#it's just like my ex. he smothered me in love to cover up the major lack of actually viable love

[yikes-ajax-thats-sad]

People really think trust issues are just "aww they're scared of love" and it's like bitch no. Trust issues as in I'm deeply in love and the issue is I'm waiting for you break my heart after undergoing periodic abuse in relationships. I'm not scared of love I'm scared of what you'll do with it.

[dauntingdarling]

In Defense of the Weeping Monk

So during my first ramped scrolling of Weeping Monk content post-completion of the series, I came across a number of people against the Weeping Monk not just for this storyline but because of how people have been quick to obsess over him and ship Nimulot.

In particular, calling the Nimulot ship racist or homophobic, his character a predator, and those shipping him with anyone toxic. While these points are valid and come from a place (I would assume) of good intentions (anti-homophobia, anti-racist, protect the children etc.) they are strong accusations that should not be linked to this character. And here’s why:

Racism:

-I’m going to be blunt here. Seeing as Racism isn’t a joke, it shouldn’t be thrown around as an excuse not to like WM just because said character didn’t end up with a person of color. If you don’t like him, you don’t like him. Don’t blanket cover your reasoning with a serious accusation that even today is still running rampid and needs to be taken seriously in today’s society (see George Floyd)

-It would be one thing to call out a show if they were expressing Racist undertones, but Cursed hasn't. Two of the most powerful characters in King Arthur lore are played by wonderful actors of color (Arthur and sister Morgana) and should this show continue, we will see the pair of them raise in the ranks of power for both good (King Arthur) and evil (Morgan le fay). 

-People are stating that WM should have been black, as we’ve had more than enough white edgy boys out in shows and movies (see Winter Solider, Kylo Ren/Ben solo...) I’m not against the idea of a black or someone other than white actor portraying WM. That’s not my fight. My fight is over disliking Daniel Sharman’s casting because of his race rather than his acting skill. The guy plays WM fantastically and shouldn’t be docked points just because he’s a white British guy. Like... come on. 

-I could go on, but we have more topics to cover so I’ll close this part with this: keep up the good fight to end Racism, but don’t use it to elevate your own ship/actor profile/ etc. 

Throwing around this topic to benefit your own belief (more than just in media) is what makes people degrade racism in the first place. Don’t be that person.

Homophobia: 

-WHY WOULD SHIPPING NIMULOT BE HOMOPHOBIC? WHY

-I would have thought this show already established that they were not homophobic seen by the great response Nimue gave to Morgana after spotting the scene above^. She normalized their relationship as any other and that was beautiful *chef’s kiss* 

-Back to WM, from what I read on the topic from a person with this view, they stated that because people are shipping Nimulot over Nimue and Morgana (I’m sorry I don’t know their ship name), they are homophobic? WHAT

-Dude that’s great that you saw the fantastic chemistry between Morgana and Nimue, but do you really want Nimue to bed both siblings like that? 

-What I just stated isn’t my real fight on the topic, it’s just something I just thought of as I am here typing away. My fight here is just because Nimue hasn't entertained the possibility of a romantic relationship with Morgana doesn’t mean those shipping Nimue and WM together are homophobic. We just are ex-reylo trash (as I’m noticing so far) and love the enemies to lovers trop. 

-Also I am pretty sure that those shipping Nimulot adore the relationship Nimue has with Morgana as they give off major feminism vibes. And have a healthy relationship overall. 

Which brings me to my next point:

Toxic Shipping:

-No one is stating that WM should hook up with Nimue immediately. And if they are, take notes. WM still needs to grow from the horrors he has done in the past and what he has ahead of him. Only then would he be deserving of Nimue (should she take him)

-I honestly believe people are not shipping Nimulot because it’s toxic, but rather because they hope that WM will come around on the other side as a better man (for he has been through the ringer) and should find peace. With Nimue? Sure, if the storyline fits. 

-I’ve read that some don’t want Nimue to be the fixer upper of WM, and I agree, but do not find this statement to be enough to call the Nimue ship toxic by any means. We just want to see everyone happy, is that so bad? 

-And after growing up idolizing the major character arch of Zuko from Avatar the Last Airbender, I can’t help but hope (as the optimist that I am) that WM will get a similar ending to Zuko. 

-As for why people want Nimue with him and not, say Gwenevere, it is because of all the similarities they carry so far that complement each other (while also playing the opposites attract card). Similarities include:

cursed out fay (N- the villagers scorning her, WM- the monks attitude toward him as a weapon and not a being)

lingering on the edge of dark and light (N with the cursed sword, WM with his faith)

scars (that happen to be on their backs)

their relationship with Squirrel (both protective, not smothering)

Symbols of their side in war (WM is the monk’s best fighter, N is their queen)

I’m sure people can give you more reasons. This is just what I came up with on the spot after one watch through of the series. If you have others, please write them below, I’m curious. 

Now onto the topic that I find to be atrocious: 

Predator: 

-EXCUSE ME, a predator prays on others. How on God’s green earth is WM that? He was a literal sword for hire/raised to fight against his kind through mental strain from this messed up ideology of christianity. 

-And for those calling his relationship with Squirrel unhealthy... fair point but I’m not done yet. 

-I don’t mean all this to say that what he did under the red monks was good or even acceptable. No it wasn’t, the dude was practicing mass genocide of his own race, that’s fucked up. (That torture scene in front of the mill was really something)

-But as we learn in later episodes, all of his actions linger on not being damed and going to heaven (I assume) as seen in the scene when we got a nice look of him shirtless while he was having a moral crisis.

-Speaking of moral crisis, did you notice that he had one when the rest of the villains present in this show do not? Even Iris (a fantastic villain) had a tragic backstory with her family like WM, but rather than question her motives, she starts on the villain path. 

-Now while I do admit he doesn’t treat Squirrel right in the beginning, it makes sense for his character and where he is at. Not to say that hurting a child and using him as a pawn to kill leftover tribe members is justified. 

-But the writers always wrote the interactions between Squirrel and WM with a hint of humor. Squirrel was always talking back, calling WM and his horse ugly, and even hissing out “you” in front of the red monks. All this going on while WM maintains a blank expression, that to viewers is almost comical (because it breaks away from the sad emo boy cliche) 

-In the end, WM needed someone like Squirrel to get out of the disastrous rut the red monks had WM in. For WM to start on this journey of his (that I’m sure will continue through season 2) he needed to show he had a moral code. 

-Also, like many complicated characters, WM never thought through the damage he has done and how his work impacted children up until G called him out for it. For this reason, I think G had just as much a part of getting WM to revolt as Squirrel did. 

- I think his relationship with Squirrel will continue to grow into a more protective association now that G is dead. G made Squirrel into a knight, the next step is for this kid to train like one. Who better than Mr. Lancelot himself. (They better have a training scene in next season or I will riot)

-And lastly, all of you who know the lore of Lancelot understand that he will become the best of the best and also the most loyal and chivalrous knight out there. What a better way to love a character with these attributes than if he started in the proverbial gutter and grows to understand and value these characteristics?  It’s the shiny ending that he needs to work hard to achieve and that is what, at the end of the day, all lovers of WM want to see in the next few seasons. 

Him becoming that knight in shining armor.

[cloveroctobers]

HARRY ZHONG (MITCHELL-WHITE)

IG info/bio: @/heedful.harry | 15.6k followers| hi, I’m Harry and I’m a business major. No, You don’t have to hold your applause 🧐

21 years old

From York, England

Cancer sun + ARIES MOON energy

He and his younger brother, Archie were foster children in the Mitchell-white household

which consisted: Harrison Mitchell and his daughter from a previous marriage, Briony, Piers White and together they had a surrogate carry their child, which gave them their second daughter, Pippa

Later they came to the decision to adopt Harry and Archie Zhong, if only that’s what they wanted too

It took longer for Harry to warm up to the family since he was still waiting and wishing for his mom to come back for them

He was diagnosed with IED around 15 years old

Goes to therapy for it and meetings with others with similar issues...he dreads the meetings since it makes him feel like he has a problem or something, which HE DOES but it makes him feel like a...but he knows that’s a ignorant way to think

He’s currently a business major and loves telling people about it *yawn* (don’t drag me lmao)

He’s thinking he’ll be a Financial analyst or a Marketing manager

The type of person who’s done a lot in his short life that it’s often unbelievable ex.) telling the villa he’s driven one of the cars that was used in the fast and furious franchise & getting pissed when bill and everyone else didn’t believe him

Harrison is a train driver and is normally bubbly + wears bright preppy clothes

He also loves Broadway, much to Harry’s annoyance...if he hears one more Hamilton song he’s gonna slam his head thru a wall stg

Piers is a music producer and is more reserved or “stand-off-ish” until he gets warmed up to you + his aesthetic is a rocker, yeah he’s got the whole tattoos and boots thing going for him, after all he was in a rock band

Piers makes the most $ and is of high status, which brought him and his family perks but is not a snob about it...it’s whatever ya know?

