.

“Yes,” she says, directing a glare at the retreating backs of her traitor friends scurrying down the hallway to avoid the TA before she turns to face him. “That’s me. Is something wrong?” Rey asks a little too sharply, courtesy of a lifetime of learning to hide her uncertainty and weakness behind a façade of ice-cold irritation and aloofness.

A sharp spike of regret lances through her when the slight smile on Ben’s face wavers.

“No, nothing’s wrong, not at all,” he mumbles without quite looking at her. “Sorry, it’s just… I recognized you because of Poe, Poe Dameron?”

It makes sense, Rey supposes, that the two grad students would know each other. But then wouldn’t he recognize Finn and Rose as well?

“And I just…” Ben runs a hand through his hair with a heavy exhale, and Rey’s fingers twitch with the impulse, the want, to do the same. She curls them into her palm instead, digging into her skin so hard she knows she’ll leave a set of angry red crescents behind. “Um, I just wanted to say… your paper was exemplary. If there was any doubt before that Hux was unfairly marking you guys, his treatment of your essay would’ve been proof enough.”

“Oh,” Rey says softly, completely taken aback by this unexpected turn of events. She’s also relieved, so relieved to know that she’s passing this assignment after all – exemplary, he’d said – that the tension in her shoulders just… melts away.

Ben seems to take that as a sign of encouragement, because he barrels through the rest of his thoughts. “The connection between neoliberalism and the shrinking welfare state isn’t new, but the way you wrote about it and the strength of your arguments and the sheer scope of your knowledge and the way you defend your stance – it’s just… the paper really stands out, in a class most people are just taking as an elective. That’s all,” he concludes almost sheepishly, clearly cutting himself off to keep it short.

And Rey, Rey can feel herself straining toward him like a flower to the sun, her starved soul eagerly lapping up every last drop of validation and praise. But…

But old habits die hard, and her first instinct is still to treat kindness – especially unwarranted, unexpected kindness – with suspicion and casualness, to pretend that his words have no effect on her.

So she shrugs and says, “Elective or not, it still affects my overall grade.” And then, because she likes to think she’s made some progress in the last three years, Rey allows herself a barely-there smile and adds, “So um, I’m glad to hear I did well. Thanks for letting me know.”

“Oh, uh, sure, no problem–”

She’s already turning away as he speaks, intent on getting the hell out of here before she can do something stupid like actually smile at him or get lost in his eyes or give him any hint of how much the opinion of a total stranger means to her.

“Yeah, thanks again, see you around!” Rey tosses over her shoulder, and wills herself not to break into a run as she chases after her friends, who have been waiting just around the corner like the absolute assholes that they are.

“Oh my god, Finn,” Rose squeals as Rey catches up to them. “Is she blushing? I think someone’s blushing,” she adds in a sing-song voice.

Finn laughs and teasingly jostles her as the three of them fall into step. “I didn’t even know you were capable of turning this pink, peanut!”

“I hate you both,” Rey mutters at her friends, but even their knowing looks can’t keep her from turning back to get one last glimpse at Ben.

He’s still standing where she’d left him, looking completely still… and lost.

Rey almost allows herself to feel bad for him.

❄  ❄  ❄

Their subsequent interactions don’t go any better.

The second time they meet outside of class, it’s for a quick feedback session that she’d taken three whole days to talk herself into setting up. Rey splashes cold water on her face ten minutes before Ben’s office hours start, takes deep, calming breaths throughout her short journey from the library to the grad student lounge, and instantly regrets every single life choice she’s ever made when she walks in to find him waiting for her.

Even worse, he appears to be genuinely happy to see her, spinning around in his chair to greet her with a wide smile.

And worst of all, he’s traded in the black sweater from last time for a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up that somehow – impossibly – makes him look even bigger as he gestures for her to take an empty seat next to him so they can both refer to his screen. She’d emailed him her two ideas for the final research paper ahead of time, along with a brief outline for both, and it’s actually really nice to see that Ben’s clearly taken the time to go through everything she sent him and come up with valuable feedbacks and concerns for both ideas.

What’s not so nice, though, is the fact that she keeps getting distracted by his exposed forearms, and then she get visibly flustered about it, and then she grows irritated at herself for being this way, and by the end of her twenty-minute slot with him Ben’s smile is completely gone. Rey can’t even blame him, not with her distraction and irritation conspiring to make her seem ungrateful for and uninterested in his feedback.

All in all, it’s a disaster – and yet, somehow not nearly as bad as the third time they meet.

Two weeks later, Poe somehow manages to talk Ben into joining them for their weekly happy hour over at Maz’s. It’s bad enough when he shows up without warning, but Rey knows things are about to get really bad when she realizes that he’s in a tee shirt this time, a tight tee shirt paired with jeans that show off way more than his usual slacks.

Rey tells herself that it’s natural to feel hot in a crowded cantina, that she’s only overheating because she hadn’t had the time to change out of her sweater and jeans before heading here straight from the library.

A hush falls over their table when Poe shows up with their new TA of all people, but Finn and Rose quickly recover from their shock to seamlessly weave Ben into their ongoing conversations about midterms, holiday plans, and more. Rey, however, takes a little longer to adjust.

And maybe, just maybe, her external silence while she internally snaps at herself to get her fucking hormones under control comes off as a little unwelcoming, because at some point she feels Ben’s eyes on hers only to see him quickly look away when she finally lifts her head, his lips devoid of a smile and his shoulders slumped in what she can only assume is discomfort at being around her or disappointment at her behavior.

He gets over it quickly enough though, falling into easy conversation with the others while Rey makes the occasional contribution here and there, though only when prompted by Finn or Rose or Poe. She feels Ben’s eyes on her every now and then, but they manage to avoid each other until Finn and Poe finally slip away to join the crowd gathering on the makeshift dance floor and Rose goes off to say hello to some friends at another table a few minutes later.

After what feels like an eternity of uncomfortable silence and avoiding his eyes and growing steadily warmer to the point of discomfort and nausea, Rey nearly jumps out of her seat when Ben finally speaks.

“Would you… that is… I was wondering if…” He closes his eyes for a moment and clears his throat, and Rey thinks she catches the faintest hint of a flush on his cheeks when she finally finds the courage to look directly at him.

It turns into an outright blush when he opens his eyes to find her staring at him. “I, um, I’m going to get another round,” Ben tells her, tipping his empty beer bottle at her. “Can I get you a drink?” he asks with a little smile.

