#credits to them for that edit that keeps making me cry no matter how many times I've seen it already

[psychologicalseablob]

My angel flew away

I didn't know how to keep her

I hope she spreads her wings

Dancing to a song I couldn't sing

My feelings ran away

I didn't know how to feel them

I've got my love stuck in my head

I've got my love stuck in my thoughts

I've got to keep my love in my heart

And let go

And maybe it's just time what it takes

But I don't want to wait, I want to love again today

"love stuck" by mother mother is about Lily Evans in chapter 57 of "crimson rivers" by @mayzarbewithyou and you can't convince me otherwise😌

[angelbluediary]

[Side note, I’ve seen 12:22 and 2:22 today.]

Something my mom has made a point about repeatedly, when we get into it, is that she doesn’t verbally abuse me the way her mother did to her. She says she has always been a good mom and in many ways seems to credit that with not calling me fat growing up.

What she doesn’t seem to realize is that I’ve grown up listening to her tear her own appearance apart, and that affects me, too. Obviously not to the same degree. But it makes me understand, all the same, that I have to present myself a certain way every time I leave the house and every time I pose for photos. She has taught me that women (even—especially!—your best friends) will zoom in on your face, on all of your faces, and critique and compare and criticize. That every picture posted of you online is grounds for scrutiny. That you have to obsess and despair over every perceived flaw. (And that may be why I always have to edit my photos before I post them, down to the tiniest details).

Yesterday we went to a wedding—a small and casual wedding with close family friends—and while I’m rushing to get ready, she asks me for help. Wants advice on her shape wear that’s bunching up her skin and “feels like torture” and explains why the other set won’t be as good, because it’s old, but then she wants me to help pull it up and pin it to her bra on both sides so it stays in place, and I’m like ahhhhh??? And I’m visibly uncomfortable with that and tell her I won’t be able to do it and she looks at me with such a disappointed expression, with that touch of “how dare you,” that vague trace of “who do you think you are” that I see on her face towards me sometimes (and is always later confirmed by her words in private) so I do. I try. I do my best and try not to think about how badly I just want to fix my hair before our time runs out and I follow her instructions and I poke her by accident with the pin, and she yelps, so I immediately stop and reiterate that see I couldn’t do it after all.

Obviously when my dad got home, he helped her as he always does.

So the wedding service goes great, we’re all laughing and having a good time, I’m feeling really happy because the only other wedding I’ve been to as an adult was poisoned the entire evening with tension between my mom and I (that stupid misunderstanding; the both of us being hungry; me excitedly telling her about there being more food when I glimpsed the kitchen preparing a massive spread in the back; her thinking I meant it was already available and having to wait just a bit longer; her telling everyone for the rest of the night about the cruel joke I played on her, as I lightly laughed along and tried to gently diffuse while setting the record straight; her all but calling me a conniving liar and repeating her “joke” again and again till I finally blew up hours later).

And I’m determined to keep it lighthearted and easy like this, but my mom can’t stand that, apparently. Has to make me the butt of the joke whenever she can. So she tells my cousin about me sticking her with the safety pin, like it was intentional. Like I’d been waiting for an opportunity to hurt her.

By this point it’s 3 pm and I’m on my heaviest flow day, haven’t eaten, and am instantly triggered. And I just shut down. All at once I feel like I’m going to cry, in front of all these people, because she keeps up the joke when she sees I’m not playing along. She loves to poke fun of other people and she never learns to fucking lay off but you can’t say a word back to her with the same energy.

To make matters worse, apparently she had recruited M to help with her shape wear after I’d left. He hadn’t been able to do it, but he hadn’t stuck her with the pin, which she made sure to tell my cousin and the rest of our little table.

Why am I writing about all this?

Because today is Mother’s Day, and I’ve been unemployed for almost two months now, am just now starting to pick up interviews, so I wasn’t able to get her anything elaborate like a custom necklace with all our birthday gemstones, or whatever else I’ve given her in the past, and instead got a candle. A cute funny candle with a scent I thought she’d like that cost almost $30 total with shipping. And I go out there today and sitting on the dining room table is an elaborate basket M bought her, filled with all kinds of nice pampering items. And it felt like the biggest fucking betrayal, and a slap in the face on multiple fronts. Because of course this is going to add to her comparisons between us (even though my big gifts didn’t seem to help my ranking, but whatever). But also How could he? How could M do this? And what a ridiculous thought that is, because what has he done besides buy a nice gift for our mom on Mother’s Day? Yet he’s always going on about now wanting to be the golden boy, not wanting to live up to all these expectations they have of him (and I want to ask, what expectations? You don’t drive, have no chores, don’t get the grades I used to get and aren’t expected to, they shrug or laugh when you admit you’ve smoked weed or done anything, what are you even talking about?), trauma of being a Gifted Student (again???)

His gift, dwarfing mine so ridiculously, is a visual representation of how our mom sees our efforts towards her and towards our family at large. It doesn’t matter how many miles and hours I drive for them, how many days I sacrifice to help other peoples’ schedules, the times I’d keep M with me in Myrtle Beach, putting myself through college entirely on my own loans, that I grew up with household duties and they haven’t, that I set the precedent for buying her nice things with the money I earned, none of that matters.

Living with her is too difficult for my heart.

[desiredmalfoy]

Until The End

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader

Word Count: 1.2K

Universe: Voldermort lives in this

Warning: Curse words were used (not too many). Not really edited, work has tired me out. :(  I’ll edit as I reread again. 

Masterlist

Draco and the reader love each other. But will she do anything possible to be with him? Even going against everything she was taught?

You didn’t know where your parents were. You didn’t know where any of your friends were. Your lungs were beginning to burn as you continued to run down the halls of Hogwarts. You had been running for what seemed like forever. Just running to get away from the chaos that engulfed the school. You were secretly hoping that you would run into Draco. You hadn’t seen him in a couple of months. He had broken up with you without much warning. When you had gone after him for an explanation, he had tried to push you away. 

-----

“Please understand”, Draco raised his voice slightly causing you to flinch a bit. It was rare for him to ever raise his voice around you. 

“I want to understand but you need to tell me what’s wrong.” You cried out as tears were now staining your cheeks. 

“I can’t be around you. I can’t risk him knowing how I feel about you and hurting you!”

“He won’t hurt me Draco! I can protect myself.”

“He will! You know he will. Please (y/n), for me, stay away for now.” Now he was crying, this stunned you as you had never seen him cry. Draco Malfoy simply did not cry. 

“Promise me we’ll be together after this, no matter what”, you reached for his face to wipe away the tears that were falling down his face. Your thumbs brushing away the tears.

“I promise”, his voice cracked. He kissed you one last time before you would be together again.

------

Still running, you heard a voice calling you from behind. You knew it was him. It was Draco. It was him. You stopped abruptly and turned around to face him. There he was in front of you again. Thinner and face features more sunken in, but he was alive and that’s all that mattered.

“I need you to come with me. I need you to be with me when this all ends.” He embraced you tightly in the middle of the hallway. He pulled away slightly to look at you more clearly. Draco ran his hand through your hair affectionately. 

“What do you mean Draco?” Your voice is barely audible at this point. He held your face in his hands, all you could feel were their softness.

“I meant it. Come with me. This war won’t end the way you want it.”

“What…”

“Potter will be dead if he already isn’t. He’s walking into a trap.” He was looking directly at you as he spoke. “This is ending in his favor. Darling come with me please.”

“We promised that after all this was over, we’d be together again.” He was now pleading with you. He let go of your face and ran his shaky hand through his hair. His hair now matted and dirty compared to his usual pristine image. 

Draco was running out of time. Before they came. He was running out of fucking time. 

“Please I just want to keep you safe.” His eyes now had tears coating them as he was practically begging you. “I love you so much darling.”

You didn’t know what to think or what to even say. Your ears began to ring as the seconds ticked by painfully slowly. Time was nothing but a joke, stifling truly. But you did know how you felt. You knew that you loved the man in front of you. He was everything to you. His love felt suffocating but in such a good way. You could never get enough of him. Of his touch, his hands that roamed every surface of your body. Every imperfection, every inch, no part of your body left untouched. His love, it was the thing you craved the most every day. The one thing you would never get enough of in your lifetime. You felt so damn selfish knowing you would never get enough of his love to completely satisfy you. But going with him meant leaving your parents behind. It meant leaving behind your friends. It meant leaving behind your life that you had lived up until now.

“I want you to stay with me. No, I need you to stay with me.”

“And I’ll always stay by your side.” You walked over to where he was pacing. He stopped pacing when he heard you and went straight towards you. He roughly grabbed your face and kissed you with such desperation. It was as if you would be torn from his side any second.

You pulled away in an attempt to catch your breath, your chest still heaving with every breath you took. Your fate had just changed in a matter of seconds.  “I could care less on what side I am as long as I’m with you.”

Draco made a promise once, that you would always be safe. 

And he meant every single word of it. Now, he had you by his side forever.

------

You knew it was coming, you knew what was going to occur. Harry Potter was dead.

With the death of Harry Potter came the death of all that was good. The fire that once burned deep within those who wanted justice to prevail had now been extinguished. Voldermort called for those to join him to do so now or face their fate. You knew what you were about to do.

Draco looked down at you once more before making his way toward his parents who stood on the other side. Beckoning him to join them now. He needed to be reassured you would be joining him as well. You held his hand tightly to show him you wouldn’t let him go alone. 

He took a step forward and you followed his lead. Sealing your fate in history. 

You could see the shock in the face of your peers. The disgust was prevalent on their face. How could you, the daughter of prominent aurors, be switching sides now? It was so twisted to them that you were now joining the evil that your parents fought so hard against. Where were they now? Were they looking at you with shame? You couldn’t hear them and you weren’t about to turn around now. You couldn’t do it.  They would never understand why you did it. To them, you were nothing but a traitor. But you were? 

Draco was all you had left.

He welcomed you with an awkward hug and a sickening smile. His thin lips twisted into an upward smirk at the thought of the fate of those who refused to join him. 

You could still feel the coldness of his skin on yours seconds after he detached himself from you. 

Maybe you were a coward. Were you really if you were doing this for love? But you would do anything for him and he would do anything for you. He would set the damn world ablaze but would never let the fire scorch you. 

Your love with Draco was bloody deranged but you didn’t seem to care. As long as you had him next to you, you had grown apathetic to everything around you it seemed. 

As you stood next to Draco on the side of Voldermort, his hand firmly grasping yours, you knew that you had made the right decision. 

Because Draco Malfoy may have not been your beginning but he was going to be your end. Whether good or bad.

I have read a lot of good works where the reader helps Draco choose to stay on the good side. I was wondering what were to happen but the opposite?? So, this was the result :)

Taglist: @daisyyy2516 @id-kill-to-be-an-assassin @slytherinambitious @bonkybabe @phatcrackdad @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @mischiefisbeingmanaged @instabull @gwlvr @dracostruelove @belladaises

Click here to join my taglist

Reminder: None of my work can be reposted anywhere. It doesn’t matter if you give credit, please do not repost!

[knockknockchicagopd]

❛ A FUTURE COP ❜

❚❙ REQUEST BY ANON: hi i hope ur having the greatest week on the planet , can i request where reader is younger than hank and she tells him shes pregnant and telling him with some fluff

❚❙ HANK VOIGHT MASTERLIST.

❚❙ WORDS: about 2k.

❚❙ A/N: this writing hasn’t been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I’m sorry about that. If you find a description about body or a word out of place, or something that it makes you feel uncomfortable / unrepresented, let me know by a private message and I will change it delighted.

❚❙ GIF credits: to my amazing @sonsofeorl.

❚❙ Tag list: @melblacc @rebelwrites @skyofficialxx @sesamepancakes @scarletsoldierrr @mondefantastique @that-chick212 @enbyamaro @inlovewith3 @ocetevasgirl @sophie-writes @destynelseclipsa @jadakiss13. If you want to be added to my tag list, send me a message.

You have lost the count of how many minutes you've been sitting in the locker room, in silence. Your head is loud enough right now. Hank has left the police station already, and you're waiting the time accorded before doing the same and driving your way to his house. Almost one year and you keep staying there ten minutes more than him, to not make anyone suspect about your relationship. But you aren't sure if you're ready to go.

The fear of losing Hank for what you have to tell him is consuming you, like a big fire reducing your bones to ashes. It's painful, for describing it somehow. The pressure within your chest is going to kill you, suddenly breaking into an anguish crying, resting your back against the wall and curling your legs to your torso. The two of you haven't talked about starting a family. The loss of Justin still being an open wound, bleeding a little bit every day. How are you supposed to tell him that you're pregnant?

“(Y/N)?”

Antonio's voice races your heart, peeking his head out through the lockers. He sounds worried. He looks worried, walking slowly towards you without profering any sharp move. Kneeling next to you, not sure about what he can do, the detective holds your hand to caress the back of them with his thumb; thinking that this gesture can help you to relax. But the sob continues stuck in your throat and the tears roam your cheek like a torrential and furious racing river.

Sitting down by your side, Antonio places an arm over your shoulders, urging you to rest your head on his. He doesn't know what to say. And even if he wanted to say something, his vocal cords fail when your phone dings with a notification and he sees the screen illuminating over the floor. Hank. “Voight?” He thinks raising up an eyebrow, in a mix of curiosity and confusion.

“Where are you? Something jumped off?”

Grabbing your phone and blocking it to keep it inside your pocket, you turn at the man. Your lips are trembling. You're not sure if you can talk, but you need to rip it off from your chest. You don't want to lose Hank, at this point, not even your work matters.

“Ant—Antonio… I am… pregnant”.

Shaking his head slightly, his eyes widened surprised. His forefinger points at the floor for a moment, to the position of your phone a second ago, asking without words if Hank is the father. You nod pressing your lips. He's in shock. You can see in his eyes, trying to find the correct sentence to say. Congratulations? Are you kidding me? Voight, seriously?

“We… started to date… a year and a half ago and… hm… made it official almost a ye—year ago”.

“Who knows it?”

“Only you. No one else. And I'm terrified, be—because… I was there when he lost Justin and… shit, we've always taken all the care, but… this happened”. Biting your bottom lip, as the tears keep filling up your eyes, you try to not cry anymore. “I don't know… how to tell him. I don't know if he wants this. I don't want to lose him, Antonio”.

“Hey, listen now. You're not gonna lose him, okay?” Turning his body at you and adopting your same position, he hits your shoulder briefly with his fist. “I've an idea. Write him and tell him that you're on your way and meet me in the hall”.

Nodding, he shows you a soft smile before standing up to leave the locker room. Cleaning your cheeks with the back of your hands, you do exactly what he has told you. After writing to your boyfriend and picking up your things, you walk out of the place to wait downstairs. Not a minute after, Antonio comes from behind the main desk saying his goodbye to Platt, before following you to the outside.

Offering you the bag he's carrying in his right hand, keeping the other in a pocket, you take it with curiosity.

“This department, his career, is his life. This is a good way to tell him”.

Grabbing the piece of clothing inside it, you read the emblem of Chicago P.D. before noticing the small size of the shirt.

“We usually give these shirts to the kids who come to see the station”.

Yes. That's the better idea. Your lips curve up in a tender grin of gratitude. You can't help but hug him, without caring who can be watching you.

“C'mon, go to his house and give it to him”.

“Thank you, Antonio… I don't… I don't know what to say”.

“You don't have to. Tell me tomorrow how it has goin'”.

In silence, you nod after placing a kiss on his cheek, keeping back the grey t-shirt inside the bag to go find your car in the private parking.

As always, the road is somewhat empty, reaching Hank's neighborhood in a sight. You can see the lights turned on inside, through the windows, and a free place to park your SUV behind his. Taking your time to leave your car there, you step out having a deep breath trying to calm yourself and your nerves. In your head dance a lot of possible ways about how he will react, and every one of them scares you like never.

Putting your eyes on the bag, you find the needed encouragement to come into his house. Leaving your backpack at the entrance, you lead your steps to the back garden, finding Hank sitting on a wooden chair, leaning forward and shaking his knees nervously. You haven't come this ‘late’ before. But as soon as you sit by his side, placing the bag over the dinner table, he feels less agitated.

Resting his back against his chair, tangling his hands over his abdomen, he can't help but feel curiosity about the content of it and the worrying installed on your face.

“What kind of hell are you into, hm?”

Rubbing the line of his jaw with his thumb, he intertwines his hands again waiting for a response. Maybe we need to talk aren't the words you want to choose, but they're the ones that escape from your throat. Watching how his face hardens, you gulp before licking your bottom lip.

“I don't know how it happened. It's not like… I planned it”.

“Don't beat around the bush and be clear with me”. Hank gesticulates with his forefinger, as he always does when he's losing his nerves. “That's why you have been acting distant, right? If you don't want to continue, just tell me”.

He hisses the last three words, hiding the misery in his tone of voice, leaning forward to you. And that really hurts you, to think that he believes you don't love him anymore. That he may think that his life is not compatible with yours. But that's bullshit. You would make them both fit at any cost, if you would have to.

“What? No, no, no! I'm not going to leave you, Hank. I don't want to”.

“Then, what is this about?”

You can't help but close your eyes and take a deep, deep, deep breath until you feel your lungs about to explode. Expelling the air through your nostrils, you decide to give him the bag instead of continuing screwing up the situation by using the wrong words. Frowning, he slides his hand inside it to take off the shirt of small size. Putting it between his fingers and in front of his hands, Hank raises an eyebrow without understanding what that shirt means.

“You stole it?”

“Technically… It wasn't me, but… Antonio”.

“Antonio stole a shirt and gave it to you, because he doesn't know how to return it?”

Moving your lips in silence, trying to say something, you can't believe he's really this fucking dumb. Shrugging he keeps it back inside the bag, pressing his lips.

“I will do it tomo—”.

“To be a detective, you're too stupid, Henry”. The laugh fills up the garden for a moment, starting to feel less scared than five minutes ago. “Hold the shirt again and put that brain of yours to work”.

He grunts tired of your games, doing what you just told him. Placing it stretched over the table, your boyfriend seems thoughtful rubbing his chin. Looking at you sideways, he shakes his head not getting what you want to tell him, turning towards you clapping his hands.

“I hate riddles. Spit it of a damn time, sweetheart”.

“I'm pregnant”.

Hank doesn't move a single inch of his body, as if he hadn't listened to you. His brown eyes are glued on yours. He doesn't even blink, looking at you as if he's studying your face to make sure himself that it's not a macabre joke. That you aren't kidding. That you're telling him the truth. When he kisses his lips, still remaining silence, you feel at the edge.

“Listen, I was scared of telling you. Not only because it means that people should know we are together, but because I don't know how you feel about it. But I swear for my badge, if you don't say anything in ten seconds, I'm gonna punch you in the face. And believe me, I have had a horrible day, Hank. Got too much rage accumulated in my hands”.

“I don't know what to say”. He whispers while you finish your threat.

