#he said that and i went “minnesota”

[ratatatastic]

"we're gonna get beat in november in a game thatll be against a western conference team that didn't make the playoffs last year and probably won't make the playoffs this year" paul making predictions already

i love you but please take that back

TAKE IT BACK DONT PUT THAT ENERGY INTO THE WORLD RIGHT NOW

2024-25 Media Day | 9.18.24 (x)

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Roxette - The Look 1989

"The Look" is a song by pop duo Roxette; Sweden's second-best-selling music act after ABBA. It was released in early 1989 as the fourth single from their second studio album, Look Sharp! (1988). The album was an immediate commercial success in their home country, spending seven weeks at number one on the Swedish Albums Chart. "The Look" was written by Per Gessle as an exercise while learning how to operate the Ensoniq ESQ-1 synthesizer he had recently purchased, using a repeated A–G–D bass line as the song's core. The track's sixteenth-note rhythm was inspired by the work of ZZ Top. The original title was "He's Got the Look", with the lyrics using male pronouns. Gessle said this was done because he initially wanted Marie Fredriksson to sing the track. Both he and EMI Sweden had chosen to highlight Fredriksson as Roxette's lead vocalist. However, when recording the demo, Gessle realised the song "didn't fit her style that well, so I had a go and it sounded OK."

The singles from Look Sharp! at the time were only released in Sweden, Germany and France. However, an American exchange student from Minnesota named Dean Cushman returned from Sweden and gave his copy of the album to his local Top 40 radio station, KDWB-FM in Minneapolis. The station's program director Brian Phillips initially ignored Cushman's request to play a song from the album, leaving the CD unplayed in his office for several weeks. Phillips eventually listened to it after learning Cushman had come to the office requesting the return of his CD. Immediately impressed by the album's opening track, "The Look" was played by the station for the first time on US radio less than an hour later, and the response from listeners was overwhelmingly positive; the station immediately began receiving phone calls to replay the track.

KDWB began distributing the track to their sister radio operations, sending 500 copies to other stations throughout the United States. EMI America promptly signed the duo to a recording contract as a result of the airplay. The label had previously rejected Roxette as "unsuitable for the American market". The song had already entered the top fifty of the Billboard Hot 100 before official promotion began, peaking at number one on the chart eight weeks later. This made "The Look" the third number one single by a Swedish act on the Billboard Hot 100, following Blue Swede's "Hooked on a Feeling" (poll #152) in 1974 and ABBA's "Dancing Queen" in 1976.

The track went on to top the charts in 25 countries. It spent three weeks atop the New Zealand Singles Chart, and six weeks at number one in Australia, where it was certified platinum for sales in excess of 70,000 copies. It also topped the charts throughout Scandinavia. The song spent five weeks at number one in West Germany, and an additional five weeks at number two. It was a massive success in Spain and Switzerland, spending eight weeks at number one in both countries. It reached number seven on the UK Singles Chart.

"The Look" received a total of 80,5% yes votes!

[octuscle]

Cholo Life

“First the damned Democrats stole the elections from us and now they are stealing our identity!” Manolo began to roll his eyes. He was familiar with this. When KJ worked himself into a rage, he sounded like a personal disciple of Trump. ‘I mean that they eat the cats in Springfield and the dogs, it's not just an isolated incident, they do it everywhere!’ ‘Kyle…’ Manuel began. KJ gave Manolo a friendly punch on the shoulder. He knew that when Manuel called him “Kyle,” Manolo was angry. “Of course I don't mean you,” said KJ. “You're an American through and through, you're American as peanut butter!” Of course that wasn't true. Manolo was born in Lima, went to school in Lima, and only came to Minnesota with his parents at the age of eight. But his parents had placed great importance on him learning the language quickly, and today Manolo speaks better English than his best friend from school days, KJ.

Kj, on the other hand, was a prime example of a junior at an American college: muscular, bright eyes, fair complexion, of course he played American football, and of course he parroted what Trump said without thinking. Yes, he was damn good-looking, but yes, he was also a real airhead. And even though olu secretly had a crush on KJ, KJ was out of reach for Manolo. You couldn't be more straighter than KJ.

KJ was studying business. With a bit of luck, he would at least get his bachelor's degree. Manolo had already graduated from high school two years before KJ and was about to get his bachelor's degree in biochemistry. He wanted to follow in his father's footsteps, who ran the research department of a seed company here. KJ, on the other hand, would join his father's trucking company and would alternate between driving trucks on the highways and struggling with the accounting in the office.

“Besides, you yourself admitted that you eat pets. You said that your grandmother serves guinea pigs.” ”Yes, but first of all, my grandmother doesn't steal the guinea pigs from some guys in Ohio, but has her cook buy and prepare them at the market, and secondly, guinea pigs are a delicacy where we come from. We find it rather absurd that you…” “All fake news!” KJ countered. ”Admit that the whole world would be in ruins without the USA. Our culture is simply superior!” There were situations in which Manolo was annoyed at being physically inferior to KJ. There were situations in which he just wanted to smash KJ's face in. It was really crazy that a guy who already classified cartoons as art wanted to lecture him on culture. His abuela had once given him a lucky charm that he always carried in his pocket. In situations like this, squeezing the stone firmly helped him. It drained the anger out of him. But this time was different. The stone became warm. The stone became hot! Manolo let go of it. He reached for the cold coke glass to cool his hand.

“Are you okay, hermano?” KJ asked. Manolo winced. That was the first time KJ had used a Spanish word correctly. ‘Would you order me another tequila? ¡Tengo que mear!’ Manolo looked after his friend. He had never drunk tequila before. KJ was also a feast for the eyes from behind. The torn jeans clung to his firm ass. His shoulders were broad. He was muscular. But not exaggerated. And his patriotic tattoos emphasized his masculinity. Manolo waved at the waitress and ordered two tequilas. He didn't usually drink. But maybe he could stand KJ better today if he was a little drunk.

The tequila arrived before KJ. And when KJ sat down, Manolo was playing with his cell phone. KJ took his tequila glass. “A nuestra salud y amistad, hermano” “A nuestra salud y amistad, KJ” Manolo replied distractedly, picked up the glass and was about to toast. He was frozen for a few seconds. What the hell had happened to Kyle? The smooth cheeks were covered by a hint of a beard. His tattoos had expanded. And now they had a lot more space too. Because KJ's muscles had almost exploded. His slender neck, with the Adam's apple whose movements always made Manolo so horny, had become a bull's neck tattooed all over. “Dude, you look like you've seen a ghost,” KJ said. His English had a slight Spanish accent. And there was a tear tattooed under his one eye. Manolo ordered two more tequilas… Their conversation turned into Spanglish gibberish. And at some point into Spanish. KJ got terribly worked up about the gringos. In doing so, he accidentally knocked his trucker cap off his head. He picked up a bandana and tied it around his head. KJ's gaze became somehow different. While they were talking, he played with his nipples more and more. He looked at Manolo more intensely. Somehow… lustfully? “Tengo que ir al baño otra vez. ¿Y no te gustaría venir conmigo?” KJ stood up. He was a muscleman. His tight-fitting tank top emphasized his muscles even more. With every twitch of the muscles, the tattoos moved, creating a real cartoon. His ass looked phenomenal in the pleated pants. If Manolo had to create a wank fantasy, this is what it would look like. And now the wank fantasy was telling him to follow him to the restrooms. Damn it! KJ looked like a real cholo. And he was a square college student in khakis and a button-down. Manolo hesitated for a moment. And then he followed KJ. KJ? Why “KJ”? I have no idea when the nickname developed. César Jesus should have been called CJ. But some stupid gringo hadn't understood that in elementary school. And so he had eventually become KJ. And the nickname stuck.

KJ was standing at the urinal. Manolo could see from behind that he was about to jerk off. Even though they had known each other since childhood, he had never seen KJ's cock. KJ's father had the typical conglomerate that enterprising wetbacks build. He had a few trucks that he used to transport goods or help with removals, he owned a few cafes, a laundry… And KJ was supposed to take over this small local empire at some point. His parents had always hoped that the friendship with the clever and ambitious Manolo would have a positive effect on KJ. But KJ had always been the type to hang out with the bad boys. And who could blame him? He looked just as brutal and manly as his father.

Manolo stood next to César at the urinal. César pretended not to notice Manolo. His tattooed hand jerked his cock, which was also covered in tattoos. It was a monster that offered almost as much surface area for artistic decoration as Manolo's thin forearm. César pushed up his tank top with his other hand, revealing his granite abs and finally his nipples. He played with his right nipple with his left hand. And Manolo, whose cock was almost as hard as César's muscles, couldn't help but suck on the left nipple. “Siempre supe que detrás de la fachada de empollón se escondía una zorrita,” César moaned. He let go of his nipple and pushed Manolo gently but firmly onto his knees. And Manolo greedily licked the precum from César's gleaming glans. This beast was not the first cock he sucked. But it was the biggest. And its owner was the one he wanted to satisfy more than anyone before. They had been like dissimilar brothers. Now he wanted to be this giant's whore. And César obviously wanted him to be his whore. He enjoyed the blow job and moaned loudly enough to signal to anyone who wanted to use the toilet that it was occupied. Manolo sucked César's cock and jerked his own. Both came almost simultaneously. It was impossible for Manolo to swallow all of César's cum. And his own cum splashed onto his shirt. Exhausted, he fell back. César was breathing heavily, too. “Necesitas una camisa nueva, hermanito,” he said. Manolo certainly couldn't go out like that. César took off Manolo's shirt and wiped his cum-smeared face with it. Then he took off his sweaty tank top. It was a bit difficult because it couldn't be easily pulled over his muscular body. He handed it to Manolo. Of course it was too big. But it felt good. And César would make sure that he would fill it out better soon. Today two men became real cholos.

Pics by @ki-kink

[maturemenoftvandfilms]

Mr. Walz

Featuring Minnesota Gov. Tim Walz

Back in the late ‘90s, Minnesota Gov. Tim Walz, and now Vice President Kamala Harris’ running mate, was a high school teacher and football coach in rural Minnesota. I attended Mankato West from 2000-2004, having Walz for 11th grade history. Being gay at the time, I initially expected to hate Walz, because he was a football coach and a hunter. But he was accepting and really friendly with me; with everyone really. He’s genuinely the goofy teacher that was in the hallway greeting every kid every morning, giving high fives and fist bumps. He and his wife, also a teacher at the school, provided vital support during my formative years. And to be honest, I thought he was cute.

He was in his late 30s and about 21 years my senior at that time, about my height, which is just shy of five foot-nine. He was chiselled like most middle-aged men with a gut. He dressed conservatively, usually a short sleeve solid colored shirt with a tee shirt under it and trousers which seemed to be a few sizes too small. I couldn’t help but find myself staring at his tightly held manhood, which showed a clear outline of his thick cock. That bulge had me daydreaming during our meets and school outings. I would jerk-off with this image in my mind every night.

After graduation, I didn’t see my ex-teacher again until I attended a campaign dinner in Falcon Heights, Minnesota. He instantly recognized me, smiling broadly and gave me a big hug. We’re talking 20-something years ago, and to have your 10th-grade geography teacher remember you after all of that time, it means something. I couldn’t call him Gov. Walz, because he will forever be Mr. Walz.

We talked a bit then, and a couple times throughout the evening. He asked me about what I was up to, if I was dating, the usual chit chat. I was so giddy to see Mr. Walz that I confessed that I had a crush on him in high school. I told him I thought about him every night when I jack off. How I use a big carrot up my ass, and pretend it was his dick. And I told him I knew he would never like me, that way, but I had to tell him.

Surprisingly, he suggested I should come over to his hotel, later, placing his hotel room card on the edge of the sink right next to me.

"Wait here, I'll have an agent escort you to my room in an hour." He said before leaving. I looked around to see if anyone had noticed, but no one had, so I quickly grabbed the key.

Sure enough, an hour later, a secret service agent escorted me to his hotel. The journey upstairs was unbearable. Reporters to dodge, people for the agent to nod away. By the time I got to Mr. Walz’s room, I was afraid he’d think I wasn’t’ interested, but when I entered the room, he was ready and waiting. The lights were dim, Mr. Walz was in a hotel bathrobe, and he’d ordered porn on the television.

"Is this what you really want?" I asked.

"More then anything." He replied.

I made the first move, leaning in to kiss him and as soon as our lips met, his arms went around me. Quickly, he started unbuttoning my shirt, unzipping my pants, and basically tearing my clothes off as he moved his tongue around inside my mouth. His hand was on my hard dick, feeling and testing the size.

"Oh, yeah." He moaned, as he ran his hand down my tender, sensitive cock before squatting.

With his mouth at my crotch, he ran his tongue up all seven inches, before gently pushing me towards the bed. On the bed, our bodies melded into one. His hard dick was teasing mine, as once again, our tongues found the other's mouth. Hands everywhere, as we hugged and rocked each other. Kissing my way down his chest, I left a trail of saliva all the way to his cock. Taking him in my mouth, I began to suck while I swirled my tongue around his boner before he started thrusting into my throat, making me gag. I guess he got pretty turned on by what I was doing to him as he turned me around and put us into 69 position.