And she knows, Rey knows he’s just asking out of politeness, just asking because it’s the friendly thing to do and he probably doesn’t mean it that way and honestly, even if he did it wouldn’t be the end of the world–

But suddenly it’s just too much too bear, the heat and the noise and the way that stupidly cute shy little smile makes her feel, and before she knows it Rey’s slipping out of the booth and collecting her jacket. “No thanks, I’m done for the night,” she abruptly announces, words tumbling past her lips in her haste to get out of the cantina and into the cool October night before she passes out or spontaneously combusts or something.

Rey thinks she hears a disappointed little oh as she brushes past him, but she chalks that up to her imagination and doesn’t look back as she steps out into the night. Later that evening, alone in her bed, Rey spends the entire night tossing and turning and dreaming about Ben Solo. Her Saturday morning plans are completely messed up the next day, when she finds herself trying to catch up on sleep instead of going for a run and stocking up on groceries and working on her paper.

Her wasted Saturday only confirms her suspicions: Ben Solo is a distraction, the way he makes her feel is annoying, and there is absolutely no space for him in her life.

So when things suddenly take a turn, it’s probably for the better. Rey should probably be happy. Things will probably go back to normal now.

But it doesn’t feel like anything’s better when Ben stops looking at her in class the next week.

She doesn’t feel happy when he runs into her and her friends at their usual coffee shop a few days later and he acknowledges Finn and Rose by name, only to give her a wordless nod and then brush past her.

And it definitely doesn’t feel normal when Poe convinces Ben to join their group for brunch two Sundays later and she doesn’t feel his eyes on her even once.

After nearly a month of being ignored by Ben, Rey can’t tell who she’s more annoyed at: Ben for disrupting her life and making her feel this way, or her for letting herself get all messed up over a man who’s practically a stranger. All she knows is that she’s crankier than she’s ever been, and that doesn’t bode well for Rose and the sympathetic looks she keeps giving Rey every time Ben acts like she doesn’t exist.

She finally snaps after class one day, when Holdo informs her that Ben’s too busy to handle office hours so Holdo will be stepping in for Rey’s scheduled consultation regarding their upcoming midterms instead. Rose walks her out of class with a supportive hand on her back and looks at her as if someone’s just run over Rey’s beloved puppy or something, and it all finally gets to be too much.

“Stop it,” Rey hisses, shaking Rose’s hand off her. “Stop acting like… like I’m broken, or someone died, or something. Just stop.”

Her friend just gives her a sad little shake of her head. “Rey… I wish you’d get it together and fix this, for both your sakes. Poe thinks maybe you really hurt his feelings.”

The accusation – gentle though it may be – lands a little too close to home for Rey, who’s spent half her nights dreaming about Ben’s smile and the other half losing sleep over all the times she wiped it right off his face.

“Or maybe,” she snaps back defensively, “he’s just an asshole for no reason and I was right to treat him exactly the way I did.”

Rose simply crosses her arms and gives Rey a look, the very rare kind that signals she’s run out of patience for someone’s bullshit. “Honey… I love you, but I’m starting to worry that maybe you’re the asshole in this situation.”

Rey storms off without a word.

She’s always been good at running away from the truth like that.

❄  ❄  ❄

Two more weeks pass.

Midterms come and go and get graded, and Rey sees red when she receives a B- while all of her friends score As and B+s.

It’s like Armitage fucking Hux all over again. She knows she deserves at least a B+, knows this isn’t about her work but about her, and like hell is she letting another asshole TA unfairly target her.

Her rage carries her all the way across campus and into the grad student lounge, potent enough that she doesn’t even hesitate when she realizes she and Ben are the only two people in the quiet room.

He doesn’t notice her at first, grading away with headphones in. Rey takes a probably unhealthy amount of satisfaction at the way he jumps when she announces her presence by slamming her palm onto his desk, and barely waits for him to take off his headphones before she says, “I demand a remark.”

She’s prepared for an instant refusal, for bullshit excuses, even for him to outright ignore her, but Rey is not prepared for the way he just looks at her, staring into her eyes with an indecipherable look in his.

It’s… unsettling, the way he looks at her, the way it makes her feel. “I worked my ass off studying for that goddamn test, which you would know if you hadn’t bailed on me when I made an appointment with you about it, so I know for a fact that I deserve better. Which means you’re going to pull up my paper and remark it, even if I have to stay here and go through it word by word with you until you treat me fairly like a decent goddamn person–”

Ben’s shoulders slump, but strangely she’s the one who suddenly runs out of steam. He’s not looking at her anymore, choosing to stare at the floor instead as one hand nervously fiddles with the pen in his grip… and there, under his hand, laid out on his desk, is her midterm.

“I’m sorry,” he says so quietly she almost misses it, even in a room with absolutely no other sound. “You’re… you’re right. You deserve better, and I was being unfair. Childish and unprofessional and–” Ben sighs, and drags a hand over his face. “God, I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ll fix it right now, I was about to anyway, I regretted it the second I– Anyway, if you want to go to Holdo about this…”

She’s a little too hung up on childish and unprofessional to realize what he’s saying at first. What cause has she ever given him to be childish and unprofessional to her and her alone?

Unbidden, the image of Rose rolling her eyes flits into Rey’s mind – and with it, some of the last words they’d ever exchanged on the topic of one Ben Solo… and his hurt feelings.

Rey’s anger melts away, and so does a bit of the ice wall around her heart when she sees the way Ben is staring blankly at his desk, shoulders curved into themselves in absolute defeat and guilt and… maybe, just maybe, hurt.

His last words finally catch up to her, and she finds herself curling a hand around his shoulder before she’s even consciously aware of choosing to do so. “Just… just fix it, and don’t do it again,” she tells him softly.

Ben doesn’t turn to look at her, but she knows she’s not imagining the way he leans into her touch just the slightest bit. “Never again,” he vows and slowly, ever so slowly, turns around to look at her.

And something inside her, the same something that keeps her up at night with memories of him and reminds her of him at the oddest times and makes her heart ache as she looks at him now, compels Rey to hold out her hand and offer him a smile. “Truce?”

His hand shakes as he slowly reaches out to meet her. It makes no sense, the way her hand fits perfectly in his even though his absolutely dwarfs hers, but Rey manages to beat back an instinctive flare of irritation at the discovery and keeps her smile firmly plastered on instead.

“Truce,” Ben murmurs in agreement, and gives her a small smile in return.

She cherishes it more than she probably should, the lingering smile on his lips as they remain that way, hand in hand, until the sound of approaching footsteps snaps her out of the moment.