Barely breathing, you nod, licking your incisors, putting your gaze away somewhere in the garden. It wasn't the response you wanted to hear, but it was the one you were waiting for. Being sure that he's going to end your relationship, but at least taking care of your baby, the tears fill up your eyes, reddening them again.

Cleaning a furtive one running down your left cheek, you get up from your seat about to leave the porch to come into the house, grab your things and go to your apartment. The only thing you were afraid of since you met him is now destroying you slowly. But Hank doesn't let you pass him away, gently gripping your forearm to make you take a step back and sit on his lap.

“I'm sorry…” You sob covering your face with both hands, not being able to look at him.

“Why?”

“I just… I don't wanna lose you. I've never felt happier in my… fucking life, before meeting you. I'm my best version since we're together. I lo—I love you with all my heart, I swear it…”

“Is this because of Justin?”

Your cry suddenly stops, using the sleeves of your jacket to clean your face, raising it towards him. It's been a long time since you talked about his son for the last time, keeping the mourning for himself.

“I saw you, Hank. You were devastated… Your wound is still bleeding and it's okay. It's normal, I understand it. I will never tell you to not cry for him. I didn't want you to… feel like I'm trying to cover this hole in your heart, just because the only thing I want is you to be happy. I didn't wa—”.

“Justin died, that's a fact. I miss him every day of my life. I should have been a better father for him. Maybe he would be alive now, maybe that night wouldn't have ever happened. But that doesn't mean I don't want this”. He points at the grey t-shirt, giving you some hope. “There's no one who cares more about me than you do. I've imagined my life with you thousands of times. How it would be to have a family together. Do the right thing, because it's never too late to change. And as you said so, you made me a better man too. I want it, (Y/N). I want this life with you. I want this kid. And I want you”.

You pout at him, feeling much better knowing that everything is clear. Placing a hand on the back of your neck, he pushes you closer to catch your lips with his to transmit you all the happiness and the tenderness he has inside his soul, after giving him this second chance in life.

“We will talk with Crowley and Platt tomorrow, okay with that?” You nod in response. “So… Antonio knows, uh?”

“Yeah, he… found me crying in the locker room and saw your message on my phone. It was his idea”.

“He had a good one”. Hank assures while chuckling, urging to rest your head against his chest. “I will give him a biscuit tomorrow, you know, for being a smart dog”.

“He wasn't in Narcotics for anything…”

[mimibtsghost7]

Fuck you and all your little brain washed rats sending people hate because you cant take responsibility for your actions!! But go on stay silent like you always do, pretend its nothing of your business, keep being a fetishizing racist delulu like you love to be while pretending to be the best blog on tumblr!!!

NOT like anyone will see this but YOU will so LET’S GOOO!!!~~

TW: mental health and more (if you feel like this can trigger you, pls don’t read this, breathe in and out and listen to this HERE and remember I love you), loads of tea and Mimi NOT being a friendly and kind ghost. 

funny enough: 

I never pretended of said I was the best blog. But I guess the fact that you say it might be because you heard it frequently? Thanks for thinking so^^

I sent hate to no one and u r the one sending it to me rn ^^ In my whole 4 year journey on Tumblr I received a lot of love but also worse hate that you can imagine. Yes you are saying now you are receiving hate ... funny how it’s bad when It’s addressed to you but when it’s at me and my dear followers it is not. Still, I never told anyone to go hate on you. You were the idiot that tagged my old blog and as soon as my blog was gone pple searched me and found out you were the reason behind this. But as you keep hating on me. Let me tell you I am kind but don’t mistake that for me being a coward.

I am not into insulting others and I don’t care much if you insult me. BUT don’t YOU DARE touch my dear followers. Insulting ain’t hard. Let me try: The only rat here is you hiding in your hole as an anon. I went and compared your writing with this ask and previous hate asks. And it was you~ Good for you~ the sewers smell just like your filthy mouth spilling sh*t left and right. So on brand. However, I know who you are @hobisbeautifulass Hi ^^

Me racist? HAHAHAHAH you truly know NOTHING about me nor my ex-blog’s message. It was a place when you were welcomed no matter your skin color, religion, gender ... proof? well it got deleted thanks to you. but ask around this time and search for who reblogged my posts as they were always the top of the tags (even if I don’t trust how bad you are at research). I supported the BLM movement and still do and will always do but I did so veeery early without anyone telling me. Not for the notes but because of my humanity. I wished my dear followers’ happy holidays no matter their religions. And never cared about those things. Why judge someone on something based on religion or how they were born. As for the LGBTQ+ community, I was always and will always be there for love being love. I talked about mental health and opened venting nights. I helped left and right and when I was receiving hate because of people like you spitting lies about me. What did I do? Did I go online and called people bad? No. I looked back at myself and asked myself if I did anything wrong. I tried to educate myself and apologized sincerely when I had to. I read books and watched documentaries to learn how to become a better human. AND never repeated a mistake twice. You tend to forget that our cultures are different and sometimes you grow up to see some things as normal when they are not. This is not an excuse tho, so I always believed that I was lacking and if someone had something to say against me, there is a chance they are right and just in case I should reflect on myself. But for your case it was pure nonsense. ME? a stalker? how can I stalk when I have social anxiety and at that time couldn’t even leave my room? I am even afraid of taking public transportations and just the other days I was crying from joy when I took a taxi alone. they said I was in Japan stalking Jimin and Jungkook and took a pic when I was NEVER EVER was on that land. You put me on the same list as people who bought info about BTS’ flights to be on the same plane as them? I was stalked before and let me tell you it ain’t cute and fun. I am even scared of the idea of being followed. that’s why I never shared openly my age, country, or anything about me on my blog. that’s why I have no personal social media to this day and that’s why making my ex-blog was some sort of miracle in my life. 

Silent? yes I was silent when I received hate and didn’t even vent to my dear followers or pointed fingers. Why? because I thought as my day was hell I shouldn’t make anyone’s day worse. I was worried about my dear followers with mental illnesses being triggered. I tried to take my life so many times I lost count but I still came here and smiled. It was my safe place and you took it away. Yet, I should pity you? You hated on me first for no reason and you know it deep inside but right now you are trying to convince yourself that you are the angel and feel no guilt. Compared to you. I pointed fingers at no one and didn’t name you when my blog was gone. Why? because compared to you, I thought you will not be able to manage the hate and what was done .. I didn’t want you to suffer the same way I did when you are the one who made me suffer the most the past couple of days. But the kind Mimi is someone you will never remember because you dared touch the friends I love and calling them names. I don’t mind people insulting me but don’t you dare touch my people. I know myself best. My dear friends/followers know me best. I thought ... I could leave without this mess but you keep barking in my ask box and it’s annoying. I left this backup account just to talk to my friends and yet you are here to ruin things again? I should stop being kind to the ones who deserve non of it. I ignored you when I had so many followers and you went silent too because you were scared of me. But as soon as I lost my blog because of you, you went, edited and then reblogged that stalker post. How can I be a stalker? do you even know the definition of a stalker? do you even know shame? well .. I don’t think so.. you said it yourself. You are NOT ashamed (and you reblogged that so many time lol). 

Death threats? this is no competition but thanks to people like you I have been there and wish no one to be there not even you. The only difference is that you almost killed me for real. You were not the sole reason? Great job walking away from you beloved word: RESPONSIBILITY. And I didn’t get just anon hate, I got literal tagging by people like you, DMs, and people pointing guns at me. That’s why I didn’t mention you. I was worried about the one who took away what I worked for for 4 YEARS. I was more sad and concerned about the ARMY fandom here. Do you know how many rely on my updates? do you know how many people said I helped them? do you know any of that? do you think 200k people were “rats”? Do you think if I did and say wrong thing I will not be questioned by those people. I always told my dear followers: “friends, if I do or say anything wrong or share anything that hurts anyone please tell me. I am willing to learn from everyone.” But what did you know? what did you do? Well ..  guess you love notes? As the most notes you ever got and the most attention was when talking about me? 

Love how you talk about fetishing when my blog was what people call “family friendly”. I also like BTS. I love them for their music, talent, personalities and the happiness they give me. I also enjoy BTS’ bond and love their interactions. I posted content of all kinds of interactions JM X JK, JK X V, V X JIN, JIN X SG, SG X JH, JH X RM, RM X JM ... If you are calling this fetishing asian men just because I scream over BTS as a fan and love their bonb. Then aren’t you against the idea of being an ARMY? I was a clear OT7 and you were told that you weren’t right: 

 Then you answered this without even explaining the nonsense about me: 

idk .. I am trying to find sense in your nonsense so .. wait wait let me look at the definition of fetishism first. 

Fetishism /ˈfɛtɪʃɪz(ə)m/ noun: a form of sexual behavior in which gratification is linked to an abnormal degree to a particular object, activity, part of the body, etc.

Then .. judging from your URL alone hmmm ... cute. I won’t even talk about the SMUT you write that is full of kinks and fetishism. Well I have no problem with fan fiction but the irony you spit is out of this world.

Also, I made money out of mimibtsghost? HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAH no lil one. I worked day and night for FREE. At some point when BT21 just came out and there were no products on AMAZON or anywhere but S.Korea, someone reached out to me to offer 20% off or something for my dear followers. When they asked what I wanted I said what about international giveaways for my dear followers. Basically, made gifs, found content, updates, analysis, edits, and so on for free. Again, w-wait .. Aren’t you the one asking for commissions? Well .. It’s not wrong. But again THE irony. 

So, I went to see that post you made about me with “PROOF” and it was just another person who was salty as I got them blocked I can’t even recall who they were but oh well. Their arguments according to YOU and many should be taken as FACTS just because they said them?  You said HERE that your first comeback was MOST:7 that came in just last year (2020) SO what the hell do YOU know about what happened years before you came when all the proof you pointed at where baseless without any backing?

Let’s see this so wise person you used to delete my blog and what I have done ^^

The gifs: There is a story to this. The first week I came to Tumblr, It was my first time on this site and the first time I share anything. I shared some content and my analysis had a lot of notes for a small creator that started just a week ago. But I made a mistake, I found a gif and posted it while crediting the gif maker. At the time I had NO idea it was wrong. I logged off and after 5 hours I log in and there was a WAR for that ONE gif. The big blog had me blocked and her friend was telling me to take it off. As soon as the person told me I did IMMEDIATELY and apologized againa and again and told them to tell the original gif maker to deblock me as I want to apologize directly and that they can block me after that. They did and I apologized but they just kept insulting me. Of course it was MY mistake and that’s why I apologized. But for them. for a mere gif (yes I say a mere gif because I made so many gifs and they were used on all platforms but I never thought it was necessary to hate that much on someone like they did to me). That blog was big and had big blog mutuals. Thanks to that, I became someone you do NOT become mutuals with but block and never reblog content from. Without any big mutuals. Without any shoutouts. Only my love for BTS, my dear followers’ support and my hard work.. My blog, became bigger and FAST (I got 10k in less than 6 months after I started) and that brought loads of jealousy and thus more rumors. Even if, I apologized and since then made my own gifs. And I made SO many gifsets that I can’t remember how many there were. What I can recall is at some point I made them daily and many times a day.

Ships Jikook? I posted content of ALL the members interactions. I was here at a time where Jikook stans and Taekook stans where always fighting. BUT I posted about both and even made so many posts to encourage loving all the members and all the interactions. I also used the tags solely used for shipping with other big tags to show that BTS’ interactions are all important and their bond is beutiful. That our fandom shouldn’t hate on a member just because they are not part of a ship we like. And wait .. even if I shipped Jikook? I got called ALL those names by someone who ship the members with readers and write sexual scenes? Like, wait ... I am truly confused. Like, write fanfic and do all you want as long as you hurt no one I guess but why am I getting hurt for doing non of it? Like according to you, the person you should be cancelling is yourself?! I am also not into cancel culture like you so hahah whatever.

Posted stalker pics: well wow the story changes each time. Next thing you will hear that I was the one holding a camera for a member in a Vlive lol. Let me teach you about this update thing I was doing. I follow accounts I trust and that’s how we get info circulating fast. I always do reasearch but sometimes mistakes are made. For example when lately people shared pictures of BTS leaving their virtual concerts and schedules. There was a watermark of a news outlet. Normally we trust those but only later we realized that those people stalked BTS. You clearly can’t know it all. But I still didn’t share many pics related to many events (I will not name those as pple can search them even now because some pple never deleted those). And all big accounts shared many pics then deleted later. This happens all the time but it happened like ONCE for me. However, I am called a stalker for that? 

When Jonghyun passed away ... I don’t even wanna recall that night as the memories just ... when that happened I posted about it and send my condolescences. that post had over 10k notes and was at the top the tag. Why did I do that? I was devastated. Yes, many were but I will talk about me rn: I was suicidal the days before that and one of the songs that I listened to when I was broken where by him. I has been in the kpop world since 2006. And learned about his group since their debut with ‘Replay’. I was never a stan but I still knew of many groups and listened to all the songs I liked. I was very sad when he was gone and ANGRY mostly. Why is this angel leaving? Why is someone like me still here? Why did I not leave instead of him? How much did he suffer? And in the midst I posted a post from twitter that stated how agencies usually put down pple with mental illiness and hide it in the industry. Yes, that was important but NOT at that time. I shouldn’t have posted that and I realized after 5 min of doing so that it was WRONG. So I deleted it FAST but it kept being reblogged and I kept getting hate and people telling me: “Go kill yourself”... the sad part is that I almost did as my answer was “true ... why am I still here?” I apologized and logged off then to this day won’t forget crying at 3 AM while walking outside next to my dad. I was outside as I couldn’t breathe anymore and the idea of seeing the walls of my room was hell. I cried and cried and the teary eyes that my father looked at me with are something I am ashamed of to this day. To add one more thing while I am spilling the beans. I hate learning about someone dying. My grandma passed away sometime before that and it was so shocking to me. and some people came and told me when I was mourning her: Go follow that bitch of grandmother of yours. And for what? At that moment I didn’t think I would live to see the next year but I went to therapy and took medecine that was hurting and made me shake all day just to turn somewhat sane. No one knew tho ... I smiled all day and cried all night.. Even on the blog I fought no one of the ones who hated me. I just blocked them but even that was an insult to them?

Again, you said no one should defend me. Yet, you were ready to fight whoever touched anyone around you. What about changing your URL to beautifulassirony

Also THE hypocrisy. If you are sorry then why are you answering an ask of someone isulting someone you want to apologize to? Just make a post wher you apologize or ignore it from the start?

One more thing but surely not the last. You said you were good with research which you are NOT. So, let me show you what an OG detective ARMY can do. But first, as I was scrolling I saw some of your “work” (let’s not even talk about those gifs) and I am just giving my point of view here: I hate how you painted Namjoon as this horny-idiotic-make-dog. Like I get it it’s a fanfic or Namjoon as a dad but ... Namjoon is such a smart man who is very respectful and ofc he is a human with needs like many but what the hell is this way of portraying a character? Also a character is not cool, amazing, and a strong woman just because they curse and belittle their partner. 

Oh well, only you kept reblogging that as it show 36 reblogs when only 33 as still there when I looked and out of those 13 reblogs are yours? (you might have reblogged it more) but again some people might have liked ... people have different taste ... so ... whatever. 

Let’s continue, shall we ^^. You said you were the victim here when I was the one getting robbed right? How can I believe someone who reblogged the post below and was proud calling themselves an abomination or how the Oxford dictionary defines it:  a thing that causes disgust or loathing. For once you weren’t wrong.

What can you expect from someone who has the “I am not like others” kinda mentality while stating relatable things that everyone goes through?

This is getting pretty long. So to sum this up. You are now telling others that hate is NOt ok and that they should be ashamed of themselves when you yourself is not ashamed of hating on me?

I am not the type that sends anon hate. I might ignore some barking but the past days you came and bite me hard. I face the ones I have to face without fear. I know I am not the bad guy here and I don’t care much what you think about me. Even BTS got haters. This says a lot. BUT do NOT dare talk badely of my dear friends/followers. You said you do research well? Start by deleting the post below that was originally by ME from your blog ... oh how meticulous you are. From your baseless receipts to your twisted logic. Indeed people on the internet can say anything and it will be FACTS. You painted me as the devil and painted yourself as this researcher? What’s next you receiving a Phd in ‘pity me’ after your MBA in lies and irony? Whatever~ 

Whaaatever~ Karma will have upcoming talks with you. No need for you to apologize. I never cared about you and you only got attention using me. But I am not here anymore how will you get that blog running now? Are you gonna add me in a fanfic next? No need for you to send me my appearance fee when you do so~ And no need for you to apologize to me just apologize to you conscience if you have any left.  As for me @hobisbeautifulass​ you are just someone I will forget soon anyway~~ 

And because according to what you said HERE when you described the things you hate about people and I thought that was VERY close to how you treated me. Thus, you might really not stand yourself rn.

Do.Not.Worry. BTS are starting the Love Myself campaign again and just in time for you to jump in (you are good at jumping to conclusions about me so I won’t worry about you). I know you don’t like me or my friends but be sure to love yourself at least ^^ 

You are a Hobi stan? Then learn from Hobi to share some sunshine not bring the storm. Have a good day~

[dinthehottotty]

Catch Me If You Can

Summary: Din finds new meaning to old words.

Warnings: Straight, unadulterated, violently disgusting fluff. It's gross.

A/N: translations at the bottom. No editting.

Those five stupid words got him everytime. They always stirred a childish rivalry between the two of you and he hated it. He was well and grown, those insignificant words should have no effect on him.

But they did.

From the time you were both foundlings it burned him. Not because you were faster than him, because he managed to grab you everytime, but the fact that it always worked on him. He idly wondered if that's why he was so drawn to bounty hunting. Had you trained him to chase?

Often times, when he's flying through the endless streaking that is hyperspace he thinks about you. Hyperspace is to you as visiting the armorer is to his parents. The whirring of hyperspace makes him dream of you saying that like some sick nightmare.

He remembers the first time it's said to him, a couple weeks after he was rescued. He'd seen you, both of you young enough that you hadn't sworn the creed. He remembers you watching him with excited eyes and sneaking over to him when all he wanted was to cry again over the loss of his parents.

"It's easier not to think about it," you'd told him, "and when you do, think about the good things." It had surprised him. He'd never spoken a word, he quickly discovered you were a foundling yourself, rescued only a short time prior. You'd eased him a bit, accepting his quiet nature with your chatty one. He thinks often of your cheeky smile from youth. It's hard to imagine what it looks like now, all he sees when you laugh is just the endless times as children he saw your grin. How you stayed so upbeat he didn't know.

But when he'd dried his tears you begged him to play and he had. "Catch me if you can!" Was shouted and so began his rage because you flashed a devious look over your shoulder as you ran.

You dared him to try.

Then it continued.

Catch me if you can, as you were trained to fight and he'd chase you across the training fields. In the middle of brawls, you'd call it out and he'd immediately turn to chase. It was purely instinctual. How you found him that one time on some outer rim planet, magnitizing trouble his direction, he decided you were bad luck. You'd weezed it as you both sprinted from an unidentifiable creature that was ready to tear you both limb from limb. He'd punched the back of your helmet for it when you were both in private (and you found it hilarious as he shook his knuckles free from pain).