As Mr. Walz took my dick in his mouth, I took his dick in mine. I worked on it with such skill that he began moaning deep inside his throat as he sucked my dick. And he could really suck; he knew how to please a man. I began to feel him starting to breathe rapidly and shake. I knew he was going to explode soon. I was getting close as well.

Wanting Mr. Walz to fuck me, I quickly seperated, and rolled off the bed leaving him laying there completely naked with a huge hard-on. Hurrying to my pants, I pulled a tube of lubrication out of his pocket before I bounded back to the bed. After telling him I wanted him to fuck me, I tensely watched as Mr. Walz applied the lubricate to his cock, knowing the pain I was about to feel. I couldn’t help but thinking back to my high school years when I first saw him. I had always wanted Mr. Walz to fuck me since then. Now was the time.

“You got a nice tight asshole.” Mr. Walz told me as he rubbed some of the KY onto my asshole.

He lifted my legs and stared me straight in the eyes as he guided the head of his cock to my ass. As soon as his dick made contact, he immediately thrust all 8 inches into me. I gasped loudly, so loudly in fact that I’m sure the people in the next room heard.

“I’m going to really open up your asshole.” Mr. Walz called out with a wicked smile on his face as he slowly started fucking me.

Noticing each time the fat head of his cock passed my hard prostate, pre-cum would squirt from the tip of my dick. He reached down and scooped it up with his finger, brought it to his mouth and licked it clean.

"Oh, man, that's good." He said, as he scooped up more, but I pulled his finger to his mouth, and sucked it in.

We smiled at each other before he leaned forward and kissed me deep, our tongues caressed each other, sharing my pre-cum. Then as we kissed he sent his cock plunging deeper into me. I arched my back as I was forced to take more cock deeper into my ass than ever before.

“Yes, fuck me, Mr. Walz.” I found myself saying when he broke our embrace, “Give it to me, Mr. Walz. Make me yours!”

And he did just that. Mr. Walz started fucking me hard and fast. I took each of the strokes of his his old manhood willingly. I wanted to give him total pleasure and I could tell from the far away look in his eye that the old man was as lost in me as I was in him. I knew he was getting close, and I didn’t want to stop him, so I didn’t say a word about pulling out. Having only had sex with his wife for all those years, he didn’t think of it either. Soon he was filling my ass with ropes of cum, and I felt it filling me up.

After we got off and caught our breath, he looked at me and we both started laughing and telling each other how glad we were that we'd just met up today.

[castiwls]

invisible string - s.w

Paring; sam x reader

Prompt; 'All along there was some, Invisible string. Tying you to me?'

Requested; @writing-with-emy

Notes; this idea is so cute omg (also I am British and have no idea how the American college system works and also I'm unsure of what year Sam started collage so pls bare with me ahaha)

also requests are open again!

Masterlist | Taylor Swift masterlist

“I didn’t even know I had all these still.” You laugh quietly pulling yet another pile of pictures out of the box. The carpet in your childhood bedroom was scratchy as you shifted to pull out the final pile. “Your parents really did keep everything,” Sam said as he thumbed through a pile of your baby pictures.

He paused on one holding it up with a grin. “You looked like ET.” You looked over squinting slightly at the picture. “All newborn babies look like ET.” 

He nodded looking at the picture again before picking up the next one. “You were a cute kid.”

You smiled reaching over to take the pile. The pictures held memories you barely remembered.Trips to the park, your first few birthdays, family holidays. You smiled quietly to yourself pausing on a picture from your first day of school.

A vague memory flashed through your mind as you traced the picture with your finger. Too caught up in your own memory you missed Sam’s noise of confusion. 

He placed a hand on your ankle. “Hey. Look.” He gestured for you to come closer. Moving to his side you leaned over his shoulder. “What?” The picture was one from a trip to see your grandparents in Minnesota. An eight-year-old you were smiling while holding a half-melted ice cream. Sam pointed to a boy who stood a few feet behind, his back to the camera and you. “That's me.” His head turned slightly as he held the picture closer. “He pointed to another figure who stood over to the side. This boy was clearly older but still not nearly old enough to be out without some sort of supervision. “See, that's Dean.”

You frowned slightly squinting. Sure enough the closer you looked the more similarities you could see. “Oh my god.” You moved the picture down. “That's insane. Seriously what are the chances.”

Sam laughed quietly looking back to the picture. You watched him for a moment, gauging his expression. His eyes seemed to grow sad for a moment as he looked from the picture to the piles scattered over your floor.

“Keep it.” 

“I can’t.” He shook his head. “It’s your picture.” 

“Technically it's ours.” You pointed to the picture. “And Deans.” You shrugged.

You continued on for a while, memories seeming to come and go as you watched yourself grow up through the piles. It was a nice change to simply sit in relative silence with no worries. 

The last hunt had been bad. The bandage on Sam’s arm an ugly reminder of how close it had been. Going home had been his idea - a way to destress. 

Picking up the last pile you flicked through the pictures pausing after a moment. “You went to Stanford right?” Sam looked over at your words nodding. “Yeah, why?”

“What year did you start college?” you inspected the picture further. “2001.”

You nodded flipping the picture around. “We were in the same graduating class.”

He looks at the picture his lips parting slightly. The picture had been taken during orientation. You and your friend had been snapping pictures with the new camera you’d been gifted for your birthday.

Somehow you’d seemingly managed to catch an almost perfect picture of your boyfriend while he’d been walking through the fair. Sam laughed. “No way.” He held up another picture. “I’m starting to think we’ve been in each other's pockets for years.”

You reached for the picture. You couldn't have been more than twelve in it as you and your mum both smiled at the camera. The Grand Canyon was visible in the back - as were three figures.

You looked back over to him. “Your dad took you to the Grand Canyon?” You raised an eyebrow. He nodded with a small smile. “Yeah. Perks of moving around I guess.” You passed him back the picture.

“That's how many now? Three.”

“Four.” He passed you another from the pile. “Oh my god, I loved that coffee shop.” You gasped taking the picture. “Their cake was so good.”

Sam chuckled. “It was.” You looked up from the picture. “I can’t believe we've never met before. We always seem so close in these pictures.” You placed it down. 

Sam hummed thinking for a moment. “Maybe we were meant to meet until we did I mean,” He picked up another picture - five-year-old you in a Cinderella dress. “We lived in a different world.”

Snatching the picture back you rolled your eyes. “I guess we did.”

Gathering up the pictures you began placing them back into the box. Sam watched for a moment before shifting behind you. He wrapped a hand around your waist as he placed his chin on your head. He watched quietly.

“I’m glad we met.” He pressed a kiss to your head. “I’m glad to.” You turned your head, pressing your lips to his for a moment. 

He smiled looking back down to the five pictures still laid out on the floor. “You wanna keep them?” Your voice was soft as you spoke. “I think I have enough.” 

He chewed on his lip for a moment before reaching for the orientation picture. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” The box was pushed back under your bed as he stood stretching. Taking his hand you pulled yourself up looking around the room for a moment. “We should probably head back to the motel before Dean claims the room as his own.” He grinned squeezing your hand.

You nodded taking one last look before following him out.

“Wait. I’ll meet you downstairs.” Sam nodded mumbling a small ‘okay’ before disappearing down the stairs.

Turning back into your room you opened your desk drawing pulling out your old camera. The same one you’d had at orientation. You flipped it over in your hand for a moment before putting it into your bag.

Glancing over your desk smiled at the graduation picture tucked in the corner. You picked it up looking it over for a moment before frowning. 

Stood pretty much besides you was a familiar figure. Shaking your head you placed the picture back down.

Maybe fate was real.

[dchan87]

The day after Minnesota Governor Tim Walz was announced as Kamala Harris’s choice for vice president, Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell told a crowd of lawmakers in Louisville, Kentucky, that a Harris administration would spell certain doom for the Republican Party. “Let’s assume our worst nightmare—the Democrats went to the White House, the House, the Senate,” McConnell said during his keynote speech at the National Conference of State Legislators Legislative Summit last week, according to Spectrum News. “The first thing they’ll do is get rid of the [Senate] filibuster. Second, you’ll have two new states: D.C., Puerto Rico. That’s four new Democratic senators in perpetuity.”

Puerto Rico will vote on a nonbinding ballot measure in November to determine the territory’s future political status, with voters being given three options, all of which would change its official status: statehood, independence, or independence with free association. It will be the seventh time that the island’s 3.2 million people vote to define their political relationship with the United States. Harris has not yet taken an official stance on the vote.

McConnell insisted that next on the historically moderate Democrat’s agenda would be to place as many liberal justices on the Supreme Court as possible, noting that doing so would be “unconstitutional”—while apparently ignoring the fact that that’s exactly what Donald Trump did to achieve SCOTUS’s current conservative supermajority.

“If they get those two new states and pack the Supreme Court, they’ll get what they want,” McConnell said.

Ultimately, McConnell believes that the Harris-Walz ticket “represents the far left of the Democratic Party.

“And by the way, that’s most Democrats today,” he added.

Following the address, Kentucky Senate President Robert Stivers broke down the Republican perspective on why Harris turned to Walz as her right hand.

“They’re trying to appeal to a rural voter that they have not appealed to in years,” Stivers said, reported Spectrum. “Now, whether they can or they can’t, that becomes a good question, and I think that will be based on the policies that they put forward. And hopefully, that’s what we get into.”

[meret118]

In an effort to paint Vice President Kamala Harris’s running mate, Minnesota Gov. Tim Walz, as a far-left liberal, the Trump campaign has chosen the nickname “Tampon Tim” after a bill Walz signed last year.

The law, which went into effect in January, requires schools throughout Minnesota to provide menstrual products — like sanitary pads and tampons — to “all menstruating students in restrooms regularly used by students in grades 4 to 12.”

But the nickname may not have pulled off what Trump supporters intended.

Minnesota state Rep. Sandra Feist, who authored the bill, told Yahoo News the goal of the bill was to support student health and ensure that any student doesn’t have to miss school because they can’t afford menstrual products.

The Wall Street Journal reported in July that the cost of pads and tampons has increased faster in the last few years than the price of food. The average cost of a pack of pads and a box of tampons is $6.50 and $8.29 respectively.

“The bill was brought to be by students saying that this was something really important to them and it was something that was really impacting their ability to get an education,” Feist said. “That was the goal of the bill.”

In January 2023, a 16-year-old student told lawmakers at the Minnesota capital, “We cannot learn while we are leaking. … This is a fear everyone knows, and it is happening in our schools all of the time.”

Another 15-year-old emphasized how important it was to remain inclusive, fighting against efforts by Republican lawmakers to amend the bill to be exclusively for female and gender-neutral restrooms.“

It will make it more comfortable for everyone,” they said. “People can use whatever restroom they want without being worried.”

“There are a number of states that have already done something similar,” Feist said. “Period poverty is something that impacts all students who menstruate.”

-----

I heard someone on a podcast today say they should embrace it, and sell t-shirts saying:

Tampon Tim

Stopping the Red Wave

I'm not sure about t-shirts, but definitely sell little zippered bags to keep tampons in with this printed on them.

[starry-bi-sky]

This is very inspired by @minnesota-fats post about Danny being Bruce Wayne's clone (which has been rotting in my brain for two days) but an au where danny isn't just Bruce Wayne's clone, but also not fully a ghost.

both ideas can be used separately honestly, the idea just came to me while thinking about the bruce wayne clone idea, and a lot of this idea is just "danny without his ghost powers. i might probably make a part two that delves into him being bruce wayne's clone.

Hear me out.

A Danny Fenton who has the ghost sense and the fangs and the pointed ears and the scary eyes and an increase ecto-essence, but does not have the ability to "go ghost". His accident occurred when he pressed the "on" button on the outside of the portal, and the button electrocuted him due to faulty wiring. He ends up miraculously surviving but not without some new additional abilities (and electricity-based trauma).

Since Danny no longer has a built-in alter ego with the invert wardrobe to match, he doesn't see the point to take ghosts back to the ghost zone. What the hell can he do anyways? All he has is a cosmetic add-in, a lower body-temperature with an impressive ability to hold his breath longer than a human realistically should, and a built-in ghost detector. Not very helpful if you ask him.

That is, up until he goes into the lab after his parents catch a relatively harmless ghost and sees them vivisecting it. He's horrified. He thought his parents were using hyperbole when he said they'd tear them apart molecule by molecule.

(Granted, he also believed that ghosts were unfeeling up until he saw this random ghost being absolutely terrified for its existence on the table.)

After an argument over his parents harming the ghost, Danny goes back up to his room and refuses to leave, not even for dinner. Later that night after his parents went to sleep, Danny steels his resolve and sneaks back down into the lab and releases the ghost back into the ghost zone.

This happens a handful of times, until, finally, frustrated, Danny tells the latest captured ghost to tell anyone inside that if they even think about coming through, he'll capture them and bring them back to the zone himself. It's for their own safety.

The ghost agrees, and goes back inside. Danny steals a "failed" thermos from his parents' stash of weapons. The next time that a ghost shows up, its the lunch lady from episode one. Danny manages to defeat her without being seen, but knows that if there's gonna be consistent daytime ghost attacks then he can't base his luck around fighting without witnesses.

So he fashions himself with a makeshift outfit. This really only consists of an old, nondescript hoodie and a plain black face mask. Its the best thing he can do at short notice, however. Later, for his nighttime ghost fighting, his outfit is only slightly better.