Harry’s closer to piers, feels he understands him more & can be kinda rude to Harrison when he’s in one of his moods but tries to be better at responding to him since he made him cry once years ago — yes he felt like complete shit afterwards

Harry is anemic so he always finds himself cold, experiencing fatigue, irregular heartbeat, and if he gets up too fast or moves too fast? Let the bodies hit the floor, let the bodies hit the floor, let the bodies hit the—FLOOO000R! (I’m making this joke as a person with anemia)

Likes cold weather since everyone else can feel what he feels on the daily

Plus he loves dressing for winter season, trench coats, wool coats, turtle necks, thermal t-shirts, fleece pants, rolled up beanies that keeps his ears covered and his hair glued to his forehead...you name it!

On the regular? He’s a khaki’s kinda guy, dress shirts, and loves wearing suit and ties...he’s not the biggest fan of jeans. He loves dressing fancy unless the measurements are bloody awful

I’m going by the alternative design for Harry and...whew! Then he’s 6’1 if we’re talking about the one they gave us then we all know he has a baby face, so I’d say he’s about 5’8

He’s got long legs + arms and hates how majority of his pants barely fit around his ankles

has dry scalp too

I feel like he’s pretty intelligent and sometimes it can come off as a know it all, yet, he’s always down to help people & isn’t condescending while doing so

He knows how to make soaps and would sell them on his etsy account in highschool where plenty shat on him for it so for awhile he stopped the hobby until Harrison encouraged him to keep at this if it was what makes him happy

Harrison is the type of parent you go to for comfort and hugs even if it might feel like he’s smothering you

Piers is the one who lets you come to him when you’re ready to talk about it, no pressure

Harry went to a high school that focused on technology so he’s all into the latest gadgets

This is a secret but he only got a apple watch to feel like a true spy

His intelligence got him somewhere with a few ladies ;)

He’s a certified freak, 7 days a week and had a handful of hookups and about 4 gfs in his life so far

He’s kinky!!!

& has a f**t fetish

His past relationships were not long relationships, which sucked but Harry felt like...this might sound arrogant, but it’s either their lost — although there was never any bad blood with his breakups! or his person was still out there somewhere...

I haven’t fully played his route (AJ stole my ass since I couldn’t romance seb or Nicky sorry) but I’ve seen screen caps and he’s a total sweetie if he’s really committed to you, you might be his “true love”

He’s nervous opposed to his usual confidence when he’s chatting to other ladies with ease, with you it’s different, it’s magnetic, nerve-wrecking, butterflies, electric, and exciting all wrapped in one

I feel like he shows his love language with quality time but also enjoys physical touch from his partner

Picky eater

But he was worst as a child! Barely ate anything which led to him being lanky or it’s in his genes but mostly he wouldn’t eat a damn thing

These are a few of his favorite things: figs, green tea, and almond milk

makes the best spring rolls with the rice paper, those are superior than fried! “Fried food will kill u u know!” “Okay bill.” “Iona, don’t know if u had too much to drink but, erm I’m Harry.” “R/WHOOOOssssh! And you’re s’pposed to be the smart one, yeah right.”

outside of the villa he found himself continuing his friendship with bill—even tho he pisses him off sometimes since he’s always got some shit to say but they’re probably the closest, Iona she’s always honest and is always a good time to be around when they hang out, Then there’s Camilo and Miki that he hangs out with too

Is the first one sharing about his day in the group chat with all of the villa, he can feel half of them rolling their eyes at him since many feel he tends to exaggerate

if he’s not endgame with mc...he kinda feels a way that Genevieve found her happiness in seb instead of him, it’s not that he’s bitter—he genuinely liked her and felt like maybe they didn’t try hard enough but deep down knows relationships can’t be forced. It’s just his ego trying to control things that’s all! plus he was comfortable with vieve even if it felt more on a platonic side...oh well

once slid into jen from s1’s dms one dark stormy drunk night & admitted on live that erikah kinda gave him some tips before going on the show... & that he thought one of the new girls that entered the villa was a better fit than one of the originals from s2 which caused him to get blocked by said original OOP

Has a circle of close friends outside of the villa, they’re all brainiacs and have something going for themselves

Enjoys action films and biographical drama films like: James Bond, John Wick, and the social network

Isn’t ashamed to admit that he loves using sheet face masks but isn’t the greatest at following a consistent skincare routine

Has his own back massager that he spent a lot of $ on since it wouldn’t go on sale and then a week later...it went on sale

sends a lot of “🙃🙂” texts when you piss him off

probably worked at GameStop, the apple store, Godiva, and currently works at a electronic repair shop for a side of cash but is looking for a internship since he’ll be graduating next year

Always Keeps cough drops on him? 

is a huge cuddler & falls asleep easily

His brain is always active, experiences REM sleep often

fav video games are tekken & hitman

owns a drone now 😏

also loves strategic board games & riddles

Took quarantine life seriously, did his research before it completely broke globally and started buying shit excessively in person and online that he sent most to his family before the campus shut down

Is the friend that will check on his friends :)

Keeps his dorm and his room back home CLEAN af, is OCD about everything being in order/organized. Will know if you touched his shit, Archie felt his wrath many times before

Has a life goal board in his closet, & plans to be fully established by 25. More power to ya Harry!

Celeb crushes: Victoria justice, Jesy Nelson, Deepika Padukone, Brec Bassinger, jasmine tookes, and princess Mae

Who does he listen to? oceanfromtheblue, Galimatias, Ta-Ku, Aries, Tyler, the creator, rich Brian, NIKI, viji, & AJR

Anthem = DPR IAN, “So beautiful”

[queenieloveswriting]

Little orange bottles

A/N unedited little thing from a while ago, found loads of bits in my notes on my phone read this and though id post it let me know your thoughts ////hella old ngl sounds like shit srry ladsssss xoxoxoxoxooxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxTW--Abuse//Blood//Bad thoughs ig sorry not good w warnings sorry if this triggers anhyone 

*beep     beep     beep*

Your alarm rang through the room for what seemed to be the fifth time this morning.It was now 6:30am and school began in two hours unlike the majority of students in kildare county you enjoyed school and, your (only) friend pope definitely made it worthwile.You both loved school,people like his friends jj and John b didn’t like school.

Why are you awake at 6:30 again?....right!

You look over to yourself in your mirror and glance at your schedule sticky taped to the corner; 

*DAISYS SCHEDULE*

6:30-wake up

6:45-shower

7:00-get ready

7:20-read

7:50-breakfast/pillz 

8:00-head to Heywards

Obeying the list, you hopped into the shower and got yourself prepared for the day, brushing your teeth washing your face and applying a light amount of makeup. A tinted moisturiser, clear mascara and brow gel, In attempt to tame your wild hair you collected into a cute messy ponytail, breaking three hair bands in the possess. Putting your glasses on you choose your outfit, due to the heat you opted for something casual, a blue denim skirt with a black crop top and a oversized blue flannel top  covering  just to the bottom of you skirt 

You went downstairs and packed some fruit into your bag. Opting to take your breakfast as today's lunch, knowing Mrs. Heyward would invite you in for ‘leftovers’ from their breakfast. Shouting  goodbye to your mum who was no doubt still in bed exhausted from her night shift.