It turned into a joke you'd say. Because he might be faster than you but he always have to push himself to keep up with you. It was competitive but effortless on your part and that brought out the childlike indignation he buried down. You pushed all the buttons in the perfect sequence to rile him up. He hated it. He dreaded it.

You'd appear in the furthest reaches and the most annoying manner, sneaking up on him to whisper it like it was the funniest thing. Swooping in to steal his bounties at the most inconvenient times. He never understood it. You'd catch them just before him and dump them at his feet like a lothcat dropping a womp rat on its owners doorstep. Smug and proud.

You'd jibe him with those five words whenever you could. Some of the most difficult, dangerous bounties that could yield a mighty reward and you'd just... hand them over like it was nothing.

It frustrated him to no end. But there was nothing in the world that felt better than sacking you to the ground, he swears. He loved to win against you, even if it felt like you let him. He always second guesses himself when it happens because you laugh! Like it's all in the fun.

You snare him everytime with that line and he knows he's lost. You were a fierce warrior and honestly he was glad you didn't bounty hunt often. If you did he wouldn't have even half the credits.

You swore the creed before he did. Earned your signet before him. Won a blaster before he did. It was endless chasing and even when you lost he could never understand just why you seemed to enjoy yourself so much. He could never tell if you were a rival or a friend but deep down he always hoped it was just an annoying friend.

He felt like it was a waste of your talents for you to transfer to the covert under medicine instead of mercenary work. To be honest, though he had seen you work, fingers flying effortlessly. They were steady, even when covered in blood.

He tried to tell himself that he was just too exhausted from the last bounty to not clean up his newest wound. A few shallow stabs that he'd acquired in the scuffle of a twi'lek that refused to give in. Din had closed it with an emergency cauterizer but it was mess and awkward, especially the one on his hip.

The excuses kept rolling in his head of what he'd tell you on why he didn't just clean it up himself before he realized he couldn't stop thinking about your modulated laugh or the lightness of your gloved touch compared to his. (He was fully aware of how hard you could hit and was always amazed by the delicacy of your gentle touches.)

It was after he left the Cantina, delivering bounties, collecting rewards, internally punching Kreef, that he finally just admitted he missed you. He missed the only person he might call his friend.

Din is aware that this will be the third time in the last two months that he's sought you out in this manner. That it's becoming a habit instead.

So he tries not to limp to badly to the convert. When he reaches the medical room he feels disappointed that your armor doesn't catch his eye at first. You'd probably been requested on a mission, somewhere important.

That is until he spots you half hidden behind a curtain, hunched over another mandalorian and focused intensely on whatever was under the bandage you were staring at.

He'd seen you do that. You were evaluating. You'd stand still as a droid, thinking about whatever wild random thoughts came out of your head. Another thing that marveled him. You were so creative, always looking for a different way to do things, just for the fun of it. It frustratingly worked in your favor but he thinks it's got more to do with stubbornness than good logistics.

He shuffles that way, and if you notice, you don't acknowledge him as he sinks awkwardly into one of the chairs. He keeps his weight off his hip.

"There is an avaliable baar'ur on the otherside, vod." You murmur without looking up. You'd noticed him, however not noticed it was him.

"I'll wait," he rumbles and your head jerks up in response. He likes it more than he cares to admit because your straightening and evaluating him instead of the man on the table who is no doubt glaring at him. Din thinks it's one of the many that float around and boast for your attention.

"Did you get stabbed again?" You demand.

"Not deep." Your laugh flutters about and then your turning back to your current patient who relaxes as your finally return your attention on him.

"If you want an excuse to see me just ask, you don't have to hurt yourself to do it. Just stop by, bring me some shig." You say and begin to pick up tools. When you remove the bandage Din sees a healing wound. You were checking up on him.

"I'll remember that." He can feel your grin through your helmet.

By the time he was settled on the table for examination, you were already hovering over him. He shifted onto his good side, rolling toward you as he jerked his tunic up. He had to unclip his belt to lower his pants enough for the wound on his hip to show.

You were forced to ignore the glorious dark trail of hair beginning to peak out from the top of them.

He very nearly sighed in relief as your hands carefully braced over either wound and prodded gently. It makes his heart race. "Maker, Din," he could hear you hiss minutely. "Do I have to board your damn trash ship in order to keep you from doing this shit to yourself? I'm giving you bacta."

"Don't need it. And my ship is not trash." He grunts, making you twist your helmet toward his.

"Or'dinii," you grunt lowly. Maybe he was a bit of a moron. "I'm taking your cauterizer away." Finally, you draw away and begin to pull out supplies to clean and dress his wound.

"So I'll just bleed out next time?"

"It'd be a mercy." Din smiles under his helmet as you begin gently cleaning his gashes. You knew by this point that he also refused the local anesthetics by now. He couldnt feel your hands the last time.

Din relaxes against the table, calmed by your presence. "Do you want to stop by for dinner tonight?" You prompt him.

"I have bounties to hunt."

"Tell you what, have dinner with me tonight and I'll help you catch your next few."

"I don't need your help."

"Sure. Sure. I mean, you're totally up to catching me right now." Din feels the spike of emotion in his chest and groans in annoyance.

"I have caught you everytime, wounded or not," he growls. "Were not children anymore." He doesn't expect you to lean down to his helmet. It startles his heart into a sprint as you rub your thumb affectionately over his hip bone. What game was this? All he can see is his helmet reflecting in yours.

"If you haven't realized that I enjoy you chasing me at this point, I may have to spell it out for you, Din." Your threat has a mocking to it that pisses him off more, but he's tense under your thumb stretching to the inside of his pelvic bone. It's taunting, teasing.

"What's the point?"

"Maybe you'll have to try again and find out."

And you rose back to work silently on his wound, letting him mull over your words and over think the tension.

Finally, he's patched up properly and sits up on the table. "What time are you done here?" He asks.

"Twenty minutes ago."

"Why didn't you say anything."

"Doesn't matter, does it?" You make quick work of cleaning up your supplies. "So dinner?" You demand. Din grins under his helmet.

"Fine." He relents, climbing to his feet.

"Good. Oh, and Din," you lean close, backing him into the edge of the stone table your hand presses into his chest plate. "Catch me if you can." Before you take off like there's blaster fire.

You let him catch you this time, right in the entrance to your quarters. He tackles you through the curtain and you roll across the floor, laughing all the way. Clearly, you're enjoying as much as you did playing tag or hide and seek as kids. Despite the bite of pain in his wounds he wrestles your arms to the ground on top of you.

"You like this?" He demands, half amused.

"Yeah, you were the best part of my life when we were growing up, it brings me back, you know?" He tenses when you casually admit that. And the silence hangs heavy, only heavy breathing and the tap of beskar chests heaving against each other.

Then he headbutts the helmet to yours. "I... I think about your smile a lot... from when we were kids." You shift slowly under him, legs framing his hips.

"It's strange isn't it? That we've known each other so long and we don't look anything like we did the last time we saw one another." Your voices lowered.

"We... we could see each other again," he finds himself suggesting. You gasp quietly underneath him.

"Like... like leaving the covert?"

"If you... if you wanted. But..." he hesitates, trying to remember how annoying you were supposed to be. "What if we got married?" He feels more nervous than he ever remembers feeling.

"Okay," you whimper, sounding as breathless as you feel.

"Okay?" He finds himself repeating. Your helmet nods frantically against his.

"Yes, okay!" And he's letting you go of your arms when you sound like your ready to sob. He kind of likes the sound of the beskar armor sliding against more beskar, but suddenly he's exhausted and all he wants is to sink into your warm embrace unhindered. Only rumbling bellies reminding the both of you to detangle.

...

His jump to hyperspace was welcomed this time. His brain swimming around you, his Riduur. His love. His best friend. He could embrace the thoughts of you in hyperspace.

Navarro darts out of view and he settles back in his seat, a pleasant sort of soreness filling his body from his eager activities you'd both participated in. He just wished he could have seen your face after the ceremony, but there wasn't enough time.

"Hey, Din," he hears you call from the doorway of the cockpit. But it sounds different, lighter. You weren't wearing your helmet. A thrill of excitement filled him for a split second. He soaked up a moment before he slowly pilots his chair about.

You weren't just not wearing your helmet, you weren't wearing anything. It stalled his brain to see the shy but mischievous smile as you casually lean against the doorframe. He knows the tightened nipples are due to the cool air of his ship and he takes in the face he's been imagining for nearly three decades.

You smile up at him, mocking him. "Catch me if you can," you murmur softly, but there's no motion to run. Din smiles behind his helmet.

There's no rage this time. Only thrill and awe at the face he's imagined a billion times and how he still couldn't have gotten it right. He reaches for his own helmet lifting it off his head to see his spouse for the first time since they were kids.

....

Baar'ur - Medic

Vod - Brother, sister, comrade

Shig - a hot, tea like beverage

Or'dinii - Moron or fool

Taglist:

@lxdyred

[kimyoonmiauthor]

Cultural Dissemination in Kindergarten Terms for Laymen

I have a version that is a tad more academic with citations, but this version is super simplified.

Note: I stole from myself from quora and edited it.

The categories are:

Exchange

Sharing

Evolution of cultural item (through sharing)

Appreciation

Fetishization

Appropriation

Imperializing

In laymen’s terms it’s like this:

Trading

Giving

Making it your own after consent

Seeing, but not touching

Crush/Stalking

Stealing

Imposing without consent, especially over a long period of time in order to diminish the person. (abuse, basically)

If you don’t recognize the different categories… it’s basically what you learned about playing fair in Kindergarten and the basics of consent.

For some reason people have issues when the consent pool is large. Once it’s outside of an individual, and becomes to be about a culture, people lose their minds and think consent doesn’t apply anymore.

And I know people think this is a political move most of the time—but it has nothing to do with politics and everything to do with basic emotional intelligence and consent, which are etiquette rules worldwide.

Exchange

Laymen’s understanding: Trading

Kindergarten Example: You do remember kindergarten when you were told, you can exchange gifts. They get something and you get something.

Cultural Example: Chinese gave Koreans paper. Koreans gave inspiration to China some designs for pottery. (true, BTW). In economic terms, you trade across borders.

Love Philosophy: You got a great gift for your relatives/friends and got something in return. Sometimes you don’t know when, but you feel warm about it.

Sharing

Laymen’s understanding: Giving

Kindergarten Example:  That means usually you get the majority of the item or you get the item back. You aren’t obligated to share, but you are taught that you can. Just like your body autonomy is yours.

Cultural Example: Item is borrowed by museum—often say, the sarcophagus of Pharaohs from Egypt are borrowed. But they are returned at a later date. Once you take the item, it’s not sharing is it?

Love Philosophy: Hey, your friend wants to listen to the same music that you do, so you give them some of your songs. This shouldn’t be difficult to understand.

Evolution

Laymen’s understanding: Making it your own after consent.

Kindergarten: Teacher goes in front of the class and gives you a say, line drawing, and asks you to draw on top of it to make it your own. She gave you the line drawing with consent.

Cultural example: Chopsticks. They were invented in China, given with consent to other regions. But no two regions of chopsticks are the same, and they might be adapted for different uses, like cooking. Chinese chopsticks are traditionally made of bamboo. Koreans out of metal. And Japanese usually think about lacquer chopsticks. This usually comes about by a long time exchange history by two countries such that it builds trust over time.

Love Philosophy: You are more likely to share with a friend and trust that friend to use your items correctly, right than a stranger. And you’re less likely to mind when they make it their own. “Sure you can use this idea, but you’ll give me credit, right?”

Appreciation

Laymen’s understanding: Seeing, but not touching or trying to own it.

You look, but don’t touch or interact with the item. Mona Lisa—did you go and steal it? But you could still appreciate it.

Kindergarten: You can say, “I like your dress.” But you wouldn’t go out and get the exact same one and wear it the next day without the other person feeling hurt.

Cultural example: You visit a museum in a foreign country and admire say, the Sistine Chapel without trying to chip a piece of it yourself.

Love Philosophy: Your friend has a really nice lamp you like. You like the lamp exactly where it is and have no plans to take it because it brings harmony to the room. Your friend might appreciate how much you love the lamp, but has no plans to give it to you.

Fetishization

Laymen’s understanding: Crush/Stalking. The taking of an item without understanding the cultural roots.

Kindergarten Terms: That creepy kid that kept following you around the classroom, though you weren’t friends with them. They also dress exactly like you, which is a common complaint in girls’ teen magazines.

Cultural Examples: Koreaboo and Sinophiles, etc say that the country they are enamored with is superior without listening to Koreans or Chinese respectively. In fact, those voices don’t matter. They will get upset any time a Korean bit of media portrays Korea badly. (Say Greatest Marriage, which got a lot of hate from Koreaboos for the wrong reasons) and then turn to non-Koreans to have people explain it to them. Because Korean people don’t matter, the products they produce are a commercial item to them.

Love Philosophy: (or lack of it.) At low levels, a crush. At bad levels, Stalking. Stalking is not love.

Appropriation

Laymen’s understanding: Stealing.

Kindergarten: You were told not to hit another person or say mean things to them. Use your words to solve the disagreement. Basic consent, right? And what happens if you keep hitting them without consent? They will cry and you will be chastised. Appropriation is a fancy word for stealing. And it gets worse the more you steal.

Say you stole from a house once. They upped the security. But you stole from the same house again, advertised it, got away with it. How do you think the people of that household are going to feel? Repeat it a few times over generations, and how do you think they are going to feel when you’re walking down the street in front of their house. If your entire family has a history of stealing from them and saying “Gotcha” do you think they will trust the next family member that says, “But I’m not like that. I appreciate you.” as they are using your sacred objects in front of you claiming it’s appreciation?

Cultural Examples: There are plenty in the other answers. But Japanese claiming they invented Kimchi made Koreans especially upset after Japanese occupation and denial of the comfort women.

Love Philosophy: (or lack of it) Sexual assault.

Imperializing

Laymen’s understanding: The Bully, harasser, the abuser. Imposing without consent, especially over a long period of time in order to diminish the person. (abuse, basically)

Kindergarten: The schoolyard bully or the bossy kid that wants you to do everything their way.

Cultural Example: The imposing on particularly India by the British government of gender standards into a strict binary, which caused issues later for civil rights for Indian women. This is also why “But, but they wear European-derived clothes” is not appropriation. It was imperializing and erasure. Yes, some of it was voluntary, but also, people are still shamed for wearing their culture’s clothing. And people still try to steal it. So think of it that way.

Love Philosophy: (or the lack of it) The abuser who constantly gaslights.

Conclusion

What you’re missing is emotional intelligence applies to large groups as it does small. And just because one voice in the crowd of many says it is OK to take the cultural item, does not mean all of them agree, and you should defer to the people who do not agree.

Imagine it this way: If your friend says it’s OK for you to take the refrigerator in their parents’ home, are you going to take it without asking their parents if it is OK first? No, right? You’d ask their parents to double check if it’s OK. So why don’t you think about that when you are working with a larger group and trying to understand which consensual mode you are participating in?

The idea is to punch up, not down. So being aware of your privilege and your history with that culture, even if it was not specifically you is important in order to navigate it without hurting people and getting their justified ire.

[soundsof71]

So, considering you are a passionate fan of music released in 1971, I feel justifiably obligated to ask you what you think of Buffy Sainte-Marie's 'She Used to Wanna Be a Ballerina' album. 😂 (Also, it would make me beyond happy if you could post more about Buffy, my friend! Thank you! ❣)

Buffy Sainte-Marie + Crazy Horse - what’s not to love? LOL I confess that it was the Crazy Horse connection that caught my attention first. I had a general idea who Buffy was, had seen her on TV a few times, but I was a big Crazy Horse fan. News that they were her backing band for this album was easily enough for me to scoop it up.

They weren’t doing anything much with Neil Young in 1971 (other than this album, on which Neil also appeared!), but they had released a tasty solo album in February 71, produced by Jack Nitzsche (who also produced this, and would later marry Buffy), and featuring Ry Cooder (also featured here, although did not marry Buffy). 

(btw, the first place that Buffy, Ry, and Jack worked together was on the Nic Roeg film Performance, starring Mick Jagger. People obviously remember Mick in that, but musically, Buffy was the best part!) 

She Used To Wanna... also features Jesse Ed Davis, a Native American guitarist and singer who was a frequent “usual suspect” at these sort of “sure, invite everyone!” jam albums of the era, and played a prominent role at 1971′s biggest concert (at least in the US), The Concert for Bangladesh on August 1.

(I know you know  RUMBLE: The Indians Who Rocked The World, the documentary about indigenous music’s influence on rock and roll, which has chapters on both Buffy and Jesse Ed. I just watched it again recently, and love it! A reminder of Buffy’s pivotal role in classic rock history. Not mentioned in the film: she relentlessly championed the work of her fellow Canadians Joni Mitchell and Leonard Cohen, helping them get their first record deals.)

I haven’t listened to She Used To Wanna Be A Ballerina for a while, so I definitely need to do that, along with posting more pictures of Buffy.  (I can’t believe I’ve only posted two!) 

But I’ll tell you what still stands out to me about that record years later. “Smack Water Jack” is an underrated track from Carole King’s Tapestry that got a ton of airplay at the time. Quincy Jones did an instrumental cover as the title track for his terrific 1971 album, too, but it has somehow faded to obscurity since then. Buffy takes a playful trifle, and turns it into a powerful fable of men of color who explode into violence in response to the violence visited upon them, and self-satisfaction of whites in authority who answer their demands for better living conditions by killing them on the spot. 

No need for a trial when you can murder them in the streets, right? “You can't talk to a man when he don't wanna understand / And he don't wanna understand” hits different when Buffy sings it, and in 2020 for that matter. 

It’s also just a terrific performance whose combination of soul and rock and roll and driving piano in a sort of Old West-sounding context would have made this sound right at home on a record like Elton John’s Tumbleweed Connection  or something by The Band. I’m limited to five video embeds per post so I can’t embed it here, so I'm linking instead: anyone who hasn’t heard this definitely needs to.

Her cover of Neil’s CSNY track “Helpless” has things I like even better than Neil’s original, including Merry Clayton standing in for CSN. Buffy’s version is more muscular (thanks again to Crazy Horse), and taps even more deeply into the isolation of the song that the star power of CSNY somewhat obscured. 

Buffy’s version also made a brief but memorable appearance in the 2018 film Hotel Artemis, starring Jodie Foster. A weird little movie that I loved maybe more than it deserved LOL but I recommend nonetheless:

I know that this album gets attention because of the unusual number of covers, including one by Leonard Cohen, and a cover of a cover that Leonard had made famous on top of that, called "Song of the French Partisan” (hers is the far superior version imo, a song of French resistance to Nazi occupation from the perspective of a woman hiding a resister), but there are a couple of standout originals too. 

I love the title of this record, and the title track is a delightful little stomper that playfully cautions against equating the intentions of grown women with the childhood fantasies they’ve grown out of. More Merry Clayton goodness here on backing vocals too. 