He considered using one of his parents' lab suits. But white sticks out at night and the material doesn't protect you from road burn. His outfit is pretty homemade, with knee and elbow pads under his clothes and multiple layers. A long sleeve shirt over a hoodie over a black denim vest he found on sale. He later on manages to make brass knuckles ghost-proof and manages to stitch them into his gloves. (he gets very good at sewing).

His favorite part of the entire outfit, is a Casey Jones-style full-face mask he found while thrifting. It allows him better breathability than the face mask he was using (calling Rule Of Cool law here), and he can use his scary eyes to make him look more intimidating. His gloves, his mask, and his thermos are the things he carries around with him constantly, and, later on, wears baggier clothing to hide the fact that he's wearing knee and elbow gear under his clothes.

Did I mention he has long hair? Danny has long hair (because GNC danny ftw, it goes past his shoulders) that he braids back. it's a bit sloppy but it keeps his hair out of his face well enough. He takes the fenton creep stick with him.

(He and Bruce have, ultimately, a more lean build than a bulky one. It helped Bruce with his Brucie Wayne persona big time when he had to look like a pretty skinny boy, he uses body language, optical illusion, and body armor to make himself look bulkier as batman)

He still goes by the name Phantom. He still has a bitter rivalry with his parents, who have no idea that its him. They think he's probably some other ghost with beef with the other ghosts (he still triggers their ghost sensors), and still want to capture him.

He doesn't talk around the living. He doesn't have any fancy voice changer and dropping his voice hurts and ultimately, he just uses ASL if he ever has to talk in front of people. The ghosts know his voice at night, but not during the day.

He hardly talks to the living. He avoids them like the plague actually. When he defeats a ghost and there's an audience, he barely sticks around to have a nice friendly chat. He tries to get away as soon as possible. He's paranoid over people finding out who he is. He doesn't have that ghost form to fall back on here.

Oh god this is getting so long, so i'll post another part soon.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 4.5 (Dani interlude) Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 7.5 (Dan Interlude) Part 8

[ibetonlosinghuskies]

patience and pleasure pt 5

summary: the morning after the party, paige and azzi grapple with their feelings. as they navigate the aftermath of their shared moment, both struggling to read each others' emotions and define their relationship.

cw: fluff, slight angst.

disclaimer: everything i write is fictional, any and all similarities to real life is not intensional.

word count 4.7k +

author's note: ik yall are fed up with my melodramatic ass i’m sorry 😭

paige's pov:

the morning light through my blinds is harsh and telling. the events of last night flood my mind. slow dancing in the street, pleading her to hear me out.

i remember everything.

the hurt in azzi's eyes, gentle and hopeful. her kiss on my forehead felt more like a goodbye than anything else. a rush of embarrassment courses through me. all my desperation for nothing.

years of carefully towing the line between friendship and something more, all undone by my alcohol fueled vulnerability. this wasn't to say i didn't mean it, though. i felt a strange relief that night, even if she hadn't believed me, it felt good to finally get it off my chest.

i should text her and apologize.

my fingers hover over the screen, debating what i should say. what do i even tell her after all of this? i'm left without words, everything i've ever wanted to say, was said last night.

the words i want to type burn in my throat: "i meant every word i said."

but i can't bring myself to do it. the memory of azzi's pained expression, filled with a slight pity. her gentle rejection, while seemingly reluctant, stops me cold.

what if i tell her i remember and it ruins everything? what if my honesty costs me the most important person in my life?

my chest tightens, an anxiety builds between my ribs. and to make matters worse, i'm definitely hungover from last night.

maybe it's better if i just pretend i forgot.

the thought of denying my feelings feels like a betrayal—both to azzi and to myself. i've spent years hiding my feelings, making them smaller, more manageable. but now that they're out in the open, how can i possibly go back from that?

my mind races with possible messages to send her, each one feeling like a step backward. maybe this is what she wants? maybe azzi doesn't feel the same and was just trying to spare my feelings? give me an out, an opportunity to forget and move on.

she wouldn't let me tell her i was in love with her.

the phrase still lingers on my tongue, catching in my throat. i need to think logically here, but my mind is fuzzy and filled with what-ifs.

the next few days blur together in a haze of anxiety and embarrassment. every time my phone buzzed, my heart skipped a beat, hoping it was her.

i tried everything to keep my mind off of her. i spent hours on the court, lobbing up the ball. my performance was lacking, my body reflecting my mind. i ran drills until my legs burned and my lungs ached.

i couldn't outrun my feelings.

i prayed that god would save me from this. give me the right words, the courage to speak to her. i begged god to take her away from me if it wasn't meant to be.

every time i closed my eyes to pray, i saw her face.

i had a few days between the end of the season and training camp, so i went back home to minnesota. packing away all of my emotions in a carry-on bag. thinking that if i pretend to forget long enough, maybe i really will.

i can leave everything here, all of my mistakes, left behind in storrs.

i should be happy to see my family, especially after so long. i've missed them immensely, but as we greet each other, my mind still wanders to her.

"welcome home, paigey!" drew calls from the driveway, standing between my mother's legs. my heart aches, he's gotten taller since i last saw him.

"hi guys," i greet them both, my voice steadier than i felt. they helped me carry my bags into the house. it came naturally to them, after years of supporting me through tournaments and travel. but this time was different. this time, they were carrying more than just clothes and basketball shoes.

deep within those zippers—the heartache, the regret, my unspoken truth. everything i tried to leave behind.

the weight of my baggage laden on my family's shoulders.

the rest of the day, we fall into a familiar rhythm. mom's home-cooked meals, drew's relentless teasing, the comfort of my childhood bedroom. it was easy to slip back into the role of their little girl, a hometown prodigy, untouched by my mistakes of today. it's almost enough to make me forget about everything.

but during family dinners, i'd zone out, wondering what azzi was doing. checking her socials, even though i knew she wouldn't post. was she thinking of me? did she miss me? was this killing her too? i felt guilty for being so absent-minded from my family but i couldn't stop it.

they're my family but azzi was my home.

i went to bed feeling heavy. our days of no contact burdening my heart. it's the worst at night; i haven't been able to sleep much.

the darkness of my childhood bedroom felt suffocating. the walls closing in on me with the momentum only fear brings. my sheets tangle between my legs as i toss and turn. the bright red numbers of my alarm clock taunt me, blinking with expectation.

2:17 AM. i stared at the ceiling. my room so dark, i couldn't tell if my eyes were open.

i miss her voice.

the way she'd whisper to me in the dark of my bedroom. her words like a blanket, soft and heavy.

3:34 AM. i grab my phone, scrolling through our last text. my thumb twitches over her contact.

i miss her touch.

the calmness she carries in her fingertips. the way she ordered my body with just the stillness of her hands.

4:22 AM. i tuck my knees into my chest, burying my head between them. without her, i feel like a kid again.

i miss her eyes.

a knowing spark that glistened at me occasionally, cutting through her poised resolve. the way her eyes lightened when it caught flickers of sunlight, my little pool of honey.

caught in the small space between her eyelashes, i drifted to sleep. it'd only been an hour or two when i heard my phone ding. reflexively, my heart races, hoping it's her.

i reach for my phone, my heart stopping for a moment as i read the text. 

surprise hits me first. azzi's family had always been like a second family to me, but her timing is insane.

then comes a wave of dread. would it be weird? azzi and i haven't spoken in three days, not that i've been counting. our last interaction burned in my mind. does azzi even want me there? had she told her parents what happened?

hope flutters in my chest. maybe this is a chance to mend things, to be normal for a night. the thought is interrupted by a creeping sense of doubt in my gut.

what if azzi doesn't even know i'm invited?

my fingers hover over the keyboard. part of me wants to accept immediately, desperate for any connection to azzi. but another part of wants to decline, to shield myself from confrontation.

as a middle ground, i like the message. giving myself time to debate my decision. this dinner invitation feels like a crossroads. whatever i decide, it could change everything. again.

azzi's pov:

the familiar creek of the third step on the staircase takes me back. my grandparents' house held a special place in my heart. maybe it was the cozy 70's bohemian style that carried through their decor.

maybe it was the fact that it's only twelve minutes from paige's house.

i've been waiting for her to reach out first. after that night, after everything she said, i didn't know where her head was.

god, i feel awful.

i let my fear shut her down. i should have let her finish, should've told her i feel the same. she tried to tell me she's in love with me, words i'd been dying to hear since we were fifteen.

i tried to keep my mind off it, but the guilt was eating me alive. i threw myself into anything else, impatient to relieve this feeling.

i spent hours with my headphones on, letting the music drown out my thoughts.

but every song was about her.

the lyrics distorted to say her name, echoing through the cavern of my heart. i heard her soft breath between beats, real and steady. guitar chords mimicking the hum of her content.

when the silence became too much, i read for hours. clinging to the words on the page, desperate for them to take me away from this reality. i'd almost finished two whole books in the span of three days.

but every story mirrored our own.

i was living between the pages of my favorite romance novels. the missed connections and unspoken tension, all much too real to bring me any comfort.

every distraction felt hollow in comparison to my guilt. a persistent shadow, clouding everything i do.

the happiness that i used to find so easily, died on her lips that night.

the afternoon sun filtered through my curtains, i set the table, getting ready for dinner.

"azzi?" my mom calls from the kitchen while washing the dishes. "i was thinking you and grandma can make some of those chocolate chip cookies paige loves," her voice nonchalant.

my heart flutters when i hear her name, and before i can say anything, she continues. "i invited her over for dinner tonight," she says smiling.

paige. here. tonight. as in a few hours from now, tonight.

"what?" i choke out, my mind racing.

my mom misreads my panic for excitement. "i've missed her, you remember all the summers she's spent here," she says, looking back down at the dishes.

how could i possibly forget?

i sprinted back upstairs, my thoughts spinning. she was going to be here. sitting at my dining room table, looking as beautiful as always. after everything that happened.

i imagined all the different ways tonight could go. what if she doesn't want to see me? what if i ruined everything?

i hope she meant everything she said.

my thoughts shifted to my appearance. if tonight really was going to be the night i finally open up to her, i needed to look nice. i tear through my closet, clothes littering my floor.

i settle on a soft pink sweater. she once told me she liked the fabric, she'd run her fingers down my spine melodically.

maybe she'd reach out to touch me tonight.

my hands shake slightly as i apply my mascara. i fan out my eyelashes, i wanted her to look at me. when i get to my lipgloss, i'm reminded of her. all these little moments we'd share, carried a new heaviness after her confession. i dab a bit of concealer under my eyes, hoping to create an illusion of peace i don't feel.

i stare at myself in the mirror, imagining finally meeting her eyes. rehearsing what i might say to her.

"i'm sorry. i should've let you finish. i feel the same way."

the words blend together in my head, like a mantra. i'm going to get it right this time.

i take a deep breath, attempting to steady my heart rate. tonight could change everything, for good this time. if she remembers, if she still wants me, i'm hers.

i'll tell her everything.

i hear a car door slam outside. she's here. a combination of fear and hope stirs in my stomach. we can make things right.

i run down the stairs to open the door. our eyes lock, and my world falls away from me. there's a flicker of recognition in her eyes, looking just as vulnerable as she did that night. her lips parted slightly, the ghost of her confession haunting her expression. her eyes soften, just for a second, before she catches herself.

"hey, az," she says, her voice a little too casual. "it's been a while."

we hug awkwardly, our bodies stiff with the burden of unspoken words. "yeah," i say into her shoulder. i'm upset with myself, i still can't find the words.

instead, i just hold her a bit tighter. a firm grip on her shirt, i feel her heartbeat race against my chest. for a moment, i think she might pull away, but then i feel it—her finger, tracing down my spine, dancing over my vertebrae through the soft fabric of my sweater.

just when i begin to melt into her touch, she pulls back, holding me at arm's length. when we part, there's a soft pink flush in her cheeks that wasn't there before. she flashes me an awkward smile, raising her eyebrows slightly, before leaving to greet my family.

does she remember? is this her way of telling me?

we held on for a moment too long, our embraces lingering past the point of a casual greeting. i'm left standing right where she left me, my skin still tingling where she'd touched. the motion of her fingers, like morse code on my spine, a message i'm desperate to decode.

i watch as she effortlessly charms my family, slipping back into the role as their favorite. the floor buzzes underneath my feet with an undercurrent of tension.

paige belongs here, she always has.

at dinner, we sit next to each other, our elbows almost touching. i swear these chairs were not this close together when i set the table.

as everyone settles in, an uncomfortable silence falls upon the table. i catch my dad shooting my mom a look, gesturing for her to say something. she returns the look, annoyed, then looks down at her plate. she opens her mouth to speak but my grandma cuts her off.

"azzi, honey, you never bring any nice boys around. haven't met anyone special yet?" she smiles between mouthfuls.

boys? huh.

paige nearly chokes on her food, a smirk flickering across her lips. regaining her composure, she glances at me, holding in a laugh. her eyes are wide, filled with anticipation, eager for my response.

she can't help herself, chiming in, "yeah, azzi. no cute boys catching your eye?" her voice drips with mock innocence. i catch her tongue rolling against the inside of her cheek, a gesture of pure arrogance. she tilts her head to the side, eyes searching my face.

god, she looks hot when she's being cocky like this.