Running out the door grabbing your phone, headphones and favourite book ‘to kill a mockingbird’. I plugged in my headphones playing my ‘reading playlist’ and read as i walked up to heywards,occasionally looking up so I don’t walk into any unwanted attention. The third time checking your surroundings you realise you made it to popes in record time, because his mom came out ushering you and him in in for ‘leftovers’ .Pope rolled his eyes sending you   a silent apology. You didn’t mind though she was more a mother to you than your actual blood.

“Hey nerd "pope greeted you pushing your glasses up your nose 

“Hey geek” you replied, slapping his hands away, he pulled you into a quick hug and followed h8im and his mum into the kitchen.

“Whatcha reading this time?”he asked making you laugh slightly “Harper lee my friend” you replied  holding up your book as he rolled his eyes “why am I not surprised ,you know the book doesn't change right every time you read it "he asked playfully “I know pope, but it’s a classic and i don’t have enough to get a new book until my shift next week so I’m not complaining “you sassed

“Yeah you're know that I’ve said you can borrow my books anytime “he asked

“Yeah but you won’t let me write notes in the margins pope! "you explained “because what about MY notes “he exclaimed and you both erupted into laughter.God,you're such geeks you mentally sighed.Mrs.Heyward scolded at us both for arguing and gave us some pancakes and fruit.

Mr.Heward barged through the doors shouting about some ‘arrogant snotty kook man’ and turned around shily when he heard you and pope laughing. "daisy hey sweetheart you need me to save you or you alright?” he asked, referring to his wife’s overwhelming mothering. You shook your head quietly declining his offer, smiling you replied “no sir it's fine, "you laughed "Heyward you need any help with deliveries?” you asked hopeful as you needed to buy some things for school. Being a pogue you tended to have to fend yourself, plus it gave you something to do. “Sure do doll, tomorrow morning,7 sharp you’n’my boy can help out and pope make sure you ask that Maybank if he's helping out too, need to know who goes so y'all come back alive”he joked”thank you sir”you shouted as he was halfway out the door.Turning back round to pope “maybank?” you asked, raising your eyebrow hinting you had absolutely no idea who he was talking about,”my friend jj you know the blonde who gets into all the fights i told you about”he answered and you nodded,still searching for an answer ”he's coming tomorrow?” you quizzed “yeah probably,plus i think it's about time you met my friends they all think i made you up”he laughed”c'mon we've gotta eat then go”

As if on queue Mrs Heyward shouted at you from across the hall telling you to eat before it got cold.After scoffing your breakfast down,it was time to leave.After regular smothering from your second mother you left.

“Sorry about them”he mumbled 

“It’s fine it’s nice having the whole parents as parents thing you know”you said .Pope knew about your mom not being around or well really a mom.He said you could come round whenever assuring his parents you were just friends,they loved you.

He nodded”you know your welcome whenever”he said and you nodded again

“Yeah but anyways how you feeling today about mrs.spiky hairs test smartass”you joked “we gon ace it y'all ready know her tests are easy”he dragged 

“True I’ve got all a’s every time”you smirked 

“Yeah same but to be fair even my friend John b could pass them and he didn't know that there were two different there’s until junior year so....”

You laughed “wait I though that jj was the the dumb one”you asked “there both delinquents but gotta love em.I’m brains of the operation anyways it’s my thang ”he sang causing you to laugh at the way he pinched his shirt and pingged it brushing dirt of his shoulders “you should come to the party tonight and meet them if you want?”he asked and you shook your head “i dont know pope,party’s and me aren’t really a good thing you know how my anxiety gets in groups”you said and he nodded “i know it’s fine don’t worry about it but offers there when you want you could even come out just us on the pouge if you wanted “he offered “they really wanna meet me?”you asked “well they wanna meet MY competition “he challenged “not really a competition there bud” you teased patting his shoulder “but I’ll think about it yeah?”you offered “sounds good and here we are” you turned facing each other then back at the school making your way inside.

“Hey i told jj I’d meet with him just before first  lesson give him his homework see you there”you gave him a confused look “they go here?”he laughed “yeah didn’t i tell you”you shook your head no “sorry see you in 10 nerd”he waved “in 10 geek”you repli,ex

Waiting for class to start,you set up outside your classroom and put your headphones back in continuing your book. The vibration of the bell and stampedes of teenagers scurry to their first lesson , you ended up waiting for pope who practically ran down the hall and laughed when your eyes met.

 You went in taking your seats next to each other this happened up until break. then lunch you’d go to all your lessons together hang out at break,being antisocial in the library, but at lunch he’s always go off,with the pogues you assume,now knowing they go to your school.At lunch you go outside and walk to the bleachers and sit reading basking in the sun.

After your  last lesson with pope you both headed home together dropping him off at heywards halfway.

“Mom I’m home”you shouted slamming the door dropping the keys on the sideboard .After no reply you expected her to be at work so you got started on your homework so you could”relax” on the weekend.

It was now 6:30,and pope texted you telling you the party started at seven and the offer was still up before you could reply,you heard your door slam shut and you ran downstairs hoping you could talk to your mum,and catch up.

You see her figure reach for a cupboard that hasn’t been opened in years  left. this was bad.

“Hey mama how was work”you asked with a shaky breath 

She glared swigging the bottle 

“You know what sweetie “she spat “Mama don’t have to go to work an more you wanna know why because i got fired from work apparently they couldn’t handle me anymore,took to many people on,so sweetie work was fucking awful OK”she shouted 

“Oh mum I'm sorry what are you going to do i mean i think the heyw--“

“Oh shut up you’re so pathetic you know,I mean you inside on a Friday night? should you be out like a normal teenager huh?god”she scoffed 

“What mom I-“by now half the bottle was empath,being drank with such desperation 

“I’ll get another  job I’ve already got the heywards they can give me more time and an I-I’ll  get a side job we’ll be fine w-we have dads money too”

“Sont talk about hijm!It’s your fault your father left you fucking incompetent piece of shit you make everyone want to leave,no wonder you have no friends. I mean look at you your pathetic  you know these people in your books there not real DAISY god why can’t you just be normal you drove everyone away.this is your fault”

Tears were now threatening your eyes,but as you looked into the person infront of you,you didnt see sadness,you saw anger,you saw red. 

“Mum Im sorry i-ill-“

Before you could say anything she downed the rest of the bottle and threw it at you.glass smashing everywhere cutting you up.your whole arm started to bleed as you cried out in pain your mum hit you,ran out and slammed the door shut.

she hit you.hit you.you ran upstairs not bothering to protect  your arm wrapping  it up in an old shirt.you needed your best friend,you didn't have many friends but he was yours you knew that nothing anyone said could change your friendship 

So you called him running out of your house in todays clothes covered in blood like you’d been in a fucking horror movie 

“Heyyy daisy you change your mind”he answered the phone 

“Hey pope I-I need some help my mom a-are you still at a-at the p-party”you stuttered 

“Woah woah breathe daisy where are you I’ll come get you okay”

“I’m near the boneyard you still there I-I’m sor-ry f-for calling i didn’t kn—“

He cut you off “no shut up it’s fine where are you,are you hurt what happened?”

“My arm s-she h-hit b-bottle “

“Fuck where are you daisy “

“Oh-oh my god there’s so many people here”you were sure you were having a panic attack by now,-you could barely breathe

“Wait daisy I-i see you I’m coming okay wait there”

“O-okay”

Hanging up the phone you were now just balling your eyes out in pain and hurt. You curled up into a ball only looking up when you  could hear pope shouting in the distance.

“Shit daisy”he shouted 

“I’m sorry I didn’t know where to go,my mum she she my arm I- I”

Pope wasn’t unfamiliar to your panic attacks,usually being  the one to calm you from them,/

“Daisy breath okay”he stroked your hair making you look into his eyes 

“What happened “he asked and you showed him your arm “shit daisy that’s close to a main artery your losing loads of blood C'mon let’s get you cleaned up back at the chateau “you just nodded following him his hand holding yours hiding you from the people as you walked past. Arriving at a group of people probably his friends,the pogues,. As your vision begins to go hazy you think that maybe your mum was right you are pathetic .He was out on a Friday night ,I looked like the whole damn school was here.he has his life maybe he didn’t want to be your friend maybe he didn’t want to just hurt you .realizing you were fading out he shook you “shit daisy no no no “he cursed“John b keys I need the keys”you heard him say and they were saying something about him getting some “dude shut up this is daisy she’s hurt “you heard him say and all of them looked at you,but you couldn’t bring your eyes too meet them.Soon enough pope was dragging you away and towards a shack,the chateau.

