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wandasaura · 2 months ago

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RIDE LIKE THE WIND, BULLSEYE

summary — olivia had given up hope of ever getting stabler back in the squad, but then you showed up, and you’re not quite him, but you’re all the best parts

warning(s) — mention of undercover operations, blood and injury, past child sexual exploitation, reference to s10 e2 ‘confessions’, therapy, canon mental health struggles, bipolar depression mentioned, history of anxiety and depression, mention of canon character death, previous injury, shooting, alludes to past mutual romantic feelings between elliot and olivia, slight marital disputes/problems, hostage situation/negotiations, child endangerment, minor character death, gunshot wounds, stitches, mentions of domestic violence, ongoing domestic violence/sexual assault case, canon adjacent content, girl dad!elliot stabler, basically cool aunt olivia benson, angst but…not really angst

authors note — i was compelled to write stabler in some capacity and we ended up with this… very glad to have gotten this out of my system

In October of ninety-nine, a man had exploited you for the very first time in your life. You don’t know his name, or all of the details really, but you remember that your father had come home in a haste of emotional frustration and anger. He punched the wall. You remember how loud it sounded, how you’d cowered into Elizabeth and held your ears, afraid of his rampage. He hadn’t known you were listening. It was late. Elizabeth was only awake because you knocked on her door asking for chocolate milk, explaining through yawns that Kathleen had put the Nesquik powder on the highest shelf in the cupboards because she was mad at you — typical older sister retaliation throughout your childhood. If he’d known that your little ears were around, he wouldn’t have told your mother so bluntly with his back pressed against the counter and his head in his hands that some pedophile had blasted your third grade picture on his website for others to… you think the word he’d specifically used was ogle, but it hadn’t been in your vocabulary then, so in the years that it sat on your mind, you’d summarized it in other ways.

As you’d grown up, spending more and more afternoons at the 16th precinct because once you turned eleven you were allowed to walk home from school alone so long as you remembered to text your mother precisely when you stepped out of the middle school and when you once again stepped into the house and locked the door, the vague description of what happened sickened you.

You stopped by to see your Dad every day between those two events, usually with your water bottle pulled out of your backpack and uncapped. He filled it for you, and sometimes you could squeeze ten or fifteen minutes out of him before he turned you away, but those short few minutes every week opened your eyes to the reality of his world at work, to the world of Manhattan outside of your bubble of sunshine and rainbows. It only made you sicker over the potential of your picture situation.

When you were thirteen, you couldn’t take it anymore. One of your friends at school had come barging into the cafeteria saying that her sister’s best friend's cousin who lived in Minnesota — that had been a mouthful at the time and still was now — had her nudes leaked to myspace by her ex boyfriends. That brought it all back up. The sound of your father punching the wall, he’d kept you so far removed from violence before that point somehow. The way your mother had gasped at the news; laid her head down on his chest and wept. You know it couldn’t have been good, but you also couldn’t conceptualize what was so horrible about your school picture. Either way, the mental turmoil had rendered you nauseous and sickly by ninth period, and Olivia had come to save you when your mother relayed back to your father that she was stuck in traffic and wouldn’t be able to get you, so he’d sent her.

You’d cracked before she’d had the chance to ask you what was wrong, asking her through tears about the case from ‘99 that got your parents all rattled up. She told you, because Olivia never lied to you, and you’d told her that you were going to be sick after she explained why your school picture was so inviting to a pedophile. Your pigtails, pink bows to match your pink Ariel t-shirt, a purple skirt because it was a compromise made by your father who insisted you couldn’t actually wear your swimming pool tail to school even if the dress code was slightly elevated for pictures. He’d told you that it would perfectly match the color of her shells, and that everyone out know in their heads you were a real mermaid too. You’d picked into a bag they kept in the glove box of the squad car, and Olivia had shed a tear at a stop sign when she thought you weren’t looking.

That single moment had led you down a path nobody had anticipated — therapy, psychiatrists.

In ‘08, your sister had more or less spun out after getting into drugs and battling an undiagnosed mental illness. She’d tainted your family's reputation even if your father tried to pretend like she didn’t. You were in high school then, older, going to your own therapy appointments, taking your own steps to bettering your mental health. Her resistance had been like a bullet in the gut. She’d yelled insane things, pushed wild narratives and damaging accusations at Doctors just trying to help. It had taken a long time to forgive her for that, but it still lives all around you, even now, years later.

You creep down the hallways in the 16th precinct in Manhattan. They’re familiar, smaller than you remember them being as a kid coming to see your father and Mr. Munch, but familiar. They haven’t changed much at all, but then you step into the Sex Crimes hub, and it’s hard to imagine how it ever used to be laid out. Munch always yelled at you for hanging out on the stairs, but he knew he could always find you there, and when he did try to wrangle you into conversation with you and you weren’t in your designated spot, he panicked.

A pang of grief shoots through you. Munch. Mr. Munch, as you referred to him as a child. You hadn’t seen him much in the years that came after your fathers leave from SVU. You stopped by on your walks home from school for the first couple of weeks. Olivia waited with water for you instead. But then you stopped, and nobody could really blame you, and thankfully you’d found no reason to return as you grew up.

“You must be the new transfer. I’m Amanda Rollins.” A blonde intercepts your path. She’s perky, cheerful, radiant in a way that's impressive given the nature of her workload. Your father had never been any good at maintaining his attitude in this life, but you remember strikingly how Olivia had never held a candle to his impatience. She was impeccably reserved, though just as sharp and venous, perhaps more, because once she had unraveled, you’d reached a point of no return.

You utter your name, thinking nothing of your last, but then it dawns on you that she’s shared hers, and the southern twang in her speech is captivating. She’s not from here, and while you don’t assume that everyone will know who you are or have a connection to your father, it’s a very safe assumption that she genuinely has not heard of you once. “Stabler.”

A look of recognition dawns on Amanda’s face, but not anything significant to worry you. A few of the unís walking out to patrol had gawked at you like they couldn’t believe you’d show your face here, like the stories of your sisters epic crash out still lived out even with your fathers sacrifices and heroics to dissuade them. It doesn’t bother you like it had as a teenager, but rather at the fact that it’s years later and people still don’t recognize the validity of mental illness or have any kind of empathy for those struggling.

You hadn’t expected your first day on the job at Sex Crimes to be so emotionally provoking, but it’s been a while since you’ve been here, and nostalgia is a wonderful thing when you’re not face to face with active reminders.

“Stabler.” It’s a voice you’d know anywhere, and a radiant smile decorates your face as you turn to find Olivia, your new Captain. “Where the hell have you been, kid?” She asked with a breathy laugh, stalking near and going in for a hug, seemingly unphased by the box of your belongings that jabs her in what you can assume is her tit. You wince sympathetically, but still smile, because Olivia’s always had that effect on you. It’s been years since you’ve seen her, but she hasn’t changed a bit. You think if you get under her skin enough, she’ll even revert back to calling you that dreaded nickname she’d coined back in ‘07. Her familiarity and consistency is appreciated.

“High School, College, the Academy.” You prattle on, trying not to sound like your accomplishments were prideful, but you did find some level of pride in yourself when you’d thought about how much it had taken out of you to overcome what you had and get here. “ I did a year with Manhattan narcotics. The last six months I’ve been undercover.”

“That’s amazing.” Olivia gushes, her eyes reflecting her honesty. “Does Elliot know you’re here?” She asks, and you can’t decide if she sounds hopeful at the proposition of crossing paths with him, or just generally curious. After all, this job had done a number on your father.

“Um, not exactly.” You grinned sheepishly, and you’d been told often that you had his mischief. Olivia must still think that, because she scoffs knowingly. “I’ve been undercover, I think he’s undercover. There’s just not a lot of time for catching up. Mom knows though. She says that you’re welcome for dinner any time and you’re an idiot because you know that and still haven’t come out once in ten years. She says sorry for not coming out though.” You laugh, because the hypocrisy in your mothers rampage was comical, and she knew it. Benson laughs too, but it’s pained, and delusions from your childhood come rushing back.

You’ve always known that your father and your mother love each other. That wasn’t ever a question. The question was whether they were in love with each other. You know they’re not. Not fully at least. It’s never phased you. They don’t make it seem like it's a burden to be tied together by five kids and multiple decades of history and balance, and they definitely don’t seem to hate each other in the slightest considering they still sleep in the same room when your father actually stumbles home. But, you know that there’s very little keeping them connected the way they try to pretend like they are. You’d wondered for years what would’ve been of Olivia and your father if they’d ever really had a chance, not just been cursed to be passing ships in the night, best friends and nothing more. You’ll never know, or at least, you won’t anytime soon.

“Yeah, well.” Olivia brushes off your mothers apology because really she does understand. Life gets busy when there's nothing giving you a reason to stay in touch, and there hadn’t been any reason for her and Kathy Stabler to keep communication lines open when their common denominator was Elliot and he’d just up and left her. “I wasn’t aware that you were the new transfer. I can assume that was your doing?” She changes the subject and you’re grateful. It’s not that you don’t have anything to say to Olivia. Truthfully, you’re excited to finally have her opinions and her advice back in your life now that you can make better use of them as an adult, but this is work, you’ve never worked with somebody this woven into the make up of your being.

“Guilty.” Your tongue sweeps across your lip, a trait that your mother thinks you absorbed through osmosis from your father. Olivia can only think the same as she takes in your easy confidence, though it’s so much different than Elliot’s ever was, she sees him so clearly in you right now. It takes her back to the start, to nineteen-ninety-nine, Captain Cragen, and flip phones. It’s nostalgia that hurts, but she doesn’t want to go away. “Couldn’t risk it getting back to Pops.” You explain, and Olivia doesn’t question whether that’s the truth or not. She knows that within the first instance of Elliot finding out you’re working Sex Crimes, one of you is going to be getting a phone call and a fuming father already spinning out.

“Why’s he not want you on the job?” Amanda questioned, because to her, every father wanted their kids to follow in their footsteps, especially the ones in law enforcement; especially the ones who’d made a name for themselves and had earned titles and medals of honor since the start of their career.