"i been...busy. you know how it gets in college," i avoid her eyes, careful not to let my thoughts show. but inside, i'm screaming.

i do have someone special. she's sitting right next to me.

my grandma doesn't let up, clearly amused by the topic. "come on, a pretty girl like you? what about that nice boy from the men's team?"

i feel a heat burn through my face, spreading down my neck. i bounce my leg anxiously, trying to find a way to change the topic.

she continues, "i'm just saying, honey. love is a beautiful thing." her eyes shift to paige now. "you shouldn't let it pass you by," she examines our response.

i look up to meet her eyes, attempting to speak up again, when i feel it suddenly. paige's hand rests on my thigh, a bit higher than my knee, slowing my nervous shake to a stop. the placement feels almost suggestive, more intimate than our usual touch.

my breath catches for a moment, and i become aware of the warmth of her palm against my skin. she speaks with her hands, for the second time tonight, stroking her thumb in a sweet, yet somewhat possessive gesture. she gives me a reassuring squeeze before speaking up.

"she brings me around, am i not special, grandma fudd?" paige interjects, pouting; her voice playful but sincere.

she speaks with intention and a hint of something—protection? possession?

my grandma's face lights up like this was the reaction she's wanted the whole time. "oh, of course you are, sweetheart." her eyes darting between us, "i've always thought you two share something very...unique."

the way she says the word 'unique' makes my stomach flip. had she seen it all this time? had everyone seen it? were we the last two to notice?

paige's hand remains on my thigh, a comforting weight. i cover her hand with mine, squeezing gently. a silent thank you.

the rest of dinner goes smoothly, chatting about old memories and stories. i'm desperate to know what's going through paige's mind. i notice the little things:

the way our hands brush when she passes me the salt, our fingers meeting for a moment too long.

the stolen glances when she thinks i'm not looking. the way her eyes flutter when i catch her looking.

how she stumbles over her words when they ask about our last hangout, avoiding eye contact.

the way she tenses up when our knees touch underneath the table, but she doesn't move away.

each moment is a contradiction of the last. her actions are a slow waltz—a push and pull between familiarity and distance. by the end of the night, i'm convinced she remembers. but something inside her keeps pushing it away.

i don't wanna pretend anymore.

after a few hours of this, i know i can't let this continue for much longer. we need to talk, really talk. and soon.

paige's pov:

"can we talk?" azzi's voice is soft and hesitant. my heart skips a beat, a familiar palpitation i've felt around her for years.

i nod, following her up the familiar stairs to her childhood bedroom. the staircase is lined with family photos, filled with memories i've been trying so hard to forget—or pretend to forget.

how can i truly forget when azzi's smile in these pictures makes my chest tighten? she's been missing from my heart for years, it swells at the thought of her.

azzi shuts the door behind us gently, my eyes scan her bedroom. it hasn't changed much, still leaking with her personality. her bedroom walls are covered in photos of us, a tapestry of memories.

i catch sight of an old film camera. azzi's grandma had given it to us right before i moved to storrs. the sight of it brings a rush of emotions from that night i'm not prepared for.

"you still have this?" i ask, lifting the camera. it feels heavier than i anticipated, or maybe i just feel weak under azzi's gaze.

she unravels me in just a few blinks.

her eyes soften, "yeah, of course. we used to take that thing everywhere."

my heart aches at the memory—taking the camera to games, practices, summer trips. i liked the challenge of capturing her beauty between tiny frames of film. though, no photo could ever truly capture the extent of her allure, i had fun trying. i'll always be her photographer, and she'll always be my perfect model.

"do you remember the first roll we ever shot on here?" i tilted the camera, my voice softer than i intended.

"yeah," she says, pointing to a set of photos on the left side of her wall.

i lean in to look at a photo of myself, mouth full of azzi's grandmas' cookies. i'm smiling at the camera, my happiness driven by azzi standing on the other side of the lens.

we were so young.

as i look at the photo, memories flood back. azzi watches my expression, noticing my composure change. "we captured some good memories that night..." she trails off, deep in thought.

like our first kiss.

that was probably one of the best decisions i've ever made. the memory washes over me, warm and bittersweet. the softness of her lips, the slight tremor in her breath. we were so young, so nervous, yet so sure in that moment.

it was simple then. our feelings existed in the small space between our lips, protected from the outside world. i didn't have to put words to the flutter in my chest or the warmth in my cheeks.

loving azzi was as natural as breathing, just as essential too.

i miss the simplicity of it all. i could love her without the burden of expectation. i'd prove it to her eagerly, in everything i did. holding her hair back when she drank too much. folding her clothes cause she hated doing laundry. reading her favorite books, desperate to understand her mind.

our love was in the details—the way she'd adjust my form in practice, save the last of her favorite snacks for me, read to me so i could fall asleep.

loving her has always been the easiest thing. it's everything else that's gotten so complicated.

i want someone, something to blame for this. is this just how things get as you age? the simplicity of love becoming frustratingly far away. maybe it was time, the pressure of sports, or maybe this was bound to happen. maybe we were always meant to put words to these feelings—to call it out boldly by it's name.

maybe it's time.

everything from that night reappears in my mind, this time under a different lens. the thoughtful box of memories azzi gave me that night—had she felt the same way all this time?

i glance at azzi, noticing a sudden change in her expression. she looks like she's just remembered something important, her eyes widening slightly. she starts to pick at her fingers nervously, avoiding eye contact.

"hey, paige?" azzi asks, still looking down at her hands. "did you ever finish that book i gave you that night?" her voice brimmed with nervousness. she radiated an emotion i couldn't quite place, clinging to my response like it will save her from her feelings.

i shake my head, feeling a little guilty. "not quite. i saved the last chapter."

i learned that from her actually. the way she cherished the things she loved, always saving them for the right time.

azzi's eyes light up, a mixture of relief and anticipation washing over her. "you should read it," she says quickly, her voice carrying an urgency that confused me.

she hesitates before continuing, her eyes closing for a moment in a long blink. "about the other night, when you said..."

my body goes cold. my drunken confession. i panic, the fear of confronting my feelings overwhelms me.

what if she's just trying to let me down easy? what if i misread everything?

"oh, yeah?" i force out a laugh. "i hope i didn't say anything too embarrassing, you know how i get when i drink."

i can't risk it again. i'm sorry, azzi.

azzi's face falls slightly, but she quickly masks it. her eyelids flutter, she stares at the floor. i can see the thoughts flickering through her mind. she sees right through me.

"no, no you weren't embarrassing," her voice lowering to a whisper. she locks eyes with me now, intent on making me hear her. "you were actually quite...poetic."

i'm no poet, i was just speaking from the heart.

i swallow hard, knowing she's giving me another opportunity. but i resist, remembering the pity in her eyes that night. "poetic, huh? that doesn't sound like drunk me at all," i joke weakly.

azzi narrows her eyes at me, tilting her head to the side. "you don't remember anything at all?" she questions.

i refuse to meet her gaze, "it's all pretty fuzzy, az."

i'm lying, and we both know it. but i can't bear to see that look of pity in her eyes again.

she takes a deep breath, clearly frustrated. she mutters an "okay" underneath her breath.

the sound of rain pattering against the window fills the silence between us. i hadn't even noticed the storm brewing outside, too caught up in the storm of emotions in this room.

"listen, it's getting late i should go," i say, my voice strained like i'd been screaming, even though i hadn't said anything at all.

as i turn to leave, azzi calls out, her voice soft yet determined. "paige, you can talk to me...when you're ready."

god, she's still so sweet to me. i don't deserve it, not now.

i pause at the door, guilt coursing through me. i know she sees through my lie, knows i remember everything. she knew the moment i stepped foot into this house. she could see it in the softness in my eyes, feel it beneath my fingertips.

"thanks, az," i whisper, before walking down the stairs.

for a moment, i'm tempted. to stay, to talk, to finally be honest. but the fear of getting rejected again, of ruining what we have, is too strong.

katie stopped me as i headed for the door, "leaving already?" she looks a bit sad. "it's pouring out there, why don't you stay the night?"

and share a bed with azzi? after that conversation, absolutely not.

"thanks, but i'll be fine. it's not far," i insist, grabbing my keys.

as i head for the door, i catch a glimpse of azzi's face. hurt, confusion, and something else—disappointment?—flash across her features. but i can't stay.

i step out into the rain, letting it mask the tears threatening to leak out of my eyes. my hands shake as i fumble with my car keys, nearly dropping them in a puddle.

i'm doing the right thing.

the mantra echoes in my mind as i slide into the driver's seat, but it rings hollow. i grip the steering wheel, willing myself to believe it.

i can't let my feelings for her get in the way of our friendship. i'd be selfish to put my emotions over our relationship again. i'd be anything she wants me to be—even if that's just a friend.

i'm doing the right thing.

i turn the key into the ignition, reversing out of her driveway. the intensity of the storm matching the turmoil in my heart as i drive away, leaving azzi and the truth behind.

i can't be wrong again. i can't bear the thought of her letting me down easy, telling me she doesn't feel the same.

i'm doing the right thing.

back at home, my guilt eats its way through my stomach. a relentless ache that promises a sleepless night. my eyes drift to my nightstand, where a worn copy of looking for alaska rests- the book azzi gave me years ago.

sometimes when i'd sleepover at her place, i'd pretend like i couldn't sleep so she could read to me. her voice soothing like a lullaby, i lost myself between her breaths. heavy and melodic, her cadence became my cough syrup, drifting me to sleep.

i flip open to the final chapter, determined to finally finish the book. memories flood back, the way her words coated my thoughts, i can almost hear it now, as i start to read.

i've put this off for so long. terrified of the ending, the finality of a precious memory between azzi and i. saving the final chapter for the right moment. maybe that moment is now.

as i turn the last page, a small slip of paper flutters out. simple yet somehow charged with potential. i unfolded the paper, recognizing the handwriting immediately.

azzi.

my heart pounds as i begin to read. the first few words hook me in, something all too familiar. my breath quickens, my lungs expanding like i'm breathing for the first time.

i didn't need to find the words, she already had. years ago.

by the time i finish, my hands are shaking. the room spins slightly. in a strange paradox of emotions. her words lifted a weight from my chest, stirring a whirlwind of emotions. yet simultaneously, a new weight settles on my shoulders—the gravity of what i need to do now.

how long had this been there? sitting on my nightstand, packed in a suitcase, tucked into a bookshelf. how many times have i almost read this, almost known?

i guess we've both been hiding something.

i leaped from my bed, grabbing my keys, slamming the door behind me. i was exhausted seconds ago, but now, sleep is the furthest thing from my mind. i need to see her. to talk to her. to make it real.

we've wasted too much time already.

[justlookfrightened]

'I Wanna Be Like You'

Filling a prompt from @goddess47: A new rookie has broken one of Jack's rookie records and Jack finds he's really upset; Bitty offers comfort.

The puck thwacked against the tape on Jack’s stick just as he drew it back, and Jack fired it toward the net in one motion, sending the frozen rubber disc sailing over the goalie’s right shoulder and into the back of the net.

In an instant, Willie was embracing him against the boards while Poots and Connie skated in to join the celebration.

Hold on for another thirty seconds, and the game would be theirs.

Sure, it was a meaningless game at the end of another lost season, at least for the Falconers. The best that could be said about it was that the team was playing spoiler, ruining the Blue Jackets bid for the last playoff spot in the east.

Well. They wouldn’t have beaten Carolina in Round One anyway.

The buzzer sounded and Jack started to join the team as they filed down the tunnel towards the dressing room, stopping when one of the broadcast producers plucked at the sleeve of his sweater.

“Number two star,” the producer said.

Jack nodded, waited for Montblanc, the goalie, to take his turn and salute the crowd as number three star, then skated out and raised his stick to the Providence crowd’s cheers.

Willie, who had scored the first goal and gotten the primary assist on the third — Jack’s goal — was waiting to go out as first star.

“You mind waiting here a minute?” the producer asked as Jack tried again to go to the dressing room.

He was tired, his shoulder hurt and his gear was starting to feel uncomfortably clammy. He didn’t know why they would want him for the post-game on-ice interview; that was the first star’s job, although sometimes it got passed to the second star if the first one was new to North America and wasn’t comfortable speaking in English.

That wasn’t the case for Willie, though. Matty Wilson had been drafted by the Falconers in the first round last summer, a product of Minnesota who had moved to Canada in high school to play major juniors. He wasn’t huge for a hockey player, but he was compact and strong, with a powerful first step and a cannon of a shot. He also had the good looks and winning personality that meant he was likely to be the next face of the Falconers.

That was fine with Jack. A decade into an NHL career that he had thought wouldn’t happen at all, Jack was ready to pass the torch. And Willie had had a good season. A great season for a rookie.

Valerie, the broadcaster who did the rink-side interviews, positioned herself between Willie and Jack at the boards.

“Congratulations, Matty!” she said. “With your goal and assist tonight, you have 65 points for the season, a new record for a Falconers rookie.”

“Thanks,” Willie beamed. “It’s been a great season, and I’ve learned so much and developed so much more as a player.”

“Do you know who set the previous rookie scoring record for the Falconers?” Valerie asked, turning to Jack.

Because of course. Jack had set the previous rookie record, at 64 points.

Valerie explained that in case anyone in the arena had missed the point, while Jack offered congratulations to Willie.