He dragged you inside and you were sitting on the Island In the kitchen/living room,this was a home.

where was your home now?.

“Here lemme see ''he pulled your arm and started to work. It didn’t surprise you he was so good at this he was always good at first aid but this?

Lucky it wasn't on a actual artery but the blood made it look worse,acknowledging the fact you'd been so quiet,he spoke up “hey D look at me “he said pointing your chin up,looking at you straight in your eyes”what happened,when your ready”he asked.As your breathing steadied,you began to speak “my mom,she got back from work sh-she just lost her job a-and”you stuttered,pausing to collect your breathe 

“hey it’s okay take your time okay”he calmed you”she hasn’t drank since..”you stopped and he looked in your eyes.Pope knew all about your dad,leaving you when you were about to go into junior year,you never knew why but one day he was their next he wasn’t,pope helped you through it,when you began to get closer.

“Your dad?”he answers for you 

You nodded

“She said that it-it was my fault that he left and that she lost her job an”you gulped,recomposing yourself“How I push everyone away and that’s why I have no friends I mean let’s face it”laughiing a breathy laugh “she’s right”popes head snapped up “Daisy!you have me,D its okay I’m you best friend and you know she’s wrong okay now this is going to hurt”he assured you,before you could ask questions your arm burned up from the straight alcohol he’d put on your arm “FUCK POPE SHIT WARNING PLEASE FUCK”you shouted and he laughed,frowning when he came too “Sorry,shit this is bad daisy,like really bad,I dont know what to do,I can just wrap it up But ii think you should go to the hospital“he said and before you could fight,a deep voice filled the room.

“What the fuck is going on pope”curse from the back of the room.After observing the heaps of bloody tissues and your T-shirt laying next to you“What the fuck happened to her man,who is this?”he asked pope who looked up at you,asking the silent of’should i tell him’ you shook your head with pleading eyes 

Pity took over popes vision as he answered JJ’s question“Jj this is  daisy,daisy jj”he introduced you and you sighed,finally meeting the blue eyed boy with watery vision“hey,sorry we,urm, woke,you”you stuttered “oh i wasn’t sleeping princess”he winked causing you to furror your eyebrows at the boy you heard stories about ,following up to the elephant int he room.”what happened”he asked,re-observing your surroundings,eyes finally meeting your bloody arm “holy shit you gotta fucking c-cat or something”he demanded .Before you could awnser,a half naked girl stumbled out of his room,pouting

“oh you really weren’t joking when you said you weren’t asleep”you giggle then pope accidentally pressed to hard into your arm making you scream “fuck pope Jesus fucking shit”you cursed 

“Fuck I’m sorry but its clean and the plasters won’t do much but I’ll wrap it up anyways i still think you might have to go to hospital”you shook your head “no no no no  I can’t pope you know that”he sighed “look nerd you know where she cut look how close that is daisy okay” pointing to your bandaged arm jjs eyebrows furrowed in confusion

You tore away from his gaze to the the floors 

“Hey jj,what's taking so long sweets”his guest said,in a thick country accent causing him too sigh turning around going back into his room.You don’t know what he said but five minuets later she was storming out the rusted doors,huffing and puffing, and left and he walked back to you two 

“Sorry”you looked at him and his eyes softened.You were gorgeous and so innocent who would do this to you?.he asked himself”don’t be she was to Whiny anyways you saved me”you smiled ,slightly rolling your eyes at the player you'd been warned from.

“Daisy”pope snapped you back to reality “hospital?”

“Pope I can’t I-I’ll just go home and-“you babbled

”no no way you're not going back there daisy okay not if your moms like she is right now”he said under his breath in attempt to be secretive

“Your mom?”jj thought out loud and you just looked at him,mentally cursing yourself 

Ignoring the blondes “you know i can’t do that pope”you mumbled looking down. 

“Why”he snapped

“Because I live there pope”you paused,forgetting the blonde”you know and it’s not like this is new, you know it’ll blow over”you urged,trying to convince yourself 

“And what if i doesn't daisy”he quizzed” what are you going to do then”he asked causing you to freeze and stand in silence. 

You walked up and hugged him,stifling a sob.Skilfully dodging your arm,you let go of him and held his stare. 

“Pope,your my best friend, okay?Well my only friend. You know that, but you gotta understand why I’ve gotta go home,Besides, she’s probably not even in,she left straight after, she’s probably out okay”you insisted”I’ve got that job with you and your dad tomorrow I’ll see you okay”you insisted

After some silence he looked at you,”I’ll drive you home okay and if she’s there your coming back to mine”he hissed”You can crash in the couch like you did last time okay “he urged”let me just go talk to jj okay”he said leaving you in the kitchen ,now only realizing the blonde had left the room.After overhearing some not-so hushed whispers,pope came out followed by a blonde who carried an angered but also slightly pained expression that left you wondering what pope said in there.Did he tell him about your mum?

After snatching the keys from the side,where you left them,he led you guys into the van.You and pope got into the back and he and just hugged you there it was nice he calms you and you calm him .“Hey pope”you break the silence“Yeah”he returned“Sorry”you apologised“Stop”he spat.

You looked up to him,eyebrows arching up in confusion“What?”you pleaded,provoking him to roll his eyes and your tendency to apologise after any slight inconvenience“Doing it”he grumbled“Doing what”you urged,oblivious to what was annoying him“You always apologise,after everything”he answered letting out a slightly breathy laugh“Sorry”you laugh realising you already subconsciously apologised.“See what I mean”he tutted“Right but thank you”you pushed���Always nerd”he promised“Geek”you sassed,falling into a comfortable silence,enjoying who you considered your family now

“Hey daisy” he broke the silence

“Hm”you humed

“Did you take them today”he asked,you sighed

“I thought I’d be okay pope,i was i promise”you pleaded

“Daisy”he sighed

“I hate them pope,they make me feel so deflated,they make me feel  like a monster”you mumbled into his shoulder

“You have to take them daisy you know that”he scolded

“I’m know i Just”you paused

“I know”he cut in 

“I don’t want to be a monster anymore pope”

“Your not a monster daisy,i promise,you're amazing bub”he praised

Finally pulling up to your house,met with a cleaver driveway you turned back to pope who was checking for the same thing you were “see”you deflated”i'll be fine see you in the morning,7 sharp kids” you teases in his dad's warning tone 

“Daisy i still think you should come back to mine  i don't think you’ll b--”

You pleaded his anxious babbling with a kiss on the cheek”see you in the morning”you demanded and he sighed

You popped your head through to the front

“Thank you for the ride jj sorry about interrupting your night” you apologised and he smiled at you”no worries princess,we oughta be seeing you in daylight too though”he asked “maybe blondie”you winked giving pope one last hug before you made your way through the door,treading carefully,just to be safe.