The sound of Poe’s voice hits her like a bucket of ice water, and Rey drops Ben’s hand as if she’s been burned, ignoring the way his face falls when she rips her hand out of his.

“Oh hey there, Rey!” Poe says cheerfully, heading straight for them. Thankfully she’s had her back to the door this entire time, conveniently hiding their hands from Poe’s view. “Nice to see you in our neck of the woods for once. What’s up?” he asks, throwing himself down onto a nearby chair and rolling it over to them.

“Just wanted to discuss my midterms with Ben, that’s all,” Rey tells him, summoning the most natural-feeling smile she’s capable of right now. “I was just about to head out, actually. I’ll see you at Taco Thursday?”

Poe nods enthusiastically. “Definitely. Finn won’t stop talking about it. Wait,” he suddenly says, turning to Ben with narrowed eyes. “You still haven’t gotten back to me on that! I’m not letting you bail on me again, buddy.”

Guilt slams into Rey like a freight train. She’s noticed Ben’s increasingly frequent absences at their group outings this month, but she’d desperately tried to protect herself from the truth by linking it to what Holdo had said about him being busy with his research this month. The way Ben’s eyes flit to her before he turns to Poe, though, tells her everything she needs to know.

“I’m sorry, Poe–”

“You should come,” Rey says before she can overthink it, before Ben misses out on yet another evening with friends just because of her.

He and Poe turn to her with matching looks of wide-eyed surprise, and the sight is enough to coax a real smile out of her.

“I should?” Ben asks.

Rey nods, ignoring the way Poe’s mouth is slowly curving into a grin as his eyes jump from one of them to the other as if he’s observing a ping pong match. “Yeah, definitely. It’ll be fun.”

She’d much rather focus on the way Ben’s smiling at her anyway, a genuine, fragile little thing full of hope and joy while he gives her the softest, warmest look she’s ever received.

“Okay,” he finally says.

“Okay,” she echoes, knowing that she’s smiling like a fool.

“Okay!” Poe cheers, pumping his fist for exaggerated effect. “Taco Thursday, here we come!”

“I’ll see you guys then,” Rey says with a little laugh, and waves goodbye at Ben even as Poe starts to talk his ear off about bro time and the idea of a taco competition and god knows what else.

He waves back, eyes on her until she finally, reluctantly turns her back to him and leaves the lounge. She walks for all of two minutes before she turns a corner and slumps against the wall, closing her eyes and taking deep breaths to steady her racing heart and quell her wide grin.

Ben Solo might be a distraction, but the way he makes her feel… isn’t all that bad, Rey supposes. Maybe there’s some room for him in her life after all.

❄  ❄  ❄

Rey does not so much decide to let Ben into her life as she decides to just… allow it to happen.

True to their promise in the grad lounge, they fall into a tentative truce – and it’s almost as if the universe takes that as a sign and decides to run with it. Suddenly there are secret smiles shared in every single class, near-daily run-ins around campus that include friendly hellos, and, of course, an endless string of group outings organized by a gleeful Rose and a scheming Poe.

(Finn, bless his heart, simply tells her to trust her gut the day he finally catches on to what’s happening and leaves it at that.)

With each smile, each hello, each group brunch or lunch or dinner or happy hour that somehow always ends up with the two of them sitting and talking together… Rey feels every facet of her defense mechanism slowly melting away, leaving behind only her undeniable connection with Ben and the fact that he’s worth being attracted to, worth caring about, worth making herself vulnerable to and for.

She doesn’t really have the time or energy to do anything with that realization though, not with finals just around the corner. The last leg of the semester is an endless nightmare, with major papers due and ‘surprise’ revision quizzes and, of course, finals themselves.

There’s barely any time to eat, sleep, and breathe, let alone think and feel and reach out, until she makes it out of her last final the Friday before Christmas relatively unscathed. It’s been a miserable two weeks, but the relief of finally being done –for now – gives Rey a much-needed burst of energy to drag herself over to Maz’s later that day where everyone else is celebrating the end of finals and the semester as a whole.

She draws the line at dancing though, telling Finn and Rose that she can barely keep her eyes open when they try to pull her into the fray.

“You should’ve just stayed home,” Rose says with a concerned frown as Finn disappears to get her another round before they leave her to her own devices.

She would’ve, if not for the fact that this is probably her last chance to see Ben this year. She’s not all that familiar with the schedule for grad school, but surely even they get to go home for the holidays.

Rey doesn’t tell Rose any of this, though. “If I’d stayed home, I probably would’ve crashed for twenty-four hours straight or something like that,” she says instead, which isn’t all that far from the truth.

Finn returns with her drink a few minutes later, and the two of them fuss over her a little more until Poe and Ben show up.

He smiles at her, and Rey fights off the sudden and strong urge to curl into him and go to sleep in his arms.

“Perfect timing!” Finn says as he gives his boyfriend a quick kiss before Poe heads off to get drinks for Ben and himself. “Ben, you’re not much of a dancer, right?”

“That’s probably the understatement of the century,” Ben says in that dry way of his, drawing laughs from the rest of them. And then, before Finn can even ask, he nods. “You guys go ahead and have fun, I’ll sit with Rey.”

Rose and Finn need no further convincing, immediately disappearing into the crowd gathered in the center of the room. Poe stops by their table just long enough to drop off their drinks, and quickly follows suit.

And then, as is so often the case with these group outings, it’s just her and Ben.

“Too tired to dance?” he asks, moving closer to be heard above the crowd.

Rey slumps onto the table with her head cradled in her folded arms. “Finals broke me,” she mutters into her arm, not quite sure if Ben can even hear her.

He does, somehow, and gives her a quiet laugh in return. It warms her in all the right ways now, coaxing a slow, lazy smile from her as she turns to look up at him.

“I’m sure all of your hard work will pay off,” Ben predicts confidently, and Rey lets out a little hum in reply before they fall into a comfortable silence. She doesn’t fall asleep, can’t with all the noise in the background, but she closes her eyes for long stretches of time and pretends she doesn’t feel the warmth of Ben’s gaze on her every time she does.

It’s nice, what they have together. Warm and easy and comfortable, so comfortable that Rey isn’t really thinking straight when she allows a combination of exhaustion and alcohol and, quite frankly, affection and fondness and want to thoroughly lay waste to her verbal filter.

“I’m hostile toward people I want to fuck,” she finally admits, eyes half-closed and words more than a little slurred.