“Because he’s an uptight, emotionally unregulated, asshole with a bleeding heart for most women and children.” You waved your hand, because as much as you adored your father and still thought the world of his accomplishments and ambition, you’d told him as much to his face once you hadn’t been so blinded by childhood innocence to see his imperfections. Your father was a doting, loving man, who was not afraid to put on a plastic crown and get on the floor with you after a day at work, but he was an emotional rollercoaster with broken lap bars. He pulled you along with him. When he was happy, the house was practically in harmony, and Kathleen didn’t hide things from you nearly as often, but when it rained it poured and it felt like a battlefield just sharing a shower let alone a single microwave. “My father loved this job, but this job ripped him apart until he damn near lost his mind regardless of his passion. He turned on Fin once, and then it was a toxic testosterone battle for a couple of months. I’m pretty sure he thinks being here is going to eat me alive.”

“Bastard did.” Fin huffed, remembering the small moment that had once seemed like an entire earthquake. It hadn’t crossed his mind in a while. He’d reconciled with Elliot because they were a family in this department, and that had been the end of it, but being so suddenly reminded of their rough patch had his eyes rolling and Amanda smirking. Olivia was trying not to laugh, because while she’d always been very kind in Fin’s regard about that entire situation, a toxic testosterone battle is exactly what she would’ve called it had she not been pinned in the middle of protecting professional peace. “Filed a transfer application and everything. Wait a minute, how’d you even know ‘bout that?”

A mischievous glint sparks your eyes, but before you can respond, there’s somebody yelling, and you only have enough time to register ‘shots fired downtown’ before Benson is cursing beneath her breath, yelling at you to go with Rollins while she and Fin go their separate ways. You know that the other members of the squad had trailed after you, trickling out of different rooms in the precinct at the announcement, but you hadn’t put names to faces nor even asked for names at all to put together who was who.

Your belongings were left on Amanda’s desk. You know it’s hers because she’d told you as much when she instructed you to ‘drop that there’. It didn’t phase you all that much to leave them behind on whim. The only thing in that box worth caring about is a picture of your father, Olivia, and yourself inside the precinct back in the early two-thousands. You can’t recall specifically what school year it's from anymore, maybe Kindergarten, maybe first, but you’re dressed up in the miniature versions of your fathers professional attire, one of his ties even hung around your neck to complete the look. You do remember that it had been career day, and you’d been adamant about attending as your father. You’d swung by after school with your mother to see him, and Olivia had fawned over your tiny plastic handcuffs and chocolate frosted donut hair clips that held the flyaways back from your eyes. That small detail had been your mothers creative touch, and it had your father in stitches for about ten minutes — it was a good day in your house that career day, you remember because you had pizza for dinner and Dickie practically broke his bedroom door down in excitement when Elliot shouted from the living room that he was home with the pies. You wish it would’ve been like that more often.

The cruiser with Amanda was comfortable. She took the driver's seat, as you anticipated given there seemed to be a personal connection to the supposed suspect if Olivia’s look of defeat was any indication after you’d gotten the announcement.

“So, you know who fired the shots?” You asked after a moment, not bothered by the silence, but wanting to prepare yourself for whatever you were about to step into.

Amanda sighed, “Well,” She droned, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel impatiently when even the lights and sirens on top of the squad car didn’t get traffic pulling out of the way. “About three weeks ago we got a case. Jennifer Moore, 27, reported a rape and ongoing domestic abuse. Her case went to mistrial last week. Benson’s been keeping an eye on her while the ADA prepares to refile charges, but she went dark two days ago. The address is the laundry mat they own.”

“So, she finally snapped.” You hummed, and Amanda made a sound of confirmation in her throat, aggressively swerving around a stubborn taxi who just wouldn’t budge enough to let you through the light. “You above yelling in Manhattan?” You asked on a whim, your head snapping to Amanda whilst your fingers toyed with the control panel on the door.

There’s a spark of amusement in Amanda’s eyes when she finally gathers what you mean. It becomes a full on smile when your head shoots out the window, half of your torso balanced against the door for support as you waved your arm. “Move it, before you’re my next stop!” It might’ve lacked the bite you packed in Brooklyn, but it was efficient, the taxi driver shook his head at you in something similar to disbelief as he slowly inched up and turned off a side street.

“I take it you’ve used that one a lot.” Amanda laughed, finally finding it possible to absorb the light energy of your mood.

“My old partner in Brooklyn. He was a real pill.” You rolled your eyes, and Amanda got the hint that while he might’ve been a solid mentor throughout your first year free from the academy, he was not an overall great guy. Nobody you’d be hoping to get coffee with at least. “He was a bit more colorful with it too.”

“You always know you wanted to work Sex Crimes?” She asks, taking a sharp right. Your body sways with the movement of the car just slightly, your core engaging to keep you from sliding. This is a practiced dance now, one that’s basically written in blood on your wrists.

“Yeah.” You tell her, not mentioning that you’d been tethered to this job, this field, this title since you were a child not even double digits. You can’t get the words off your tongue, but it doesn’t stop all the thoughts from popping up in your head — how many people had seen the picture when it was first posted, how many men had gotten off to your pigtails and Ariel t-shirt, how many still had a copy of it on a flash drive that they hide from their wives and their own daughters with Ariel t-shirts and drawers full of bows. No amount of years in therapy would ever cleanse you of the hypotheticals, and the unknown truthers hidden within those hypotheticals. You’ll never know the reach that man and his website had. You’ll never know what scenarios a pedaphile can construect in sixteen hours — that’s how long your picture had been up on the website before Cragen had demanded it be taken down. Your therapist had told you that all you can do now is move on, that you have all the tricks and tools to do so on your own, but it feels impossible to do that when there’s an inkling in the back of your head that every man you meet has seen that website, that picture, the article that laid the details of the case out clearly for anyone to see if they knew the perfect keywords to look up on Firefox. “Sex Crimes was always the goal.” You say instead.

“Narcotics your runner up?” Amanda asks, and at this point you’re almost certain she’s just trying to fill the quiet, consumed with guilt for letting this case go to mistrial to begin with. “When I was in the Academy back in Georgia, I had two plans, Sex Crimes or Organized Crime.“

”No, actually. It was a random selection excluding Sex Crimes. I told myself that I had to make it out of the Academy for an entire year before I could put in my papers to transfer. I’ve known Fin and Olivia my entire life. I don’t think they’d treat me differently because of that, but it was the mental gymnastics of combatting that and the lecture I know I’m going to get from my father that got me all twisted. So I worked the beat for three months, worked Narcotics for another three before they sent me under. When I came back I finished up my NDIT, practically threw myself into it actually, there wasn’t much I could do with a concussion and a stab wound to the gut. Let me tell you, six months undercover was probably the best test I could’ve put myself through. There wasn’t a day I didn’t want to pull myself out, it was hell, but I loved those girls that I was working with, and I wanted them out before I got to go back to my perfect little life. We got the sting, though. And well, now I’m here.”

It had only just dawned on Amanda how young you are. She’d gathered as much, but hearing that you’d taken your NDIT and passed after only a year out of the Academy was awakening so to speak. It took most patrol officers at least three years to meet the necessary qualifications to advance toward a promotion.

“My first day was a lot like this, you know. I came in with my box of stuff, ready to introduce myself, and SVU got called the scene. I met Cragen in the elevator, handed my box to some random rookie and had to throw myself into the case. It was… interesting. If you need anything, I’m here.” Amanda offered, and you smiled at her sincerity, watching her grip the wheel between white knuckles, the GPS telling you that you’re minutes away from the laundry mat. You’d probably be there already if people learned to have a little efficiency.

“Do you have kids?” You asked suddenly, because it was weighing on your mind. Her every little motion was so indicative of the fact that she’d learned what it felt like to have something to lose. Her hands held the wheel with practiced leisure, but enough precision to guarantee that she’d be able to take control if something spun out. She doted on you with warmth that was beyond kindness, twinged with something that felt like hope; hope that one day somebody would see her kids on their first day of work, and they’d take them under their wing because this world is hard and cruel enough on its own without unnecessary struggle.

Amanda’s lips quirk, and that’s all you need to know, but she opens her mouth, ready to tell you anything you want to know it seems, a radiant glow taking hold of her features as she thinks about the baby, or babies, she has at home. “Two girls.” She smiles, “Jesse and Billie.”

Your face contorts despite your will, but a tale of two sisters has always pulled at your heart strings, The Parent Trap the first instance of this happening when you were six and thoroughly obsessed with Hallie and Annie — enough to convince Kathleen to pierce your ears with a sewing needle and an apple. She was definitely only enough to say no, to redirect you to your parents and take every needle out of your sewing kit, but instead she’d laid you down on the couch and seen the plan through until you were sobbing, bleeding, and screeching for Elliot who was conveniently stumbling home from work at the same time.

“How’d you know?” Amanda cocks a curious eyebrow, muttering under her breath when you get stuck at another red light, a white mini van with its hazards on letting out three teenage boys with basketballs and backpacks. You couldn’t yell at that, because with one scan of your eyes you determined you were in fact in a drop off zone, and making her move would endanger the kids already on the street, and the ones potentially preparing to climb out of the car. Amanda seemed to relax too when she noticed what was unfolding, and you’re sure it’s an added relief that you can both see Olivia and Fin climbing out of their own squad car, approaching the laundry mat where a good number of unis and patrol officers gather. A knot forms in your belly. You already know this situation is more than you’ve been informed of.

“I double majored in college before I went into the academy. Forensics Science and Behavioral Studies with a minor in fine arts. My sister Kathleen hates when I analyze her, but it’s empowering to finally have a way to make her skin crawl after all these years.”

“Little sisters.” Amanda huffs and shakes her head like she knows this never ending dance. You’re both adults now. Kathleen has her own children, you have a career you’re happily married to. You don’t see each other very often, Christmas is the only guaranteed visit throughout the year, but you’ve never once lost your spark of sisterly mischief and competition.

“Anything else I should know about the vic?” You ask, and you don’t think for a second to call her — Jennifer — the perp, because until you know the full story, until you can see her with your own two eyes, this is just another instance of the legal system failing its people.