He meant his congratulations. It was a huge accomplishment, something that wouldn’t have happened without Willie playing almost every game of the season, without him playing serious minutes in those games, without him becoming a very real scoring threat nearly every shift.

Almost like Jack, who had eclipsed his rookie point total five times in the last 10 years, but not this year.

Willie thanked Jack, and went on to say, “It’s a real honor to be mentioned with Jack, let alone play on the same line. I can only hope to have a career like his.”

Then they were headed down the tunnel side by side, Jack working to make sure he didn’t have a sour expression on his face.

Bitty was still up when Jack let himself in the back door of the house they’d bought three years ago. That was when Jack had signed his last contract, the one with the no-movement clause, and he and Bitty had agreed it was time to think about raising a family. No kids yet, but Bitty adored the dog they’d adopted two weeks after moving in.

The house wasn’t far from downtown Providence, but it was on a big enough lot for Bitty to have a large garden with room left over for an eventual play structure, and, maybe someday, a tiny rink in the winter. Bitty loved it because it backed up to the water, and the kitchen had marvelous natural light for taping his cooking segments.

Jack liked it because he could go out on the back deck at night, and it was magnificently quiet.

“Nice goal in the third,” Bitty said, looking up from his laptop on the kitchen table. “Protein shake is in the fridge.”

“Thanks,” Jack said, letting one word serve as answer for both things Bitty told him. “Puck go out yet?”

Puck lifted his head from the rug in front of the sink when he heard his name.

“Not yet,” Bitty said.

“Come on, chiot,” Jack said, still carrying the tumbler with his shake.

He stood on the deck while Puck sniffed around the yard, watched the dog’s ears prick forward when a rabbit passed by on the far side of the fence, gazed out at the bay. This was better, right? Better than being a rookie, wondering how his career would turn out? He had a home, and a husband (and a dog) who loved him, they were planning to raise a kid or two or three together, his name was on the Stanley Cup twice … this was better. 

Better than having his whole life ahead of him? Better than having his face on all the billboards and the sides of buses. Well, yes, for that part. Even though he was still on some billboards. 

Some things were worse. The way his shoulder hurt after a hard game. The ache he was starting to feel in his hips every day when he got out of bed. How intentional he had to be to recover from one game and be ready for the next.

“Jack?”

He hadn’t heard Bitty come out behind him. Jack looked over to see his husband wrapped in old oversized hoodie, wearing flannel pajama pants and fuzzy slippers, carrying a steaming mug of what smelled like chamomile.

“You okay?” Bitty asked. “Puck should be ready to come in by now.”

“Ouais,” Jack said. He sighed and looked up at the sky, imagining the stars he knew were there from the nights he had spent at the family cabin in Nova Scotia. “Sorry. Just … thinking.”

“About what?” Bitty said, coming to stand right next to Jack, so that when Jack lifted his arm it settled naturally around Bitty’s shoulders, pulling him even more closely to Jack’s side.

“Willie. Matty Wilson. He broke the Falconers rookie scoring record tonight.”

“I saw,” Bitty said. “Is that what’s got you down, that he broke your record?”

“It sounds stupid when you say it like that,” Jack said.

“No, sweet pea, I didn’t mean —”

“No, I know you didn’t,” Jack said. “It’s just, it’s not the record, really. Records are made to be broken. It’s a cliche, but it’s true. I didn’t expect it to last forever.”

“But you didn’t expect to score the goal that let someone break it?”

“I didn’t even know,” Jack said, with a little huff. “I’m his captain. I should have known. I mean, I knew he was having a great season, I knew he was close, but … maybe I didn’t want to know? I didn’t know when I set my record.”

“That’s because the previous record was like, forty points or something,” Bitty said. “You didn’t break that record, you obliterated it.”

“And we had so much success early on,” Jack said. “Then these last few years have been tough. I wanted to stay around until the team gets better again, until we have a chance … but I don’t know if I can. Did you hear him, Bits? Saying that he hopes he has a career like I’ve had? Like it’s over?”

“I’m pretty sure he didn’t actually say that,” Bitty said.

“Maybe not,” Jack acquiesced. “But the implication was there.”

Bitty hummed a noncommittal response.

“I guess I was just remembering what it was like, back when I was a rookie,” Jack said. “I was so worried about everything. I thought I’d ruined everything and would never play in the league, but I did … and I was afraid I’d ruin it again and there would be no more chances.

“And we were new, too, you and me — really, maybe not the best idea for either of us, timing wise, but we made it work,” Jack said.

“That we did,” Bitty said, nuzzling a little into Jack’s shoulder.

“Once we got to the end of the season, and made the playoffs, it felt like — like anything was possible,” Jack said. “And once I retire, it won’t be anymore.”

“No,” Bitty said. “It won’t. Every choice you make — every choice everyone makes — closes off other choices. We bought this house, not the one in Warwick. I went to Samwell, not Georgia. Sometimes we miss out on things just because we got older, or because things don’t go our way. I hate to have to admit this, Jack, but I will never be an Olympic figure skater. And you will never be an NCAA hockey champion. Even though you deserved that so much more than me.”

“You deserved it,” Jack protested.

“I’m not saying I didn’t.” Bitty answered. “But you did too, more than I did. … I don’t know what I’m saying, really. Just that, no one gets everything they want, and I don’t think anyone’s life is really easy, not when you know them well enough to really know. But I hope you don’t have too many regrets. Not about your career, at least.”

“No,” Jack said. “Not about my career. Not about us, or our life, either. I could never have imagined this when I was growing up. It’s just — I got jealous, I think. I got jealous, because Willie still has everything ahead of him, and that feeling that everything is possible. And I remember how exhilarating that was, and how scary. Why did I waste my time being scared? Why didn’t I enjoy it more?”

Jack felt Bitty shrug.

“Because it is scary, when you don’t know how it all turns out,” he said. “People forget that part. Somebody saying they want to be like you — that’s a compliment, Jack. Take the win.”

“I guess,” Jack said. “You’re right. I know you’re right.”

He turned to kiss the side of Bitty’s head briefly.

“And I know I got lucky,” he said, before releasing his husband and calling the dog, who had been sniffing at the bottom of the fence in hopes of finding another rabbit.

“And I know one more thing,” Jack added, as the three of them turned towards the door. “Willie won’t get to win a Stanley Cup his first year. I guess I’ll always have that.”

Bitty shook his head as Jack waited for him to enter the kitchen first. 

“That’s the spirit,” Bitty said. “Is there anything you won’t turn into a competition?

[watermelongirl01]

Fresh Blood Part 1

Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

Criminal Minds x Supernatural

Summary: You finally meet the consequences of your actions through an old friend, How's the BAU going to react?

Content warning: Violence, injuries, and blood description, a little angst.

“Hey Handsome, I’m heading out, Do you need something before I leave?” You asked while peeking your head through his office’s half-open door.

Hotch frowned at you and took a glance at his watch looking surprised. 

“No, thank you, I’m just about to leave as well.”

“So, what if we stop for dinner before heading home?, you know, just in gratitude for that coffee back in Minnesota.” You said feeling a little bold.

Hotch took a second to think about it, everything inside him wanted to say yes, but decided against it. Maybe it wasn’t the right time.

“I think it’s better if you thank me by letting me walk you to your car, it’s late.” He remarked.

“Fine, your loss, Hotchner.” You simply said shrinking your shoulders.

You both walked to the elevator, chatting about how your day went and finally saying goodbye when you arrived at your car.

“You sure you don’t want some delicious dinner in my favorite restaurant? Last chance.” You squint your eyes at him. “I’m not getting any younger.”

“Maybe next time.” You nodded and waved goodbye, and before you could start your car, you heard a voice calling your name. “See you tomorrow morning.” 

“Sure thing, Boss.”

—-

Sleep never came, you were rolling on your bed from side to side, and nothing felt comfortable. But a peculiar sound caught your attention and you couldn’t tell where it was coming from.

You felt the need to investigate and your hand instinctively reached for the gun under your pillow, you decided to leave your room with precaution and that’s when you felt something was off quickly realizing your living room’s window was open. 

¿Who was skilled enough to access your window into a fifth-floor building? 

Walking with a shade of concern, you checked the devil’s trap under your mat, but it was intact, and the salt on your window was unbroken. With your non-dominant hand, you reached for your hidden silver knife from under the coffee table, empty, the knife was nowhere to be found.

It wasn’t a demon, a ghost was immediately crossed off the list, no shapeshifter, and thinking about werewolves and vampires was absurd.

That can only mean one thing.

The weight of a strong hand on your gun blocking you from shooting, caught you off guard, and the blade of a knife in your back kept you in place. “The security in your building sucks, they let anyone in.” 

That was the last thing you heard before everything went black.

—

You woke up with a sharp pain on the back of your head, trying to move your hands to help ease the pain, you realized they were tied behind the back of a chair, and so were your legs.

That’s when everything hit back, someone broke into your house.

“Uh uh, there’s no way you can get out of those knots, I tied you myself.” A man came into your sight, and fuck you knew who he was, you had help on his arrest. And to say help was modesty, you made it happen.

“Gordon.” You whispered.

“So you know who I am.”

“How do you get out?” 

“The Winchesters are not the only ones with connections.”

“Listen, they caught you with illegal weapons, there’s nothing I could’ve done to help you out.” Gordon’s hand caught your face with roughness as he crept closer to you.

“You think I’m here for that? To get revenge?” Your eyebrows frown with confusion. “I want to know where Sam Winchester is.” 

“Who?” 

“Sam Winchester.” Pure hatred came when he pronounced your friend’s name.

“Again, who?” You said with a challenging expression. “I don’t know who that is.” If any member of the BAU could’ve heard you taunt the man, they would immediately take back your batch.

“They did mention your stubbornness.” He laughed. 

“What? That’s not even one of my best qualities.” 

“I’m going to ask one more time, and this time you’re leaving the sarcasm behind and telling me the truth, or you’ll regret it.” He threatened. “Where is Sam Winchester?” 

“I don’t know who Sam Winchester is.” You stated.

A hard slap made you turn your head to the other side.

“Now you know?” 

“Rude, but still.” You maintained a firm voice. “It doesn’t ring a bell.”

He aimed at you again, this time with his closed fist, making your head spin and your ears ring. Just what you needed, a fucking concussion.

That’s how it went for what felt like an eternity. Punch after punch, your vision was blurry, your body was sore and your mouth tasted like blood.

“You are tough, I’ll give you that.” A shiny reflection caught your attention, your silver knife.

“Fuck” “Oh fuck” “Please, let this end right now.” You prayed inside your head.

“One more time, The Winchester brothers.” He yelled while playing with the knife on your skin.

“Winchester, Like the rifle?” You questioned. “Oh, one with bowed legs and the other with that constipated look.” 

He looked at you, but you couldn’t decipher his expression. 

“You should’ve started with that, Yeah, I know them.”

“Where are they?” He sounded way more tired than you, which is ironic thinking about it.

“That’s what I don’t know, you see, they only happen to call me to put people in jail.”

A sudden throbbing pain traveled through your body when you felt the sharp object being stabbed into your leg, you barely whined, you were too tired.

“Look, I know what you’re feeling, but believe me, he’s willing to talk, we can sit down and address your concerns, I swear, he’s not evil.” You insisted. “I can help you, we can find them, and we can all talk.”

He twisted the knife in your leg and you let out a muffled scream.

“I know what they did to you, you didn’t deserve that, I can help you, I’m a federal agent, we can put a stop to this.

“You think I believe your sudden change of heart? I’m not like the crazy people you profile.”

“You can’t reason with a bitter hunter.”  You heard in your head, That was the first thing your father taught you.

“Well, you could’ve fooled me.” You taunted him.

It Might not be the right answer, but there’s no way you can give him what he wants. And just when you thought he was lashing out at you, a ringing cell phone caught his attention.

“Bela? Bela Talbot? I'm on my way.” You overheard him say over the buzzing in your ears.

“Oh, fuck, that fucking bitch.” You mumble 

You knew who she was and how tricky she can be, you even got the pleasure of punching her in the face a long time ago.

“Oh, fuck indeed, I don’t need you after all. Don’t worry, after I kill your little friend, I’m going to send somebody to help you out.”

And he left, leaving you to bleed out, with no strength to try to untie yourself, just hoping someone could hear your tired screams through your apartment’s thick walls. As you watch the sunrise through your window, your eyes begin to feel heavy and blackness welcomes you.

~~~

On the other side, Hotch woke up from a restless night, he didn’t know why, but he felt uneasy. He took Jack to school and drove right to work. He parked next to your empty spot and walked straight to his office. It took five minutes for him to realize that his inquietude was because of you, you normally were there before him, his frown deepened.

The voices inside him got louder every time a member of the team arrived at the building and neither of them was you. He finally decided to get out of his office and walked through the bullpen, stopped right in front of your office, and opened the door.

“She hasn’t arrived yet.” JJ said behind him, he almost forgot yours and JJ’s offices were right next to each other. 

“I know, I just…” Hotch's mind went blank for excuses.

“You’re worried because it’s the first time she’s late?” He nodded at JJ’s statement. “Yeah, I get it.” She frowned while her fingers played with the papers on her hands. “I called her about four times, but she didn’t pick up.” She confessed.

“I’m going to ask Garcia if she knows something.” Hotch walked away with a hurried pace straight to Penelope’s office.

“Oh captain, my captain!” Penelope said with enthusiasm and he greeted back.

“Think you can help me with something?” Penelope nodded. “Off the record.” 

Hotch could only hear Penelope’s fingertips typing against the keyboard, but his mind was anywhere but there, and even knowing your exact location wasn’t enough.

Excusing himself, Hotch left the building leaving questioning faces behind, and drove as fast as he could. He even took the stairs, climbing four steps at a time till he reached your floor. He knocked once, but you didn’t answer, and the second knock didn’t come, cause he took the knob just to find out it wasn’t locked. He quickly opened the door and burst into the house in a rush. After this everything moved in slow motion for Hotchner, he looked at the floor and found a blood pool under your unconscious body. He ran to untie you and quickly moved his hand to feel your pulse, and for the first time since his arrival to your home, he felt his lungs breathing once again. Using that sudden sense of reality, Hotch was able to make the 911 call.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry.” Hotch said while hugging your fragile body. “Help is on the way, please hold on to me.” A tear drops down Hotch’s face while watching your pale face. “Please, don’t leave me.”