“Soldier Blue” is a powerful song first written for the 1970 film of the same name, billed at the time as “The most savage film in history” -- and maybe it was. It used the 1864 Sand Creek Massacre as a metaphor for Vietnam, and it's still shockingly brutal. It was the third-highest grossing movie in the UK in 1971, though, and the single became a top-10 hit for Buffy there. 

It didn’t do as well here, either the song or the movie. Perhaps not shockingly in retrospect, Soldier Blue was pulled from American theaters after a few days, the Vietnam metaphor not at all lost on the Nixon administration. 

As horrifying as it was, this is about when I was reading Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee (first published in 1970), and Soldier Blue resonated with me in a whole lot of ways. Here’s the song in the opening credits of the movie.

I was also really struck by “Moratorium”, which is the story of “Universal Soldier” (from her 1963 debut, but a bigger hit for Donovan in 1965), coming from the opposite direction. In the earlier song, she blamed war on the soldiers who think that fighting is honorable, but here, she has empathizes with the young men, boys really in many cases, who’ve been lied to by their countries, their parents, and even their friends. They’re not vainglorious. They’ve been duped by people they trusted. 

(I don't think she takes enough into account how many men sign up to fight because they want to embrace and celebrate their worst, most violent impulses, which was of course an undercurrent of “Universal Soldier”, but I appreciate her empathy here. More than one thing is true at a time.)

Buffy goes even farther, though, calling on soldiers to support and validate demands for peace as explicitly supporting them, summed up in the unforgettable cry, "Fuck the war and bring our brothers home!" 

1971 was the peak of antiwar demonstrations in the US, with the biggest crowds ever seen in this country until the 2017 Women’s March. The May 1971 demonstrations pretty much shut down Washington, culminating with Vietnam Veterans Against The War throwing back their medals on the steps of the US Capitol, incredibly powerful stuff to see on TV in my formative years, and Buffy was right there in it. Anti-war songs were a cottage industry for sure, but nobody was writing with the nuance and empathy that Buffy was.

Here’s a 1972 performance of “Moratorium”, Buffy and a piano, and more emotionally bare than that:

There’s obviously lots more to say about Buffy, far outside the realm of protest music that was actually just a small part of her musical palette -- her pioneering experiments with electronic music, her educational philanthropy starting in her 20s, Sesame Street, you name it. Her commercial peak was still in front of her, and while I can’t say that this is my favorite of her records, it does have some of my favorite songs of hers, and 1971 and She Used to Wanna Be A Ballerina is definitely where I went from knowing who Buffy Sainte-Marie was to being a fan. 

I'll also note as I do now and again that while this blog started as an offshoot of a book on 1971 that I’d started but abandoned, I mostly listen to music released now. That’s always been my policy, including in 1971. When 1972 rolled up, I was mostly listening to music from 1972, music from ‘80 in ‘80, ‘91 in ‘91, 2018 in 2018, etc., to name just a few other favorites. (Plus The Beatles, okay? LOL I still listen to The Beatles every day. No apologies.) Honestly? It took me until 2011, in my fifties, when a whole bunch of 40th anniversary editions of 1971 albums got released all at once that made me think, “Wait a minute, this was maybe THE pivotal year in classic rock history!” 

So yeah, the historian in me dug into 1971, but even though I happened to be alive and enthralled by music in that year, what I’m doing here has nothing to do with nostalgia, or any idea that that was the *best* year in music, even if for the narrow slice of music that is classic rock, yeah, it absolutely is. For soul/R&B too, and for the explosion of women artists outside the even narrower confines of pop as well. This is not subject to debate. No year like it, before or since. It's just that classic rock is a such a narrow slice, and I like my slices wide. LOL Which is also why my blog has less and less 1971 content as I go along. 

While my general policy is that my favorite year for music is THIS year, this particular year hasn’t left me as much energy as usual for listening to music. Some of it is These Trying Times™, some of it is my bipolarity and schizophrenia getting the better of me in waves, as is the way with these, uhm, things. (Keep taking those meds, kids!) I listen to music and post about the people making it as a creative act, not a passive or reflexive one, and I just haven’t felt as creative as usual.

(This is also has everything to do with why so many Asks have been piling up unanswered. I apologize if you’re one of the many kind and indulgent souls who’s gotten in touch, but I swear I’m gonna get to ‘em all!)

To get an idea of what I’m ACTUALLY passionate about right now, my “to be edited later” running list of 2020 favorites randomly added to a playlist as I encounter them, to be properly curated later, is at Spotify, cleverly entitled “2020″ -- 94% women, which is about right. LOL 

But since I do in fact listen to old stuff (by which I mean 2019 LOL), I made a list of mostly 2020 bangers from women rockers with some tasty treats from 2019 that I haven’t been able to let go of just yet, inspired by a post I saw at tumblr saying that punk music by women is just plain better (also beyond debate), called “Women Bangers: A Tumblr New Classics Jam”. I’ll be posting an essay with a YouTube playlist soon, because god forbid that I only talk briefly about anything LOL and most of these women need to be heard AND seen.

Like Buffy Sainte-Marie, whom you'll both see and hear more often on my blog soon. Thanks for the reminder! Always a pleasure to hear from you and be challenged by you. :-)

Peace, Tim 

[pixiegrl]

I’m Back in My Body

Luke has a conversation with KayKay that pushes him to re-consider his own gender identity.

Hello all. This was born out of @daydadahlias and I chatting about KayKay in their latest fic and Jess reminded me of part of this series, where I had KayKay come out as non-binary and in turn, it helped Luke come out as non-binary. KayKay uses she/they pronouns and Luke uses he/they pronouns. So thank Jess for pushing me to finish this part of the series. I’ve been thinking about Luke’s gender in this series for a while and Jess gave me the push i needed to explore it. 

Big thanks to @tigerteeff for many things: the original push to write this series, to keep going with this series, for the encouragement of having Luke and KayKay be non-binary. Heath has inspired many parts of this series and I love them for it. Also thanks to @lifewasradical, for the help on this doc and the constant love and support I really wouldn't be half the writer I am without you I love you thanks for putting up with me. And to Mandie, Molly, Brooke and Meg for reminding me to do what I love and listening to me while I ranted about writing. Love you guys.

on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29793279

As far as days go, it’s a pretty average Tuesday. Ashton’s out doing some music things with his friend Matt and Michael and Calum are doing their own weird MikeyandCal things that had sounded vaguely close to sexual. Luke had pouted about being left until Ashton had kissed him and told him it was healthy to spend time apart. Luke doubts it, but it also gives him some free time to go hang out with (harass) Sierra and KayKay at the store. 

Luke shows up close to noon, blowing through the door in a floral sundress and heeled gold boots. It had been one of those mornings, when Luke had looked at all of his pants and felt uncomfortable at the thought of anything masculine. The weather’s nice enough for sundresses now, a relief to Luke’s scratchy brain when he’d put it on. It’s a dress Sierra recommended once, all soft pinks and bright flowers and he wants Sierra to see it. 

Sierra’s standing at the counter, clicking around on her laptop. She grins when she spots Luke, waving him over.

“Luke! Just the person I was hoping to see. I’m putting the final touches on those photos you wanted for Ashton’s gift. Come look!” She waves him over. Luke grins, crossing the store to lean over the counter and look at her computer. 

Luke looks good in them, propped up and posed on the couch they’d used, in his bed (which had taken some convincing to get Ashton out of the house long enough without him suspecting what was going on). Luke looks soft and delicate, pink lips and soft curls and wrapped in lace and bows.

“They look so good, Si. How’d you manage to make me look so good?” 

“Thank KayKay. Without them taking the photos, they wouldn’t look so good. I can only do so much in editing. You’re easy to photograph and KayKay took such good photos of you.”

“I’m not a particularly good model. KayKay’s just really good.”

“Give yourself some credit Luke,” Sierra says, smacking Luke on the arm. He blushes. 

“Where is KayKay anyway?”

“In the back. Why don’t you go see them?” Sierra says, going back to the laptop. Luke nods, rounding the counter and going behind the curtain. KayKay’s sitting at the table in the back on a computer. KayKay glances up at Luke and that’s when he notices the name badge. It has KayKay’s name on it, but under that is listed they/them. Luke stops.

“Hey Luke,” they say smiling, holding their hand out to Luke. Luke sits down next to them, looking down at the name badge.

“Hey KayKay. Sierra was just showing me the photos. Are the pronouns new?” Luke blurts out, questions running through his mind. 

“No. Some days are just more they days and today is one of them, so I put my pronouns on my nametag. No confusion that way.”

“What do you mean they days?” 

“I’m non-binary Luke. Sometimes I have days where I feel comfortable being a woman and some days I don’t feel gender connected at all.”

“I...I didn’t know about that,” Luke says, quietly. The words stick with him, something about the feeling about them sitting heavy in his chest. He can’t place what it is about what KayKay’s said that’s sticking with him, but he’s just on the edge of it as he stares at their face.

“Did you really not know I was non-binary?” 

“I guess I just never paid attention to some of the cues or the pronouns you two used or whatever. I feel so stupid now.” 

“If you had misgendered me, I would have said something.” 

“What does it mean?” 

“What does what mean?” 

“Being non-binary. What does it mean for you?” 

KayKay shrugs, pushing a strand of hair behind their ear. Luke tracks the movement, trying to focus on it, to stop the panic in his own chest that he can’t place. 

“I just don’t always feel right in my own body. Sometimes I wake up and I feel okay. I feel like this is who I am. That I’m a woman and it’s okay. That that’s how I want to present myself and be seen by the world as on those days. Some days I wake up and I know it’s not one of those days. I know it’s not going to be a day where I feel right with myself. I feel a disconnect from the person I am. Sometimes feeling right with myself means I don’t feel like a woman. I just feel like me, no gender attached. It changes how I present myself, how I want the world to see me. Sometimes I don’t want to be seen at all. I just want to exist without anyone labeling me or who I am. Some days I don’t mind the labels. Some days I’m indifferent. Some days it feels like I can’t handle it if someone gives me a gendered label and I have to correct them. Everyone’s different but that’s how I feel,” they say, smiling over at Luke, soft and slow. Luke swallows, feels his chest tighten a little bit. 

“Oh,” Luke whispers, wrinkling up his nose. A lot of what they’re saying feels a little too close to home for Luke. The feeling of unrest in their body, of not feeling connected to the image they’re putting on. How the idea of how other people’s perception was wrong to how they were feeling. It all feels too close to how Luke feels. The sense of unease on some days when interviewers would call them all boys. The fact that the lingerie and dresses blur the lines of who Luke is. That no matter how nice it is, seeing the look of want and desire on Ashton’s face when he sees what Luke’s wearing, it was never about that. It was always about Luke’s ability to breathe, the warmth in his chest, the feeling of security he got whenever he put it all on. It was always about how he felt like it was coming home, getting to see himself in the mirrors, see the delicate lines and soft angles, crying the illusion of softness and femininity to his body, the tightness easing when he sees himself in the mirrors. Luke thinks he might be crying, feels the pressure at the back of his eyes.

“Luke, have you really never thought about this before?” KayKay asks, voice soft. Luke turns to face them, sees the look of concern on their face. Luke just shakes his head, pressing his face into his crossed arms. He’s trying so hard not to cry, doesn’t want KayKay to see him like this, even if they’re his friend. He hates when anyone who isn’t Ashton sees him at his lowest. 

“I guess I didn’t want to. I had one teenage panic about my sexuality. I already had the crisis about wearing lingerie and the dresses and everything else. I have had so many fucking crisises. I’m supposed to be happy now, why can’t I just be happy with who I am,” Luke mumbles. He sniffs, trying to stop the tears from flowing. KayKay sighs, scooting closer till they’re pressed against Luke’s side. They wrap their arms around him in a pseudo hug, resting their head on top of his. 

“Luke, honey, describe to me again how you feel when you wear everything?”

“Happy. I feel so happy. I put the first pair of panties on and it just felt right. I haven’t fit right in my own body since I had my growth spurt when I got all broad and tall. I used to hate looking at myself because I felt too big and masculine and I just miss feeling delicate and it did that. It made me feel delicate and lovely and I felt like I could breath. And I have some days where just wearing them underneath my shirts and trousers are enough, where I feel masculine and that’s okay. But I have some days, where I have to wear it all. I have to put on the dress and the heels and I go out in all of it, where I want to deck myself out, I want to be as feminine as possible. I had someone call me Miss in the store once,” Luke says. KayKay hums. 

“How did you feel?” 

“About?” 

“Her perception of you.” 

Luke pauses, considering it. He hasn’t thought about the incident in months. It was one of the few days where he’s gotten dressed up and gone out in public without any of the guys and without going to Sierra and KayKay’s store. He’d woken up feeling itchy in his own skin, kept pulling on layers, the bra and panties not doing anything on their own. He’d had to put on a whole thing, long flowing summer dress and wedges, makeup to match, until he’d felt comfortable enough to look in the mirror. He’d gone to Ulta and ended up poking around the makeup until a sales associate had come over, called him Miss, asked if he needed anything. She’d asked for his name and without thinking he’d said Liz. He doesn’t know what made him say it, knows that even if he had said Luke no one would have cared, but something in the moment made him want to be feminine. He’s never told anyone this before, took the memory home with him. He never even told Ashton about it, the way the feeling of it had settled in his chest, having someone look at him and see feminine.

“It felt okay. Having someone see me and see feminine it just felt so good. I have to be Stage Luke all the time, that it just felt nice to have someone see me and not wonder. But I don’t feel female enough either, ” Luke says. 

“Maybe that’s what it means for you. For me, being non-binary means I have some days where I feel like a woman, like that’s who I am and some days where I just feel like I’m not, where I don’t feel connected to my gender at all. For you, maybe it means some days you feel more masculine and comfortable being a man and sometimes you don’t feel that way at all. Maybe some days you feel more feminine.” 

“Is that allowed?” 

“Luke sweetie, it’s you. It’s all about how you perceive yourself, what you think of yourself as. There’s no right way or wrong way to be non-binary. That’s the beauty of it. It’s all up to you,” Kaykay says. Luke rolls the words around in his head, thinking about them. Thinks about what it means to have a word to describe how he’s feeling, the sense of who he is. Luke’s never felt all the way “female” exactly, but he does have days where that feels closer to who he is than “male” does. 

“Is it?”

“It is. It’s all a personal experience. That’s the wonderful thing about personal gender experiences. They’re unique to each person,” KayKay says, smiling at Luke, squeezing his arm. Luke smiles at them, pressing his face into their shoulder. 

“I think today is one of those days for me. I woke up and I thought about what I wanted to wear today and the idea of anything masculine made me feel uncomfortable. I didn’t feel comfortable until I went through my whole routine.”

“So maybe today is a they day,” KayKay says softly. Luke rolls the words around in his head.

“I think maybe it is. I think today I want to try it,” Luke says softly. KayKay nods. It’s different to think about, trying to wrap their head around it, but it feels good. Thinking about themselves like that, removing the idea of being one or the other and just existing. 

“I’m proud of you Lu. I’m here if you need anything,” KayKay says, kissing them on the temple. Luke smiles, turning to face KayKay.

“Thanks.”

“Anytime. Now, I heard there were photos to show you. Come on, let’s gush about how pretty you are,” KayKay says, pulling Luke to their feet. Luke grins. It feels right, something about it just feels right.

***

When Luke gets home, Ashton’s car is already in the driveway. Luke sits in the car for a bit, tapping their fingers against the steering wheel. They’ve been thinking about the conversation since talking to KayKay, how to talk to Ashton about it. Luke doesn’t know if it’s too soon or whatever to talk to Ashton about how they’re feeling, but Luke wants Ashton to know. They want Ashton to know they’re exploring themselves and what it means to Luke. Luke’s nervous about how Ashton’s going to respond to it, but it’s Ashton. Luke’s pretty sure there’s nothing they could really do to upset Ashton at this point, easy-going, loving Ashton.

Luke turns off the car engine, leaving the car and heading up the steps to their front door.

“Hey Ash,” Luke calls, coming through the front door. They hear the sounds of Petunia’s nails on the floor, rushing to the door to demand attention from Luke. Luke gladly gives it to her, dropping to their knees and cooing at her.

“In the kitchen darling,” Ashton calls. Luke scoops up Petunia, making their way through the house, finding Ashton at the kitchen table. He’s clicking around on his laptop, frowning.

“What’s up Ash?”

“Looking for tickets to Australia. Fucking complicated to find anything on short notice.”

“Not expensive?”

“We’re rockstars baby,” Ashton teases, looking up at Luke. He’s wearing his glasses, smiling enough that his dimples are showing. Luke giggles, setting Petunia down so that they can climb into Ash’s lap, press a kiss to his lips. Ashton returns the kiss happily, squeezing Luke’s hips, letting Luke sling their arms around Ashton’s shoulders.

“You look nice,” Ashton says.

“Thanks. Felt like a good day for it. Went to see Sierra and KayKay.”

“How was it?”

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” Luke says, figuring it’s better to get it over with. Ashton furrows his brow, letting Luke settle into his lap before turning away from his computer to face him.

“What’s wrong sweetheart?”

“KayKay was talking to me about how they’re non-binary and I think I might be too. They were describing it and I just...I felt so connected to that. I don’t always feel right in my body. Sometimes I feel like Luke, like I’m okay in my own body, and sometimes I just don’t. I don’t feel quite female, but sometimes I just feel more feminine and that’s how I want the world to see me. I’m not sure what it all means, but I want to explore it.” 

“Oh Luke sweetie, of course you can. Whatever you need darling, I’m right here for you. Is today one of those days?”

“Yeah. I think it is. It just feels like it,” Luke says. Ashton nods, face open and understanding. Luke doesn’t have the words to keep describing how they’re feeling over and over again today, but Ashton’s easy acceptance and love feels good. It reminds Luke that they don’t have to figure everything out today, that they have time. They have time and they have the words to describe how they’re feeling and they have Ashton. Everything else will fall into place after that.

***

Luke waits a couple weeks before sitting down with Michael and Calum to talk about it. Luke spends the time between their revelation and sitting down to talk to the guys. It gives Luke some time to explore what their gender means for them, wrap their head around the words. KayKay is sweet about it, giving Luke answers and resources where they fail to have the answer. Between KayKay’s support and Ashton’s easy acceptance, it’s helped Luke figure out what they want to do. Luke’s still not sure how to come out to their family or even to their fans, but Luke knows that the only way to do that is to talk to Michael and Calum. Luke hasn’t come out to anyone except for Ashton yet. It feels right though, taking the first leap and telling the guys. Luke’s hoping that telling their closest friends will ease some of the tension and uncertainty of having to tell everyone else.

Ashton and Luke set up lunch with Michael and Calum, invited them over. It felt better, doing it in their own home, in a place of comfort. Luke’s nervous though, has been since they got up that morning, got dressed. Luke’s put on another sundress for the day, opting to blur their gender lines again, on a day where it feels the most appropriate. 