“Uh, got a real bleeding heart for kids. She was a school teacher, high school. Quit last year after she fell down the stairs and shattered her hip.” Amanda rolled her eyes toward you, finally inching up toward the laundry mat where it dawned on you that this wasn’t just an open shooting, but a hostage situation as cowering faces and heads bobbed behind the windows.

“Damn it!” You cursed, swinging the door open. The second your boots hit the pavement, you were in Detective mode, and Amanda observed the quiet shift in your demeanor with unease. It was slightly robotic, undeniably a learned skill through your stint undercover, but you’d been cleared time and time again by not only therapists and psychiatrists employed by 1PP and the state of New York, but also personal therapists. Amanda knows the drill, even if she’d never served so long under cover and couldn’t even stomach the thought of leaving her girls for that long.

“What do we got, Loo?” You called out, because in the two minutes that you’d been stopped at the light behind the minivan, Fin had walked around the corner on the phone and every uni on the block had cleared pedestrian traffic with a hand on their weapon cautiously.

“Eight hostages inside. One of the vics has a smart watch, Officer Jones over there is on the phone with dispatch. She’s texting 9-1-1 until we get hostage negotiation down here to tap the line. All cell phones were taken by the husband, not Jennifer, but she’s the one with the gun. There’s a little boy in the bathroom. Jennifer doesn’t know he’s there, and we don’t know if that’ll escalate the situation once she finds out, so we need to work quick before everyone in there dies.” Benson broke it down for you and Amanda, and your eyes flickered to Officer Jones, who was easily identifiable as he stood on the corner, just out of sight from the laundry mat, before they found Olivia again.

“I just finished a second round of crisis negotiation training with Narcotics.” You tell Olivia, because you don’t need to say anything else for her to know where you’re going with this. Even if you don’t have a direct line of communication to the hostages, you have one to Jennifer through the laundromat’s landline, if she picks it up.

“We can’t do anything until hostage negotiation gets here.” Olivia shook her head just as another gunshot went off, the sound of shrieking from inside the laundromat sparking your immediate attention. Olivia looks too, and you know she wants to send you in there, but she can’t, she won’t. Not only because you're Elliot’s daughter and you know she feels an immense responsibility to protect you if she can, but because you’re one of her men now, her Detectives to protect. She’s not willing to risk your life when the hostage negotiation team is minutes out.

They’re not even minutes out it seems, because as you turn away from Olivia, wanting to at least get a read on the situation through the windows, two white vans pull up, and men start jumping out. You can see the bigger vans starting to line the streets too. The black ones. The ones that carry sniper rifles and enough ammunition to take out an entire Rockefeller Plaza audience.

They get you on the phone with Jennifer just as another gunshot goes off, and you can hear indistinguishable shouting through the thin panes of glass before the line connects and the laundromat goes silent outside from the pants and hyperventilating of the hostages.

“Jennifer, this is Detective Stabler. Can you tell me what’s going on in there?” You asked softly, unassumingly. Jennifer takes a shaky breath, you can hear the safety slick on the gun, you assume she lowers it.

Somehow you end up inside the laundromat, Olivia holding your gun, Amanda holding your handcuffs because you’d taken them off in a haste, like you had experience with them leading to bad things in a hostage situation. You’d gone in with your hands raised, your face a mask of neutrality. Jennifer pulled you in with a cold grip on your wrist, and she held the barrel of her gun directly against your abdomen. A chill of fear ran through you, but you’d been in this situation a handful of times in the last six months, so long as everyone outside does their job, which right now is absolutely nothing, then you can do yours.

It’s a slow dance getting her to agree to let the other hostages out, but when you know that you have her in the palm of your hand, your fathers coaching coming back to you even if his motivator had been club softball and yours was life or death. He’d been preparing you for this all of your life, even if you didn’t know it. Because maybe you were just defusing arguments between eight year olds when he’d sat you down and told you that you never show your opponent anger or frustration unless you're prepared to be in the fight for the long haul.

You don’t let Jennifer feel your unnerved breathing against her chest as you tell her that there’s an eight year old boy in the bathroom, and that he really wants to make it to school next week because they’re having a class party to celebrate the end of state testing. It’s a total lie, but Kathleen’s kids have state testing this week in Queens, so you hope and pray that Manhattan isn’t any different, or that Jennifer won’t know if it is. She falters, and when you drive home that you know she would’ve never done this if she knew a kid was here, she crumbles just enough to have them all scrambling out into Amanda and Olivia’s waiting arms.

But then it’s just you, Jennifer, and her husband. You hadn’t seen her face when she pulled you into the laundromat. Her motions had been too quick, the change from bright daylight to dingy yellow lighting blinding you, but she steps just an inch to the left, and you see her reflection in the security mirror in the corner. Her eye is black and blue, swollen and leaking fluid. Her lip is split, her cheeks either speckled with red or dusted with green and yellow. There are marks around her neck, not handprints, but what you think is rope, or some kind of course material, perhaps a wool scarf not yet put away from the winter. This was a provoked event, even if it’s not a rational response, it was provoked, and you know that every nerve in Jennifer’s body is telling her to do it, to finish it, to finally free herself, because nothing else matters anymore.

You try to reach her, you almost do, but then her jackass of a husband who legally isn’t even her ex yet shouts a dumb remark, egging her on, like he can’t see that his life is so fragilely in the balance of seizing to exist in a single moment. Jennifer raises the gun. She shoots at him. Her arm drops right back down to where it was, the barrel pressed into your abdomen. In your head you know that this placement misses any major organs, but it doesn’t calm you down any.

Her husband doesn’t flinch, like he finds her frustration and simultaneous desperation amusing, but then there’s a look of horror on his face, a sharp sound piercing the laundromat. There’s shattered glass. Another gunshot. Jennifer’s dead. Her body slumps to the ground, a single hole in the center of her forehead — a clear exit wound. There was a second shot though, it registers when you stumble back, against a filing cabinet. You sink to the floor, your knees are weak, you can’t keep yourself upright. That second shot came from Jennifer's gun. The barrel smokes as it clatters to the ground beside her.

Her husband goes to rush for it, but Amanda and Olivia have already rushed in. Amanda takes him by the elbow, jerking him around without remorse until his hands are cuffed. She reads him his rights begrudgingly— because she’d already read them to him, that should’ve been the end of it, and Jennifer should still be alive and getting to tell people she found the strength to report her abuser and she survived.

Olivia checks that Jennifers dead, and then she yells for a uni to call the ME. She comes to check on you next, happy to see that your bullet proof vest hasn’t shifted out of position, unable to see the blood that leaks from just beneath where the vest ends, where there’s now a hole in your abdomen with no exit wound. There’s a bullet somewhere in your belly.

“I… I think she shot me.” You croak, because you’re not sure anymore, the world is fading in and out, Olivia’s voice is ebbing loud and soft. Her hands put pressure on your belly and you groan, your head thrown back. You cry out in pain when she eases you into a different position, one that opens up the wound area to her touch.

“You’re gonna be okay, honey.” She coos, her hands soaked in blood. “No, stay with me. Stay with me. Stabler!” The call of your name is an order, but you can’t register it as your eyes close and your consciousness slips.

When you wake, there’s a dull ache in your belly accompanied by the familiar tightness of stitches. You barely have time to come to terms with being awake when there are so many heavy drugs being pumped through your body when a large hand cups your cheek, warm and rough, calloused from years of holding weapons and wielding plastic lightsaber fights.

“Hey, partner.” A familiar voice coos, and tears prick your eyes in an instant as you recognize your fathers voice and his hand. You try to sit up, but he keeps you down, slowly standing up until he’s hovering over you on the bed, a hand messing with the hair on your cheeks that hasn’t been tied up.

As a kid, he always carried around extra hair ties. You have three older sisters, by the time you came around, he knew what to expect from long hair and windy days. He always corralled you into him, bear hands on your shoulders, his movement jerky even though he knew these steps easily. You remember how you used to bat him away as you got older, embarrassed by his willingness to be a doting father in public when you were approaching twelve, thirteen, even fourteen years old. You weren’t his last baby. No, baby Eli had to come around and steal all of your youngest of five attention when you were seven, but you were his last baby girl. You’re a grown woman, but you’re still just his baby girl. That’s something Eli never had going for him growing up.

Partner. Ever since that first career day when you, him, and Olivia had posed all cheekily near Cragen’s office, he’d taken to calling you partner. Olivia had always pretended to hate it, teasing you about stealing her spot, but you know she called you that behind your back. She saw you the most out of your siblings, none of them found an interest in your fathers career path the way you did, and when there was time for her to dwell on the more intimate connections of their relationship, you know partner was always how she brought you up. Elliot had told you that, finding it hysterical.

“Now what did I tell you?” He asks, and you knew it was coming, but there’s not even a trace of anger in his tone as he looks at you with damp eyes.

“You knew I wouldn’t be able to stay away.” You argue weakly, and all Stabler can do is laugh as he swipes his thumbs across your cheeks, collecting the tears that have spilled since you regained consciousness. “I’m sorry.” You croak, because even if you have nothing to apologize for, you still walked yourself right into the very situation he’d warned you about. Maybe it could’ve happened anywhere, but it happened at SVU of all places, and that felt like a horrible coincidence to carry on your shoulders.

“No, none of that.” He shakes his head, tells you that apologies are futile, you’ve already taken the steps to where you are, and there’s nothing that can ever take this moment back, so all you can do is accept it and move on. It reminds you of your therapist. You know he doesn’t even recognize it, but it dawns on you now how much he’s absorbed over the years trying to help you, to keep you from the path Kathleen paved with permanent marker and an excavator.

When Olivia came inside, looking like an emotional wreck if the swollen and discolored skin beneath her eyes was any indication of emotional state, your father suddenly thought to get you a snack from the vending machine — vanilla wafers because they’d always been your after surgery choice.

His palm swipes across Olivia’s bicep as he passes her, and she smiles over her shoulder until the door closes. Your hopped up on about three different pain medications and an antibiotic, mixed with adrenaline and exhaustion, you stand no chance of filtering your thoughts as you lay drowsily in the hospital bed, so when Olivia stalks close enough to sit down on the edge of your bed like she’d done when you were nine and had your appendix out on the day of your dance recital, you found yourself speaking without thinking. “Do you have a crush on my Dad?”