~~~

“Just five minutes more and she wouldn’t make it.” Rossi nodded. “That's what the paramedic said.”

“Aaron, you were just in time.”

“I could’ve done better,” Hotch said leaning into the doorway of your hospital room.

“Why are you blaming yourself like this? This was out of our hands.” 

“But, I could’ve stopped it, if I just would’ve left with her.”

Rossi arched his brows with confusion and opened his mouth to argue back, but the brunette agent interrupted him.

“Actually, no one could’ve stopped it.” Both older men looked at her with intrigue. “I mean if someone would’ve done his work correctly, then of course.” She said while rolling her eyes. “But Penelope just told me that the unsub's name is Gordon Walker, caught in Indiana with a whole arsenal of illegal weapons. Our lady here gave the order for his arrest to the local police .”

“Why would she…” Hotch stopped in the middle of his argument, now he was sure this was part of one of your special cases.

“I know, weird, it’s not her jurisdiction.” Emily continued. “But three days ago, Gordon escaped prison, No one saw him leave, and they didn’t even know he was gone before today.”

Hotch nodded got up from the waiting room chairs, and took your room's knob while looking at Rossi. “You and the team find him, I’m going to stay here till she wakes up.”

—-

After twenty-four hours of unconsciousness, your body and mind finally began to cooperate with you, and you managed to let out a little whimper as your limbs started to recover movement. Suddenly a familiar but tired face appeared in front of you.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” You said with a weak and raspy voice. “Are you my heaven?” You said reaching his face with your hand.

Hotch rolled his eyes but let a little smile escape. “You scared the crap out of me.”

“Well, that’s not a nice thing to say.”

Hotch frowned. “You almost die, I alm-...we almost lose you.” He immediately corrected himself, but it wasn't necessary, you weren't making any sense either.

“I know, I spoke with an angel.” 

“Really? What did you talk about?” 

“That you and I are going to get married.” He couldn’t hide his chuckle. 

“You are on a lot of drugs right now.” 

“Believe me, I know, they’re the good ones.” You said while nodding.

“Do you remember anything?” You could see the concern in his face and with a whole minute of delay, you managed to remember why you were there.

“Oh fuck, I need to warn them.” You start to get agitated and the monitor beeped at the rate of your heart race.

“Hey, hey, I’m going to call the nurse, and then we can talk about it.” Hotch tried to reason with you.

“No, you don’t understand, they are in danger.” 

“Who?”

[tethered-heartstrings]

Hey there ! What are your thoughts on Will and Alana’ s relationship and why did she so easily and quickly become involved with Hannibal? If you can also shed some light on Hannibloom too I would appreciate it, thank you 🤍

I genuinely think Alana cared a lot for Will and didn't want to hurt him. She knew he was unstable, and her being with him would not fix that. I think she did have some feelings for Will, but knew she made a better friend and colleague than romantic partner. She psychoanalyzes people as part of her job, and she can't help but do that to others in her personal life. She didn't want to do that to Will especially if they were dating. Dating someone, even just having sex with them, opens up a vulnerable and different part of you that wouldn't necessarily be exposed otherwise. She knew she couldn't help but dissect him, and people tend to not appreciate being filleted opened by just existing (going to therapy for that purpose is different, and its something you seek out/pay for).

Will is especially sensitive to being psychoanalyzed, and he was growing more unstable as season 1 progressed. She knew it would ruin their friendship and professional relationship and romantic relationship if she pursued something more with Will. I think she cared more about him than he wanted to realize, because I think it was a good and smart choice to not get involved with him. It was the best choice imo.

She wanted him off murder crime scene field work because she was worried about him, because she knew enough about him that she knew it would be detrimental. She didn't want him to get too close and lose stability, lose himself. She was the first person to tell him Abigail was awake. She didn't just call him, she drove an hour to tell him in person and be there for him. She drove to Wolf Trap multiple times because Will called her to say "there is an animal on my property, can you help me find it?" and she went without question. She even went a second time after the first one had no evidence of anything. She broke down when she heard Will was arrested. The next thing she did was go and see him, and she was the first person to see him (on screen after his intake). She didn't want to believe he did it. All the evidence in the world, meticulously placed, was stacked miles high against him. It isn't unreasonable to think Will might be guilty; the evidence was there, he coughed up Abigail's ear and she was missing and her blood coated her Minnesota kitchen floor (again). He was unstable, losing time. She had him draw a clock to give him some hope and chance that even if it was him, he wasn't in his right place of mind, which could be used in his defense. She cared for all his dogs while he was away, and smiled and was happy to see him return home and to his dogs. Alana cared deeply for Will, and knew she would be a better friend and support system than girlfriend, and stuck by his side and was there for him as much as she possibly could.

From day one, she was his advocate. Even when talking to Hannibal, Will's therapist, she says "I don’t want information about Will I shouldn’t have as his friend" because she respects his space and his boundaries. If Will didn't tell her directly, it isn't her business to know. Even when Hannibal asked her why she didn't talk about Will before, she said she just wants everyone to leave him alone. Because she sees everyone pick and prod at him, psychoanalyze him, treat him like a test subject or a thing to study instead of a person. She treated him like a human being.

I don't blame her for not pursuing a relationship, because it is not what Will needed, it would have made him worse, and he needed her as a friend more than anything else. Also, he was just incredibly unstable!

Now, regarding Alana and Hannibal, they already had a history. They talked about how they knew each other when she was earning her degree, and that he was her mentor. They knew each other for years prior to her working for the FBI. The week Miriam went missing, Hannibal knew Jack would send someone and didn't want Alana to be sent (and thus have to hurt/kill her once she knew he was the Ripper), so he gave her another task interviewing PhD candidates. He cared about her, and didn't want to hurt her. He even makes a joke about how other people thought him and Alana were having an affair, and asked why they didn't pursue anything at the time.

Given that they already had history and, to everyone's belief, Hannibal was stable and normal. He was a working professional, attractive, kind, and funny. He worked meticulously to ensure his person suit was flawless and red-flag-free. There is no reason for her, or anyone, to suspect him of literally anything. (and before people go well isn't it obvious? no! because we are the audience! we see things the characters don't! he never ever makes it apparent he is a serial killer!) It makes sense why they got together. I also wouldn't consider it "easy and quick". They knew each other for years, getting your PhD in psychiatry can take 5 to 7 years. If he was her mentor that whole time, that's a long time. She would have learned a lot from him, and about him, and equally he about her. Then Hannibal was back in her life consulting for the FBI, whom she also worked with, and the spark was still there. It seemed like they wanted to before but didn't for various reasons. (In the script after the affair joke from Hannibal she said he was already having an affair, which I took to mean he was married to his job? or unknown hobby of murdering and didn't have as much time). It was also smart to not pursue it at the time given he was her mentor and there was a power dynamic. But in the show, they are colleagues and professional equals, so its fine.

Regarding feelings, I think Hannibal did care for Alana. He took steps to protect her (like having Miriam sent to look for the Ripper instead of Alana). I think he might have loved her, but he wasn't in love with her. He did want to spend time with her, and enjoyed her company, and enjoyed what they shared together. But ultimately, she didn't and couldn't accept him as he truly was, and she got in his way. Given how ruthless Hannibal is, the fact he even gave her the chance to put the gun down and walk away is of importance. When people try to hurt or kill him, Hannibal doesn't just let them do it or get another chance. He eliminates them if he can. He fights and fights dirty, because his only goal is to come out alive.

Yes, he emptied her gun of bullets to protect himself, but he still gave her a chance to walk away unscathed. She was heartbroken and angry and betrayed when she realized she was "so blind". And Hannibal literally said "in your defense, I worked very hard to blind you." and then told her she could continue to "stay blind. You can hide from this. Walk away. I'll make no plans to call on you." He gave her a literal once in a lifetime chance to know his truth, know who he truly is, and walk away alive. I don't think I can state just how huge that is. He cared a lot for her, and truly didn't want her to die. He wanted her to walk away and to never see him ever again. And as we learn later, he is good for his promises. I genuinely believe if she walked away at that time, she would have remained completely unharmed by him. However, he also warned her if she shot at him, he would kill her. If she declined his offer, and tried to hurt him, he would revert to his normal self and survive at all costs, and tear down anyone and anything standing in his way. (I don't at all blame her for trying to kill him, but ultimately that is what got her hurt).

To summarize: Will and Alana would have been a bad match that would have ultimately hurt Will ever more than he wanted to admit, and Alana was the bigger person and didn't pursue him even if part of her wanted to date him, too. Because she cared about him more than he cared about himself. Alana and Hannibal made sense as a couple because they had a long history that wasn't just academic casual, and he worked extremely hard to keep his truth from her. He cared enough about her to want to spare her life and safety multiple times, even betraying his selfish, self-preserving habits to give her a chance to walk away.

p.s. this is an alana supporting blog, please do not come to me with alana hate because idgaf <3

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Alaina Demopoulos at The Guardian:

McKenna, who is 24 and lives in a rural, conservative state, recently got back on dating apps after a year of finding herself. She had two first dates planned for this weekend, but after Donald Trump won the election, she cancelled both. “It’s heartbreaking to know that in this country you only matter if you’re a straight white man,” she said. “It’s just devastating that we’re at this point. So I will not let another man touch me until I have my rights back.” McKenna, who did not want her last name published for privacy reasons, first heard about 4B a few months ago, via a TikTok video referring to the South Korean social movement. The basic idea: women swear off heterosexual marriage, dating, sex and childbirth in protest against institutionalized misogyny and abuse. (It is called 4B in reference to these four specific no-nos.) The mostly online movement began around 2018 protests against revenge porn and grew into South Korea’s #MeToo-esque feminist wave.

In the wake of Trump’s victory, 4B is once again on McKenna’s mind – and she’s not the only one. Trump’s embrace of manosphere figures such as Joe Rogan, the Nelk Boys and Adin Ross means he has strong support among their evangelists – mainly, young men. But for young women, the former president’s long history of misogyny means a vote for Trump is a vote against feminism, especially with reproductive rights as a key issue in 2024. Ahead of the US election, pundits predicted a history-making gender gap, and early exit polls support that prediction: women aged 18-29 went overwhelmingly left, while Trump picked up ground with their male counterparts compared with 2020. With the race called, TikToks viewed hundreds of thousands of times offered one way for women to go for the jugular: 4B, specifically cutting off contact with men. “Girls it’s time to boycott all men! You lost your rights, and they lost the right to hit raw! 4b movement starts now!” one creator wrote on TiKTok in a video viewed 3.4m times. In another video, a woman exercises on a stair climber machine. “Building my dream body that no man will touch for the next 4 years,” reads the caption. The top comment on her post: “In the club, we all celibate.” On Wednesday, Google searches for “4B” spiked by 450%, with the most interest coming from Washington DC, Colorado, Vermont and Minnesota. In South Korea, 4B began as an offshoot of national protests against the spycam epidemic, in which perpetrators filmed targets – most of whom were women – during sex or while urinating in public bathrooms without their knowledge or consent.

[...]

As with #MeToo in the US, men have called 4B an overreach, and discriminatory. South Korea’s conservative president, Yoon Suk Yeol, ran on a platform of abolishing the Ministry of Gender Equality and Family, which protects against gender-based violence and discrimination, saying feminists were to blame for the country’s economic woes.

Haein Shim, a South Korean activist and current undergraduate researcher at Stanford University’s Clayman Institute for Gender Research, said in an email that women who participated in 4B protests faced cyberbullying, harassment, stalking and threats of violence. “Many of us wore masks, sunglasses, and hats to cover our faces, and it was common practice to dress differently before and after a protest to minimize being stalked.” There were more nuanced critiques, too. “Some debated if it was a sustainable way to participate in feminism, because it was a total disconnect with men, and some people believe there have to be productive conversations among people with different world views in order for society to move forward,” Lee said. Feminists expressed concern over whether 4B “disregarded heterosexual women’s desires, in order to punish men who may or may not have participated in misogyny”.