Michael and Calum showed up about an hour again, bringing some fruit salad with them to lunch. Luke’s been trying to work up the courage throughout all of lunch, find a way to work it naturally into the conversation. There hasn’t been a time yet and the longer Luke waits, the more nervous they get. Ashton’s been wonderful, pressed close to Luke and squeezing their thigh to comfort them. It’s just about the end of lunch when Luke finally finds a natural place in the conversation to finally bring it up.

“I have something to tell you guys,” Luke says when the conversation dies down.

“You’re leaving Ashton for Troye Sivan,” Michael says, tone teasing.

“I’m not...what is that the first person you think of?” Luke asks. Michael shrugs.

“You’ve decided to leave the band to become a mime,” Calum chimes in, grinning.

“Okay, I’m never letting either of you guess ever again,” Luke says, swatting at Ashton as he continues to laugh with Michael and Calum.

“Alright, alright what did you want to tell us?” Michael asks, when he finally stops. Luke frowns, lump in their throat. Ashton reaches over, squeezing their hand. 

“I’m non-binary. Everyone’s gender expression for identifying is different, but for me it means that someday I feel masculine and comfortable being Luke and being male. Somedays, I feel more feminine. I don’t want to be a woman necessarily, but I want to be seen as more feminine. I want to be less gendered,” Luke says, swallowing, chest tight. Michael reaches across the table, holding his hand out palm up, signaling for Luke to take his hand. Luke reaches out, letting Michael grab their hand and squeeze.

“What can we do for you?” Calum asks.

“Some days I want to use he/him pronouns and some days I want to use they/them pronouns. I’ll start telling you guys in the morning how I feel, especially if we’re doing interviews or public appearances, so I don’t get misgendered or have anyone refer to me with gendered words. I don’t want to change my name, I like Luke. I just want to adjust how the world perceives me. And I don’t know how to come out online or what to say to our management,” Luke says. 

“Fuck management. You gotta do what’s important for you. Say whatever you want online, we’ll back you up,” Michael says, all determination and indignation. 

“But what about our fans? Or the online response? I still have to worry about that,” Luke points out.

“Fuck them if they don’t want to respect you. I don’t need those fans,” Calum says. Luke swallows trying to blink back their tears. Michael and Calum leave their seats, wrapping Luke up in a hug and pressing soft kisses to their head. Luke knows it’s not that simple, can’t just say fuck it to what management will think or how their fanbase will respond. Luke knows it can’t be simple, coming out, expressing their gender publicly. Maybe the first step is for Luke to change their pronouns on their twitter and instagram bios, letting the world find out as they check their page. Getting to see the fan reaction that way would be incredible, pouring out support for them and letting them know how valid they are without having to make a big declaration about it. Luke knows it’s going to be interviews and explanations, trying to talk to people about who they are, but it’s nice. The easy love and acceptance from their friends, knowing that no matter what, they have Ashton and Michael and Calum on their side. The world’s a little brighter for Luke, getting to be themselves, getting to be happy, getting to do it all with their friends. Right here, wrapped up in the guys and their hug, the world feels brighter and full of love and possibilities. 

[knockknockchicagopd]

❛ SECOND CHANCE ❜

❚❙ REQUEST BY ANON: Hi! I hope your day is going well I just wanted to say I loved your Hank Voight imagine and I wanted to make a request if that’s ok? If you could do one where the reader gets seriously hurt and Voight goes out for revenge and Voight gets even more protective of her than normal.

❚❙ HANK VOIGHT MASTERLIST.

❚❙ WORDS: about 1k.

❚❙ HEADCANON.

❚❙ A/N: this writing hasn’t been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I’m sorry about that. If you find a description about body or a word out of place, or something that it makes you feel uncomfortable / unrepresented, let me know by a private message and I will change it delighted.

❚❙ GIF credits: to my wonderful @sonsofeorl.

❚❙ Tag list: @melblacc. If you want to be added to my tag list, send me a message.

The stab took you by surprise. You didn't see it coming. Patrolling the streets on foot in broad daylight. You were distracted talking with your partner about going to Molly's after finishing your shift.

Then, you felt the cold blade trespassing your blue shirt and ripping your skin and being sunk deep inside your guts. Before twisting it to cause you a worse damage.

Your body went into shock as the blood drew out of your body, falling down without being able to hold yourself from your partner.

Trying to not close your eyes, feeling life abandoning your chest, the voices around calling for an ambulance became farther and farther, until you couldn't hear anything.

Voight and you broke up, after almost two years of relationship because of some trouble you had with him through the fault of Justin, but you never changed your emergency contact.

So, he was the first person to be called from the hospital.

When he came, you were still in the surgery. And the doctors didn't know how much it was going to take them in.

Hank decided to catch your attacker in the meantime, after the situation drove himself insane waiting for less than five minutes without being able to do anything for you. Just being able to walk in the waiting room from one side to another, like a locked lion.

And of course he caught him. One hour after, the man was handcuffed inside the cage of the Intelligence Unit.

Hank used him as a boxing bag, the ten minutes Platt let him to be alone with your attacker.

When the cops came to pick him up and saw that he was bleeding all around, Hank just claimed that he fell down the stairs.

But there weren't any stairs.

The first thing you feel, as you wake up slowly, is a hand tightly holding yours.

Using your free one to take off the tubes stuck in your nose, you move your head to the right over the pillow.

The mattress sinks close to your body, a second before that a pair of rough lips are pressed on your forehead.

You're disorientated, opening your eyelids to find Hank's crystal eyes.

You can't help but show him a fleeting smile, watching him lying by your side to wrap your body with his arms, carefully to not rip off any other tube from your wrist and chest.

“What happened…?” You whisper with a dry tone of voice, because of the lack of wetness in your throat, coughing inevitably.

“Shh… don't worry about that now, baby. It's okay, I took care of it. I will take care of you”.

After three days in the hospital, Will discharges you, trusting in Voight's words.

He's not going to leave you again.

He has asked for a couple days else to be with you at his house.

He has prepared consciousness every corner of his house and he has already gone to yours to pack enough clothes and other things you can need.

Hank's attention is twenty four hours on you, being sure that you take your meds, that you're comfy on the sofa, that you have your favorite snacks and your favorite drinks.

He blames himself.

The 21st District is the most secure in Chicago, in reality. But when you two broke up, you asked for a transfer to the 9th.

This wouldn't have happened if you would have stayed in his district.

You have heard him crying in the bathroom, in the middle of the night, waking you up.

Dragging your feet over the cold floor, pressing a hand against your side when you receive a lash of pain after the effort of getting up, you step out from the room to cross the hallway and place your ear against the door. The sorrow installed in your chest, being aware that he thinks this is his fault, you can't help but push the wood with your other hand.

Hank stands up as soon as he sees you, clearing his tears with the back of his fingers to pretend that he wasn't really crying. He's about to say something when you interrupt him, leaning on your tiptoes to reach his lips with yours. He doesn't move at first, but it takes him only one second to surround your body with his arms.

Your lips move in sync, spreading all the tenderness you can feel for each other. It doesn't matter how many months have passed, you still feel the same love that united you one day. And without breaking the kiss, he squats enough to grab your legs and lift you up, urging you to put them around his waist. You don't utter a single word, placing your hands on the back of his head as you slowly deepen the kiss by sliding your tongue in his cavity to find his.

“I love you… I've never taken you off from my head. I've been thinking of you every single second of my days, since you left”. His throaty voice leads on your lips like a soft and gentle touch, lying you down carefully back on his bed. Your bed. “I don't want anything in my life, but you. Only you. And I'm sorry for all the things I said, for all the shit I did to you, because you didn't deserve it”.

Keeping you embraced between his arms, against his chest, Hank spreads dearly and sloppy kisses all around your face. Taking his time. No rush. His thumb caresses your cheek, while he rests his head over the pillow. Nose against nose.

“Let me take care of you. Stay with me, please”.

Closing your eyes, you just nod getting comfier sinking your face into his neck. You have missed him, you can't lie and say that he hasn't been your first and your last thought after waking up every morning and before going to sleep every night.

[jimlingss]

Hey Kina!! any advice about the LSAT exam you could provide? I’m about to graduate as well, and I haven’t taken the LSAT yet QQ, I’m starting to study now and planning to take it August. I’m in Canada I’m hoping to get a response by December after I finish my application in Oct.

LG and reading comp. literally traumatize me with the time limit and I feel so burnt out whenever I look at the books and plan my time for how many hours i need to study a week. I’m only really only a week in and my head pounds.

I would really appreciate the advice! I’m an absolute fan of all of your stories, i don’t know how you manage to juggle writing with school and upcoming graduation, what a god 🤯

you give me too much credit but hell yes I have advice regarding the LSAT. That exam is really something and it feels like I’ve went to hell and back so I’m happy to help others however I can with it.

I’ll break this answer down with my experience and then my recommendation.

Experience: I started studying for the LSAT six months before I took it. I went in completely blind and started with practice test LSAT 40 and scored about 143. ofc I timed it. When you take the practice exams, you have to simulate actual testing conditions as best as you can, so that means printing it out and doing it with the timing restrictions. The first 3 LSAT tests I did I scored in the 140s. 

I gradually improved and hit the 150s range. At first I did the entire test in one sitting (with breaks ofc) but it’s so time consuming that I started just doing one section a day. But on Saturdays, I did one entire practice test and on Sundays I would mark that + go through it. So on average, I did 2 practice tests a week. 

But then disaster struck when I was stuck in the 150s. 

From practice LSAT 43-70 no matter how much I went through it, how much I studied, I could not break into the 160s that I needed. At best I could maybe get 159, but typically I was scoring 155. Which clearly isn’t enough. I started to panic. I knew I needed to do something different. 

So I picked up The Loophole by Ellen Cassidy. During that time, I didn’t do any practice tests whatsoever. I stopped doing LSAT and went through the book a chapter a day. And while it’s focused in LR, a few chapters really helped me out with reading comp. I think there’s 14 chapters (if I remember correctly) so it took me around 2 weeks to go through it. Maybe I should’ve slowed down but I was running out of time. But the book helped me break into the 160s. I loved it.

I was pretty happy and relieved and from LSAT 70ish-89, I was scoring from 160-169 with an average of 164. 

COVID was a thing by then so the LSAT was online. I had saved the two practice tests they have online and practiced with those and when the day came, I did it in a quiet space without any interruption. I ended up with a 160.

A bit of a bummer considering I was scoring 164 consistently before that but it’s good enough, I can’t really complain. I decided not to re-take it.

Recommendation: Honestly if I had to recommend to someone how to approach the LSAT, I’d tell them to take the first 3 LSAT practice tests blind w/o any knowledge of what it is and without any prior textbook reading. Learn by doing it and get the gist of what it’s about. 

After the first 3 LSAT practice tests, pick up The LSAT Trainer by Mike Kim. I don’t have experience with it personally but I’ve heard great things about it from others. ((For me - I thought I didn’t need textbooks and I could study completely on my own but that was very dumb. I honestly wish I had more time, I would’ve picked this book up + the Loophole sooner)).

After completing The LSAT trainer (try to do it in a month? to not waste time? if possible). Then do a few more LSAT practice tests. I’d say 5 of them? 

After that, pick up The Loophole. Do that within a month. Then just keep rolling with the LSAT practice tests.

The most recent practice test released is your holy grail. That will be the test most similar to the actual test you will receive so make sure you save that one but make it one of your last tests. For me that was LSAT 89 (or 90?) but there might’ve been newer ones by now. There’s no point in studying LSAT 1-39 because they’re so old that it won’t be that similar to what you’ll take. 

ALTERNATIVELY - Sign up for 7sage. I know loooots of people do that. Don’t really know how it works since I haven’t used it but it’s advantageous if your LSAT will be online since 7sage is also online. 

I’d still pick up those two books I mentioned above tho. 

Other Recommendations - LSAT is sooo time consuming that your whole day is basically consumed by it. Not to mention you have to mark it and learn your mistakes afterwards. Look into doing a timed section a day? That’s only 35 mins so it becomes wayyy more manageable.

Also take marking very seriously. You learn just as much from what you did right and wrong as actually doing the timed section.

Another note, make a whole schedule to manage yourself. I made a google document on what I was going to do every single day. What section. What practice exam. What chapter of what textbook. Plan it all and then by the end when you have the plan, you’ll feel a lot more comforted. Like wow it’s not thatttt much + as long as I follow through with this and do a little a day, I’ll make it.

One more thing - take the exam when you start consistently scoring what you want to score. If you want to score in the 160s and you’ve been hitting that mark for the past 5-10 exams, you are probably ready. If you study too much, that’s a bad thing too. You want that sweet spot timing before you’re burnt out.

Also take breaks. Schedule them in. One day breaks. It’s easy to be burnt out.

((I got most of my practice tests for free btw on b-ok.cc)).

Now I’ll be a bit more specific in my advice....

LR - The Loophole helped me a lot with LR. Also I did a lot of LR practice questions and I naturally started to pick up on patterns. But this section fluctuated a lot for me. Sometimes I did well, sometimes I did poorly.

underline the ones you’re unsure about and move on. it’s better to just go back if you have time in the end then wasting time dwelling on it when you could be getting others right.

Reading Comp - At the beginning I fluctuated a lot with this section. But the first chapter of the Loophole really helped me improve and break down readings. The sentences in reading comps are very long winded and purposely written poorly, so keep that in mind. Just read slowly and soak in as much as you can the first time. I was never a fan of the advice of reading it over twice. It felt like a waste of time. Instead, the first time, as you read, try to guess what might be important or a question and underline it. That helped me. 

Games - My favourite section and the section that you can most easily improve on. Just do a lot of practice games and then watch the videos on how others do it. Once you master a game style, you’ll know how to replicate it in the future.

for some reason timing started to become an issue for me later on in the games section in spite of having improved on it, but I realized it was because I was dwelling and double checking when I didn’t need to.

In general: LSAT is a super interesting test as it’s unlike any other test. It’s not dependent on information that you’re supposed to know. It’s not studying info and being asked questions on it. It’s not regurgitation. It’s not memorization. And in that way, ANYONE can improve. It’s a test you can learn. So don’t lose hope!!

And good luck!

((edit - some things I forgot to mention. I tried to pick up Powerscore but their system was so complicated, I zoned out. some folks like the book tho. I’d still recommend the Loophole. also I hope this doesn’t make me seem like a know it all and that this is wayyyy too difficult - I literally started crying once while taking a timed exam. the test is stressful so its ok its understandable to have a breakdown. i sure did lol. so give yourself a break if you start getting stressed.)) 

[hailing-stars]

@febuwhump day 9: buried alive 

BURIED ALIVE

“So, while we’re just hanging out in the bathroom,” says Tony. Peter’s head hangs over the toilet, and he shuts his eyes tight, willing Tony to stop talking. “I thought we could chat.”

“Maybe that can wait,” says Peter, dryly, and miserably. “Until, I dunno, I’m done puking my guts out.”

“It’s waited long enough. Besides, you never call me back, and you won’t talk to your aunt.”

OR

Peter's guilt over a recent run in with Mysterio literally makes him sick.

BURIED ALIVE flashes in neon letters across the screen, the techno theme music plays, and Peter’s eyes glaze over. He’s officially entered The Zone, and there’s no pulling him out of it until his character dies or he achieves the highest honor, a score enormous enough to knock MQB off the hall of fame.

His hand clutches the joystick, and his fingers glide across the buttons, and he can feel Ned staring at him, but it doesn’t distract him from the current mission.

It doesn’t help him, either.

This game ends exactly the same way every game before it had, on level five, when he’s only points away from taking first place away from MQB.

He sighs, and reaches a hand in his pocket, searching for more tokens but finding it empty.

“Shit,” says Peter. “I’m out of tokens.”

“Again?” asks Ned. “How many times have you played this? Exactly?”

“I dunno, not that much.”

Ned doesn’t look like he believes him. He looks worried, and Peter tries to shove the annoyance he feels deep, deep down.

He wishes people would stop looking at him that way. Like he’s just one fall away from breaking and shattering in a way that’d leave his pieces uneven and unfit to be put back together the correct way, the uniquely Peter-way.

“Maybe we should do something else,” says Ned. “Go to a movie, or pick up that limited edition Star Wars set?”

It’s tempting, and Peter wants to go, wants to be anyplace but this arcade, going to war with himself over a some stupid high score on some arcade machine. An environment without all the flashing lights, screaming children, and annoying game music would be a nice change in pace, but he can’t.

He has to stay. Until he’s won. Until he wipes that name off the charts and replaces it with his own.

“I need more tokens,” says Peter, as a way of answer. He hopes the way his voice sounds like a zombie will go ignored.

He walks past Ned, and heads towards the token machine, dodging running, shouting kids on his way. He fumbles around with his wallet, until he finds the credit card Tony had given him for emergencies. Not for the first time, he swipes it at the token machine and receives a hundred new chances to defeat his enemy.

If that isn’t an emergency, Peter doesn’t know what’s supposed to make that list.

When he turns, he comes face to face with Ned.

“Dude,” he says. “Maybe you should take a break. Have you even eaten dinner yet?”

His stomach growls at the mention of food, and his eyes automatically drift towards the restaurant installed into the arcade. He supposes Ned has a point. He can afford to stop his gaming long enough to scarf down some pizza.

“Yeah, okay, good idea.”

Relief washes through Ned’s features, and Peter’s stabbed with guilt. It attacks him from all angles.

He’s guilty for worrying his friends, and his family, and guilty because he doesn’t know how to stop. He’s guilty of the wave of crime overtaking Queens now that Spider-Man has abandoned it, in favor of standing still at an arcade game.

Guilty for that thing he doesn’t allow himself to think about.

Most of all, he’s guilty, because instead of working towards wiping away the current charts on BURIED ALIVE, he’s sitting at a table eating pizza, wasting time.

*

Drops of sweat trickle down his forehead, and a shiver runs through his body.

And he tries ignoring it, the way his stomach is heavy, and cramping, and the way his body is just begging him to take a seat, close his eyes, or more pressing, run to the bathroom and shove his head in a toilet.

But he doesn’t, because he can’t. Because he’s just so damn close.

When game over flashes across the screen, he slams his fist down. He considers what might happen if he didn’t hold back his strength, if he just destroyed the machine right then and there.

“Peter?”

He stared at the screen., refusing to look away.

“You’re not looking so great, kid.” Tony’s hand comes up from behind him, and presses down on his sweaty forehead. “Yep, that’s a fever.”

“Mr. Stark,” says Peter. “What are you doing here?”

“Ned called me,” he tells him. “He was really worried, and so am I.”

Tony wipes the sweat off his hand and into the insides of his suit jacket.

It’s the first time in awhile Peter takes his eyes away from the screen, and the room blurs. All the flashing, neon lights merge together. All the kids, teens, parents combine into one collective shout that threatens to make his ears bleed. The arcade tilts, and the knot in his stomach is pulled tighter.

“I need to get outta here,” says Peter, a shake in his voice.