Olivia looks shocked for a minute, before a look of absolute amusement crosses her features and she shakes her head. “You’re feeling good on that morphine, huh?” She redirects easily and you hardly notice, bobbing your head as your eyes glance at the IV pole near your bedside.

“Can’t believe I got shot on my first day.” You grumble and Olivia laughs, because that seems like the only valid reaction after the day you’ve had.

“I’d say it makes perfect sense considering you’re a Stabler.” Olivia chuckles, and you have to agree, because your father was definitely not a man with a clear injury record on the job. “You did good today, partner.” She pauses for a moment, considers whether she’s going to say it or not, but the second she does your lips split into a wide grin, and there’s the slightest flicker of light in your eyes.

“I knew you didn’t hate it!” You bellowed, before you coughed, wincing in desperate need of a drink. Olivia rolled her eyes, wondering how somebody could be so eerily similar to Elliot Stabler, but so drastically different.

#olivia benson #elliot stabler #amanda rollins #odafin tutuola #olivia benson x reader #elliot stabler x reader #amanda rollins x reader #olivia benson x you #amanda rollins x you #elliot stabler x you #olivia benson angst #amanda rollins angst #elliot stabler angst #olivia benson fic #amanda rollins fic #elliot stabler fic #law and order: svu #bensler

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vanswarpedtour · 2 months ago

Photo

We sat down to chat with MySpace’s beloved MILLIONAIRE$ about their return to the Warped stage, old mems, and excitement for what’s to come. Learn how to LIVE FA$T and PARTY HARD before catching them at all three stops in DC, Long Beach, and Orlando this year!

How does it feel to come back and play Vans Warped Tour in 2025?

Melissa: When we got the offer, I legit was like, “REALLY? It’s actually back?!?” In my mind, it was not gonna come back.

Meredith: When I found out I was in disbelief, I was like, “Really???”

What’s your craziest Warped memory?

Melissa: [The realization] didn’t hit me until the moment I walked onto the stage for the first time. I’d never done a FESTIVAL festival…nothing like Warped Tour. I remember walking on stage and being like “Woah! Am I ready for this?”

We were treated like the losers, like the outcasts. Another girl in the band, someone threw a shoe and hit her in the face. We got a lot of shit talked to us that we laugh about now. I think it’s this redemption thing, playing this year. Like, “Fuck all you guys! Look who’s still fucking here bitch!”

Meredith: I was going to Warped Tour every summer…I have great memories of lying to my mom and telling her I was spending the weekend at a friend’s house, and then getting in a car with a bunch of kids and driving up to Dallas in a beater not knowing if we’re gonna make it *laughs.* And then just getting a gnarly sunburn, and hanging out with my friends, not even really caring who’s on the lineup, we’re just going for the vibe.

What’s something you have to do before every performance?

Meredith: For our headline shows, we’ll have our DJ play a set, and we’ve curated that playlist with our favorite music. We hype up beforehand and dance around backstage!

Melissa: We also do our little “double double” hand thing…

Meredith: Yeah we also do uh, *patty cake/elevator hand game motion* little hand clap thing–

Melissa: And we also have nails on, so it’s like this *awkwardly does the hand motion.*

Meredith: Yeah, instead of a huddle we do a little secret handshake thing.

What’s your favorite song to perform live and why?

Melissa: I don’t know! That’s a hard one! No matter what order the set is, the first song when we jump on stage is the most hype. Also, we normally play “Alcohol” last. I think that one is so ingrained, everyone is having fun. I’m so excited to be on stage, and it’s sad to have to leave the stage, so it’s like giving my last moment of “Let’s just do it!” even if I’m exhausted.

Meredith: Yeah, that one’s just so iconic. And no matter who you are, I feel like everyone knows the words, and it’s easy to sing along even if you don’t. By that time, everyone’s balls to the walls. My favorite song is “Stay the Night.” The melody is really fun, and the dance we do to it is like old school Dream Girls vibes, and I like those types of songs.

Describe MILLIONAIRE$ in three words.

Meredith: Unapologetic. Iconic. Hot.

Melissa: Party. Besties 🫶. DGAF.

What’s your favorite part of Vans Warped Tour?

Meredith: Seeing so many friends that are also on the lineup. I think it’s really fun that we all get to do this together and it’s gonna feel almost like summer camp in a way *laughs.* Hanging out, seeing lots of friends, and watching a lot of bands that we love–there’s so many bands on the lineup that we’re both fans of. At the end of the day, even though we’re playing, we’re fans of this music, so that’s cool!

Melissa: It’s so nice to hang out again with the people we grew up listening to. Getting to see them perform and performing alongside them is a really cool feeling. I’m so happy to say they’re keeping the scene alive in Warped Tour too.

If you could collaborate with any other band or artist, who would it be and why?

Meredith: We got asked this last year at When We Were Young, and I think we said Charli XCX. That would be crazy. Maybe a metalcore band would be cool. We’re both fans of metalcore and there’s a lot of bands in the scene that are awesome right now. Yeah, I think that would be so fun!

Melissa: Yeah, and we could sing with them, or do our cutesy rap too! I would want to do a song or a tour with people that still want to keep the scene alive. I just wanna have fun, it’s not some competition. When we do shows and songs, I want it to be fun, I like that part of music!

Do you have anything exciting planned for your Warped set (that we can know about)?

Meredith: Party vibes, fun, and high energy. We’re working on a way to spice it up even more.

Are there any new or upcoming releases fans should keep an eye out for?

Meredith: We’re planning to do another release with Graveboy Records which is really exciting. To be determined when that’s gonna be, but new music is on the way, and maybe some other stuff that we can’t talk about yet.

What tips do you have for up-and-coming bands/artists?

Melissa: Never give up. No matter who talks shit about you, I don’t care, never give up! Just believe in it. It’s always been in my heart, a lot of people are like, “How are you still wearing the bow?” and all this mean stuff–it’s like dude, this is just me! Believe in your music, because other people will believe in it too.

#vans warped tour #MILLIONAIRE$#warped mag

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shojizbae · 10 months ago

Text

Just take yourself back to 2006

Tom Kaulitz x Reader

It's the later days of MySpace and the early days of YouTube, and Tokio Hotel is starting to take off. Fan girls are really beginning to amass, and the world getting very familiar with Tokio Hotel. One young German girl had since seen the band and their aesthetics and decided to change her appearance almost entirely. One walk down to the convenience store later, she locked herself in the bathroom for the night. She pulled an all-nighter, and when she emerged from her bedroom the following day, her mother jumped at the sight.

Gone was the good little Jewish girl she had raised. Drugstore eyeliner was coating your waterline. Different locks of your hair were bleached or had been dyed neon pink. Your once sensible collared shirts and khaki pants had been exchanged for a pair of low-rise bootcut jeans you accidentally bought when out with your great aunt. A lack of cool bras was exchanged for a leopard print bikini layered under a white camisole, which you had tied around your waist. You had taken a sharpie to your nails, and your lips were drenched in strawberry glaze lip gloss.

"Oh, good morning, liebe!" your mom quivers behind the batter bowl. "Do you want pancakes?"

"Nein, I'm going to the mall with some friends." you look disinterestedly at your pink razor. Just then, your mom notices that you're dragging a bag of clothes behind you

"What are you doing with those?"

"I'm not going to wear them anymore, so I will sell them to one of those charity shops. Yeah, and I think I will go to the music store, so can I have 50 euros?"

"Why don't you ask your father?"

"Ugh, fine." You sling the trash bag over your shoulder, and your mother is not happy when you return with a hundred euros in your hand. God dammit, you have your dad in your back pocket, your mom remembers. You walk into town, sell your old clothes, get another hundred euros, and then take your new look for a spin. The bus ticket only eats up two of your euros, and when you get to the mall, you instantly grab the attention of some emos.

They take you under their skinny wings and drag you around Hot Topic. You're dragged through Victoria's Secret, and the girls show you the most natural push-up bras in the subtlest shades of neon magenta and bedazzled turquoise. They show you the matching G-strings and outfit you with all the best.

All your brand new best friends take the bus home with you and show you all the best music. Your parents aren't home, so you drag four random kids to your apartment. Your parents were horrified when they got home. Sure, it was natural to experiment at your age, and sure, 15 was a little old to still have horse posters up in your bedroom, but this was a real change.

Posters of men in tight leather pants with piercings covered your bedroom walls. Your sensible synagogue clothes had been smushed in the back of your closet to make room for miniskirts and ripped-up band tees. Your father nearly passed out when he saw that not only was your tongue pierced but also your eyebrow on your precious face? When they asked you what spurred on this change, all they got was

“What? I’m not your little girl anymore.” Your new friend may have overstayed their welcome, playing loud, trashy metal and eating all your snacks, but it was with you when Jax, a tall, spindly emo with purple highlights, said he would teach you how to make out with someone. You were just barely getting to second base when your mom walked in with a plate of carrots and hummus and sharply kicked all the kids out.

The next few months were a living hell of wresting you out of baggy jeans so your parents wouldn’t be kicked out of Temple. For that, you would abide because you did enjoy faith and your relationship with god, but as soon as you got back to the apartment, you would smear makeup on and practice with your new shitty Yamaha.

Getting more immersed in alternatives styles and culture you started posting covers of Metallica and eventually Tokio Hotel. Your covers start gaining traction some for your musical finesse and others for your looks. Accidentally you get really famous in almost a few months. When you start making money off your live shows, your mom takes over as your manager. She didn't like her 9-5 anyway.

When your gigs start making enough money to pay the bills for your dad, he lightens up on his disdain for your art. Slowly, you begin jotting down poetry, posting short videos of you noodling on your old acoustic guitar. Slowly, you sign a one-album contract with Universal Music Germany. While you juggle school and micro-fame, you spend every weekend at their recording studio.

It's one warm May Saturday when you meet him. You're both reaching for the same bottle of Coca-Cola when you brush his hands.