The booth seems to shake along with Ben when he startles at her blunt confession. “What?” he asks faintly, as though she’s knocked the wind out of him. She opens her eyes to find him staring at her all wide-eyed like a deer in headlights and shit, that shouldn’t be attractive but of course it is, everything about him is.

And the best part is, that’s just one of the many reasons why Rey somehow finds it within herself to shake off her exhaustion, pull herself upright, and finally take a leap of faith. “That was crude, sorry,” she says with a little smile, biting back a laugh at the way Ben just blinks at her.

“It’s just…” And this is the hard part, the bit she’s never actually put into words, not even for Finn and Rose, not even for herself, but for Ben she’s willing to try and finally make sense of it all, of the warped defense mechanism her childhood had forced upon her without her even consciously knowing it. “Where I grew up, how I grew up… I couldn’t have any distractions or weaknesses,” Rey begins, and finds the strength to go on in the way Ben hangs on to her every word like he actually cares, in the way he leans in and blocks out the rest of the world behind him so that she can share this secret with him and only him. “And for the longest time, my greatest weakness was wanting. There were… so many things I wanted, people above all. Parents and friends and just… someone who cared, that’s all.”

To his credit, Ben stays quiet and lets her go on even though it looks like it physically pains him not to say something at this point. He finds a nice compromise by placing one hand next to hers on the table in a silent offer, and Rey smiles as she takes him up on it and slides her hand into the familiar, comforting hold of his. “Eventually, I learned that having feelings for someone, wanting them, caring about another person’s opinion of me or even caring for another person period… all of that made me vulnerable, in one way or another. I learned that I couldn’t afford any of that, and so I trained myself out of it. I stopped wanting, stopped trusting…” she pauses, takes a shaky breath, “stopped feeling, for the longest time.”

And Ben, Ben just squeezes her hand and gives her a small smile and nods for her to go on.

“Then I moved here three years ago, and everything changed. Suddenly it was okay to like being around people and to want to make friends and even to want someone. But my brain didn’t quite get the message, I think,” Rey says with a laugh, “because whenever I do find myself attracted to someone – not that it happens often, I honestly can’t remember the last time before you –, I just get really, really weird and silly and pissed about it, like how dare you be appealing to me and make me feel things I didn’t ask to feel, and then…” She shrugs. “Well, you’ve seen firsthand how much of an asshole I can be when that happens.”

At some point during her word vomit Ben’s hand had grown slack in hers, and so Rey lets go and busies herself with peeling the label of his bottle while he processes her little – well, not so little – ramble.

It takes a while. Quite a while, really, so much so that Rey starts to wonder if she’s just made an absolute fool of herself by throwing caution to the wind just this once. Just as she’s about to give up and shut down and run away from him, though, Ben finally speaks.

“Um,” he says, and it’s the look in his eyes, uncertainty swirling with the slightest bit of hope, that keeps her in place even as he struggles to form more words. “Um, so you… does that mean… because you just said– And I’m not your TA anymore, you should probably know that, Amilyn and I finished grading the finals two days ago so… I mean… if you want…”

He sounds so hesitant and uncertain and shy, and Rey’s heart is so full of endearment and fondness and affection for this ridiculous man. She takes pity on Ben, figuring she owes him a break anyway, and finds enough courage for the both of them to take one last leap and ask, “Can I kiss you?”

Thankfully, he doesn’t leave her hanging this time. “Please,” he breathes almost immediately, almost reverently, and catches her as if he’s been doing it all their lives when she promptly throws herself into his lap. His lips are so soft, just as she’d known they would be, and at first he kisses her so sweetly it makes Rey’s heart ache. It doesn’t take long for him to get comfortable though, for him to coax her to part her lips while his hands settle around her hips, for him to make her heart race.

And Rey, Rey is living for this, has dreamed of it for far too long to even think of stopping him now, even as the loud music and endless chatter insist on reminding her of just where they are. It isn’t until Poe alerts them to his presence with a wolf whistle that they finally part, though Ben still keeps her firmly within his arms even as they turn to find all three of their friends staring at them with smirks of varying degrees.

“Get a room, lovebirds!” Poe finally cackles, prompting Finn and Rose to burst into laughter as well.

Rey waits for dread to put out the fire in her veins, waits for her instincts to kick in and attempt to extricate herself from the situation, waits for her automatic reaction of making up for a moment of weakness by turning herself into a fortress.

It never comes – not any of it, not even the slightest blush of humiliation. She relaxes into Ben’s arms as the realization finally washes through her and settles into her bones: it’s not a weakness, what she feels for Ben Solo. Frankly, it’s exhilarating.

On that note, she allows herself a smile so wide her cheeks hurt. “Great idea, Poe,” she says casually, and turns back to a grinning Ben. “What do you think?”

Ben leans down and gives her a chaste kiss. “Yes,” he murmurs against her lips, “yes to everything.”

And so, with the very, very vocal blessings of their far too enthusiastic friends, they make their way out of the cantina and into the night. And sure, it’s still really unfair for Ben to be so hot and smart and nice, for him to look the way he does as he drapes his coat around her before ushering her to his car, but funnily enough, Rey can no longer find it within herself to be annoyed by any of that.

Ben Solo might be the biggest distraction of her life, but that’s okay. The way he makes her feel is new and foreign and all kinds of wonderful, and Rey decides right there and then that she’s definitely going to keep him in her life.

❄  ❄  ❄

Hey, remember when I came back from hiatus last month and assumed at some point I'd get back into the swing of things and remember how this whole writing business works?

I have never been so wrong in my life. But I'm also having great fun stringing together words and stories even though I have no idea what I'm doing anymore, so at least there's that. Anyway, thanks for stopping by and I hope this was as much fun to read as it was to write! As always, please don't hesitate to like/reblog/leave a comment!

[sclfmastery]

Okay so if this blog is moving forward still as a two-Master blog (which I think it still is, I just need to keep digesting stuff...) then I need to make a list of differences between Simm and  Dhawan, since they already have so many similarities.  Some of these are facts observed in canon, others headcanons. ALIGNMENT Both Simm and Dhawan are Neutral Evil masquerading as Chaotic. “A little chaos can be a wonderful thing,” Dhawan tells Barton, and “a little” is key there.  When gloating over a victory, when essentially preening for the Doctor, both engage in erratic acts of sadistic play (Simm gassing the whole British Cabinet as Saxon, while wearing a gas mask and giving his victims a thumbs-up; Simm clapping joyously after the Toclafane kill the fictitious American President; Simm shouting “DINNER TIME!” as he eats people’s life forces in End of Time; Simm taunting Cyberman Bill Potts; Dhawan exclaiming he’s had fun on Barton’s jet; Dhawan in a tophat shrink-killing people at a science fair in Victorian London; and so on). But for all those cases of giddy play, both primarily engage in long-cons that use ALL TOOLS at their disposal (be it Toclafane, transphobic and sexist slurs they don’t really ascribe to,  mysterious alien gateways, a ship colony living under a black hole, or N*zis) with an impartial and cold indifference, entirely Machiavellian, uncaring about the fate of any collateral in the way, to reach their own personal goal. Neutral Evil.  