“Then come on,” says Tony.

He grabs him by the arm, and leads him through the jungle of prize hungry children, beeping game machines, and parents trying to ignore it all.

Fresh, cold air hits Peter’s face when they step outside the door, and he breaths it in, then he bends over and pukes in the on the sidewalk while strangers watch in disgust, while Tony rubs his back, and while the paparazzi snaps photos of Iron Man comforting some poor, sick kid.

*

“So, while we’re just hanging out in the bathroom,” says Tony. Peter’s head hangs over the toilet, and he shuts his eyes tight, willing Tony to stop talking. “I thought we could chat.”

“Maybe that can wait,” says Peter, dryly, and miserably. “Until, I dunno, I’m done puking my guts out.”

“It’s waited long enough. Besides, you never call me back, and you won’t talk to your aunt.”

It just figures. That there’s so avoiding it now. That there’s not even a proper distraction to keep him from the things he’s not trying to think about.

That day comes back to him and hits him with full force, as if were angry Peter had been suppressing it.

His memories are pulled backwards to Mysterio’s twisted game. That dull, grey day the fishbowl guy taunted him with a devastating choice, save May fall from a skyscraper, or save a stranger from suffocating six feet under the earth.

His failure flashes across his mind.

He’d thought he could save both, but he’d still made the decision to go after May first. Once she was safe on the ground, he had bolted to the burial site, only to dig up a man who was already dead.

He’s selfish, and he’s sad. All this bad will stirs his stomach enough to force his head back in the toilet to throw up some more.

Tony rubs his back until he’s finished with his gagging. He puts the toilet lid down, and flushes, and he leans against the toilet, weak and wanting the pain in his stomach to ease so he can sleep and not exist for awhile.

So he can continue avoiding the conversation Tony keeps trying to force him to have.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” says Tony. “That fucking psychopath created that situation to fuck with your head.”

“But I’m Spider-Man,” says Peter. “I should’ve been able to deal with it, without - someone dying.”

“Can’t save them all, kid. No matter how hard you try.”

It’s as if Tony’s words bounce off him. He hears them, but he doesn’t. They don’t sink in. He won’t allow them to, and it’s as if Tony hadn’t spoken at all.

“Suppose I deserve this,” says Peter. “Feeling this way.”

He isn’t sure if he means the stomach cramps, or the guilt, or both, but the alarm that flashes across Tony’s face only makes the stabbing pains worse.

“You only deserve good things, Pete,” he says. “I don’t know how to convince you to believe it.”

*

When he opens his eyes the next morning, his stomach is peaceful, but his memories are hazy. They exist, just vaguely.

And it’s better that way, really. Puking and crying on the bathroom floor while Tony held him and told him it would be okay weren’t exactly his finest hours. Peak teenage embarrassment that he hopes will go forgotten, or at least unmentioned, in future conversation.

He’s ready to crawl and hide under the covers when the guest room door creaks open, but he stays visible when he sees it’s just his Aunt May walking through the doorway, carrying crackers and a mini bottle of Sprite.

“I hear you had a rough night,” she tells him. She puts the sick people snacks on the nightstand. “How’re you feeling?”

“Better.”

May’s face folds into disbelief, and Peter releases a breath, realizing there’s no avoiding it anymore. Not after last night.

“I’m sorry, May.”

“About what?”

“About Mysterio.”

She sits on his bed, and takes his hand. “From what Tony’s told me, you’re tired of hearing it, but I’m going to stress again that that wasn’t your fault and you will not accept responsibility for what some demented man cooked up in his free time, okay?”

“But May -”

“If someone asked me to choose between my own life and somebody else’s,” she starts. “You know I would choose theirs. We’re Parkers, and that’s what we do, for better or for worse, but if someone forced me to choose between a stranger’s life and yours? Peter, that’s not even a choice, it’s an instinct.”

“But May I should’ve -”

She squeezes his hand, and cuts him off, a second time. “You have to let this go. You weren’t being selfish, and you did everything you could’ve done. It’s not your fault. You didn’t kill anybody.”

Her tone leaves no room for argument, so he doesn’t try. He lets her hug him, and even hugs her back. He even feels a little lighter now that he’s been ordered to move on.

*

Tony’s idea of helping is to throw money at it. He goes to the arcade and pays them a ridiculously large sum of money for the BURIED ALIVE game machine.

It’s sitting in the workshop when Peter arrives for their lab hours, along with giant hammers and other tools of destruction.

“I think they do this in therapy,” says Tony. “Something about getting it all out. Healthy destruction. All that.”

“They let you break things in therapy?” asks Peter, apprehensively taking the hammer from Tony.

He’s gotta admit, he’s warming up to the idea of letting Tony pay for a therapist, even if he knows he only said it for that very reason.

“Sure,” says Tony. “Why not?”

Peter stares at the game. The thing he’d been using to distract himself from his misery. The thing he’d become obsessed with as a way to relive the past, take some control. Of course, getting the highest score would’ve never brought back the man Mysterio killed, but obsessions weren’t exactly rational.

“I have a better idea,” says Peter.

They spent the next few hours taking the game apart, piece by piece, and then, and until late in the night, they use the parts to build a new, better game. Something that Ned has to come over and help them program. Something with a less morbid topic.

And Peter starts to think better, feel better.

There’s something cathartic about taking apart the horrible things and turning them into something new. It’s a breath of fresh air. It’s a sense of hope, for himself, that eventually he’ll be able to take May and Tony’s reassuring words and believe them.

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

❛ FOUR DAYS ❜

with Nestor Oceteva.

Request: Nestor x Reader smut???? Any scenario just have smut

BY @firebenderwolf

Warnings: Nsfw, smut and that's all.

Word count: about 1.5k

Aurora says: this writing hasn't been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I'm sorry about that!

Gif credits: to the author, I found it on Google.

Masterlist.

Slowly, you start to feel somewhat awake, because of the feeling of two arms pushing you closer to a warm body. Slightly opening your eyelids, you find a forearm surrounding your neck, while the other is wrapping your waist. And as always, a leg over yours to avoid that you move too much. You're a little surprised to find Nestor lying on the sofa, behind you, when it's still daytime. Stretching a hand to the side table to check the hour on your phone. It's almost half past four. Too early for him to be at home. You can't help but smile sleepy, turning under his grip to watch him rest peacefully. He's wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants, with his curly hair loose and a little wet. Sliding an arm under his neck, you stroke his left cheek with the fingertips of your free hand. Because of a light sight coming out from his mouth, you know he's already waking up. Gently touching his lips with yours, you kiss him in an ephemeral and fleeting gesture. This time, his throat utters a disappointed growl, tangling his fingers in your hair to pull you closer to his face making you laugh with a low tone. Caressing his lips again, Nestor leans a little to finally catch them.

Releasing your legs from his, you toss one over his waist, shortening the distance left. His left hand toures down your body until reaching your ass, squeezing it with his ringed fingers, as you begin to move your hips slowly and unconsciously looking for more friction against your husband. His lips are teasing you, whenever you try to find his tongue, making you sob a little desperate. Nestor loves to play, when it's been more than two days without any pleasant touch because of his work and how tired he comes back home. This time it's been almost four days. He knows you're totally hooked to him, being a nuisance any time he has the opportunity.

“If you continue… I'm gonna put all your shit in a suitcase, to kick it to Mikey's house”.

The mexican laughs loudly, covering his mouth with a hand, taking the advantage to sink your face into his neck. Your teeth quickly find his skin, warmly biting it until making him groan, sideways seeing Adam's apple in his throat going up and down. His fingers tighten your hair, at the same time that your tongue wets his skin, scrubbing his body against yours.

“Don' play, baby…” You plead with a honeyed voice.

“I'm done with this game, princesa”.

Creasing the folds of your shirt to lift it up over your ass, Nestor pulls your panties down by your legs, throwing them to the other extreme of the sofa, before doing the same with your shirt. At another time, he would tease you a little more with his fingers or his mouth, but almost four days is too much waiting. Helping him with his pants and his boxers, coming undone them with his own legs to push them away, he guides his erection to your center; perfectly positioned for him. Slamming you without hesitating, he presses his pelvis against it as much as he can, making you cry out on his lips. Your tightness is already suffocating him in pleasure with every thrust, and every move he does.

“Fuck, baby… I missed you”. He whispers with a broken tone of voice because of the gasps borning in his throat.

Turning you on your back over the sofa, Nestor settles himself between your legs, running your neck with his lips to kiss it, whilst your hand roams his muscled back all around. Ending up placing one of them on his ass, you push him deeper every time his cock digs into your wetness. You can't describe how good it feels, or how desperate you were for feeling him completely filling you up. Traveling down his mouth to catch one of your nipples, he pinches the other with two ringed digits, moving his tongue over it with the tip making some perfect circles. Your moans flood the living room, as he goes faster hitting your g-spot without mercy.

Sometimes, his job is too much for you to handle it, finding him some nights coming back home with open wounds waiting for you to be fixed up, or not seeing him for more hours than expected. But finally, it's worth it when he shows you how much he has needed you, in many ways. This is your favorite one, pleasing you as much as he can. Tangling your legs on his, you give him a better angle to deeping his thick cock to your limits.

“Fuck, Nestor…” You babble with both eyes closed and your back slightly arched, looking for more, needed for more.

“I love how… tight you are after some days, baby”. He groans nailing his hands on your hips, pounding you harder against the sofa. “You like't, baby? You missed my dick, ah?”

“Yes…”

“How much, baby? Tell me”.

“Too much, Nestor… My fingers aren't the same”. You confess to your husband, totally submerged in a bubble of pleasure.

“Fuck, princesa… Were you that anxious for me?” You just nod, feeling his lips touching yours, drowning there your moans. “I'm going to make it up… to you for the rest of the day”.

Putting a hand around your throat, his free arm almost covers your waist. His pelvis crashes your pussy, soaking him and part of the sofa because of the wet he produces in you in moments like these. The rude dance of his body against yours is pushing you to your limits, tucking his tongue among your lips looking for yours in a dirty and desperate kiss. Nestor knows exactly how close you are, just needing his cock to take you to the orgasm, making him feel proud just like every time he fucks you; slow and gentle, or hard and fast. No matter how.

The heat begins to wrap your whole anatomy, from your tiptoes to the roots of your mane, slightly scratching his back with your nails.

“Oh, god, Nestor… Fuck… Please, don't stop”. You beg him, moving your hips keeping in steps with his.

“Cum all over my cock, princesa… I wanna feel it”. He demands speeding up, making you squirm under his grip.

And you can't hold it for much long, falling into the edge when a warm lash runs down your backbone, flowing into your center like an explosion of pleasure. You can't help but scream out his name, with your eyes highly closed.

“That's it, princesa… Fucking cum for me”. He grunts squeezing your body under his grip.

“Fill me up, cariño”. You mutter totally out of control, desperate to feel himself emptying inside you.

Nestor just needs some deeper thrusts to please you one more time, pushing and holding his cock inside you, almost out of air barely breathing and his lips anchored on yours. Your hands nailed on his ass, pressing him against your throbbing pussy while he spills his seed completely.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, princesa”. He tries to say as much as he can. “You like't, ah? Fully soaked by my cream?”

“Yes, baby”. You groan nodding, biting his bottom lip, not wanting to move a single inch of your anatomy. “I missed it too much, Nestor…”

“Hold it a little more, mi amor… You feel so fucking good suffocating my cock”. Your husband begs you, collapsing on your chest but tightly clinged to your back with both arms.

Traveling your hands to tangle them in his black curly hair, you surround his waist with your legs, making him gasp when he discovers he can be a little more buried deep inside your wet and warm pussy, narrowing his sensible skin. Kissing you so filthy that he could make you cum again just like that, his phone starts to ring. Snorting he stretches a hand over the table, palming it until finding it, sinking his face into your neck reluctantly. You know that if Miguel calls him, he has to answer. And you hate him right now more than ever.

“Hey, brother, are you busy?”

“Fucking much”. He can't help but moan softly when you tease him, closing your legs somewhat more around his body.

“Are y—”

“Yes, Mikey, I'm between my future ex-wife legs, if she doesn't stop of fucking move”.

“Traumatizing”. The other man whispers horrified. “Just calling you to give you a day off. Don't answer my calls wh—”.

“'key, hermano, bye”. Quickly hanging up and throwing the phone somewhere over the carpet, Nestor pulls out himself after freeing himself from your legs, to slam you harder.

“Holy fuck!” You cry out between some laughs.

“I'm gonna… punish you in three minutes”.

✨ Tag list:

@starrynite7114 ​ @chibsytelford ​ @dazzledamazon ​ @mara-mpou ​ @sammskellington ​ @gemini0410 ​ @1-800-imagines ​ @briana-mishell24 ​@sassymox @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada @samcrobae @jade770 @witchy-wish @rebel-without-cause-x @xx--day-dreamer--xx @spiced-reads @tita127 @ifoundmyhappythought @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat @angelxshiba @destynelseclipsa @sheeshgivemeabreak @abbiesthings @knowles-morgan @lady-pswrld @minnicelli @marquelapage @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @jadesamhart @mycupoffanfiction @claytoncardenasbabymama @thesandbeneathmytoes @phoenixhalliwell @thewarriorprincessxo @sugary-x-sweet @multiyfandomgirl40 @imanerdychubbyqueen @iambabyharry @firebenderwolf @itsanofrommesir @noz4a2 @peaches007 @edonaspanca @irenne-stans @skyofficialxx @emoengelfurleben

If you want to be tagged, send me a message!

[sodone-withlife]

many faces

here’s something that has been in the works for a few weeks that I finally got myself to finish today. I was watching some edits on YouTube (as one does) and since Aaron Hotchner lives in my head rent-free, a line about death really just hit me, so here you go: almost 4k words about Hotch and Death

All credit to the writers of GoT for the quotes (even though they seriously fucked up season 8), and the last few lines in the blurb are very inspired by Arya Stark’s storyline in GoT seasons 5 and 6. Hope you all enjoy!

warning: canonical character death

word count: 3.7k words

There is only one god, and his name is Death. And there is only one thing we say to Death: not today.

- Syrio Forel (Game of Thrones s1e6)

He entered the world in the dead of night towards the start of winter, after the mother spent over twenty hours in labor. The father, passed out after too many drinks, was woken in time to hear the ear-splitting cry of the newborn. Faced with the dark eyes and dark hair that was so like his own, he could only turn away, hating the newborn’s innocence with a burning passion.

When the father gave closing statements only hours later that day, exhaustion overtook him. And so, the mother locked herself and the newborn in the nursery in fear of the vengeful phantom that alcohol made of the man who vowed to love and to cherish the woman.

Thus the next years were spent like this, the mother locking the door to the toddler’s room, reading story after story and waiting out the phantom. The innocence of youth was the only barrier protecting the toddler, one which dissipated the moment he turned four.

Their first dance was when he was eight and had collapsed in class after having spent hours struggling to breathe through the cracked ribs and move through the concussion that had been gifted to him by his father. When he woke up in the hospital, it was to the sight of both of his parents watching over him worriedly, but one’s expression was too vacant, and the other was hiding a familiar rage.

That wasn’t the last time his father put him in the hospital. It was easy to write off—who wouldn’t believe the only lawyer in town, who had done so much for his community?

Those that didn’t believe kept their mouth shut for fear of their reputation being sullied.

The little brother, young as he was, had no idea the power that he possessed. Ever since his birth, the mother’s skin remained unblemished and free from the bruising that was often there before, when she only had one child.

It was easy to play to the reputation the town had given the eldest. Silent and cold, stealing the joy out of everyone near him just as the dark of the Winter steals the light of the Summer, just as the father stole pieces of his being with every blow and every hospital visit.

He had already danced with Death many times before in his short life thus far, but now they were here to take his father away. He stood at the gravestone a few days later with a bottle of vodka he knew his father had hidden amongst his desk drawers. Now the eldest male in the household, the responsibility fell on his back and dragged him down into the depths of vodka and glass shards.

His Spring found him lying there, passed out with cuts on his arms as his mind was elsewhere, dancing with Death. She was relieved to see that they weren’t deep, and so she called her sister to help her bring him back to their house.

When he woke up with a pounding headache and throbbing arms, he saw the relief of his Spring. As she spent time with him in the days after Death took his father and reminded him of the light in the world with each dark secret he confessed, he fell in love all over again, just as the Spring coaxes the Winter into the light.

Later, he would think of the mottled red that had stained his father’s face and the unpleasantly warm, alcohol-tainted breath that washed over him as he stood in front of the wild, untamed man and took the abuse that was sent towards him as he was blamed for the man’s failures. He would think of the wide-eyed joy that his little brother explored the world with and his mother’s skin that had remained unblemished since his little brother came into the world.

He wouldn’t be touching vodka ever again.

He spent more time at her house, no matter how out of place he always felt amidst a family that was so close and open to each other, and slowly, his Spring taught him about the light of life.

They were lessons he strove to keep in the forefront of his mind in college and law school, even as he stared cheap alcohol and razor blades in the face with shaking hands. He went dancing with Death once, early in college, but he remembered her fear and worry despite the throbbing pain he felt.

He was dumping the alcohol down the drain as soon as he could and making it a habit to put his razors out of sight. He made sure she never found out about that one.

It was freeing to be in college and law school—Death did not reach him there. But soon he was graduating with a Juris Doctor degree and throwing himself into prosecuting crimes with a vengeance.

His father had once walked the same halls he was walking, and that was something he was reminded of each time he was addressed by his—his father’s—last name. Death walked in with each case, a silent spectator as he worked long hours to get offenders put away, to get justice for the victims who were sent into Death’s waiting arms far too early in life.

But it wasn’t always that easy. He knew that going in, but it didn’t take away that terrible feeling as he watched a jury buy into the misogynistic song and dance the defense put up in a rape case. As the defense uncovered some shady investigation on the police’s part and managed to get the whole case thrown out. As he watched a young man get sentenced for killing his abusive parents. As he watched an older brother get sentenced for assaulting a police officer that had assaulted his younger sister while that same police officer walked free with only his badge stripped and a year of house arrest.

Death walked the halls with him, with each case that he tried and with each new victim whose name and face he kept in the forefront of his mind. Young as he was, he was already one of the more jaded prosecutors in the office, His work ethic earned him numerous nicknames, and talk flew around about him potentially becoming the youngest district attorney in the county.

But the children…

The final straw came and went. Eight months after a serial pedophile walked free, with four years of prosecution under his belt and talk about him becoming DA, the youngest in county history—he threw it away and started over at the Academy.

A fresh start. He loved Virginia, but he fell in more love with the Pacific Northwest. The cool weather, the beauty of the temperate rainforests, and the scenic coastline were so different compared to the ghosts that haunted him back east. His and Haley’s first anniversary was a memory he would cherish forever; the picture never left his wallet

Two years of trying to solve cases before they got as bad as they were when they came across his desk in the prosecutor’s office and being part-time in the local field office SWAT unit hadn’t snuffed out the strange love he had for the region. Though he was more often calling Death to him to sweep the offenders he was hunting away, he did come close to dancing with Death a few more times—he was quite good at close quarters, but his true specialty was distance.