"Oh, entschuldigung!' you chime and continue reaching for the glass bottle.

"Entschuldigung," his slightly deeper (although still mid-pubescent) voice echoes as he reaches for the bottle. Your hands wrap around the neck as you stand together. Twin eyes flick from the bottle to each other. You relinquish the bottle and take a step back.

"Oh, I just wanted some soda." You offer kind of weakly

"Yeah, it was getting hot in the recording booth." He replies

"Oh, you're an artist. I thought you were some spoiled singer kid." You bend over to look for a different soda in the refrigerator and find that all that's left is carbonated lemonade. You ignore the gut feeling that the boy with your soda is checking your ass out. "So, are you a soloist?" You crack off the lid and flick it into a nearby trashcan

"No," I'm the guitarist at Tokio Hotel." You choke on your drink. "You don't know who I am?"

"You're Tom Kaulitz?" Your voice cracks as you point at him. You give yourself a chance to study his face, the lip piercing, the dreads, the eyes. He looks more normal than his usual promotional photos.

"You've probably heard this before, but I'm a really big fan." His face shows a wash of emotions before he settles on a bit of a snide smile.

"Really?" He steps a little closer, turning up the charm

"So are you some rich spoiled little nepo-girl. Usually, they make pretty hot babies." with his soda at his waist, he lifts your chin to look him in the eyes. "I mean, you're pretty hot, so you must be." you lean against the wall and tilt your hips toward his.

"Nein, I'm an artist. You're not too bad looking yourself, Tom Kaulitz from Tokio Hotel." You slowly take the Coca-Cola from his hand and take a sip. He gulps at the sight of you holding eye contact as you swallow. Slightly, you hand him back the bottle and duck out of his hold. He watches in awe as you strut to your recording booth. Tom rakes a hand down his face as he watches your ass move, and his band members join him in the break room.

"Who's the babe?' Gustav slings an arm over his shoulder

"My future wife." Tom holds back from a whimper exiting his mouth

#tokio hotel #tom kaulitz x reader #tom kaulitz #grunge #y2k #2000s emo #imagines #poser

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97keanu · 2 years ago

Text

"ʳᵒˡˡ ᵗʰᵉ ʷⁱⁿᵈᵒʷ ᵈᵒʷⁿ ᵗʰⁱˢ

ᶜᵒᵒˡ ⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵃⁱʳ ⁱˢ ᶜᵘʳⁱᵒᵘˢ

ˡᵉᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʰᵒˡᵉ ʷᵒʳˡᵈ ˡᵒᵒᵏ ⁱⁿ

ʷʰᵒ ᶜᵃʳᵉˢ ʷʰᵒ ˢᵉᵉˢ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵗᵒⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ﹖

ʳᵒˡˡ ᵗʰᵉˢᵉ ᵐⁱˢᵗʸ ʷⁱⁿᵈᵒʷˢ

ᵈᵒʷⁿ ᵗᵒ ᶜᵃᵗᶜʰ ᵐʸ ᵇʳᵉᵃᵗʰ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉⁿ

ᵍᵒ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵍᵒ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵍᵒ ʲᵘˢᵗ

ᵈʳⁱᵛᵉ ᵐᵉ ʰᵒᵐᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵃᵍᵃⁱⁿ"

✧ I'm your passenger ✧

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Dave Lizewski x Goth!Reader

Premise: You and Dave have been seeing each other every weekend since your history project together, but for a while now you've been too scared to admit your true feelings. Tonight, you take Dave to a bonfire with you other alternative friends, and introduce him as your boyfriend for the first time. You also end up taking Dave back to your car for some much needed release under the full autumn moon.

Tags: sappy romantic who doesn't want to show her feelings reader, Dave who is totally head over heels but doesn't want to push anything in fear of losing you, Dave is so nervous to meet your friends and go to his first party, reader who realizes she really might just be in love with this nerd, mentions of casual drinking, car sex, semi public but not mentioned much, dominant reader, some Dom Dave, reader on top, p in v, raw sex, size kink, teasing.

Words: 3.6k

Read the first part here. Be added to Dave's taglist here. Dave x Reader (Jennifer's Body AU) here. Dave x popular!reader imagine here.

Dave Lizewski had never been to a party his entire highschool career. In fact, the last party he went to with more than just Marty and Todd was a first grade "everyone has to be invited" birthday party. Even that, Dave remembers very vividly, particularly when he's staring at the ceiling late at night in dread, was a mistake. He had eaten too much cake, mixed it with as many Pepsi cola's as his tiny six year old body could hold, and ended up seeing it all again on the dancefloor about 20 minutes later. He hoped to God, or whoever was up there, that tonight wouldn't have a similar fate. He would never be able to live it down if he embarrassed himself tonight, in front of you, of all people. It was you, all black lipstick and smudged eye make up, that had roped him into this. You two started as project partners, and very quickly advanced to something more. Dave couldn't believe you, the goth girl of his nerdy comic book dreams, had taken an interest in him. It had only been a few weeks since Dave started regularly seeing you, and he was still unclear on whether or not you two were a "thing" as Todd had put it when he grilled Dave about why he wasn't hanging out with "the boys" anymore. Half the time, you still ignored him during the school day. You stomped your way through the hallway with knee high combat boots, black and buckled more than needed to be. You would, if Dave was lucky that day, perhaps give him a look that was slightly softer than your usual scowl.

It was the weekends when he really saw you. A simple command. A text that said "Come over." and that was it for Dave. He was like a dog on a leash for you, drooling all week in his bed alone, thinking about you with his hands busy in his pants. He felt embarrassed the amount of times he'd looked at a picture you posted on MySpace here or there, sitting at his desk, ogling those pixels on the screen just to get him through the week til he saw you again.

He would hate how much you have him whipped if it wasn't for the fact that he was actually entirely grateful anyone would fuck him, let alone you. No, for you? He would do anything you told him to. And you knew that, of course. Which is why you are dragging Dave out of the city to bumfuck nowhere to party with the goths.

Despite Dave's very adamant concerns, mainly to do with how he would never fit into a crowd like that, here he was, riding passenger in your beat up car. The night had started to settle in, the sun falling earlier as the cool of fall began to crisp the earth with its presence. Leaves turned to orange and gold, dipping low on the branches of weary trees that the tiny car's hood grazed as you took yet another back road. Dave began to wonder if you actually knew where this party was as the headlights became a sole source of light.

"D-do you, um, actually know where this spot is?" Dave speaks up over your car stereo, which is currently blasting something by London After Midnight which Dave was still unfamiliar with.

"Of course, stop worrying." You steal a glance at him, where he is pushing his glasses up nervously in the seat next to you. He catches your black lips smirking in the lowlight and he can't help but want to give in, as always, to your demands.

"I just…I don't think they're going to l-like me…" Dave says with interjecting sighs, repeating once again his main fear for tonight.

"Dave, it's other alternative people, this isn't exactly the popular crowd." You slide a hand over to his thigh, your many rings clinking together as you do so.

"I know, but that doesn't mean I'll fit in…" Dave can't help but to meet your hand, giving it a squeeze where it lays on his thigh.

"Trust me, you'll fit in if I say you fit in." You try to ease his fears once again. "I know these people quite well, if I say you're cool, you're cool. It'll be alright, Dave."

Dave nods, muttering a "yeah, cool" to himself as he feels another squeeze from your soft hand. He runs a nervous finger over your black nail polish for the rest of the car ride, and tries to see the scenery of the intensifying dense woods that engulf the tiny car.

Eventually, as Sean Brennan's voice whines on, you two come to a driveway. You turn in, a few other cars have already arrived. An orange blaze of a bonfire flashes from around the side of an old white farmhouse and Dave can hear the chitter chatter of other teens as you two exit the car. Dave can feel his stomach tighten as he imagines a mirror before him, showing him how he looks to others.

He tried, he really did. When you texted that you were taking him to a party he was already freaked, and then he freaked more when he found out he would be the only one without the proper dress code. He looked through all of his wardrobe, twice in fact just to be sure, but all he found was nerdy video game plastered shirts and jeans. He was hoping he might have had a band t-shirt from when he had a minor emo phase in middle school, but had no luck.

Dave settled on picking out a dark gray zip up hoodie, along with a black t-shirt and jeans, but he feels like he's under dressed when he looks over at you. You, who is wearing so many flashy chains of silver around your belt, various necklaces featuring bats and crosses, and of course your "bats nest" hairstyle (which you had to explain to Dave was supposed to look messy). In comparison, Dave looked As nerdy and lame as always.

Yeah, Dave was going to stand out, he was sure of it.

Seeing Dave's hesitation, after grabbing a bottle of wine out of the backseat you brought for the occasion, you approach him. Taking your hands on his shoulders, your platform boots giving you almost a similar height to Dave, you look deep into his eyes. He gazes back with those big baby blues you fell for.

"Dave, I brought you here tonight because I think it's important that my friends meet my boyfriend, not to embarrass you or torment you." You say this slowly, knowing that the two of you haven't discussed this exactly, but that Dave has been clear in the past that he wants to date. As Dave registers what you're saying, his eyes light up.

"B-Boyfriend?" Is all his mouth can seem to muster, he's so over the moon about it. He had asked before if you two were dating, in fact, he asked the next day after your first time together. Then, of course, you were still figuring out your feelings, and hadn't had a clear answer. Dave was so nervous to ask you again he hadn't brought it up, but of course he wanted to be with you, that much was clear.

"Yes, Dave," You say with a small, but soft laugh, happy that he's so excited about it. "I think it's time we made it official."

"Y-yes!" Dave nods his head eagerly, still nervous he can somehow mess this up.

''I didn't know you wanted that…" He admits softly, glancing at his dirty sneakers.

You take Dave's face in your hands, pulling his gaze back up to yours. That's something he always loved about you, your intense, yet adorable, eyes.

"I know, I'm sorry I was being so confusing, that wasn't fair to you. But if you are okay with it, I'd like to be your girlfriend." You say with sincerity, truly apologizing for your confusing actions, as well as giving Dave the opportunity to agree on his own terms. You're not really sure when you decided all of this, but at some point in the last few weeks you realized how silly it was that you were scared to commit to Dave. Why? Because the rest of the school might use it against you? Fuck them.