EMOTIONAL RANGE

Simm is more steadily manic, threatening, accusatory and snide.  He is always loud, outrageous, obnoxious, sanguine and optimistic, flirtatious and lusty and passionate, dynamic and charismatic.  His humors are terrifying, and his furies burn “like a whole screaming world on fire” (Missy’s apt words), but they are also fairly constant, even when he plays at/pretends “insanity.”  Dhawan is another story entirely, and this to me is their biggest difference aside apparent motive (below):  Dhawan acts like someone with an exceptionally developed intellect, but an exceptionally under-developed emotional range. He seems capable of only three very pure emotions, which almost exist like primary colors: yellow giddiness/mania, red fury, and blue reticence/melancholy.  They switch on a dime, for little apparent reason.  This is what makes him more frightening than Simm, in many ways.  Mid-sentence he will break from breezy small talk into screaming, roaring, snarling tirade.  He is also far more physically violent than Simm: not that Simm isn’t capable of this, but more than once in a rage, Dhawan grabs, shoves, and tries to strangle the Doctor, and in those moments he seems helpless to that rage, controlled BY it (a bitter irony given his moniker).  He seems to be of two minds: an almost rueful, gentle intellect, and a beast. 

APPARENT MOTIVE Simm’s entire apparent motive is to be autonomous of all other beings, and free to do his own bidding.  This, even at the expense of friendship, even with the Doctor, if the Doctor poses the ultimatum “change to be the type of good person I prescribe, or else.” This is the reason why he found Missy’s time in the Vault so disturbing: not that she was physically mistreated or truly trapped, but rather, that she was willing to conform to the Doctor’s highly absolutist notions of ethics, and suppress her own personality for his sake.  To him, this was a profound act of self-deprivation and self-betrayal.  He still struggles to find the balance between loving the Doctor and abiding by his own honor code. The fandom easily misinterprets this philosophy as “unevolved” and “selfish,” and indeed, sometimes Simm does deplorable, disgusting, unnecessarily vicious things to ensure his independence.  But it is actually, on another level, a profound act of self-respect. 

Dhawan on the other hand seems to have entirely disposed of the idea of autonomy.  He admits and even revels in the idea that he’s doing all the horrible things he does to catch the Doctor’s attention, to preen before his lifelong  best friend and crush, to obtain an equal footing with her in infamy/notoriety, because “notoriety isn’t as good as fame, but it’s heaps better than obscurity” (Neil Gaiman) and after all their canonical history of explosive romance, rapport and strife, there’s no point in feigning pride. he might as well flirt with her in the open, ask her to say his name sexually in the open, he might as well KNEEL WITH HER ON HER LEVEL  in the open.  There’s no need to fake not needing her anymore.  Even though he strives to kill her, his life is empty without her.  He remembers being Simm, and he remembers “get out of the way.” He doesn’t regret “get out of the way” or rushing into that Timelock.  

In a way, Dhawan’s motive is the externalization of Simm’s unconscious motive.  Every Master does what they do for the Doctor’s attention, to prove themselves worthy of the Doctor’s regard. Every Master, and Missy, is a farce on their own claim to “controlling everything,” because they can’t control their own hearts. Because their locus of control is truly external, and pivots around the Doctor’s good opinion. And that’s why they are always furious.  Because they don’t understand how to get the Doctor to approve of them, without  betraying themselves. Dhawan is the natural next step of Simm and Missy in that he embodies the conflict Simm and Missy had with each other in the Doctor Falls, but within ONE body.  

It’s desperately sad, tbh.  TREATMENT OF THE DOCTOR’S COMPANIONS Simm, more shrewdly, seems to believe that hurting the Doctor’s friends is the most efficient way to hurt the Doctor.  He enjoys watching the fruits of his labors slowly unfold. Dhawan on the other hand is so impatient to get to his goal (after, in fairness, working on it many years at a time) that he would rather separate the Docto from their companions as quickly as possible. this ties in closely to the above issue of motives: Simm, though he secretly desperately misses his best friend, is more comfortable being alone, and Dhawan clings to the Doctor and wants his plans to succeed specifically to catch the Doctor’s attention. The quicker the pesky companions are eliminated, the better.  The upside of this is he’s not as likely to play with his food before eating it, as Simm is.  Look at the Joneses, and Bill Potts.  

VULNERABILITY FACTOR Dhawan’s emotional duality also makes his vulnerability more readily apparent, more obvious, than Simm’s, but that doesn’t mean he is actually more vulnerable.  Both of these Masters are particularly pariah-esque, both of them feel misunderstood by homeland and former friends.  Both are exceptionally emotionally volatile. Simm, however, is far better at guising his hurt as snideness and as anger.  He may be hemorrhaging inside, but he knows how to deflect that with apparent cruelty.  Dhawan gives up far more quickly. He cries openly, more than once an episode; indeed he’s an “angry crier.”  He sulks and broods and romantically dons the air of a jilted lover.  He doesn’t care if the Doctor sees him looking pathetic. He even uses it to his advantage.  Simm, contrariwise, and frequently to his own detriment, would rather die than be seen desperate ( “I’d rather die than beg you” is an actual line he speaks to the Doctor).  He is far prouder. 

SOCIAL SKILLS Simm’s neurodivergency is more obvious when he socializes (unless he has actively donned a disguise, like Harold Saxon or Razor, and is skillfully playing a role).  Even when he is being charismatic and charming, he has difficulty turning off his eruptive energy.  Dhawan is capable of completely masking his personality for impressive periods of time, and seeming entirely innocuous, even placated and serene.  