Shim, the activist, says that 4B goes beyond just boycotting men, and encourages women to find solidarity with each other. “It’s a new lifestyle focused on building safe communities, both online and in-person, and valuing our existence in this crazy world,” she said. “What we want is not to be labeled simply as some man’s wife or girlfriend, but to have the independence to be free from the societal expectations that often limit women’s potential to be fully acknowledged as human beings.” Second wave feminist groups of the 1960s and 70s such as Cell 16, which advocated celibacy and separation from men, and political lesbians, who opted out of heterosexuality, were historically deemed as extreme – or simply trendy. 4B, a more contemporary movement that mostly lives online, may seem more accessible to gen Z women. On TikTok, 4B posts play as communal and therapeutic, a way to take back control during a time when basic rights are at stake.

Donald Trump's election, combined with the erosion of abortion access post-Roe, has fueled an angry backlash among feminist-inclined women by importing the South Korean 4B Movement to the States.

[adrienneleclerc]

Don Refri

Pairing: Walter Marshall x Hispanic/Latina! Reader

Summary: Y/N has been the police records clerk for a few months. He’s known as Detective Grumpy to everyone in the district, but she’s the only one who calls him Don Refri. Walter gets jealous when there is a new detective around.

A/N: Walter Marshall is probably my favorite Henry Cavill character to read about, I need more content of him. I’ve also been watching a telenovela and the way Alexander has been acting with Lola when they were fighting, I thought “what if Walter was like this?” So here it is. Also, LATIN PRESENTATION FOR HENRY CAVILL!

For all intent and purposes, this one shot is very humorous, sort of like a sitcom, Walter doesn’t follow canon AT ALL, but I did try to “research” what happens in a precinct.

Y/N was entering the district with a thermos in hand, all bundled up.

“Ay, hace un pinche frío, why the fuck did I move to Minnesota, it’s so cold.” Y/N said as she took off her coat and Matthew started laughing. “Don’t laugh like that, I’m not meant for cold weather.”

“Just start working on something before detective grumpy comes in and starts yelling.” Matthew said, taking Y/N’s coat, folding it.

“I’m not scared of Don Refri, but I will start working because i have to make the case files of whatever criminal is out now so Don Refri and detective Dickerman Can catch them as soon as possible.” Y/N said and she started sipping hot chocolate from her thermos. As she was working, Walter came in. “Good morning, Don Refri.” Walter rolled his eyes at her.

“Morning, Y/N.” Walter mumbled and went to his office. Matthew, Glasgow, and Rachel stared at Y/N. Y/N looked at them.

“What?” Y/N asked.

“You call him Don Refri to his face and he does nothing, but we almost get written up when he overheard us reference him as Detective Grumpy. How is that possible?” Glasgow asked.

“I don’t know, but I’m happy about it, not gonna lie.” Y/N said. She began working on the computer, smiling to herself. No one but her bestie knows about her crush on the grumpy detective.

“I think he has a soft spot for you, what do you think?” Rachel asks.

“Maybe he does.” Y/N replied.

A few moments after creating the case files, Y/N heard Walter yell “Fuck” from his office.

“I wonder what’s got him worked up. Y/N, go check on him.” Matthew said.

“Fine. Now I know how my brother felt when I sent him to ask our mom something.” Y/N said. She got up from her desk and went to Walter’s office, saw that he threw his stuff off his desk and is now running his hand through his hair, exasperated.

“What do you want, Y/N?” Walter asked.

“What’s got you in such a bad mood, Don Refri?” Y/N asked.

“First; you keep calling me that.” Walter started and Y/N rolled her eyes.

“I told you, start being open about your feelings and then I’ll stop calling you don refri, Don Refri.” Y/N replied and Walter rolled his eyes. “What’s the other thing that got you in a bad mood?”

“They’re transferring another detective here.” Walter massaged his temples.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Y/N asked.

“Not if the detective is a fucking pain in the ass. He hits on anything with skirt.” Walter commented. “He has a womanizer, player kind of reputation and I don’t want that guy in this district.”

“Why is he getting transferred?” Y/N asked.

“Don’t know. Hopefully I have time before this fucker gets here.” Walter starts picking up the stuff he threw and Y/N helped him until they heard a voice.

“Isn’t anyone going to welcome me?” The man sounded arrogant.

“Too late. Let’s go.” Walter said, after putting everything back on his desk and him and Y/N went to the front of the district, Y/N went back to her desk. “Team, this is…what’s your name again?” Walter asked.

“Ha ha, nice to see you haven’t changed. I’m Detective Tyler Delgado, I just transferred here.” Tyler introduced himself.

“Well this is my team, Matthew and Glasgow are technicians, Rachel is a profiler and psychologist, and Y/N here is our records clerk.” Walter introduced them to Tyler.

“Nice to meet you guys.” Tyler said, “Especially you.” Tyler said, looking at Y/N before winking.

“Well, Let’s get back to work.” Walter said, leaving with Tyler.

The day went on Walter and Y/N were the only ones left in the district, she was finishing up the police logs.

“Ugh, i can’t wait to sleep.” Y/N said.

“What did you think of Delgado?” Walter asked.

“I Don’t have much of an opinion of him, he doesn’t look like a fuckboy though.” Y/N commented.

“I never said he was a fuckboy, I said he had the reputation of one, big difference.” Walter said.

“Yeah, whatever. If you’re worried about Rachel going out with him, I don’t think she would fall for any of his ‘tricks’ because of her psychology background.” Y/N commented as she took a sip of soda.

“It’s not Rachel I’m worried about.” Walter replied, looking at Y/N. Y/N looked at Walter with wide eyes and she put her soda down.

“Me? You’re worried about me? Why are you worried?” Y/N asked, please say it’s because you like me she said in her head.

“I just don’t want you to get taken advantage of.” Walter said.

“Do I look easy to you, Walter? I know I’m a few years younger than you but I’m not naive, I know when someone has other intentions, there’s a reason why I wanted to be an FBI profiler.” Y/N said.

“I’m just saying, I saw you and Delgado flirting when he was giving you some files.” Walter said.

“I was being friendly! Por Dios, uno ya no puede ser amable o que?” Y/N said, crossing her arms.

“What does that mean?” Walter asked.

“It means I can’t be nice to someone without being accused of trying to sleep with them.” Y/N said in a huff, packing her bag.

“When did I accuse you that?” Walter asked while raising his voice.

“It doesn’t matter, don refri, I finished, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Y/N said and she left without kissing Walter on the cheek or hugging him.

The next day, Walter was running late because he was talking to Angie about Faye. When he entered the district, he saw Y/N and Tyler talking, as he got closer, he heard part of their conversation.

“It’s a date, I’ll pick you up tonight at 8.” Tyler said, winking at Y/N and walked away. Y/N smiled slightly until she heard Walter.

“What was that about?” Walter asked behind Y/N, scaring her and she put her hand in her chest.

“No me asustes así!” Y/N exclaimed as she hit his arm. Of course it didn’t hurt since Walter works out a lot, but he still winces because that’s how he is with Y/N.

“You’re going out with Delgado? After telling me I shouldn’t worry about you? Are you kidding me, Y/N?” Walter questioned.

“Sabes algo, Don Refri? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous.” Y/N said. Hold up, is he jealous? That HAS to mean he likes me, oh please don’t be such a don refri and tell me you like me, PLEASE! Y/N thought to herself

“I’m looking out for you just like I would look out for Faye and Rachel, I am protective over the women who are close to me, especially with this job. I’ll talk to you later.” Walter said and walked away.

Y/N sat at her desk, very confused over what just happened with the grumpy detective.

A week went by and Walter observed Y/N and Tyler. Whenever they would be together during their lunch break or just together in general, Walter scowled. But one day he was walking by Tyler’s office and he heard something suspicious.

“I’m still at work…yes, I’m going to be late again…I’m sorry, the captain is tougher than at the last precinct…I’ll see you at home, love you, baby.” And Tyler hung up the phone. Walter walked in his office.

“Who were you on the phone with, Delgado?” Walter asked.

“My niece, it’s her birthday today.” Tyler lied, Walter could tell. This wasn’t the first time Walter heard a suspicious phone call like this but it’s the first he confronted Tyler.

“Well then, see you later.” Walter said as he walked out of Tyler’s office. He grabbed his lunch from the fridge, heated it up, and walked back to his office where he would do a background check on Tyler Delgado. “I’m not jealous, Y/N is like a sister to me, I just want to make sure she’s safe.” Walter said to himself as he was checking all the information that he managed to pull up about Tyler.

For what seemed like an eternity to Walter, he found out that Tyler Delgado is married! He took a photo of what he found on the computer, he went into the break room to look for Y/N and he found Tyler leaning in to kiss Y/N so he did what any man would do when they see a married man try to kiss their crush, I mean, their “friend”, and punch them in the face. Walter punched Tyler so hard that Tyler got knocked out and was on the floor, out cold.

Y/N was in shock. “Are you insane?!? Que te pasa?!?” Y/N yelled. “You killed him, you fucking killed him.”

“Oh please, how am i going to kill a man with a single punch, Y/N? Seriously, think.” Walter said.

“Well I don’t know, you work out a lot, you clearly have a lot more muscle than Tyler, you probably killed him.” Y/N said.

“You look at my muscles a lot?” Walter said with a little smirk.

“Don’t change the subject.” Y/N said firmly. Rachel was entering the break room with a box,

“Hey, Matthew brought doughnuts, you guys want some? What the fuck happened here?” Rachel asked when she saw Tyler on the floor and she place the box on the table, closing the break room door.

“Oh well what happened was Don Refri here came in and just punched Tyler for no fucking reason. You’re a psychologist, is this an act of jealousy?” Y/N asked.

“First of all, it wasn’t for no fucking reason, he’s scum, did you know that he’s married?” Walter yelled.

“What?” Both Y/N and Rachel asked,

“Yeah, He’s married, and He’s been married for 4 years.” Walter said

“Ugh, stop lying, Don Refri, and just admit that killed him because you’re jealous and that’s it!” Y/N yelled.

“Jealous? You think I’m jealous, really? Of course I’m not jealous.” Walter said, stepping closer to Y/N, resulting in getting closer to Tyler’s unconscious body.

“Careful, you’re gonna kill him again.” Y/N said.

“How am I gonna kill him again if he’s already dead?” Walter teased Y/N.

“Well, He’s not dead, he’s still breathing.” Rachel said, looking a Tyler, seeing his chest rise and fall.

“Whatever, Rachel, why would you think I’m jealous? Do you really think I’m jealous, Y/N? Please.” Walter asked.

“Mm hmm, sure, and your fits just has a mind of its own? Ah! I cant even speak, I’m so mad, your fist, fist!” Y/N shouted the last part of her sentence.

“I can’t understand what you’re trying to say, speak clearly.” Walter said in a fed up tone.

“I am speaking clearly! Fist, fist, fist! You know what? Say whatever the hell you want, to me, this was a crime of passion, you can’t tell me different.” Y/N said and Rachel just observed their argument while eating a doughnut and drinking her coffee thinking to herself that these two people totally love each other, are at the very least shave feelings for each other.

“Y/N, you can’t possibly be acting this way?” Walter questioned.

“Acting what way, hm?” Y/N asked.

“Like this!” Walter said, gesturing to her with his hands. That’s when Tyler started to come to and he sat up.

“What happened?” Tyler said groggily.

“Shut up!” Walter said, punching him AGAIN. Rachel’s eyes were wide as plates, and so were Y/N’s.

“What’s wrong with you?!?” Both women yelled.

“What? I Don’t like being interrupted while I’m speaking.” Walter stated

“Oh my god, You’re crazy, i need to get out of here.” Y/N said. She left the break room with Walter following her. Walter grabbed her wrist and they walked to an empty interrogation room. “What are you doing, Don Refri?”

“Fuck it.” Walter whispered before kissing Y/N passionately in the interrogation room, only lasting when they were out of breath. Y/N pulled away first.

“What was that, Walter?” Y/N asked. The first time she called him by his first name.

“You wanted me to admit I was jealous, right? Well, here I am admitting that I was jealous of you and Tyler. But i am not lying about him having a wife, I did a background check on him before knocking him out, look.” Walter said, showing Y/N his phone. Y/N grabbed his phone, seeing it was true. “I’ve had feelings for you since you started working here but I am very bad of expressing my feelings, as you point out to me daily.” Walter admitted.

“I have liked you since I started working here too. Does this mean we’re together now?” Y/N asked. Walter chuckled, taking Y/N’s hands in his.

“It means I’m going to take you on a date after our shift is over. Hopefully Tyler doesn’t report me.” Walter said and Y/N laughed.

“You’re probably going to be suspended but you can worry about that later, i have reports to write up.” Y/N said and Walter opened the door for her so they could leave the interrogation room. The first time since becoming a detective, Walter had a smile on his face. It was small, but it was there.

The End

Thank you for reading my very first Walter Marshall fanfic, hope you liked it

[ghoastixx]

hey, hi, um hello? I don't know what to do so I'm just guessing, if this is to vague, weird and or long I'm sorry please ignore it!!!

I wanted to try to request a supernatural Castiel x reader either fic or head cannons or anything really with a reader whose the Winchesters sister? This may be to specific but my favorite trope when I was a kid was the fake dating. So maybe the Winchesters are working with a different hunter who's kind of a creep and keeps flirting with reader and he won't back off despite the brothers warnings. So in the end Dean just calls Cas and is like congratulations you're dating my sister, now get him to back off! And so the two of them just start fake dating but after the hunt and the other hunter leaves Cas doesn't stop treating her all sweet and everything? I don't know, just something fluffy please, I think I made it way to complicated 😭😭 sorry for bugging you

Winchester Sister w/ Castiel

synopsis above

notes: YOU ARE NOT BOTHERING ME AT ALL!!!! I think this is so cute and just..so Cas? If that makes sense.. Thank you so so much for sending me this request, I love detailed requests!