"I–" Dave is so surprised you're even asking if he would take you as his girlfriend, it's clear on his face that this is exactly what he's always wanted. "Yes! I would love it if you were my, my g-girlfriend!"

He's so excited and energetic he can barely speak. You smile, and plant a long kiss on his soft lips, branding him with your lipstick. He can't stop himself from fluttering his dark lashes shut and leaning into the kiss, taking more than just a small peck. That's another thing he loves about you, your lips have fit perfectly in his since the first kiss, and he doesn't even mind the aftermath of your lipstick that much. In fact, sometimes he wishes he could wear it through the halls as a badge of honor, that his girlfriend was really hot and everyone else should be jealous, if that wasn't so weird.

You two pull away from each other and you clean Dave's mouth up, and let him do the same for you, before checking in one more time.

"You ready to go meet my friends, boyfriend." You say with a mascara laced wink, and Dave can only nod and affirm how much more excited he is for this now.

You take Dave's hand in yours, the two of you both sporting black nail polish since Dave had asked you to paint them so he would fit in better tonight. You're sure that he will fit in just fine, and feel excited to show him off to your closest friends. You walk the path down to the backyard.

✧

Just as you thought, after introductions to your fellow fiends of the night, and a few glasses of sweet red wine, Dave fit in just fine. Sure, he was still nervous to start, but as he sits on a log next to you by the fire, telling jokes with a bit of liquid courage from the bottle you brought, he is obviously accepted into the group.

You look around at the people you call friends, some having been from the alt clique at your old school, some you met online and decided to meet up with. That was the cool thing about living in a place like New York, even if you felt like you were the only goth at your school right now, there were people like you hiding in different places of darkness around the city, if one knew where to look. That truly was a blessing of a big town, you aren't sure how your longer distance MySpace and Skype friends did it in their little towns. Not to mention, if you weren't here, you wouldn't have met Dave.

You look back over to him, the chilly night air reddening his cheeks and nose, the fire illuminating his face, reflecting the joy he put out as he is telling the punchline to some joke you've already heard before. You really are grateful for him. You may have spent a lot of time dreaming of a prince of darkness to steal you away when you were younger, particularly a Ville Valo type, but there was just something about Dave that clicked. He was so different, from you, from other guys you've dated, the other goth ones. He was sincere, kind, and truthful, which was harder to find than you would think. He was just so real.

You found a blush and a heat rising inside you that wasn't from the bonfire so near, and it wasn't from the cheap wine either. No, you may very well love Dave Lizewski. And right now that thought didn't scare you like it often did in the past. You didn't even feel a pressure to tell him, as his beautiful blue eyes look at you after a particularly hard laugh with the rest of the group, you think maybe you both know, without saying. And that was enough for you, for now.

You and Dave laugh the night away with your friends. You feel young, in love, free from worry. And it isn't until the fire dies down, a few friends retiring to the house for the night, that you find a different fire inside of you. As the last of your friends ride out the night on burning embers and half done cigarettes, you find Dave's eyes once more with a look he couldn't mistake. His face heats up, and he waits for you to make the move while the stragglers kiss under the moon, sliding in each other's laps. You, however, prefer more seclusion. You stand, waving goodnight to your friends, and pull Dave along with you.

Moths dance and entwine with one another, fluttering and kissing overhead. You find your way to the back seat of your car with ease, kisses and hands everywhere before, the sensations between you and Dave practically teleporting you there. Before you know it, you're pulling Dave's pants down, and Dave is struggling to get your bra off while moaning your name.

Despite being more comfortable with you after starting this routine between both your bodies, Dave is always still a bit nervous. He loves pleasing you so much, and he wants to make sure he does it right. Soon enough he's taking over, laying you down on the old leather of your backseat. He has your breasts in his hands and mouth, his touch flicking and sucking in ways that drive you mad. You can't help but moan out, pulling him closer, wanting more, more. You feel so sensitive in his touch, so sweet under his big hands that explore and expose your body. The coldness of the fall night on your exposed flesh only adds to the experience, making you search for Dave's warmth.

He provides, his body covering yours and his hands moving down to your panties, slipping in with ease, as if to welcome him home. You arch when he plays with your pussy, your clit already aching and sensitive. You moan into his kisses, and he gets more and more excited as you tell him how much you want him. His cock bulges in his boxers, rubbing against your stomach, filling you with want.

You have to practically beg him to take you, he has been getting bold about experimenting with how much he can tease you lately. It isn't until you're biting into his neck, demanding he fuck you into these seats, that he decides not to push his luck any farther.

Dave spreads your legs for you, strong and serious, which is so unlike him, but it turns you on when he takes control like this. He is wearing your black lipstick once again as he takes his cock out, the size always surprising you. You can't believe a nerd like him is so thick, not to mention a length no girl would scoff at.

Dave smirks down at you as you admire the sight of his cock in the low moonlight, and he makes the mistake of teasing you again by rubbing his cock through your wetness, but not entering. That's not enough for you, you feel wild with need, practically growling when he attempts this.

"That's it…" You give the small warning, but Dave is still surprised when you agily flip the script, moving so that you are now on top of him. He looks up at you, breathless, a small smile as if this was his plan all along.

"Took you long enough…" He gets out before your lips are crashing against his once again.

Your hips move, searching for his cock as you straddle him. His hands move to show you where, but you're so fed up with him that you pin him to the seat. He whimpers, his moans showing you how much he likes when you dominate him.

"I'm going to fuck your brains out for making me what, Dave Lizewski…" You breathe into his mouth as your kiss separates. Dave can only nod, his eyes showing how much he wants this, his glasses crooked.

You find his cock finally, moving your pussy over it, now teasing him. He groans out, obviously full of the same want as you.

"Please…I need you…" Dave says through quick breaths.

"Oh, so now you don't like teasing?" You speak into his neck with a smirk as you bite and tease like he likes. Dave tries to move his hips, attempts to find where he can fill you up, but you just tighten your grip on his wrists.

"I'll take your cock when I'm good and ready…" You whisper so sweetly, but Dave can only cry out, it's clear he wants you desperately.

You continue on eventually even reaching a black nailed hand down to hold his cock hostage, only giving it attention when Dave is begging you. You wait until you can see his desperation reach its peak before lining his cock up and plunging down. You moan out from how full you suddenly are, your pussy welcoming his cock fully. Dave struggles against your hands holding him down, and you loosen your grip a bit as you begin enjoying yourself on top of his cock.

That's all it takes before his hands are free, grabbing your hips like that's all he can hold on to, and lifting along with you to deepen his thrusts. He may very well be beneath you right now, but it's almost all him controlling your body now. You don't mind, it feels good to have his cock so deep inside you once more. You place your hands squarely on his chest, taking each thrust in stride, his name placed on your tongue like honey, dripping off it when Dave hits the spots inside of you that drive you wild. You're so caught up in it all, you don't notice Dave speaking for a second.

"Please…" He mutters out in a breath of want. "I want to watch you touch yourself…"

You grin when you finally get what he wants. Dave loves when you use his cock up for your own pleasure, and tonight you are more than happy to oblige. You lean up, and Dave steadies you, his arms so much stronger than you would have thought. You reach down between your legs where Dave is plunging his cock deeper and deeper, and find your clit, wet and slippery from how much you are enjoying this.

You begin to play with yourself, moaning out, giving Dave a show. The small car rocks from how much Dave is pumping into you now, and you feel so close already. The windows and Dave's glasses fog up from the heavy breathing you're both doing, and Dave reaches quickly to toss his glasses to the car floor, uncaring about them, just having the need to see you right now. His big blue eyes look up at you with pure pleasure while he works your body on top of his increasingly hard cock. As you get tighter and tighter around him, you begin to feel him shudder beneath you, so close, practically leaking out already.

"F-fuck…" Dave whispers, trying to hold himself back. "I'm about to cum…"

He seems to be trying so hard to let you go first, and the way he looks so needy for you to do so begins to push you over the edge. You feel yourself begin to tighten harder than ever, Dave struggling to even fuck you as hard from how tight you are. You grab onto his arm with one hand, his hips still thrusting away as best they can, as you moan out his name and finally give Dave what he wants by finishing on his cock. It takes no time for him to follow you, spilling into your pussy as deep as possible. Dave closes his eyes and throws his head back as he fills you up more and more, the evidence sliding down his cock and onto your thighs.

Finally, you sit there breathlessly, unmoving as his cock twitches inside of you. You fall forward and lay on his sweaty, cool chest. Dave is obviously as tired as you, but wraps his arms around you firmly, holding you in place as if he's afraid to lose you.

You two remain this way for a while, just enjoying the sounds of each other's breathing and heart beats, the slowing of such coming moment by moment. You reach up lazily and pet your way into Dave's dark curls, and Dave mumbles asking if you liked it, like he always does.

"Of course I did…" you mumble back. "I loved it even…"

It's a start, you know you're not ready yet to give your whole heart to him, to say 'I love you' in its final form. You hope Dave understands, and by the way he reciprocates after, you think he does.

Eventually the two of you gently unravel, cleaning up and redressing, before heading back to the house for a spot to crash for the night. You are happy for such a lovely night, and Dave is actually excited that his first ever 'real' party was a success. You two find a spare room in the old house and barely get under the covers before you're sleeping on Dave's chest once more, peaceful.

Taglist:@lazyneonrabbitt @nikistan @remuslupinsno1slut @haha-im-dumb @shakedogshake @beep-boop-baby @aesniri @pinkyyy666 @lpeanut-butterl @shrekscrustybudassy @lookatmelookatme @dreary-salem @almostjollypizza @boo8008 @arabellacrybaby @imaslutforcuddles @yasugardaddieshouse @real-sharena-h @stilloverthinking

If any of you would like to be taken off just message me directly! No hard feelings! Or if you have preferences such as fluff only/smut only etc etc.