WEAPONRY AND TARDIS  Simm still uses his laser screwdriver.  Dhawan uses his old tissue-compression weaponry.  Both Masters have a Type 45 TARDIS with intense red interior lights.  Simm’s TARDIS is immaculately kept, with a greenhouse full of orchids he’s grown, and a bathroom that’s also a pristine lagoon with a waterfall for showers. It also contains countless workshops and a massive Victorian-Era library.  Dhawan’s TARDIS maintains its wooden house in the Victoria Desert appearance; it’s a pig sty of surprisingly mundane table lamps, messy paper stacks, desks and tables, a modest kitchen, and a transparent holo-computer inverted pyramid Console.  For sentimental reasons, he hasn’t been able to change it from the appearance it held when the Doctor visited it.  

SEXUAL ORIENTATION/POSITIONS

Simm is a panromantic demisexual who prefers the Power Bottom role in the bedroom.  Dhawan is a panromantic bisexual who prefers to Top.  Both are nonbinary, but Simm is more comfortable embracing genderfluidity (so far) than Dhawan.  

APPEARANCE

Although one chooses to appear like a mid-thirties-forties blond white man, and the other like an early-thirties dark-haired brown man, both Simm and Dhawan utilize the trope of apparent innocence, boyishness, to their strategic advantage.  Simm looks like a chubby-cheeked puckish little boy, and Dhawan looks like a big brown eyed puppy.  Both can cover remarkable ground, and literally get away with murder, because of looking so innocuous.  

[meshugana1]

Another idea, Rich's(28) girlfriend is tired of all her friends having babies and kids and wants one of her own. Rich disagrees. She ends up cursing him as he finds himself getting dumber and childish as he regressed to her little 3 year old toddler girl trapped in diapers he can't help but use while he can no longer read or do math or even speak properly.

   “Come on Rich, let’s just be mature and talk about it,” Ricki said. Her head hung low and her hands wore out the couch she sat on.“Babe, I really can’t talk about this, not again. I don’t care if all your buddies are doing it. I’m not ready to be a dad.”“Well, when will you be ready? For Christ’s sake your almost thirty, how much longer do I need to wait? Or are you hoping I’ll hit menopause before you’re ‘ready’?”“Don’t play that card, you know what my childhood was like.”“That excuse wore itself out a long time ago, Rich. I want a baby, I need a baby, why can’t you understand that?”“I do, I just don’t care. Do you forget just home much we earn? How much our car payments are? Our mortgage? And you want to drop a baby on top of that? I know you’re a woman and all but why don’t you take a second to actually think things through for once in your life?”“You think this is just cause I’m a woman? I can’t believe you! I told all my sisters you were different, that you really cared, but you’re just a sexist pig like all the rest!” Rich had had this conversation many times with countless women. The ending never really varied, they all leave him and find someone better.

   He braced, letting her vent, it always went over better that way. But all he heard from her was her irate breathing. “I try, goddamnit I try so hard Rich. I just wanted to talk, that’s all. But you and your damn stupid attitude, well fine. You don’t want to talk? You don’t have to talk ever again!” Rich felt weird energy about the room as she screamed at him. He was used to the yelling, but it almost felt like the room was hotter. It was a penetrating heat, the kind that drains you and makes your eyes flutter. Rich felt that as his head started to swoon, he slumped into his chair and saw Ricki grab her coat and storm out, not five minutes later he was asleep and elusive dreams played out in front of his eyes.

    Rich woke up to the smell of burning bacon, a trademark of Ricki’s cooking. He bristled, surprised she had stuck around unlike so many others, but expecting she did so only because she had much more to yell. Sitting up, something about his clothing felt just the slightest bit off, but sleeping in a lazy boy will do that. He carefully opened the door, finding Ricki at the stove. That was concerning enough, but she also hummed a lighthearted tune that didn’t really seem to fit the tenor of her rage last night. “Oh good, you’re up. I was worried that you might sleep right through breakfast.”“Um, thanks? But aren’t you like, mad? You were yelling pretty loud last night,” Rich said. He shifted from foot to foot awkwardly, rubbing his arm expecting the hammer to drop. Instead, she smiled, a motherly sort of smile. “Oh sweetie, it’s all water under the bridge. You were right, I was getting a little emotional, but I’ve taken some steps to fix everything, don’t you worry.” Rich was stunned, this was new. He smiled and practically felt like dancing. He nearly skipped to the table as Ricki brought him a platter of eggs, hash-browns, and various meats.

   Usually Rich didn’t go in for such lavish breakfasts, but this was apparently her form of apology. She didn’t wait for him to grab his fork and speared a healthy amount of scrambled eggs, bringing the prongs near his mouth. Still unwilling to rekindle the rage he saw last night, he opened his mouth and allowed her to feed him. It was surprisingly relaxing for him, there was a small part of him that said that this was emasculating, but it was much quieter than it normally was. He was also surprised by the quality of the food she was giving him. Typically, she could only produce black charcoal to eat, she must have been practicing lately. The thought of her, slaving away at a cookbook, working hard to improve herself, made a pit of guilt for in Rich’s stomach. Before he had time to apologize or truly process that guilt, his meal was done she ushered him to their room to prepare for the workday.

   He donned his usual business casual outfit, he didn’t vary too much in his work attire. This morning, however, his clothing didn’t quite sit right. His shoulders seemed almost narrower and his shirt sleeves rubbed against his wrists. His belt even required an extra notch to hold his pants up, that one was at least welcome. But, once again, before he had any time to process these laundry accidents, Ricki had handed him a bottle of water and a lunch and encouraged him into the car, which in another uncharacteristic move, she drove.

   “Have a good day, Sweetie! I’ll pick you up later, just going to do some shopping.” Ricki said.“But, I can drive myself—” Rich began.“Don’t be silly, this way saves on gas and time. Now march on up there and make me proud.” Ricki said as she sped away, leaving Rich with very little choice in the matter. Rich stared at the tall building, feeling alone. His cuff chaffed his wrist, his bag lunch felt heavy in his hand, and he felt an odd sense of being out of place. His feeling was only compounded when he stepped through the threshold of the office door. The firm was already crawling with activity, which only served to unsettle Rich more. Everything seemed larger, not just in the physical sense, it almost seemed like everything here wasn’t meant for him. His awkward pace wasn’t peppy enough for someone, and he soon heard his name, followed by several expletives, and was commanded to join the others in the boardroom.