It was oddly comforting, though, to know that even as changes continued to happen, some things remained the same.

Only a week after his superior gave him a heads up about potential recruitment to the tactical team out in Quantico, he met David Rossi in San Francisco on a five-year-old cold case. He didn’t miss the look of surprise that appeared on the older agent’s face in reaction to his theory about the killer.

He had heard of the BAU and had listened to some of their lectures at the Academy about profiling—the confusion he felt at hearing about the years of training members of the team went through was reignited when Rossi started waxing poetic about an instinctual ability weeks later when they were at a bar after the case was declared cold.

That theory he had presented when he first met Rossi didn’t feel like an instinctual gift, and he said as much to the other agent.  Nevertheless, he and Haley were back in Virginia just months later—she was teaching at a local high school and he was the newest member of the BAU.

And so he danced, and he learned of the many faces Death had. He danced as Gideon started grooming him for leadership weeks after Rossi retired. He danced as Morgan brought his unending stubbornness and heart of gold. He danced as JJ and Garcia brought reminders of the light that was still in the world. He danced as Reid brought his own brand of uniqueness and painful reminders of his young age.

He danced with Death, who he could see peeking out from the eyes of the unsubs he and the team ended up facing off with. He danced more than he ever had, but his Spring kept him from falling into Death’s waiting arms. His Spring and the prospect of binging a child into the world together kept him going as Adrian Bale took out six agents with one bomb, sent him to the hospital for shrapnel wounds, and sent Gideon into a post-traumatic tailspin.

It was fine in the beginning; the expectation the Gideon would be returning made the long hours bearable. Six months passed, and he came back, but he didn’t return to leadership. Whispers that trickled down from up high made it clear that this designation was permanent.

They both thought they could make it work. Their child came into the world just days after he wove his web around Death and stared them down through a sniper rifle. He took a month off, and came back to face Death once more—only they were wearing the face of a man who killed multiple families.

He came close to another dance when Death wore a face that was nearly identical to his own—all that was different was their walks of life. He opened up more directly to Vincent Perotta than to anyone else that was currently on the team; Gideon could only profile, and he only explicitly told Rossi and his Spring about what his home life had been like.

Life went on, though with how often he danced with Death, it couldn’t really be considered living.

He danced, and he watched.

He watched as Elle danced with Death for the first time and was permanently changed because of his inaction.

He watched as Reid danced with Death for the first time and nearly fell into their arms because of his inaction.

He watched as Death taunted Gideon again and again until the man finally left to search for the fire that had been stolen from within him.

He watched, and he danced

He watched as his Winter darkness slowly crept towards Spring and their child, as his darkness became so oppressive that Haley finally left when he couldn’t stop himself from running to dance with Death. And when the light of Spring (not his, not anymore, she never was—) left, his darkness took over.

He watched as Death claimed Kate in an explosion of fire and debris and whirling him along in the quickest of dances, and he couldn’t help but envision his Spring in her position. He wasn’t blind, he knew how similar the two women looked, he knew what the team whispered behind his back, but it didn’t matter to him. All that mattered was the phone call he was going to have to make to Haley, who had gotten along so well with Kate but now had to face the reality of her death.

Colorado was a new hell for him, as he felt Death’s oppressive presence all over the compound that trapped two of his agents inside. When the buildings were engulfed in flames and debris, he could only sigh in relief that Death didn’t see fit to take his agents today.

When he met Death once more, they were speaking through Megan Kane. Hearing the confidence the young woman had in him, feeling the exhausted resignation she felt at her impending death…

The press got the tip just days after the SIM card was examined by the lab.

Death waits for nobody, however, and his ten-year-old demon woke up to shove onto him more responsibility and more guilt as ten people were found shot to death on the bus in Boston.

He had gotten the profile so right but still so wrong, and Death laughed in his face.

Death laughed as he was stabbed nine times and was in their clutches for thirty minutes before the doctors managed to shake him loose from their arms. They danced and they danced, and Death laughed as he found the bloody picture of Spring and the child.

And he found that he couldn’t wait to see the face Death chose to wear one more time if only to show him just how angry he was, how deeply he felt despite the mask that he put up. His team had no idea how close he was to the edge, and he didn’t let them see the depths of madness he had fallen into.

Even over twenty years out of college and he was still compulsively hiding his razors, but now he couldn’t be more glad but also more hateful for the habit.

But Death gives no respite, and nine months to the day Spring went into hiding with the child, he found himself unraveling quicker than he ever had as he was forced to listen as Spring was stolen from the world.

When the team finally got to the old house, they watched as the tenuous control he held over himself was ripped straight out of his grasp in a bloodthirsty, grief-stricken rage. His hands didn’t feel like his own, and he couldn’t place Jack into JJ’s care fast enough for fear that the hands of a killer would destroy the last precious light in his darkness.

Those same hands felt the unnatural cold that was already setting in on Spring, and his mind froze.

Should he have stopped dancing?

Could he have stopped dancing?

Would it have done anything?

Would it have saved her?

He lived only to make sure Spring lived on in their son. He couldn’t give up chasing Death, but he made sure to keep his son at the forefront of his mind, and if that meant staying behind and coordinating and the precinct, that was fine. It was a change that would have been asked of him when JJ was plucked from the team by the Pentagon, but with the whispered he’s been hearing in meetings, he couldn’t help but feel like she was walking straight into Death’s waiting arms.

There wasn’t any time to worry, however, nor was there time to marvel at the fact that he had made it this far after Spring was ripped from his weak grasp, as he soon had to send Emily away and pretend that she had been claimed by the being he was so familiar with. Barely over a year, and three women who had changed his life so drastically were all ripped from his desperate grip, and his team was barely keeping it together.

It was no longer a dance, but a chase. He chased Death, almost as if his efforts would somehow bring them back and fix everything. He closed himself off and kept chasing because otherwise he would crash and burn and take everything around him down with him.

He kept chasing, all the way to Pakistan and all the way back to face the wall of anger and betrayal that he knew was justified. He kept on going, as Beth came into his life and as Emily left to find her own equilibrium. He didn’t stop, not even when Maeve Donovan was murdered in a manner eerily similar to his own unraveling years ago, not even when he spoke to Sean for the first time in years only to lose him to the criminal justice system, but just weeks later he was given the option once more: he could fight the futile fight, or he could stop and protect his team from afar, standing guard just as he’s done for so many years now.

There was a brief moment that he wondered if he should have taken the section chief job, but just minutes later he was feeling the world tilt as his legs gave out from under him and he collapsed on the floor of the conference room, the pain in his abdomen that had been slowly burning for the past few days turning into a roaring fire that threatened to consume him from the inside out.

And how could he describe the tumultuous feelings of utter joy and desolate grief he felt when he saw Haley sitting in that dress she had worn on their first anniversary in the Pacific Northwest, the dress she wore in the picture that remained in his wallet for nearly twenty years? How could he describe the utter terror he felt when Foyet crashed their time together and shot her once again, or the renewed grief when he realized this would be the last vivid memory he would have of the Spring who had taught his Winter about the light?

But he woke up with the lingering feel of Haley’s lips on his own to see Garcia and her always brightly-colored clothing that matched her ever-optimistic outlook on life that was often a blessed reprieve from the evil that consumed their jobs, and he remembered why he stayed.

Not only to chase Death, but for the family he realized he had found along the way.

But just as life must go on, Death must as well.

Soon he was calling in favors while learning about the horror JJ had gone through during her stint with Pentagon. Soon his paranoia was reignited as he and the team tried to figure out just how deep the corruption went in that police force all the while Reid was hospitalized with a neck wound. Even as he was reminded of the dangers of the chase when he drove to his old mentor’s cabin in the middle of the night, he kept chasing, because, for all that he knew he had a family in the team, he knew it wouldn’t last.

It couldn’t last.

It was a truth he was all too intimately familiar with.

So he chased, and he chased, and he chased.

And Death laughed and taunted him, throwing him into a mental tailspin through Peter Lewis.

Perhaps that was the moment when he finally lost himself: sitting against the desk, paralyzed as his family was murdered in front of him.

Or maybe it was when he forced himself to play along to Lewis’s sick fantasy and pretend that he was going to shoot at his team.

Was it pretend, though?

Nothing felt real after that—one moment he was grounded in reality and the next he was hearing that awful growling noise right behind him and seeing that terrible Glasgow smile as the hairs on his neck stood up. But, as always, he never let the team know just how far he’s fallen, and he kept going and protecting and chasing with the whole of his being.

He threw himself into work with a vengeance when Garcia was being targeted by the darknet hit group and when Morgan and Savannah were being threatened by the vindictive Montolo Sr, knowing all too well what was at stake.

When Morgan told him about his intent to leave the bureau, he could only feel relief that Morgan wouldn’t fall down the path he himself chose to go down all those years ago, when he first realized he could never stop dancing with Death. He told him as such in that hospital room, and the two exchanged a look, one that was borne from years of respect and kinship that had formed between the two as a result of an understanding only two profoundly hurt yet fiercely protective beings could have.

But life goes on, the moment broke, and he went back to chasing, only to be stopped right in his tracks by Death once again when Metro SWAT stormed his apartment and arrested him at gunpoint right in front of his son. Now, Death wore the faces of all of those who swore revenge against him and tried to break his will.

They very early succeeded, too—it was the closest he felt to unraveling since that terrible day seven years ago, but he knew he couldn’t without taking the whole team down with him. He couldn’t let the seams burst open.

Not yet.

Not until he found out Peter Lewis escaped.

Not until he found out Peter Lewis was baiting his team while working to fulfill a vendetta against him.

Not until he found out the Peter Lewis had watched Jack at one of his soccer games, and not until he found out that Peter Lewis had stalked Jack to his school.

So he planned, he made calls, and he wrote letters to the team and his family.

One night, Aaron Hotchner left those letters on his office desk alongside his resignation letter and credentials, the one thing that truly defined him for nearly twenty years.

Without it, he was no one.

One night, after tucking his son into bed, no one slipped out of his apartment with both of his service weapons and a sparsely packed bag and disappeared into the night, one goal in mind.

Hunt.

I know death. He’s got many faces. I look forward to seeing this one.

- Arya Stark (Game of Thrones s8e2)

[gloomybabygirl]

{finally} Poe Dameron x Reader

A/N: hi writers block how are ya??? okay so i have several fics that are WIP rn and I keep starting them and not being able to finish because they need to be mini series!! so today i told myself i needed to get something complete out or i’d burst and here it is lol. also I use a random name in here, i’m so sorry if it’s your name!!

A/N again: tag list is open!! message me if you want to be on my little drabble tag list :)

Warnings: language, alcohol, pining, some angst, friends to lovers trope that I can’t get away from, mentions of sex, THIS WON’T BE EDITED TILL TOMORROW MORNING

World Count: 2600 oops

Summary: You get drunk and Poe takes care of you

The music was blaring through the speakers at the local Cantina, the lights somehow blinding you with their flashing but not bright enough for you to see who you were grinding on. 

Hey, it was okay to let loose sometimes, right? Being at war is stressful and occasionally you would allow yourself one or two drinks at the Cantina with your friends. But your friends left you hours ago. And you had way more than 2 drinks. You were now on the dance floor with another drink and no shoes on, dancing with someone who’s face you couldn’t properly make out. Was it because of the light or the alcohol? Probably both. 

You finally sat back down at the table when the alien you were dancing with got mad because you spilled your drink on him. But you weren’t about to let that kill your buzz. How did you get up on the table? Doesn’t matter, you were here now. Arms snaking above your head and hips moving in what you imagined was a provocative way. You felt a tap on your bare foot and looked down to see an angry looking security guard. 

“Miss, we need you to get down off the table now.” He held out his hand to help you down. 

You slumped down in your booth. “You guys ruin all the fun.” 

“We’re closing here in about 10 minutes. Are you going to be able to get back home safely?” He asked.

Shit. You had only been on this planet a few days as the base had recently moved there. This was everyone’s first night at the Cantina and you were too many drinks in to know how to get back to base on your own. 

You must have looked confused because the security guard offered you an old communicator. “You have someone who can come pick you up?”

You bit your lip. You knew Jess or Kare could pick you up but they wouldn’t be happy about it. You slowly dialed the only person who wouldn’t be mad, taking your time to make sure you entered the right ID.

“Poe?” You asked into the phone when it stopped ringing.

“Yeah baby? Where are you?” You felt your heart leap out of your chest. You loved it when he called you baby. Even if you two weren’t exactly official. And you were pretty positive he had brought another girl home that night. Things were... complicated. You wanted so badly to tell Poe how much you cared about him and how you wanted to be his, but you were certain that wasn’t what he wanted. So, you took what you could get. Occasional sex in a storage closet accompanied by his friendship sprinkled with holding hard in secret and stolen forehead and nose kisses.  

“I’m still at the Cantina and I don’t remember how to get back to base. Can you come get me?” You really hoped he wasn’t with another girl. 

You heard laughing on the other end. 

“I’ll see you in ten minutes drunkie.” You heard the line click and felt a smile creep up on your face as you handed the communicator back to the security guard. At least he wasn’t mad. You felt yourself sway in your seat to the next song that came on and got up to dance. 

Ten minutes later, you felt someone grab your hips and start dancing with you. 

“How many drinks have you had baby? I’ve never seen you dance like this.” You heard Poe’s voice in your ear and his breath on your shoulder sent shivers down your spine. 

“Not sure at this point. Want to see how I was dancing before you came?” You spun around and started walking towards your table, climbing onto it again. 

As soon as you started dancing again your felt Poe reach up to grab your hand. You looked down at his beautiful worried face. 

“Hey, hey get down from there, you’re gonna hurt yourself.” He pulled you down towards him and you leaned in to kiss him, hard. 

“Fine, but only because you’re a good kisser.” You laughed as he helped you down. 

“Um, where are your shoes?” Poe asked, looking down at your bare feet, sore from dancing. 

“I- uh... Don’t remember? I may have given them to some creep for 20 credits.”

“Maker, you’re wasted. Okay, let’s go back to base.” He reached around your legs and lifted you up into his arms, your arms automatically going around his neck as he walked out of the Cantina into the cold air. 

You nuzzled in closer to his neck, deeply breathing in his scent, not at all concerned that you were definitely being a creep. 

“You smell good,” you said into his neck, making him laugh at you.

“You’re funny when your drunk.” 

Suddenly you didn’t feel like laughing anymore. “Poe?” you asked, looking at him now.

“Yeah baby?” He cocked an eyebrow at you, already smiling, more than ready to hear what drunk you had to say next. 

“Where you with another girl tonight? I saw you flirting with that new recruit all night.” 

He didn’t drop his smile, but his eyes softened at your question. Of course he hadn’t slept with another girl tonight. He hadn’t slept with another girl in months. Not since he realized he was in love with his best friend. And for Poe, being in love in the middle of a war was less than ideal. Meaningless sex was one thing. Having someone he loved waiting for him to come home when he might not make it? That was another thing entirely. He was already mad enough at himself for getting so close to you and Finn in the first place. Although, he wasn’t in love with Finn. 

“No baby, I went back to my quarters alone.” 

“Oh. I thought you would have banged her. She’s prettier than some of the other girls you bring home.” 

Ouch. Is that what she thinks? I just sleep with everyone? My own damn fault for giving her that impression. 

“Not as pretty as you though,” he glanced at you to see your reaction, which was to bury your face in the crook of his neck. He could say that because you wouldn’t remember in the morning, right? 

He finally made it to the hallway leading to his quarters. 

“In fact, to prove it, want to have a sleepover tonight? Don’t worry, I’m not taking advantage of your drunkenness. No sex, I promise.” He was dumb to have started having sex with you in the first place. He couldn’t help it though, his feelings for you were so strong he needed to express them somehow. 

“Sleepover!” You giggled, making his heart swell. 

You loved when Poe asked you to sleep in his room or vise versa. Usually it meant sex which was always incredible, followed by sleeping in his arms. That was the best part about the arrangement. He let you stay in his arms all night, stroking his fingers through your hair and using his other hand to keep you securely pressed to him. 

He opened the door to his quarters and laid you down on the bed before going to grab you a shirt to sleep in. He tossed it at your face when he found it. 

He fucking loved seeing you in his shirts. Especially when you had just woken up in his arms, hair messy, eyes bleary with sleep. He’d give you every shirt he owned if it didn’t mean facing the General half naked. He watched, not so bashfully (or discreetly), as you stripped down and slipped on his shirt. 

“Are you gonna stand there staring all night or are you coming to bed?” You asked, knowing damn well what stripping in front of him was accomplishing. 

“Uh, yeah baby just give me one second.” He said rushing into the refresher to splash cold water on his face. Not sleeping with you was going to be harder than he had anticipated. 

You laid in Poe’s bed, waiting for him to come back and started looking around his room for a little orange droid, who was charging for the night. While you were sweeping your eyes over the room, you noticed a small slip of paper on Poe’s nightstand. Drunk and shamelessly curious, you let it fall open in your hand.

ID: RS- 4589 v. 909

Camryn <3

You felt your stomach drop. Camryn was the new recruit. So he hadn’t brought her back to his quarters, but he had gotten her Communicator ID. So much for being prettier than her. In your drunken state, you began to cry over that stupid pilot with his stupid beautiful face. Damn him. 

Of course he came back before you could wipe your tears away. 

“Woah, baby what’s wrong? What happened?” He came to sit next to you on the bed, but you moved away, pushing him off before he could sit down. Hearing him call you ‘baby’ made everything sting so much more. Why did he have to call you pet names and be so sweet? Did he want to make you want him? Was this all just some stupid game? Did he even care about you at all? 

That’s when it hit you. He didn’t care about you. How could he? If he cared about you, he wouldn’t just fuck you when it was convenient for him and then act like best buddies in the mess hall the next day. He wouldn’t call you ‘baby’ knowing it makes you think there could be something more, when there would never be. He wouldn’t keep you on the line by holding your hand under the table and kissing you on the forehead and letting you sleep in his room. He only did all of that so you’d keep being an easy go-to fuck buddy. You felt a fresh wave of tears falling hard from your eyes and you got up to leave. 

Poe was not about to let that happen. He grabbed your wrist, pulling you to him even though you were struggling to get away from him as much as possible. 

“Baby, please stay. Let’s talk, what happened, what did I do?” He put every ounce of worry he had in his voice to make you listen and see that he was genuinely concerned. 

It worked. You made you way back to his bed and stood in front of it. Bu you didn’t want him to win this game he was playing. You just stood in front of his bed as a new wave of tears hit you. You crumpled to the floor, sobs wracking through your body. 

“Oh, baby no, don’t cry. I hate it when you cry. Please, tell me what’s hurting you so I can fix it.” He crouched down and sat in front of you on the floor, holding both your hands in his warm large ones. He waited patiently for your breath to even out until the sobs left you shivering on the floor. He fucking hated seeing you hurting like this. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and collect you in his arms and pull you onto his lap, holding you until you were ready to talk. 