#dave lizewski x reader #dave lizewski x goth!reader #dave lizewski #kick ass fanfic #dave lizewski fanfic #dave lizewski x you #my writing #goth!reader

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cutewebgraphics · 10 months ago

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would you want to live your life at your current age but back in the 2000s when websites like MySpace and stuff were still around so you'd have more cool stuff to put on ur blog n share w/ ppl?

Hi!

That's a really really good question ...... within the scope of blogging and graphics hoarding, yes! Antiquated operating systems, the dial-up to modem transition... I would have loved to live during the custom HTML heyday, watch as visual trends wax and wane, learn editing techniques of the time using era-appropriate software, see the graphics world grow in front of my very eyes... <3 It sounds sooo so dreamy, I've thought of it myself and sometimes I kick my legs and fawn over the idea @//@ I'm no longer a teen, so maybe it would be a lot of fun if I could dial my age a few years back and go through my teen years then - more time to waste on the computer, right? x)

Not all hope is lost though! I went out to a gig a few weeks ago and stumbled upon someone who is also super into NeoCities and web graphics in real life. 20,000 followers (woah!) has to mean something about the life left in this community, too. Sooo exciting that the amateur Web is quietly making a comeback...!!!!

#Thank You for your message... :)#asks #anonymous

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hiwelcometothemonstersancturary · 1 year ago

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What would be the Toys' first Google searches? I could imagine Angel would have a field trip looking through their computer's search history.

And semi-related, which of them would be most likely to accidentally download a computer virus?

Angel lets the group use their computer after bringing everyone back from the hospital, but not before warning them to be careful, as Angel during that time still technically has a job and needs to keep certain files intact. They leave their dead-end job the next day after their boss calls them, finally freeing themself, so now the toys are all okay to use the computer. Bunzo discovers this thing called "The Sims 1" installed and falls in love, it's like virtual dolls! Poppy and Mommy Long Legs are also fascinated by it.

DogDay has a 70% chance of downloading a computer virus by accident during the first 15 minutes of computer time he has in his life. First search: "What is happening in the world?", and spends 3 hours reading everything, "Smiling Critters", "CatNap recall".

CatNap: "Playtime lawsuit", "playtime prototype experiment, "music".

Mommy Long Legs: "Mommy Long Legs", "long legs toys", "the sims house".

Poppy: "Elliot Ludwig", "Playtime lawsuit", "what happened in the last 30 years?"

Huggy: "iusfawjfjsiojfiojafsio" (he doesn't know how to read or write) "cool flash games" (Angel lets him have the time of his life)

Kissy: "Playtime orphanage", "stuffed animals"

Bunzo: "CALENDAH", "KOOL GAMEZ" (corrected to "cool games", he then plays flash games for 3 hours straight)

PJ: "OPIUMNHIUY" (Angel writes "Pingu" for him)

Delight: "What is happening in the world", "how to take care of a face prosthetic", "biology", "national geography"

Smiling Critters crew, after being rescued:

Craftycorn: "places for artists" (discovers Deviant Art), "person waving" (needs a reference to draw), "blue dress" (reference to draw), "mySpace"

Bubba: "Playtime Co. lawsuit", "Playtime Co. rescue", "Smiling Critters", "How does a computer work?"

Hoppy: "how to live without legs", "prosthetic legs", "cool people with prosthetic legs"

Kickin: "how to ignore leg itching", "smiling critters", "where am i"

Bobby: "are the orphans of playtime co okay", "bobby bearhug", "photo of the entire world", "list of countries", "france" (gets lost in history websites)

Picky: "how to stop feeling sad", "how to stop being hungry", "vegetarian recipes to cook for family", "what is a farmers market", "how does a grocery store look like", "how does a market look like", "world outside", "forest", "green", "planet earth" (stares at a picture of the entire Earth for some time)

Boxy: "sdewuiiouwer734884787rioispdfusjklawdkeifudjklsakçk" (Hoppy writes "games" and they get lost in flash game websites)

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mxr1na · 10 months ago

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✧˖°ʚ🍵ɞ♡Sicktember Day 1[I’m not hungover, I’m just sick]Jeckole Angst- Class of ‘09✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡

A/N: Day 1 of @sicktember’s 2024 Event! I really had fun doing this even though it was a time crunch cause I was just aware of the event like yesterday, but it’s fine. 🌊🫧Info!��🌊 730~ words

Inadequate writing lol

See here! to participate in the Sicktember event!

See here! to find all my Sicketmber works!

Tw!- Heavy swearing, drug abuse + mention of vomit. Viewer discretion is advised.

Enjoy ^^

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷🚬ˏˋ°•*⁀➷🚬ˏˋ°•*⁀➷🚬ˏˋ°•*⁀➷🚬ˏˋ°•*⁀➷🚬ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ “Bitch why the fuck you haven’t been answering my calls? I know you don’t want to do the project, but I need this to graduate high school-”

Jecka slams open Nicole’s bedroom door, an obscene amount of annoyance washed away as she spots the brunette rotting in her bed in the humid room, which feels like being in a gym locker room.

Somehow, Nicole still looks appealing to the male demographic even if she is sickly pale with eyebags so deep you could’ve mistaken them for potholes.

She coughs, and smiles wanly at her. “Hey Jecka,”

“Oh shit are you okay?” Immediately at Nicole’s side, Jecka looks at her, feeling the creases and wrinkles under Nicole’s eyes. Her ebbing annoyance spikes up again.

“Ugh, did you try that MySpace challenge, the one where they’d snort a foot long line of whatever drug they could find? You know people actually died from that shit right?”

“When did you keep up with the news? No, I’m just down with the flu. I’m not that crazy,”

“The Spanish Flu?! Yeah right, don’t fucking lie to me. No one looks this bad when having the flu. Where’s the stash?”

“Well I am!” Nicole snaps. “I get sick easily.I’ve been convulsing and throwing up for hours, couldn’t you tell?” She points to the evident putrid vomit bucket, almost filled to the brim with puke beside the bed.

“Ew, shouldn’t your mom, like, empty that?” Jecka scrunches up her face.

“No, she’s too busy stocking up her medicine cabinet with beta blocker to care… Speaking of, can you get me some Paracetamol from there? Everywhere hurts like hell,”

Jecka sighs “Knowing you, you’d probably mix it with bedside stash of Xanax, crush it up and snort it, so no, stay hurting like hell,”

“Fuck you, whore,”

Jecka rolls her eyes and sits down on the side of the bed.

“That being said, I’m really concerned about you Nicole. This life isn't good for you…”

“Who are you? My friend or a guidance counsellor that isn’t trying to fuck me?”

“Okay you know what? Fuck you, I’ll just tell you straight. You’re fucked up and need help, and not even the cool sexy way that people fantasise about. The way people are being put in the mental asylum fucked up. And I’m sorry I can’t be like you, or even want to be like you, bu-”

“Oh don’t make me laugh. We’ve popped percs and have done drugs together, don’t act all high and mighty now, when you yourself is as bad as I am,”

Jecka hesitates, scrambling her brain to say something as equally smart as her statement only 10 seconds ago.

“Well- atleast I don’t take the illegal shit, just fucking around with kid stuff to blow off some steam! You know, the ones that literally every high schooler would take in high school?”

“Oh, just because what I use is illegal makes me worse than you huh? The outcome is the same, isn’t it? The reason we take it is the same, is it not? Using it to get off some steam. So when I use an alternative you don’t like, then, I’m in the wrong?” Nicole’s face is manic, insane, testing Jecka’s will to not just bend her back over to agree with Nicole, like she usually does.

“Stop trying to act all philosophical and shit to guilt me into agreeing with you. I’m just trying to help,” A tentative step backwards. Look at you Jecka! Making progress!

“I don’t need your fucking help Jessica.” Nicole chucks the bucket at Jecka, who swiftly dodges it, all but some vomit finding its new home on her shirt.

After that, she just…

Snaps.

Jecka shoves Nicole, making her hit the headboard, earning a bunch of her hair being roughly pulled, almost ensuring her to be left with a bald patch on her scalp.

“What, the FUCK NICOLE? I WANT TO HELP BECAUSE WE ARE FRIENDS! WHAT, JUST BECAUSE I’LL BEND MY BACK OVER FOR MOST THINGS YOU ASK ME TO DO MAKES ME YOUR LITTLE PLAYTHING? YOU’RE FUCKED UP AND NEED TO BE LOCKED UP!”

“I DONT NEED YOUR HELP, AND I NEVER DID. JUST FUCK OFF!”

Ouch. That must’ve stung. But if it hurt Jecka, no evidence of it showed on her face.

“OKAY I WILL” Jecka slams the door shut, a gross trail of footprints tailing behind her.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷🚬ˏˋ°•*⁀➷🚬ˏˋ°•*⁀➷🚬ˏˋ°•*⁀➷🚬ˏˋ°•*⁀➷🚬ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Mxr1na 2024. Do NOT copy, rewrite or claim work as your own. If you see my work elsewhere, please send an ask :3

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mackmontgomery · 12 days ago

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👀 + rank your homies like this is MySpace Top 8

"Fucking craaaaazy thing to ask but you know what, I'll rock with you.

Off the dome. One is Aidawg, we're locked in for life whether he likes it or not. Can always count on him, he's the realest. Two is Shiloh, she's definitely seventy percent of the reason that I made it out of my teens. Three is Harris, I feel like we've lived through so many different versions of each other and that's cool as fuck to still be standing and still be friends. Four is Mac because come on, unfair advantage though because of the blood related thing. Tonka to my Tonia. Roomies from birth, hella. Five is Ty because surviving something like Tyson's darkness bonds you for life. I trust him implicitly with a tattoo gun to my skin too. Six is Nira even though she would be me at like, seven hundred and forty first. They're never fake and I love that. Seven's gotta be my fellow New York City rat. I think I'm getting better at time-sharing my girlfriend with her, which is an achievement. Eight's gonna be none other than the candy man himself Colton. Tall, rich, handsome. It's like being bro's with the bachelor which is sick.

I've got so many honorary mentions too but I gotta heavily emphasize that this is not an exhaustive or set in stone list. It's subject to change. I can be bought, bribed, hoodwinked but I cannot be seduced because all of this is for one person.