   “Alright everybody, I’m only gonna say this once, we’re in real deep shit. Our clients are pulling out, controversy after controversy has desensitized the public and they’re more litigious and organized than ever. If this advertising company is gonna survive, as it has managed to do for the past hundred years, we need a fresh new take. Something that will appease those whiny fuckin’ millennial and our diehards. I am not gonna be the one at the helm when this company goes down, so if anyone has an idea, you better speak up now.” Rich only feigned attention. He was a supposed to care, he wanted to care but something, a hazy sense of boredom held him back from it. It was as though the CEO were miles away speaking to him. An intern, especially one as hungry as he was should’ve leaped at the opportunity, sunk his claws into it and never let go. But instead, Rich sat quietly and doodled in a yellow legal pad. His scribbles were nothing a twenty-eight-year-old should be proud of, but in his mind, he was crafting a masterwork. Unicorns danced in fields, ballerina knights slew smelly dragons, and princesses adorned themselves with the prettiest dresses imaginable. “Who the hell are you?!” The CEO called out, directly at him. It was so loud and so jarring that it snapped him back violently to reality and his head swirled trying to regain his bearings. “M—me?” He said.“Yeah, you. This is a staff meeting and I certainly didn’t hire any teens recently. Are somebody’s kid or what?” Rich darted his eyes to and from each coworker, silently asking for help of any kind. “Um, I’m Rich, the intern?” He said, as unsure as everyone else seemed to be.“Bullshit. That guy is almost thirty, you little missy don’t look a day over sixteen. Now tell me who you are or get out, I’m not in the mood to play babysitter.” Sixteen? Missy? What was he talking about? But as Rich stood up and his shirt cuff swallowed his hand, and his pants nearly fell to his ankles, he had an idea of why he said what he said.

   Rich did as he was told and shuffled out of the boardroom, retaining his pants to his waist with his hand. His cheeks felt hot and his eyes were growing misty with anxious confusion. His first instinct was to run to the bathroom as fast as his small legs could take him. Is it secured hand slammed and locked the door. He approached the mirror cautiously, his boss hadn’t even recognized him and though there was no reason for it his legs moved like weights and his dress shirt dad is misty eyes preparing him for what he would see. In the cheap mirror, he could find almost no trace himself. His angular features had softened, his cheeks were puffy, his eyes were red, and here it lost and no less than a foot and a half of his former 5 foot 10. He watched his bottom lip quiver as his eyes search for any sort of answer. His shirt hung limply on slender shoulders and his hands could not be seen, but they felt delicate as if never having seen a day of work. His belt was all but useless and his pants fell to the floor. The elastic band of his underwear still did its job, but even beneath that had not been spared from whatever was happening to him. His cock was nothing to write home about before, but now it’s imprinted in his underwear is barely visible and to his distraught eyes seemed to grow even smaller.

   His legs panicked and he ran back to his desk giving no thought to his state of dress. He scrambles for the receiver of his office phone neither caring nor aware of the eyes watching his diminutive form. He punched in the numbers for Ricki’s phone, he knew the number by heart. At least he thought he did. Instead of his beautiful girlfriend, a crotchety old man answered the phone demanding why he called him at such a late hour. Rich apologized, claiming the old excuse or the wrong number. His finger must have slipped, so he tried again and of this time connected with the New York Museum of Natural History. He tried a third, fourth, and the fifth time, failing each. His eyes were no longer misty and full sorrowful tears cascaded down his soft cheeks. He sat on the floor using his sleeve to wipe his eyes, his shirt now functioning more like a dress. His coworkers around him stood confused, wondering just who have brought their daughter into work today. Before anyone else could take charge of the situation, someone strode in from the main door and kneeled down near the distraught 28-year-old man who sat in a small puddle of fear induced urine. “Shhh, it’s alright sweetie, mommy’s here.“

   “Alright now raise those arms!” Ricki said with a smile, feeling a purer joy that she could recall. The tiny, wet little girls arms shot into the air excitedly, happy to feel her mothers warm embrace again. The towel collected every stray bit of water that’s still clung to her body. “Okey-dokey sweetie, is my big girl ready for her diaper?“ She didn’t wait for an answer as she collected the supplies to change little girl. It was a well practice procedure by now and she already laid on the changing mat ready. She squeals excitedly as the powder tickled her thighs and covered her exposed bottom. Each noise of excitement fills Ricki with happiness that just days ago she felt she would never hear. Once the tapes are secured, the excitable little girl hops up and latches onto her mother’s leg. She doesn’t see the soft tear escaping from her mother’s eyes. “I didn’t want it to go this way Rich, but I’m so happy it did,” she said she lumbered into the kitchen, the happy weight still clinging to her leg, to prepare a beautiful steak dinner for herself, and a sliced hot dog for her beautiful daughter.

The End. Hope Y’all like it!

[xxamythegreatxx]

The hate on this website is getting out of hand now.

Alright, there are things I need to get off my chest because its driving me up the fucking wall now. 

I’ve been on Tumblr for a good few years now, and for the most part its been a great experience. The amount of genuine, lovely and funny people on here is what I came and have remained here for. But there’s another, quite large side of this site that I can’t stand to look at anymore.

Listen to me now, there is a line. There is a line between voicing your opinion for topics like sexuality and race and all sorts and that’s amazing. In our current generation, we shouldn’t have to put up with racism or homophobia, its fucking 2017, views like that aren’t even taken seriously at this point because no one cares about what they have to say.

But there is a line between supporting these things, and just downright belittling, bulling or harassing other people who you consider to be... ‘unworthy’. 

Honestly, the way some people talk on here is exhausting.

“Everything is racist!”

“Everything is sexist!”

“Everything is homophobic/ transphobic!”

... no it fucking isn’t.

The amount of man hating, white hating, cis hating bullshit on this website is terrible, some of you should be fucking ashamed of yourselves. 

You love to talk about ‘male privilege’ or ‘white privilege’, when at times I don’t think you lot even understand what these words mean anymore. 

I’ve seen things about how all men are scumbags or try to belittle females and that’s just not true. 

Are there sexist pigs that aren’t worth your time out there? Hell yes there is.

Are there racist fucks who have their heads so far up their own arseholes that they can’t even see the real world anymore? Sadly, yes there is. 

And bitch, is there people out there who call (racist! homophobic! sexist!) at fucking anything and everything. 

Yeah

Yeah there are. 

I can’t believe people will fight me on this but fuck it.

Not all white people are the scum of the earth because of the colour of their skin.

Not all black people are good people. Not all black people want equal rights more than they want to shout “FUCK WHITES!” and spread even more hate.

Not all gay/trans/nonbinary etc are good, loving people. Not everyone supporting feminism/BLM/equality for all, actually want equality for all.

I’ve always been a believer of racism in all aspects. As in all races can be racist towards other races because no matter how much you say otherwise, for the most part, that is what racism is now. It judging people by the colour of their skin, or religion. 