Author's notes: Female reader, sort of sassy. Made up a hunter to be the creep, wanted to do Gordon but that would just make you a victim </3

Tried to keep the description of the reader vague so anyone can enjoy.

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The Winchesters' figured it would be so simple. The hunt was so simple, so why wouldn't drinks afterwards be? Mason, the hunter that was helping you all out and it went smooth, despite your brother's grudge against working with other hunters. Mason offered to take you all out for drinks. That's now where you were.

The first ick was when Mason sat next to you at the bar. You figured he was just trying to be friendly, you had just hunted together after all! But then he ordered you a drink which made you feel weird, but again, he was probably just trying to be nice. So you put on a smile and thank him.

"You really pulled your weight back there Y/N." He said, taking a drink of a beer.

"Oh- uh- thanks?"

"I like that in a woman."

"Excuse me-"

Dean, who was watching closely, was fuming. You tried to explain that you were not looking for a boyfriend currently, but he just wasn't listening. He wasn't leaving you alone. So, when Sam came back with drinks for both he and Dean, Dean looked at him and pointed this out. Sam seemed a bit uncomfortable with this, but suggested to let you handle yourself. You were more than capable and you all knew that.

When nothing had changed five minutes later and you started to look like you wanted to kill Mason, Dean decided to call out the big guns..

"Hello?" The solemn voice of the angel spoke a bit loudly through the phone.

"Yeah, Cas, listen. It's important, get here. We're at a small bar in Minnesota at exactly 777 boulevard Road."

With the sound of a flutter, Castiel was standing in front of Dean. "What's wrong?" Dean pointed behind him. Castiel turned around when Dean put his hands on Castiel's shoulders, getting close to his ear.

"Congratulations feathers, you're dating my sister. Now, see that guy right there? He's being a creep to your lady, go and kick his ass." Castiel, confused, nodded. He stood there a minute before walking in your direction. Sam looked at Dean, who had his arms crossed.

"Yeah, sick 'em boy!" Sam teased Dean, Dean looked at him with a pissy expression.

You were deep in your third beer, biting your tongue as you listened to Mason ramble on about his tastes. You were getting close to losing your temper before you heard a monotone voice behind you, you recognized it. It made you cock a brow,

"Y/N, I'm sorry that I'm late...dear." The nickname confused you, but nonetheless, you sat up straight and smiled at him.

"Cas," Once you acknowledged him, he put his hand around your waist. You looked at him with a more confused expression than you had before you seemingly got the hint. "Oh- that's alright honey. Don't worry about it. Cas, this is Mason. He just helped us with the hunt."

Mason looked at his competition with an annoyed expression. "And you are?"

"Castiel," The angel hummed, "her boyfriend." His eyes were stern, it made Mason squirm a bit. Seemingly a bit insecure because he stood up.

"I have to go. Bye Y/n." He mumbled before sulking out of the bar. You looked at Castiel, getting up.

"God- thank you Cas. You're a lifesaver." Cas's smile seemed a bit shy, which was unusual for the stern angel. He nodded. As you went to your brother's, he followed you, staying rather close.

As Dean and Sam talked to you about Mason, asking if you were okay, Castiel seemed more interested in you. Admiring you.

Whenever you guys decided to leave, Castiel actually got into the backseat with you, sitting directly next to you. He put his hand pretty close to yours, grazing against it. Dean noticed this in the rearview mirror, cocking an eyebrow.

Castiel was standing in front of the motel door, looking at you.

"So.. will I see you tomorrow?" A cheesy smile formed on your face, your cheeks a bit pink.

"Yeah Cas, I would love to.. Goodnight."

Dean groaned as he walked past.

"Cas, you know you're not actually dating Y/N, right?" he asked with a scoff.

"I'm not?" "He's not?"

[cobrakaisb]

no strings attached

summary: it always starts with not strings attached, but feelings turn into secrets turn into drunk calls turn into full blown confessions 

warnings: mentions of a sexual relationship (no actual smut though), alcohol usage, partying, ANGST 

word count: 2.05k

it was never supposed to be this way. no strings attached. that’s what mark said the first time you woke up in his bed. it was after a long, and fun, night of partying. one of the hockey team’s big wins before making it to the final four in boston. they beat minnesota maybe, or was it quinnipiac? you couldn’t remember, but you remember mark. 

he was always there. maybe you always thought there was something brewing, but for him, it was just a friendship. then they won. and someone was smoking this, and another person was drinking that, and you and mark got caught up in it all. his hands were all over you, fingers digging into your thighs as he pulled you down onto his lap. yours knotting in his hair, tugging and pulling at the strands. whispering, trying to convince the other to leave, chapped lips brushing against your ear. until it finally worked and he had you wrapped in his jacket, leading you back to his dorm. 

everyone knew. and ethan, god bless ethan, because he never said a word. the first time it wasn’t a big deal. he woke up to find you and mark tangled together, a mess of limbs and sheets. then it happened a couple days later. and again when the boys lost in the frozen four. and it just kept happening. but nobody knew, except you, mark, and his pesky roommate ethan. 

it was never supposed to be like this. yet you found yourself in michigan for the summer, spending a week at mark’s house. his mom smiling and chatting with you at the kitchen counter, skimming through photo albums and telling embarrassing stories. she asked what you were, and you tried to answer, really, but even you didn’t know. friends? lovers? dating? a hook up? there was no real label. everything was convoluted, covered in a haze. 

maybe it was the trip at his house that made you reconsider your feelings for him. seeing him interact with his mom, watching as he helped around the house. listening in as he played with his younger cousins, granting their every wish. how he kept his arm around the back of your chair, always. he leant you a hat, or two, offered up sweatshirts for you to wear at night when it was too cold for short sleeves but not cold enough to want to be inside. when he took you to that small little breakfast joint, laughing and teasing as you drove down the street. 

as the summer went on, it seemed like more and more strings were getting attached. you met his family, and he met yours. your mom asked about him once he left. your friends kept poking and prodding, saying that he was cute and you should go for it. then sophomore year came and he was getting a house, moving out of the dorms and in with some of the guys. 

now you didn’t have to worry about ethan sleeping in the bed directly across from you; there was a wall separating you. there were two floors. it was easy to sneak away unnoticed and unheard. that’s what you told yourself at least. 

it was easy. you were fine. there were no strings attached. but it wasn’t supposed to be like this. 

you don’t remember when the final straw was. maybe it was when he got that five minute major. or was it when he was given a game misconduct? either way, he called you after both, and for the first time throughout this whole shabang, you didn't want to be just a call. as much as you tried to avoid it, your strings were attached. they were so heavily intertwined that it was like a failed friendship bracelet, a knotted, tangled mess of strings. you had to tell him, so you came clean. 

“i don’t want you to hate me,” you started, sitting criss-cross applesauce on their porch. “i could never hate you,” mark assured, leaning back on his forearms, he was getting too comfortable. you were getting too comfortable. “i caught feelings, mark,” you said softly, voice barely above a whisper. he was silent for a long time. “who is it?” mark asked. 

his question has you reeling. how was it not obvious that it was him? your whole world revolves around him. “what?” you whispered softly, still feeling confused. “who is this guy that’s gonna break this great thing we have? who’s the one getting in between us?” mark snapped. the way he talked about your relationship made you nervous. his strings weren’t attached, that much was obvious. 

“his name is mark estapa. he’s a defenseman for the michigan hockey team. know him?” you replied, already getting up from your seat. mark stayed there, mouth wide open. “but we said…” he started to say. “i know what we said! i get it okay! you don’t want this,” you said, gesturing between the two of you, “in the same way that i do.” he was still silent. “believe me, i know. and i also know that i can’t keep doing this. not how it is right now at least,” you trialed off, hoping he would want you too. 

“i’m not…i was very clear y/n…fuck i don’t want,” he said, hands playing with the backwards hat on his head. you swallowed the lump in your throat, nodding while simultaneously blinking back your tears. “right. i’ll see you around mark,” you answered, turning and leaving before he got the chance to break your heart anymore. 

someone must have grabbed the scissors and cut apart the ball of string because there was no way you were coming back from this. 

yet somehow, mark didn’t seem to get the message. he kept calling and calling and calling. and when you declined he’d start texting and texting and texting. finally, you just had to block his number. it was too much for you, the bitter taste of rejection and the tears of regret arising whenever his name flashed across your screen. at one point, he tried talking to you, but your friends helped you hide in the bathroom, quickly shutting that down. 

so, what started as a casual relationship ended with you, alone and bitter. in all fairness, mark warned you. he was upfront from the beginning, so you really had no one to blame but yourself. he told you that there would be no strings attached, just makeouts and hookups, but of course you couldn’t follow those simple instructions.

then, you made your own code of conduct. one that consisted of ignoring him. it didn’t last long though. nothing regarding mark ever seemed to last long. especially when you were drinking. that’s when it was worse. all the feelings would come up and your usually bubbly persona went down the drain. once you had a solid buzz going, thoughts of mark would infiltrate your brain, reminding you of your lonely status. until saint patrick’s day weekend. 

obviously there were darties and parties and everything in between. so it wasn’t a surprise that when michigan won, the partying was only amplified. in your inebriated state, calling mark was the best option. to say congratulations. that was it. that’s what you kept telling yourself as you unblocked his contact and hit the green call button. 

you waited and waited and waited. voicemail. but you were persistent, so you kept calling. again and again and again, you dialed his number. foot tapping on the sticky, alcohol covered, floor as you held your phone to your ear. the cool screen sticking to your flushed skin. after ten calls, he kept count not you, he answered. 

“y/n?” he asked, hesitancy clearly in his voice. “mark! i saw the game! you won, so i had to…i had to call. you deserved a call,” you mumbled, words escaping your mouth faster than you could comprehend. “oh yeah. thanks,” he answered. 

the effort was minimal, you could feel it through the phone. he didn’t want you to call. he didn’t want you then and he still doesn’t want you know. your sobbing before you can hang up, before you can shake yourself and get a grip. 

“y/n? why are you crying? what’s wrong baby?” he said. if you weren’t crying, if you weren’t drunk, if you were able to comprehend, your heart would’ve skipped a beat. “i’m drunk. I’m drunk and my first thought is always you. it’s always you mark. and i want you so bad, but you never wanted me. no strings attached,” you explained, taking a long sip from your cup. “y/n…” he started, but you wouldn’t let him. he hurt you enough. “don’t pity me mark. i don’t…i don’t want a guy to be with me out of pity,” you said. you heard him take a breath, but before he could answer, you hung up the phone. 

it shouldn’t have surprised you when mark arrived at your dorm the next day. but it did. he stood there, hands in the pockets of his jeans as he rocked back and forth on his heels. “hi. can we talk?” he whispered. you hesitated, feeling nervous. your plans were sweaty and you felt like there was a frog in your throat. all you could muster was a nod as you grabbed your keys and followed him outside. the walk was silent, deadly silent. the kind of silence that exists between two people who don’t know what to say, how to say it, or when to say it. the type of silence that shouldn’t exist between you and mark. 

“so you called me last night,” he blurted out. “i did,” you replied, interested in your scuffed up converse. “you did. do you remember what you said?” he asked. you shut your eyes, embarrassment washing over you like a wave at the beach. “if i said i didn’t would we just move past it?” you tried to joke, but mark didn’t laugh.

“no. i would remind you,” he answered, face serious. you stopped walking, turning to face him. “why? why do you do this?” you demanded, poking at his chest. “me! you’re the one that left and then refused to let me speak! you blocked my number and flat out ignored me for weeks. then you call me last night, and tell me that all you do is think about me,” you opened your mouth to interject but he doesn’t let you. “let me finish. god y/n just let me fucking speak because if you let me talk, you’d know that i’ve always loved you. and i still do! even though you ignore me and basically cut me out of your life, i still love you. i want you just as much now as i did last week, and two months ago, and this summer, and even last year.” 

you're crying; tears streaming down your face as you listen to him rant. “why didn’t you say it sooner?” you croaked out. mark swallows, looking at you with utmost regret in his eyes, “because we said no strings attached.” you laughed. you were crying but now you’re laughing because how did you two agree to this? why did you agree? you think back to your freshman year and wonder what possessed you to say no strings attached. you wanted them to be attached, every single one. your strings and mark’s strings woven together into a tightly knit friendship bracelet, or maybe a keychain, or anything that involved the two of you being together. 

it was silent between the two of you. both of you just standing there, waiting for the other to make a move. finally, mark had the courage to do so. “i think we should let our strings attached . maybe they could get jumbled up in a giant knot, and we wouldn’t be able to untie it, because i,” he paused to take a deep breath, “i don’t think i could live my life without you.” 

“mark?” “yeah?” “let me kiss you.” his laugh echoed through the quad. his smile overtook his face, scrunching up his eyes and cheeks. his eyes brightened. his hands reached out for you, pulling you into him. his lips met yours. 

your strings were pretty much attached.