If my homies want to shuffle their way up the list or onto it by kicking it with me that would be some best Summer ever type shit." @aiden-stevens @shilohsharma @callme-harris @macaulaymontgomery @ghxstofyxu @nirawu @solaadisa @eternalconsxlationprize

Send my muse “👀 + a question” and they’ll have to answer with 100% honesty.

#answered meme.#ft. aiden stevens.#ft. shiloh sharma.#ft. rhett harris.#ft. macaulay montgomery.#ft. tyler paquette.#nira 002.#ft. omorinsola adisa.#ft. colton crane.#meme day.

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tayfabe75 · 1 year ago

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Did Taylor and Matty meet on Myspace? (And other early coincidences!)

Early on in their careers, Taylor and Matty both utilized Myspace as a way to promote their music. Taylor, specifically, would message with other teenagers on Myspace:

"I'd post my songs on my MySpace and, yes, MySpace, and would message with other teenagers like me who loved country music, but just didn't have anyone singing from their perspective."

Matty, too, described himself as "King of Myspace" when he was fifteen. But he brought it up more recently on the Ion Pack Podcast, even mentioning his age as seventeen at the time. And here's a retro clip of Taylor talking about how she wasn't some corporate entity on Myspace, if you messaged her account, you were talking to her! She also filled out her profile in her own words.

She has some things in her profile that might've caught Matty's eye, a fellow teenage country fan and fan of American music specifically, that might've emboldened him to message her:

"I love people who like my music. I love people who are nice to me. I like people who are excitable. I think it's endearing when people cry when they're happy. I'm pretty excitable too. Guys don't ask me out because they know I'll write songs about them. But I'm also the girl who still believes prince charming exists somewhere out there -- fully equipped with great hair and an immature sense of humor. I'm fascinated by black and white pictures. I like people who can be sarcastic and laugh about tense situations. I'm a fan of fans."

Say whatever you will about Matty, but that man is a genuine fan of Taylor's music. When he became a fan is open for discussion, but let's just pretend, for fun, that he found her via Myspace early on in her career.

Now, here is the old Myspace page for The 1975 back when they were known as 'Drive Like I Do' in 2008. Note the James Taylor in the list of Influences! (as well as the Jamie Squire in the top 8! How sweet, I'm sobbing!)

Taylor was a bit of a firecracker on Myspace (and not just there, there's a whole conspiracy theory she used to troll 4Chan!). A few of her comments were screenshotted and you can find them around the internet. Here are some. The one from October 31st, 2005 about a queer fellow ("I'm sorry that I'm kinda queer, it's not as weird as it appears") with a Sex van ("take your shoes off in the back of my van") really caught my eye, anyway…

"Listen my queer fellow. I thinketh we shall hangeth out sometime soon, eh? yes, I do believe I am growing fond of this idea. drive over in your sex van and come pick me up, farewell knave."

Notice the spelling here, too. Thinketh? Hangeth? Knave? Feels a little bit Shakespearean, at least for say, a fifteen-going-on-sixteen-year-old girl (as we would later discover, Love Story and Robbers were both inspired by Romeo and Juliet, both written around the same time so far as I know, but it's hard to find exact dates!)

Matty, by the way, used to refer to himself as the "Prince of the Tyne". He's also got some old Drive Like I Do lyrics from 'We Are the Streetfighters' that are suspicious to me: "Well in four thousand miles we'll meet you" (The nearest airport to Macclesfield is in Manchester, and the distance between Manchester and Nashville? Roughly 4000 miles)

Two months later on December 21st, 2005, just after turning 16, Taylor says she's in England.

Did they meet? Who knows! But there's enough weirdness there to make me wonder. Speaking of weirdness… we're going to go on a side tangent about Fearless, but that's part of the puzzle, so bear with me…

I don't know about anyone else, but when I saw Matty's Fearless Love Gaze™, I was rocked to my core! Men do not look at women like that, but especially not brand-new flings. They're too concerned with trying to look cool and unaffected. For most men (stereotypically), romance and love are "dumb" and "stupid" and perceived as a "woman thing" that men can't be bothered with. But not Matty. Matty was utterly transfixed by her. Something about that touch of mischief in the lip bite when she says the bit about "absentmindedly making me want you", the way he just barely mouths along to the words at the end of the clip, well… sirens started going off for me. So, I followed my intuition and started researching all of this.

Now, Taylor wrote the song 'Fearless' sometime in 2006. The hidden message liner note for Fearless? "I loved you before I met you". Taylor describes 'Fearless' as a song she wrote about a perfect first date she hadn't had yet, about something she didn't have but dreamt of. She debuted it for the first time on April 6th, 2007 in Reading, PA (if you don't already know it, that's two days before Matty's 18th birthday). At this show, she debuted 'Sparks Fly' (yes, in 2007! Original lyrics were brown eyes rather than green eyes, by the way) and 'Tied Together With A Smile'. She also played a cover of John Waite's song 'Missing You' which seems to be about a long-distance relationship: "And it's my heart that's breakin' down this long distance line tonight"

Speaking of Matty's birthday, the release of Fearless TV happened to coincide with Matty's birthday! She dropped a sneak peek of Fearless on his birthday in 2021, and the album would release one day later on the ninth (perhaps because albums release on Fridays and that's as close as she could get?)

Taylor describes the Fearless album as her diary from when she was seventeen (misplaced my source on that quote, d'oh!) That said, 'Love Story' interests me as well. There are some interesting facts about Love Story:

Hidden message: Someday, I'll find this. Taylor wrote this song in a very short amount of time after her parents had told her that she couldn't be with the person she wanted to be with. And in her own words:

"'Love Story' is actually about a guy that I almost dated. But when I introduced him to my family and my friends, they all said they didn't like him. All of them! For the first time, I could relate to that Romeo-and-Juliet situation where the only people who wanted them to be together were them. That's the most romantic song I've written, and it's not even about a person I really dated."

Taylor's UK television debut (like first time ever performing on TV in the UK) was on Loose Women (Matty's mother's show). Now, Denise was not there during this period as a host, but she had been before that and would be afterward, so maybe there's some significance? Maybe not. But if Taylor and Matty knew each other, he would definitely get to be in the audience to see her if he wanted to. The song she chose to perform was 'Love Story'.

Now, 'Robbers' is also based on Romeo and Juliet (and also written circa 2007), and Matty describes that here in a fan video from 2015. We'd see Romeo and Juliet imagery pop up again in 2014, both in Taylor's video for Blank Space (where she's on a balcony looking down at her lover) and in November where she stood up on a balcony at Matty's show as he serenaded her with Fallingforyou (visual comparisons here)

Blank Space, too, might reference Fallingforyou. There's a scene where she rides bikes with her lover inside her enormous house, perhaps reminiscent of Matty's lyric: "All we need's my bike and your enormous house":

Matty even dresses a bit like the lover from 'Love Story' music video at the 2017 BRITs:

When you fall down the Myspace rabbit hole, you start noticing other strange similarities in their lyrics - like Matty referring to a "girl on the screen" in 'If You're Too Shy', which perhaps parallels Taylor's "guy on the screen" in 'Karma'. In 'The 1' (another song that lyrically parallels 'Robbers'), Taylor imagines "the 1 that got away" meeting a woman on the internet and taking her home, which might be another reference to Matty, perhaps lyrically paralleling The 1975's 'Playing On My Mind'. This theory, of course, makes the entire album 'A Brief Inquiry into Online Relationships' suspect, especially given that 'Be My Mistake' is a song Matty wrote "about Nashville", the striking similarities between 'Sincerity is Scary' and 'Me!', a song called 'Mine' that references the year 2009, and the inclusion of a Drive Like I Do track Matty wrote when he was just fifteen years old, '102' (the same age he was when he was "King of Myspace"). Considering 'Love Story' was written for someone who Taylor's parents disapproved of, it makes this lyric all the more striking:

"I hope this song will remind you I'm not half as bad as what you've been told."

Lastly, if Matty is the confirmed 'Cardigan' muse and if 'Willow' is the continuation of 'Cardigan' (based on where the music video begins), the scene where she gazes into the water at her lover could perhaps represent a visual metaphor for looking through a screen, no?

Back to the NYU commencement speech! I recommend listening to the FULL clip. She talks about: feeling lonely, chatting with other teenage country fans on Myspace, and then segues into her motivation behind protecting her private life:

"Having the world treat my love life like a spectator sport in which I lose every single game was not a great way to date in my teens and twenties, but it taught me to protect my private life fiercely."

All of this seems correlated to me (also why it's hard for me to reconcile this whole football charade! But for me, it's easier to believe Taylor here about privacy being important to her, and not assume that some boyfriend kept her locked away in a dungeon against her will or something)

Now, to tie this all into a very nice bow, here's a quote where Taylor talks about how she uses easter eggs:

"Easter eggs can be left on clothing or jewelry. This is one of my favorite ways to do this, because you wear something that foreshadows something else, and people don't usually find out this one immediately, but they know you're probably sending a message. They'll figure it out in time."

What shirt was she wearing during her pap walk with Matty? Think of the "He lets her Bejeweled" meme… She had on an NYU sweatshirt.

Now, could be just a giant coincidence, trust me, I know, I get it. However… maybe she's really hinting about an old Myspace pal that she has protected fiercely. I mean, she did seem to use that speech to easter egg/foreshadow YOYOK & Labyrinth lyrics…

Speaking of 'Bejeweled'… On July 15th, 2023 Taylor flubbed the lyrics: "Sapphire tears on Myspace", and then she giggled. Freudian slip, perhaps? But this is the woman who assures us that "nothing is accidental"... and in a song that mentions a "Top 5", no less! (reminiscent of a Top 8, perhaps?)

Maybe James and Betty were involved in a "teenage love triangle" for a reason, and maybe TTPD references "teenage petulance" for that same reason… or maybe it's nothing but a bunch of eerie coincidences! Who knows! In the meantime, I'll keep on clownin'! 🤡

#theory: myspace #early timeline speculation #if you saw this on reddit five months ago in a private subreddit #yes that was me #been clownin' this theory since last july tyvm

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