You can’t attack someone and justify it by saying that ‘no one other than white people can be racist’, because that’s bullshit. The fact that people glossed over that lad who was kidnapped and tortured by those black teens because he was white and autistic is fucking sickening. 

A black man shot by police for pulling out his wallet, was the same as that white man who got shot for pulling out a fucking walking stick. Its not a race problem, its a police problem. Trigger happy, under-trained cops with power is the problem. 

Like I said, I truly believe racism and prejudice still exist, of course it does, but the way some of you try to deal with it man... its no fucking wonder others don’t take SJW/BLM/feminism seriously anymore. 

Acting as if all people of colour, female or different sex or religion is a sensitive wee sausage who has to be protected, their culture has to be protected.

We share culture to learn about others culture, its why we go to different countries. Someone selling burritos or having dreadlocks is very fucking different from someone wearing blackface and outright mocking someone for their culture. 

We don’t focus on the real acts of racism, or the real acts of sexism and so on, because we’re too busy making up new problems. Nonsense problems that never fucking existed until you lot made it an issue. 

Terrorism is a very real issue all over the world. Right now.

Shootings and suicide bombers are killing innocent people all over the world. People are losing their loved ones.

If there was a time where we all need to stand together and unite with one another, bitch its now. Now is not the time for your fabricated privilege shit.

Let me sum it up,

You don’t live in North Korea. You’re privileged.

You aren’t living on the streets. You’re privileged.

You don’t live in a place where bombs are being dropped daily, starving to death, being raped and pregnant at the age of fucking 13 you are fucking privileged. 

You live in the US? The UK? You aren’t doing too fucking bad then are you. 

At least you don’t live somewhere where you could potentially get thrown in prison or be killed cold blooded for being gay, or in a country where internet access and free speech is forbidden. Yeah, trying telling the white man who was thrown in prison for no just cause other than he disagreed with someone of higher power that he’s fucking privileged. 

Tell any white male that hes a privileged piece of shit even though he is literally going through the trash looking for scraps to eat and things to sell. 

If you’re gonna tell me that none of what I said is true, then look no further than a feminist compilation on Youtube. Women screaming at the tops of their lungs because a man said hi to them on the street? Are you kidding me?

Just... I didn’t mean for this to be this long, I got into a bit of a tizzy. 

All I want as a human being in my life is to be happy, and for other to be happy, believe it or not.

I want racism and sexism and homophobia to end too, of course I do. 

I want to live in peace with everyone else on the planet we all share, but apparently that’s never gonna fucking happen. But love outweighs hate. 

Always. 

Treat people the way you want to be treated, show people acts of kindness.

That’s all I want.

I’m just mad that I’ve lost any faith that these movements are going to do anyone any good. Extremists ruin everything and at this point that’s a fact.

I’m gonna ask that you don’t attack me for this, but I doubt asking is gonna do much good for some. 

And while I support the foundations of these things, I don’t support what they’ve become. Thats it. 

[amberlynn111-blog1]

Sad buried hatred in the dirt

So many people are up in arms about donald trump being president. He got elected despite saying some awful racist sexist things during his campaign..in fact,one might say that that was the very reason he got elected. Its a sad true fact people...not only is he himself a racist,hateful, sexist person but apparently there are so many others in this country that they gladly jumped out of the woodwork to vote and put him in office. Why? So they could come out of the shadows and be as hateful and racist as they want. The media nowadays...everybody has to be careful what they say/post/represent or else if someone gets "triggered" theres a HUGE backlash over it..even if its something small and stupid. I got news for you people...trying to control the racism and sexism and other forms of hate by white washing if off the media in every way does NOT and i repeat NOT make it go away..in fact.its like a seed..you try and bury it,it sits underground growing like a weed until something comes along and frees it.. like trump coming into office...all those hateful mean people just burst out of the shadows and came forth,eager to show how hateful they were and be bold about it,and why not? the freakin president is a hateful sexist prejudiced man why cant they be? You cant control everybody nor everything. White wash the media and the hate is still going to hang out and live somewhere. You can take hate out of a magazine or tv but not the one place it lives..a persons heart...and the only way it can die is if the person who has said heart decided to change it. There is always going to be hate in the world and thats a fact. If you have LOVE then you must have HATE because hate is the other side of that coin. Everything in this world is balanced out with its polar opposite. We need to stop thinking we can turn this world into a completely peaceful planet. Not gonna happen..ever. Too many fuckers concerned with getting rich and not giving a shit if others starve or suffer as a result. Too many people so self absorbed and concerned with views on YOUTUBE that if something awful happens instead of helping their fellow man they whip out their phones and record the pain and violence instead. We live in a world where people are so busy following air headed stupid celebrities and watching reality tv shows that they dont strive to make their life better. They live in misery,they swell up with hate and jealousy and then strike out at others. How many people have died because of online bullying? How many more will die this year and the year after that? countless souls gone because hateful souls lashed out at them and made them feel worthless and alone. Unnessesary. The internet was supposed to be a positive thing..a way to learn whatever you wanted whenever you wanted basically free..a way to talk to others and enlighten yourself by being exposed to other cultures and ways of living. What happened...it bred a community of hateful angry self loathing trolls who search out ANYTHING to rag on..."omg...your room is so messy..PIG!!!" "OMG..you are so fat..lose weight you chub!" "ha! look at those shoes..omg..horrible!" ect..its too bad that whenever negative comments are posted that a snapshot cant be taken of those people and their names and locations exposed. It would cut down on the cowards alot. To survive in this world now you have to almost employ soldier tactics. Grow a VERY thick skin so you can go through life and live without fear when people shoot verbal bullets and try to make you bleed. March forward and steel your resolve and focus on the life at hand and dont get distracted by the bullshit of trash tv, negative people,self absorbed enemies and entitled fools. Make positive strong people your batillion and band together to add strenth to your dreams and hopes. So trump is gonna be in office. Nothing to be done about that now people. Just come to grips with the fact that no amount of white washing is going to clean out the dirty hate. As long as there are people there is going to be hate..there is going to be at least one fool in the room who will get full of himself and want to rule all no matter what cost. Someone is going to get the notion that hes better then all others and go to great lenths to stand at the top of the hill...and hes going to be clever or powerful enough that other fools will believe him. Dont believe me? Look at who our president is now...nuff said. So,in closing,all you can do reader is just live your own life and give what good when you can. You cant change others and you shouldnt even try. They have to change themselves. im out