[solynaceawrites]

Wires [2]: Defensive Wounds

Rating: Mature Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death Categories: F/F, F/M Fandom: Devil May Cry Relationships: Dante/Original Female Character(s), Implied Nero/Kyrie, Implied Vergil/Original Female Character(s), Implied Lady/Trish, Dante/Lirael Thorne, Dante/Lir Characters: Dante, Morrison, Nero, Original Female Character(s), Lirael Thorne, Lir Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Violence, Gore, Dark, Horror, Supernatural Elements, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Serial Killers, Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut Summary: In Red Grave City, a serial killer stalks the streets. Lirael Thorne, recently transferred from Fortuna and looking for an escape from her past, winds up on his trail. Hunting him with her veteran partner, Dante Redgrave, they try to piece together the wires that bind the three of them together. In a race to catch him before he leaves more victims in his wake, the things thought buried will come to the surface, tearing lives and comfort apart.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

“Agonies are one of my changes of garments, I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become the wounded person, My hurts turn livid upon me as I lean on a cane and observe.” — Walt Whitman

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The morgue is cool and quiet, gleaming metal polished to a shine that sends little daggers of light into Lir’s eyes. She gives herself a moment to adjust, listening to the faint tic tic tic of the freezers, fingering the bottle of aspirin in her pocket while she waits to see if the subtle pressure in her skull is going to shift from discomfort to agony. Next to the door is a desk, with a state of the art computer, a few files, a cup full of pens, and a half-drunk cup of coffee with lipstick on the rim; beyond that, there is another door, one that probably leads to a storage room, two walls of cold lockers in four rows of four, and two x-ray displays on the final wall. In the center of the room are three slabs. On one of them is the Jane Doe, covered respectfully with a sheet, her eyes closed to give her an expression of peace. At her side is Trish, her blonde hair pulled into a knot at the top of her head and her face partially obscured by a sterile mask that she tugs down on Lir’s approach.

“Thorne,” she greets cheerfully. “You here for the autopsy report?” Lir nods, and Trish beckons her closer. “You’re right on time. Just got done with our guest.”

Lir isn’t sure what to make of having a corpse called a guest. Gallows humor, she supposes. “What can you tell me about her?”

“She suffered, that’s for certain.” Trish turns on the light over the slab and pulls it down, illuminating the Jane Doe with a grisly, fluorescent white that turns her already dead pallor a sickly blue-gray. Then she pulls the sheet down, and Lir is suddenly, incredibly grateful that she hasn’t eaten yet, the bile in her throat bitter but weak. “The throat and abdominal trauma was all perimortem. She was alive, but not struggling, when our killer cut her open. Judging from the tissue damage, looks like the throat happened first, but it was ultimately shock and blood loss that killed her.”

“She was alive for the whole thing?”

“Mm-hm. Though I don’t know how aware of it she was. I don’t have the toxicology report yet—that will take a little longer to run, sorry—but pupil dilation is indicative of intoxication. Judging from the depth of the gash here,” Trish points to Jane Doe’s throat, “it was more to keep her quiet than kill her. She would have bled out from that alone eventually if no one found her first, but it doesn’t go through bone. The hesitation marks at the edges make me think he was more . . . Well, there’s no easy way to say this. Probably sawed through her.”

Lir tries to picture it, being too strung out or drunk to defend herself, being helpless while some maniac slashed her throat and cut her open like a butcher. From the corner of her eye, she catches sight of a red dress and pale hair and holds her breath, counting to ten until it fades, then asks, “You said at the scene there weren’t any defensive wounds.”

“That’s right. And there aren’t. No blood or tissue under her nails, no bruising or scrapes or cuts to show that she tried to fight back.” Trish sighs, lifting the sheet back over Jane Doe before tugging off her gloves. “Whoever this is, they’re one sick puppy.”

“Yeah.” Photographs on the wall catch her attention, and Lir walks over to study them closely. They’re all from the crime scene, some of little bits of evidence next to their markers, others of the victim, and it’s the latter she really looks at. “Does that pendant have any religious connotations?”

“You’d have to check. Why?”

“I just thought she looks kind of like an angel.”

Trish comes to stand next to her, her expression grave. “You know, I had the same idea.”

They stand in a heavy silence, the clock on the wall ticking loudly until Lir sighs. She bids farewell to Trish, who promises to have the full report to her by the end of the day, and takes the elevator back up to the bullpen. Dante will no doubt want to know what she’s learned, but she finds that she doesn’t quite want to tell him. Something about this all is nagging her, tugging the thin strands of her memory with an urgency, look, look, you’ve seen this before, even though she’s fairly certain that she never has. Was there a similar case in Fortuna? So lost in wracking her thoughts she nearly runs right into Simmons as she steps off the elevator, and she mumbles an apology and returns to her desk, where she boots up the computer, hunting for a notepad and a pen while she waits for it to finish loading.

A cup of coffee thudding next to her elbow has her peering up. Dante sits back down, a cup of his own in his hand that he raises to her before he takes a sip. His face screws up in disgust. “Fuck. No matter how long I’m here, coffee still tastes like shit. What’d Trish say?”

“That we’d have the full report soon,” Lir replies. She finds what she was looking for and logs into the terminal. “Victim was slaughtered like livestock and left to die. Too something to even try to save her own life.”

“That all?” 

She’s aware of his gaze, critical and assessing on her, and it makes her skin flush unpleasantly. “Until toxicology comes back.”

With a nod, he leans back in his seat. “Alright. What are your thoughts?”

Now you want to know? she nearly asks. Rubbing her temples, she replies instead, “Our guy is bold. A nightclub on one side, a bar on the other, people coming and going at all hours? Not to mention, he had to have been familiar with the location to avoid the security camera, if he did. Speaking of, is that footage here yet?” Dante shakes his head. “Right. Okay. So, Jane Doe was probably at one of the two places. Why risk dragging her any farther than that? And he had to get her to go with him somehow. A knife or a gun would have been too obvious, even for a crowded bar.”

“Could’ve posed as a hook-up,” Dante suggests.

“Mm. If she wasn’t drunk, he might have drugged her.”

“Drugs?”

“Her pupils were blown.”

“So,” he says slowly, “we’ve got a bold, possibly attractive killer who goes to bars to pick up women. Think he knew the vic?”

Lir realizes suddenly that he’s testing her, digging to see her worth, and it makes her angry all over again. “No, too risky. He’s got balls, but he’s not an idiot. All this planning, all the care he took, he wouldn’t want to leave any trace of himself, and that means he was probably a stranger and he picked her out when he got there. If it hadn’t been her, it would have been someone else.”

“Opportunistic. Well, shit. Means he’s gonna be a bitch to find.” He offers her a crooked grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Want to flip a coin to see who’s givin’ Morrison the news?”

“You do it. I need to look for something.”

Dante frowns then, but the expression is quickly smothered as he stands. He takes his coffee with him into Morrison’s office; once the door is closed firmly behind him, Lir releases a sigh and slumps in her chair, cradling her head in her hands. This was meant to be a new beginning for her. Get out of Fortuna, away from the good-intentioned but condescending men she worked with, leave the bitter break-up and the cramped apartment behind her to set out in the bigger city. Yet here she is, dealing with condescending men, living in an apartment that’s large enough to feel empty, with a killer that she knows she has an infinitesimally small chance of catching on her hands. Maybe I’ll get a cat, she thinks, and then discards it. She’s going to be too busy to give any pet the love it would deserve.

Lir pulls up the database and enters her credentials, watching the wheel spin as the program decides whether or not she’s allowed in. Once it opens, she navigates to the search bar, where she types evisceration, hoping the term will be narrow enough to ping any cases that might have been similar. All she gets are animal cruelty cases, youths torturing cats and dogs, and she groans. Next is religious, but that doesn’t get her anything other than some fraud. Jane Doe is too broad, while trying by location only gets her arrests for petty theft, assault, and drunk and disorderlies. Her fingers drum on her desk as she thinks; maybe, if whatever it is that she thinks she remembers was before her time in the force, it would have been before they started digitizing their records. 

Which would mean figuring out the location and then digging through that city’s physical files.

She pinches the bridge of her nose. Most of what she said to Dante was speculation, and she knows that they’re going to spend at least a week trying to identify their victim and looking for anyone who might have seen her, tracking down friends and acquaintances and ex-boyfriends to see if any of them had the fury and the cruelty needed to butcher someone like that. If they’re lucky, she’ll have gotten into some sort of trouble with the law and there will be prints they can match. If they’re unlucky, it’s beating the streets, shoving her photograph in people’s faces to try and jar their memory.

“Detective?” Lir opens her eyes to find Simmons standing next to her, a USB stick in his hand. “The nightclub owner sent this over. Said it’s all the footage from the last twenty-four hours and you wanted it?”

He sounds uncertain, and she forces herself to smile. “Yeah, thanks. While I’ve got you here, can I ask a favor?” Hesitantly, he nods. “Head down to the morgue to get the victim’s prints from Trish and run ‘em, will you? It’s a long shot, but it might help us figure out who she is.”