You stilled, no fresh tears coming out. 

“Why are you crying baby?” He softly whispered. 

“Because no one cares about me.” You said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, not meeting his eyes.

Had Poe heard you right? How could you think no one cared about you? He cared about you more than anything in the world. He wanted now more than ever to convey that to you. He stood up, waking away from you a few feet. He couldn’t bare to see you this upset when he could fix it. And couldn’t. 

“Poe?” You sweet voice made him turn around, still angry with himself for falling in love with you in the first damn place. 

Kriff, you thought he was mad at you. He could tell by the look he had caused on your beautiful face.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you mad. I just... I saw that Camryn gave you her ID. And... I don’t know I guess I got jealous.” You finished, looking down at your feet. 

Oh. Oh. “Kriff. Kriff, kriff, kriff. I’m so stupid.” Poe was tugging at his thick curls and walking around the room in frustration. It hit him that you thought he didn’t care about you because he had spent all this time making sure he didn’t let his feelings show too much. Turns out all he did was lead you on. 

“Poe? Why are you mad?” You asked timidly. 

He spun on his heel to look at you, “Because I care about you!” he yelled, “So damn much it hurts! And now I’ve hurt you because I was trying to protect you. I never let myself show you how much I care about you because I never wanted it to turn into anything serious. But I did. I really, really did. But I couldn’t let you get too close to me because I can’t stand the thought of someone I love waiting for me to come home from a mission I may not come back from.” 

His voice was weak by the end of his explanation. When you started crying again, he crossed the room in two long strides and pulled you onto his lap, cradling your head to his chest and kissing the top of your hair. 

“I’m sorry I led you on sweetheart. I didn’t realize how much I was hurting you by trying to protect you. And now I’ve hurt you anyway. I just... I would hate for you to be here waiting for me to come home when I could be captured by the First Order or in a ditch somewhere in the Outer Rim. I could never leave someone I love behind like that.” 

You moved to wrap your arms around his neck and look up at him. That was the second time he said ‘love’. 

He looked at you with those sweet brown eyes, so full of love and sadness. “But here I am, in love with you and running that risk anyway.” He looked down, not wanting to meet you eyes after confessing his love for you multiple times. 

“Poe.” He didn’t look up. “Poe, baby.” You tilted his chin up gently to meet your eyes. 

“I don’t care about all that. I deal with the worry of you not making it home already. It’s terrifying, yes. But whatever time we have together, I’d rather spend it loving you properly and worrying if you’ll get home rather than holding back my love for you. And still worrying if you’ll get home. It’s worth it if we can be together, really together, for whatever amount of time we have.” 

He looked at you for a second more before dipping his head down to kiss you softly on the lips. He tried to convey every single ounce of love he had for you into the kiss, and you could feel it all the way in your toes. 

“So can we be together? Properly now?” you asked, still nervous he would say no. 

“Absolutely baby.” He stood up, carrying you with him to bed. He laid you down gently and slid into bed next to you, wrapping his arms around you as tightly as possible. 

“I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you,” he whispered, kissing your forehead, nose, and both eyes with every declaration of love. 

“I love you too, Poe Dameron,” you whispered against his lips, kissing him once more before nuzzling into the crook of his neck and breathing in deeply. His scent got you more drunk than all the alcohol you had that night. 

He kissed the crown of your head and whispered, “Finally.” Bringing you impossibly closer to him as you drifted off to the steady beating of his heart. 

[theotherackerman]

My Mind Turns Your Life Into Folklore

My Mind Turns Your Life Into Folklore

COPYRIGHT DISCLAIMER: Any recognizable elements belong to Attack on Titan.

NOTES:

Saturday, January 16th

song credit: all too well-taylor swift

chapter eighteen: all too well

Niccolo and Zeke were chatting most of the drive.

Eren just stared off into the distance.

Was he waiting too long to give Mikasa his answer to the song she wrote?

It had been his plan to play this song for her before he even heard the song she had written.

He had dragged all of their friends and Levi in on it too.

It had been a week since then.

Their texting wasn’t anything important. Just little messages here and there.

How many times had he pulled out his phone ready to call her?

Was it too soon?

Was it too much?

Or was it too late?

Why was he a sixteen year old again?

“I want to play the song tonight,” Eren finally said.

“What?” Niccolo asked.

“We don’t have a bassist anymore. As brilliant as Pieck is, she probably also has plans tonight. You know her and the Galliard brothers hang out on Saturday nights,” Zeke reminded him.

“Well, it’s a good thing we’re going to a house with a bassist, isn’t it?” Eren remarked.

“Alright. It’s your song, Eren.”

The arrival at the Ackerman house was anticlimactic.

Levi hadn’t been expecting Zeke to stop off. He just simply handed over the file, saying it was a copy and he’d be keeping the original. Then Zeke had decided to leave to check up on Grisha’s old house. There were still no offers on it.

Ymir, Historia, Sasha and Niccolo were talking about music in the sun room while Hange and Levi were talking in the living room.

Mikasa had been helping Armin move the few things he had left behind when he headed back to the dorms into Annie’s room.

“We should move this bed into Annie’s room too. It’ll give you a bigger bed if you push the two together,” Mikasa suggested.

“Or you could just buy a new one,” Eren suggested from the doorway.

“Eren! When did you get here?” Armin asked.

“About five minutes ago. Zeke had to pick up a file from Levi. I guess Levi is Zeke’s patient? I don’t know. It was weird,” Eren shrugged.

“That is weird. But I suppose that makes sense,” Armin said as he sat down on the bed.

“What happened to your face?” Mikasa asked.

The red marks were still there.

“Uh...I got into a fight with Floch,” Eren looked down as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Good,” Annie said as she pushed past Eren and came into the room.

“Hey Annie,” Eren said.

“That guy is a dick. I don’t like him,” Annie sat down next to Armin.

“Well...I....can’t disagree.”

“Are you staying in town?” Mikasa asked.

Eren shook his head. “Check in on the house. We’re going back after Zeke comes back.”

“Oh,” Mikasa said before she looked down.

“Yeah but you can call me tonight, if you want,” Eren suggested.

“It’s like watching paint dry,” Ymir said as she passed by Eren.

“Give them a break, Ymir,” Historia said as she also passed by them.

“EREN! YOUR BROTHER IS HERE!” Levi yelled from downstairs.

“I’ll see you, okay?” Eren said before he left the room.

When Eren came downstairs, Levi and Zeke were talking.

“Everything all set then?” Eren asked.

“On my end, yeah. All the extension cords have been put out. You should be good to go tonight,” Levi replied.

“And Ymir agreed to fill in for Floch,” Niccolo said as he came into the living room.

“Good. So now we just need to grab our equipment.”

“Now I just have to get Mikasa out of the house,” Levi pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Historia is going to do that. She plans on dragging Mikasa out. Everything is set, Eren. It’s just up to you not to fuck up,” Niccolo said as he clasped Eren’s shoulder.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence there,” Eren mumbled.

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

How many stores had Mikasa been to?

She lost count.

Historia had dragged her out to go shopping for this limited edition perfume for Ymir’s birthday.

Thankfully, Levi had let them borrow the car so it wasn’t too bad.

But Mikasa had to walk into one more department store to look for a bottle of perfume, she was going to scream.

Ymir’s birthday wasn’t even for almost a month!

Mikasa didn’t once complain.

She knew giving Ymir the perfect gift was important to Historia.

So the search continued.

How were there this many department stores around here? They drove towards the city. Historia asked to stop for lunch. Mikasa agreed. Then the search continued.

Mikasa was starting to believe that this perfume didn’t exist.

No matter where they went, they couldn’t find it.

“It’s just super limited,” Historia had told her.

So it was more department stores. Mikasa had looked at so many bottles of perfume at this point.

She never wanted to see another.

They grew hungry again.

It was almost time for dinner.

They stopped at a drive through before heading to the last store.

Mikasa hated driving at night but this wasn’t about her.

Finally, Historia gave up.

“It looks like we’ve gone everywhere possible. I’m sorry, Mika for dragging you out with me,”

Historia had said as they pulled into the driveway.

Mikasa shrugged. “It’s okay.”

When they entered the house, no one was in the living room. It was strange. She pulled her shoes off.

“Hey! One of those bugs from the basement is loose in Levi’s room!” Annie shouted from the stairs.

“Where’s Levi?” Mikasa asked as she climbed the stairs.

“Out on a date with Hange. Can you just kill it for me? All those legs are freaking me out. I’m afraid it's going to get into my room,” Annie said as she led Mikasa to Levi’s room.

Mikasa went in and realized something. “You never saw the bug in the basements.”

The door slammed behind her.

It was a prank.

She pulled on the door as hard as she could but it wouldn’t move.

Why was the room so cold?

It was then that Mikasa realized the balcony doors were open.

She could hear the soft music of a guitar playing.

Mikasa walked out onto the balcony.

There was Eren Jaeger, in a single light that seemed to be coming from the roof.

“{lyrics redacted due to copyright}, ” Eren sang.

Mikasa heard the rest of the band kick in.

“ {lyrics redacted due to copyright} ”

Mikasa knew exactly the memory Eren was singing about.

It had been back when they had taken a road trip to nowhere.

They had just one day decided to run out of town.

“ {lyrics redacted due to copyright} ”

They did always end up back here, together.

“ {lyrics redacted due to copyright} ”

He had taught her to drive. Mikasa had been easily distracted by him back then.

“ {lyrics redacted due to copyright} . ”

Mikasa went red at the memory.

She had gone through a brief phase at five where she wore fake glasses everywhere.

Her dad let her join a tee ball team at that time so Levi still had the pictures from that.

“ {lyrics redacted due to copyright} .”

The single light went out and the backyard lights came on to reveal Niccolo, Ymir, and Zeke playing the instruments as back up to Eren.

“ {lyrics redacted due to copyright} ”

One of the many nights Mikasa had stayed with Eren after Grisha died.

She could see it.

She remembered it.

Mikasa stood there, just listening to the music for the moment.

“ {lyrics redacted due to copyright} .”

Mikasa started crying.

She blamed herself for not seeing what was wrong with Eren sooner.

She should have known he was lying back then.

She should have talked to him about his drinking, about his father.

“ {lyrics redacted due to copyright} .”

Mikasa held onto the scarf that she was wearing.

Ever since Historia had dug it out of her closet, she found herself putting it back on every time she needed to go out into the cold.

“' {lyrics redacted due to copyright} .”

The lights around the backyard faded until one again, it was just Eren standing in a single light that was coming from the roof.

Then the backyard went dark.

She closed the balcony doors and sat down on Levi’s bed for a moment.

What had just happened?

Had Eren answered her song with his own?

No.

This had to be something he had written long ago.

The pain in it was the same as the song she had written.

There was no faking that.

She sat and processed what had just happened for a while.

Then she stood up.

Mikasa headed back towards the doors which to her surprise, opened when she tugged on them this time.

She ran downstairs.

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

Levi climbed down the ladder off of the roof.

“Where’d you get that light from?” Zeke asked as he lit up a cigarette.

“Amazon. It was twenty dollars. We use them when we have cookouts in the summers. Lights up the whole neighborhood,” Levi said simply.

“I need to get one of those. Well, Niccolo and I should be leaving. If this blows up, call me,” Zeke said as he walked towards the van.

“You girls pack up equipment so much faster than us! Thanks!” Niccolo said before he climbed into the passenger seat of the van. “I’ll call you later, Sasha!”

Mikasa finally made her way into the backyard, her face clearly stained with tears. She had no shoes on.

Everyone stared at her and Eren.

None of them moved to do anything.

“Alright, everyone inside. Mikasa and Eren go upstairs. The rest of you are going to come with me. No spying,” Hange ordered. “No getting sick either. Come on.”

Everyone did as they were told.

Eren followed Mikasa into her room.

Once the door was closed, Mikasa threw her arms around h im.

“Can’t breathe. Too tight,” Eren croaked out.

“Oh. Sorry.” Mikasa loosened her grip on him and Eren hugged her back.

“So you liked the song then?” Eren laughed.

“Yeah,” she muttered as she rested her head on his shoulder.

They stayed like that for a while.

Mikasa could hear his heart beating.

She had taken to just listening to it.

Eren had no complaints.

Finally, they broke apart.

“You really remember those pictures of me?” Mikasa finally asked.

Eren laughed, “yeah, I do. I remember how you were obsessed with wearing glasses.”

She started to turn red again. Eren sat down on her bed. Mikasa watched him for a moment before she sat down on the end of the bed next to him.

“Why do you love that thing so much?” He asked her before tugging on the scarf.

“You gave it to me. On the first day we met, you gave it to me.”

“I remember,” he smiled at her. He released the scarf.

“I..I don’t want you to leave again. I won’t be able to handle it.” She teared up again.

She was sick of crying because of Eren, for Eren.

She wanted nothing more for things to go back to normal but she didn’t have the first clue about how to do that.

“I won’t. I was just as miserable without you. I didn’t play that song just to win you back...I didn’t know how to say it to you. I wrote most of that right after the break up. I didn’t know how to deal with it either. So I came up with this plan to play it for you. Got everyone involved. Levi was up on the roof with one those spotlight things and Hange plugged in the lights in the backyard. Annie and Armin held the door closed. You saw Historia and Ymir’s roles. I wanted it to be big, special. I just didn’t want to play it for you but I didn’t want to play it in front of a crowd either. Well, besides your family. They don’t count. Then I got into a fight with Floch about you and I didn’t want to wait anymore.”

“That fight with Floch was about me?”

Eren nodded before he looked away from Mikasa. “Look, Mikasa, we both suck at communication and I know a song isn’t going to fix anything. I know I still have a long road in front of me but I want the end of that road to end with you.”

“It won’t,” Mikasa said.

Eren’s heart began to break.

He nodded.

He understood.

“It shouldn’t be like that. I’m not a goal, Eren. That was the problem before. I want to be beside you while you’re going down that long road.”

They made eye contact again.

“Yeah?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah, we should be equals, remember?”

He stared at her.

“I still love you,” Eren finally said after a moment.

“I know,” she smiled at him.

“Did you just Han Solo me?” Eren asked her.

Mikasa laughed.

“Maybe,” she said before she bit her lip.

“I showed you those movies! I should get to say I know. I can’t believe this,” he teased her.

“You broke our date so you deserve it.” Mikasa picked up a pillow from her bed and hugged it. She finally noticed Eren’s backpack was on the floor. “So I take it you’re staying here? What if I received the song badly?”

“I knew you wouldn’t. I do know you.”

“Not well enough to know you should just tell me shit.” She took the pillow she was holding and gently hit him with it.

“Really? What are you? Nine again?” he scoffed.

She hit him again.

“Okay! Now it’s on!”

Eren grabbed a pillow off of Mikasa’s bed and hit her back with it.

She ran and threw the door open to the bedroom.

Eren continued to chase her.

They ran past Levi and Hange in the living room as they swung pillows wildly at one another.

Levi just sighed as Hange laughed.

Their chase continued.

Armin was talking with Sasha in the kitchen as Mikasa ran around the table.

She had hoped to lose Eren that way.

It wasn’t effective.

He stayed right behind her.

She swung at him again and accidentally hit Sasha with the pillow.

“Hey! That was me!” Sasha yelled as Mikasa retreated from the kitchen.

“Sorry!” Mikasa yelled back. Eren was too close now.

Sawney and Bean gave into the nonsense as they chased Eren and Mikasa.

Levi sighed louder as they passed him and Hange’s laughter grew too.

Mikasa ran towards the sun room and quickly made a turn towards the basement at the last s econd.

Ymir, Annie, and Historia poked their heads out of the sun room.

“Are they running with pillows?” Annie’ asked.

“Yeah, looks like it,” Ymir answered.

“That’s cute!” Historia squealed.

Mikasa ran down the stairs and just as she was about to step down on the bottom step, Eren grabbed her by her waist. He threw her over his shoulder, causing her to drop the pillow. He held her with one arm before grabbing the dropped pillow. He held two pillows in one hand while keeping Mikasa on his shoulder with the other.

Mikasa was impressed.

“Did you get stronger?” She asked as Eren climbed the stairs with her draped over his shoulders.

“Physical therapy. I started going to the gym more afterwards too.”

“Remember that time I threw you over my shoulder?” She asked as he walked from the basement stairs to the upstairs staircase.

“Yeah, this payback.”

“Only it’s what….seven years late?”

“That is besides the point.”

“I can still pick you up though.”

“Oh, I’m well aware.”

“You still don’t have a butt,” she remarked as she poked him in the back.

“I’m glad to know you’re looking at my ass right now.”

“You should stop skipping leg day.”

“I don’t skip leg day!”

They arrived back at Mikasa’s room.

Eren gently sat her down on the bed.

“I thought about dropping you but that would have been mean. You’re more of the one to do that,” He teased her.

“Hey, you deserved it. You were trying to pick a fight and I put an end to it.”

“Yeah, by picking me up like a toddler,” he scoffed as he sat back down next to her.

“Then don’t act like a toddler.”

“Well, don’t make other guys be interested in you!”

“Wait...is that why you always picked a fight with Jean?”

Eren went red before he scratched the back of his head. “I thought that was kind of obvious.”

“Wait, Eren….how long did you have a crush on me?”

Eren turned a new shade of red.

This was not a conversation they had had before.

“Uh..um...a while?”

“Eren….”

He sighed for a moment before he looked away from her. “Same day that I gave you that scarf,” he finally answered.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I could tell you didn’t feel the same. I mean we were nine. It didn’t really matter.”

“I thought you were a prince, saving me for Daz. I...I felt the same way.”

Eren looked back at her. “We’re really bad at this.”

“Yeah, but we’ve got time. Besides, maybe instead of just writing songs we should talk. I just...I don’t want to annoy you.”

“You never annoy me. I mean sometimes I get mad because I thought you saw me as this child who couldn’t do anything. I thought you thought I was stupid and useless. I don’t know. I just wanted to prove myself to you back then. So I’d get mad.”

“I’ve never thought you were useless. I thought you were stupid for what you did and how you couldn’t see my feelings for you.”

“We’ve wasted a lot of time, huh?” Eren asked.

“Doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s better that we’ve had to go through all that. Now we can try again.”

“So, how do we do this?”

It felt all too familiar.

“I don’t have the slightest clue,” Mikasa laughed again.

“I really missed hearing you laugh,” he confessed.

Mikasa blushed.

“I guess...we do it right this time. But you...you need to read the letter and look at the flash drive. Just not while I’m here.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s embarrassing.”

“Okay, I’ll wait then.”

“Then you can call me and we’ll go from there.”

Mikasa nodded, “what about tonight?”

“Tonight….I’m going to kick your ass in video games,” Eren said before he switched on the tv and console. He grabbed a controller and handed her the other one.

“Hey! I’ve got better. Do you not see my rankings?” She asked.

“Yeah, yeah but that’s not against me,” he smirked as he sat back down on the bed.

“Bring it on,” she said.

The game began.