Simmons doesn’t look like he finds the idea appealing, but he gives a weak salute and heads down the stairs. Lir watches him until he disappears into the elevator, and then she plugs the USB into her computer and opens the files to scroll through it. Twenty-four hours of hopefully unaltered footage stored in four hour chunks which, when she clicks on the first video to play it, turn out to be monochrome and grainy. She fights through the urge to yank her hair, instead getting up and going to grab a fresh cup of coffee from the canteen. After a moment of hesitation, she takes the entire pot, setting a second one to brew; this is going to be an all-nighter for sure, and the only thing that’s going to get her through it is enough caffeine to make her jittery.

Dante is back at his desk when she returns. He arches a brow at the sight of her with the pot, but that turns into a loud groan as she says, “Footage got here. All twenty-four hours worth. Want to grab a seat?”

“There’s a meeting room we can use,” he mutters. “Bigger screen. Grab it and let’s go. Is that all the coffee?”

“For now.”

His long-suffering sigh draws an unwilling smile from her. Dante leads her down a hallway to a room mostly taken up by a large oval table surrounded by plush leather chairs, and he sinks into one as she sets up the monitor on the wall and gets the USB situated. “Ready?”

“Not really.”

“Tough shit.” She chuckles and presses play.

Hours pass as they work through both the footage and the coffee, pausing only when they catch sight of a pale-haired woman before slumping back in disappointment and carrying on. Morrison stops by once to check on them, then Simmons with the news that the prints were a dead end, and finally Trish with her full report, toxicology included. None of them linger for more than a few minutes at most. Dante and Lir alternate bathroom breaks and coffee runs, neither of them willing to stop the tape until it’s done. Like ripping a bandaid off, she thinks at one point, stifling a yawn before taking a large swig of her lukewarm coffee. Get it over with in one go, no hesitation. 

It’s just passed four in the morning when Dante lurches in his seat. “Pause it, pause it!” Lir jumps, pressing quickly on the remote, and he squints. “Rewind it a bit. There, stop, stop. Press play.”

“What is—oh!” She scrambles for the file on the table, flipping it open so she can see the picture of Jane Doe clipped to the inside. Pulling it free, she holds it up, glancing between it and the screen. “It’s her.”

“Mm. Looks like . . .” He leans forward, his eyes narrowed as his lips move silently. “Two?”

Lir blinks, then turns her laugh into a rough cough. “No. It’s, uh . . . It’s 3:37.”

Dante scowls at her as he reaches into the pocket of his vest to pull out a pair of square glasses, the style just as noir as his clothing. He perches them on his nose, then nods. “Yeah. Alright. So our victim walked into the club at 3:37 am. Since her body was found at quarter to eight, means there’s a five hour window for our killer to have found her and pulled her into the alley.”

“That’s if you don’t remove however long she was in the bar and the killer leaving,” Lir points out.

He clicks his tongue. “Don’t be a wiseass, Thorne. It’s not cute.”

“I’m not here to be cute,” she replies irritably. 

“Shame.” Just as she’s debating dumping her coffee on him, he asks, “There a way to print this? We’ll take it with her autopsy photo and show it to the staff at the club, see if any of ‘em remember her. Maybe she paid with a credit card, which’d give us a name.”

“You plannin’ to sleep tonight?” she asks dryly.

“Sleep when you’re dead, Thorne. Print and let’s go.”

Biting her tongue, she heads back to the computer attached to the monitor and screenshots the frozen video. Once it’s in her hands, the two of them head out back, where the employee lot is, and Dante leads her to a car that she recognizes from her childhood. Her mouth drops open as she takes in the ‘58 Corvette, the same type her father had often talked dreamily of owning when he retired, the black paint and white cut-outs glossy in the early dawn light. The top is closed against the dew, but she can still make the red leather interior, and she laughs incredulously when Dante unlocks it. “Seriously?”

“You can take a cab if you like,” he replies tightly.

Lir closes her mouth and climbs in, looking around curiously. The seats are incredibly comfortable, and it doesn’t seem like Dante has done any upgrading to it at all: the gearshift is still topped by a clean white knob, and the only source of sound is the radio, the knob of which Dante turns until classical rock filters softly through the speakers. A good car is like a good woman, her father had told her two months before his death, holding her in his lap as he pointed to the yellowed magazine, treat her right and she’ll stick with you for life. She’d put the damned ad in his casket before they buried him, and Lir closes her eyes against both the unwelcome sting of tears and the sight of him with his misshapen head on the silk pillow. Botched robbery, her mother said tearfully. Throat closed with sudden grief, just as sharp as it had been then, Lir hardly notices when they pull away from the curb.

“She’s beautiful,” she whispers.

Dante’s startled silence is the only reply she gets.

[fanficimagery]

Imagine your sister having you move in with her after the last of your family has passed away. Living with superheros and agents never ever crossed your mind, but here you are. Fortunately for you, your sister's boyfriend grants you your own personal floor which no one visits less they've talked to you beforehand.

Brock X Reader

After SHIELD fell and HYDRA came out of the shadows, the world was in chaos. No one knew who to trust and people became paranoid of their city and state officials/representatives after it came out that there was a HYDRA mole within the President's inner circle. It took months and a lot of trust for Captain America, along with a select few trusted individuals, to figure out who was clean and not a lying liar who lied.

No one no longer trusted anything affiliated with the name SHIELD, so it took a lot of persuasion for the World Council to put the Avengers in charge of their very own division. They were to be in charge of all the ex-SHIELD agents who were actually on the right side of things and to be in charge of training any new powered individuals in hopes of them putting their powers to good use.

It was a lot of work, but eventually everyone came together. But then your father passed away- the man you'd been taking care of since your mother passed- and your elder sister Pepper wanted to keep you close. And since you couldn't deny your sister anything, you made the decision to relocate.

Moving into Avengers Tower, you were momentarily starstruck by Captain America. It took Tony pouting and Pepper smothering her giggles for you to snap out it, and after quickly apologizing to Captain- call me Steve- America, meeting everyone else was fairly easy. However, your right eyebrow did twitch every time you saw someone in uniform or covered in blood and/or bandages. Tony thought it was hilarious, but your sister took pity and they relocated you to your own personal floor that had everything you needed so you didn't have to leave your floor if you didn't want to.

Life turned out pretty great, especially after landing the job of receptionist for the Tower. Making appointments, granting/denying entry, and reading everyone's file who stepped into the tower was a pretty easy gig. But sometimes there were some idiots who liked to make your job a little harder than necessary.

Sitting behind a desk, taking calls and making appointments on Stark's fancy tech was probably the easiest job you've ever had. Ogling the powered individuals and agents in tactical gear was a major plus of the work environment, but dealing with the entitled rich assholes who thought themselves too important to need an appointment all while keeping a smile in place was the downfall. Like right now for example.

"I'm sorry, sir," you say for the sixth time, internally screaming, "but I really can't let you up without an appointment. Miss Potts and Mister Stark are very busy people."

Entitled asshole #3 of the day sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You don't seem to understand-"

"I understand perfectly." You smile, adding a touch of pity to your expression. "But rules are rules. I could lose my job if I let you upstairs and you interrupt a meeting they're currently in."

The scumbag scoffs. "As if finding another job is so hard. There's a coffee house on nearly every corner needing a pretty face behind the counter."

Your smile falters, your eye twitches, and your gaze goes steely.

"Is there a problem here?" The gruff voice startles you and your gaze cuts to the left. Standing there is one of the agents who are usually in and out of the tower, but it's someone you've never seen before. Dark eyes, dark hair cut short on the sides and styled loosely on top, and a five o'clock shadow clinging to a very cut jawline.

Your fellow receptionist audibly swoons and you have to bite your tongue to keep from laughing. Quickly glancing at your screen where a pop-up is suddenly blinking from facial recognition being triggered as the agent stepped up to the desk, your smile turns more genuine and lax. "Agent Rumlow. You're early."

"Cap likes his men being punctual, sweetheart." His lips twitch in your direction and the scumbag quietly groans. His gaze narrows as he looks back to the annoyance of the day. "Now is there a problem? I don't think Mister Stark or Miss Potts appreciates you harassing their receptionists."

"Look, man, all I want is to talk with Miss Potts. I'm only in town for a few days and-"

"-and Miss Potts is a very busy woman. If you wanted a meeting with her, then you should have called weeks prior to your trip to see if there was a possibility we could squeeze you in. Dropping in at the last second is really not appropriate."

Scumbag puffs up as if to go off again, but agent Rumlow steps in. "There you have it, pal. You ain't getting upstairs so I suggest you take the loss and schedule an appointment for the next time you're in town."

The guy huffs, bends down to pick up his suitcase, and stomps off. Once he exits and the door shuts behind him, your shoulders droop. "Jesus Christ," you mutter. "That was the most stubborn one today." Your fellow receptionist chuckles and goes back to work, and the agent grins. Smiling sheepishly, you say, "Sorry, agent Rumlow. I shouldn't have said that out loud."

"You're fine," he assures you. "People might make light of the work you do as a receptionist, but they don't take into account the assholes you have to deal with on a daily basis. You're allowed a sigh of relief after dealing with that."

You mock swoon, holding a hand over your heart. "Why, Mr. Rumlow, I do believe you've just become my favorite person ever." That earns you a chuckle and you almost really do swoon. His smile is fuckin' lethal.

Before you can say anything else, your screen pings. Glancing at it, you see it's a message from Tony.

     'Stop flirting with Rumlow and send him on up. It's weird.'

     'Aye, aye, second boss man.'

After hitting send, you turn your gaze back to agent Rumlow. "They're expecting you upstairs. I assume you know the way?"

"'Course I do, darling." He raps his knuckles against the desk before walking backwards, he then turning and heading for the special elevator that goes up passed the average Stark Inc. floors. Then once settled inside the elevator, he faces the closing doors and winks before he's hidden from view.

"Holy shit," you utter, picking up a file that was laying nearby and fanning yourself with it.

The second receptionist chuckles. "Holy shit indeed. Brock Rumlow is not only one of the best agents SHIELD or the Avengers has ever had, but that man is hotter than hell."

"I don't doubt that. Especially the hotter than hell part." Your friend giggles and you put the file down, composing yourself immediately when you see the lobby doors open. "Okay. Shut up about Rumlow now. We need to concentrate on work and not what his dick might look like."

Your friend cackles and you immediately regret your words when everyone in the lobby startles and glances your way.

Over the next week you're treated to watching Agent Rumlow come and go from the tower. He and another agent had apparently been reassigned temporarily, and you were quite grateful since he and Agent Rollins made quite the eye candy. It also helped that Agent Rumlow seemed to scare off anyone giving you trouble because they didn't make an appointment or missed one.

Thankfully, however, your time off has come up and you're quite looking forward to relaxing the next four days. Even if it means you don't get to see the hot agents come and go.

You have dinner with your sister and Tony, and spend some down time with the Avengers who are not on-call by playing some video games or going out and exploring the city.

Then on your third day off, your favorite football team is scheduled to play- the Dallas Cowboys vs. Atlanta Falcons. The only sport fanatics- Sam and Bucky- were busy, so it appeared you were going to be watching alone. You ordered enough food for four people in case the boys got back early, then headed to your bedroom to change into a Dak Prescott jersey, some small sleep shorts, and a pair of knee high socks.

As you waited for your food to be delivered, you let the pre-game play as background noise while pulling down a small stack in plates and a handful of utensils in case guests popped in.

The elevator dings nearly forty minutes later and you practically skip over to greet the delivery boy. Only.. it's not a delivery boy. Oh no. It's more like delivery men. Agent men.

Coming to a stop several feet away, your right eyebrow raises in surprise. "Rumlow. Rollins. This is a surprise."

Their stoic expressions immediately melt and Rollins lights up, whereas Brock turns curious.

"G'Day, love!" Jack Rollins greets, his usual murder-face vanishing when faced with a friend as he enters your domain.

Brock follows, plastic bags swinging from his hands. "You live here, sweetheart?"

"Yeah. The floor is accessible only to those given permission to visit." Realization dawns on both men and you slowly grin. "You've pressed the button before, haven't you?"

"Yep. Never worked," Rollins muses. "Now where do you want these, sheila? He then asks, you trying not to giggle at his Australian accent as he raises the plastic bags in hand.

"Kitchen is good," you say, gesturing them to follow. They do and you huff a laugh when you glance over your shoulder and see them glancing around your place. You have an entire floor to yourself, it being an open-floor plan with the only doors leading to the two bedrooms which each have their own bathrooms inside. Then watching as Rumlow and Rollins set the bags of food down, you say, "JARVIS scans everyone in the elevators. If they press the button for my floor and aren't on the approved list, the elevator won't budge. If you've been approved, JARVIS will let the elevator stop on my floor."

"No offense, sweetheart, but how does a secretary land a place like this?" Brock asks.

You shrug. "My sister wanted me close. We're all that's left of our family and when she asked me to move in, I did."

"Sister?" Rollins asks, brow furrowing.

"Have you guys not noticed my last name? Seriously?" Brock and Jack shrug, and you laugh. "Potts. I'm Y/N Potts. Pepper's younger sister."

"Holy shit."

"You can say that again, mate."

"Now that that's out of the way," you grin. "How did you guys get up here?"

"Oh. Uhh. Shelly?" Brock says, stating it as a question rather than an answer. "She was working the desk downstairs when we getting ready to leave for the night. Delivery guy left the food and she asked us to bring it up after typing something on her computer."

"Hmm. She must have been giving you temporary access to drop off the food," you say. Both men nod and glance around again, and you smother a smile when you see their gaze drawn to the TV. "Well if you guys are off for the night and don't have any plans, I ordered a lot of food if you want to stick around and watch the game. There's beer and other drinks in the fridge."

"Ace!" Jack cheers, turning to dig through the bags he and Brock had just brought up.

You chuckle and then glance at Brock, coloring slightly as his gaze drop down to your bare legs then back up towards your navy blue jersey. He grimaces. "Cowboys fan, sweetheart?"

"Don't hate," you say. "I'll agree to Romo being a pansy ass QB, but Prescott is actually pretty decent. Beasley and Witten are beasts, and you can't tell me otherwise." He holds his hands up in mock surrender and you gesture to the food once more. "Now come on. Grab a plate and fill it. If Clint decides to drop in tonight, he'll eat all the egg rolls."

Jack holds a beer out to Brock as he passes by and the two men waste no time in helping themselves to the food.

As the night progresses, neither men hide their amusement as they see a completely different side of you. Gone are the pant suits and pencil skirts and calm demeanor, and in their place is a screaming football fanatic wearing the smallest shorts ever threatening the ref on TV because he missed throwing the flag on a face mask call.

You don't know what possesses you to give agents Rumlow and Rollins access to your floor, but you do and you've never been more happy. After that first night where they stayed to watch the game with you, something just clicked with them. Jack Rollins was strictly a friend, sometimes a flirtatious one, but Brock Rumlow was something else. Neither of you dared speak of it and you were content to just tiptoe around whatever it was.

And then once they realized they had access to your floor, it seemed like there were no boundaries. Brock and Jack dropped by a lot, but of course they always asked beforehand. If you were working, they managed to coincide their lunch break with yours, or if you were off you either cooked or ordered in to have lunch with them. They even sometimes crashed in your spare bedroom when their shifts got separated and one or the other didn't want to go to their own apartment alone.

Tony was indifferent to your weekly, sometimes daily visitors, but Pepper was wary of them because of their deep undercover stint in HYDRA. However, one particular incident had instantly warmed your sister to Brock.

It was one of your off days and a day Pepper had taken off for some much needed retail therapy when you ended up back at your place. You had stepped off the elevator, sighing in contentment and kicking off your shoes. Pepper followed suit, but then came to an abrupt halt when she spotted someone sleeping on your couch.

"Y/N, is that..?"

"Hmm." You glance in the direction she is staring, smiling softly. "Brock? Yeah. He and Jack drop in when they pull doubles and don't feel like driving to their place."

"Oh. I wasn't aware-"

"Don't make it weird, Pep. Well.. any weirder."

Pepper opens her mouth to retort, but Brock snuffling in his sleep stalls her. "Fury wants all the mangoes," he mumbles. "My mangoes."

You snort and Pepper dissolves into a bout of giggles. "He sleep talks," you tell her. "It's adorable."

The elevator dings softly, and you and your sister turn around to see a tired agent Rollins step off. He smiles politely at Pepper before stepping up to you, he giving you a one-armed hug and a kiss to your temple.

"Room free, love?"

"All yours, Rollins. I'll wake Brock."

"Thanks. Miss Potts," he then nods as he greets your sister, walking off towards your guest bedroom.

Your sister glances at you and you shrug, grinning. Then stepping around your couch, you find a small portion to sit on that's near Brock's hip and gently shake him awake. "Time to wake up, handsome. Your shift starts in ten minutes."

It takes a few moments, but Brock eventually wakes. He smiles sleepily, yawns and stretches, and then is thrown into full wakefulness when he spots your sister. He greets her formally and Pepper hides her smile, she watching him curiously as he grabs his stuff to take his leave.

"Mr. Rumlow?" Pepper calls out. She waits until he turns around. "How do you feel about mangoes?"

His nose scrunches. "Hate them. Why?"

"No reason." Pepper's faux innocence makes you cackle, she dissolving into laughter of her own when Brock frowns at your reaction.

After that day, things had been smooth sailing.

It was rare that all the ladies of the tower had the same night off, so when that time came everyone got together to relax, eat, have drinks, and talk about what's been on their minds as of late.

Pepper, Natasha, Wanda, Darcy, and Jane were well onto the third bottle of wine and settled quite comfortably in the lounge area of your apartment with music playing softly in the background. While everyone was talking and laughing, Jane was the only one distracted as she scribbled notes on a pad of paper you had tossed at her when she started scribbling on napkins.

The elevator dings and every lady calms down, turning to see who was crashing their night.

Agent Rollins steps off, yawning, and his perfectly gelled hair looking a little out of place. Everyone goes eerily quiet, but you grin at his sleepy state.

"Room open, love?" He asks, already heading towards your guest bedroom.

"Nope. But you're more than welcome to wake him and send him to mine. He's only been sleeping for three hours."

"Thanks, sheila."

As Jack disappears, the ladies all turn back towards you. You shrug innocently as Pepper hides her smile behind her glass of wine. But before anyone can say anything, a sleepy Brock walks out of your guest room in nothing but his boxer briefs. Wanda's eyes widen before she quickly averts them, Natasha appraises him quite blatantly, Darcy gapes, and even Jane stops doodling long enough to watch a half naked Brock disappear into your room.

"Agent Rumlow?" Natasha then amuses. "Nice."

"I swear it's not what it looks like," you quickly defend, chuckling.

"They're in the awkward stage," Pepper says. "It's adorable."

"Damn girl. Get some." Darcy waggles her eyebrows, Jane snorts, and you groan.

"He is quite handsome," Wanda quietly muses. "I did not know he had all those muscles."

You sigh longingly, nodding. "So many muscles."

"Mhm. What exactly are agents Rumlow and Rollins doing here?" Natasha wonders.

"They sometimes sleep here when they work double shifts." You shrug. "Brock got in just before you all showed up and Jacky's shift just ended. He prefers the mattress in the guest bedroom rather than mine and Brock, the weirdo, can sleep anywhere."

"And you're just immune to all that?" Darcy asks, waving her hand in the direction of your room.

"Mostly." Jack reappears, he too now half naked. You roll your eyes and Pepper snickers, and everyone else watches his bare back as he stumbles towards the kitchen. "All good, Jacky boy?"

Having gotten himself a glass of water, Jack chugs it before setting the glass in the sink and flashing you a thumb's up.

"How are you not climbing him like a tree?" Darcy asks, incredulous.

Your nose wrinkles in distaste. "It's Jack," you say as if that's reason enough.

"Jack's a sweetheart," Pepper tell them. "It's Brock she has to keep an eye out for. He's trouble."

"So much trouble."

The girls all giggle, but for the next two hours they forget about the men sleeping in your rooms. Then when you all decide to call it a night, Tony, Steve, Bucky, and Clint all have to be called down to escort Pepper, Darcy, Wanda, and Jane back to their rooms. Natasha is the only one capable of walking without injuring herself and it takes you longer than usual to clean-up since you have to concentrate really hard to not drop any glass.

Then after taking a brief shower and brushing your teeth, you quietly walk up to your bed. Brock is sprawled on his stomach in the middle of your bed, no sheet or blanket covering him. Before you can think about, your hand raises of it's own volition and swings down to slap Brock on the ass. He grunts and scoots over, and you climb into your side of the bed.

He climbs under the blanket with you and before you can find a position you're comfortable with, Brock reaches out for you and rearranges you so your back is to his chest. Then after moving your hair aside, he hooks his stubbled jaw over your left shoulder and pulls you close so your butt is pressed against his groin. His hand finds it's way under your shirt and you tense briefly before you feel him relax and his thumb starts to brush back and forth over the skin of your stomach.

"Comfortable?" You muse, grinning and finally relaxing.

"Mmmm. Ladies finally decided to leave?"

"Yeah. Everyone but Natasha had to be carried out."

Brock huffs a laugh. "Heard y'all talking. I'm trouble, huh?"

"You know you are," you say around a yawn. "You enjoy walking around my place half naked too much. If I weren't so tired or half drunk, I'd have probably caved tonight and got some, as Darcy would say."

"Dammit." Brock's chest shakes with suppressed laughter. "Rain check?"

"Definitely."

[occasionalfics]

worth my while // p. 3

main masterlist | thor masterlist | ko-fi | p. 2 | p. 4

Summary: After being banished from his home, Thor Odinson has stopped at nothing to prove himself worthy of his throne, title, and power.

After losing the love of your life, you turned to a power you didn’t understand.You know you shouldn’t get involved.

But how could you not?

Pairing: Thor x Reader (Hercules au…kind of…)

A/N: Woo for no Hades this chapter! I think my favorite part of editing so far is realizing how much I skimmed over and never took the time to delve into, so now I’m filling in gaps and stuff. It’s fun. 

I’m loving that y’all are liking this, so far! Thank you, and continue to shower me in your love (aka let me know what you think)!

Warnings: Violence, lots of angst, borderline abuse and definite manipulation, eventual smut, way too many feels, major character death (eventually). A little more harassment on Hades’ part this time around.

Words: 2,660

The one thing you got to keep in your arrangement with Hades was your apartment. It took a lot of negotiating, but you refused to move into his mansion. It didn’t matter that he could build you a wing to yourself in a matter of minutes. You wanted a home to yourself, and you wanted him to pay for it, if you were going to be in his service whenever he needed you.

The only stipulation was that you needed to move into a place Rick hadn’t been in. Your ex couldn’t know where you lived, and you couldn’t know where he was, either.

And that was just fine with you.

Over time, you’ve come to appreciate the quiet loneliness of your apartment. Hades likes hosting at his place, rarely ever makes an appearance at yours. You’re grateful for that, at least.

The darkness at night doesn’t eat you up. The quiet during the morning doesn’t smother you. It’s all comforting. And it’s yours.

But what’s unsettling about it this morning is that it’s been three days.

Three days since Hades dropped you off here. No texts, no calls, no finding him with an expensive car on the curb outside the building, waiting for you to emerge.

Three days since you watched Thor explode out of the Hydra, and three days since the last day you didn’t think about him at least once an hour.

Both thoughts are driving you a little crazy. You hate this. You want them both to leave you alone, even though neither of them have made contact with you in three whole days. You’re worried because Hades never leaves you alone for this long, and because you really shouldn’t be letting some guy you don’t even know dictate your brain space like this.

You force yourself out of bed. It’s comfortable there, yes, but that’s the quietest place in the apartment. It’s the place ripe for the most contemplation. At least in the shower, you can focus on the grout between the tiles or the hair you should probably clean out of the drain.

You’re dressed in under thirty minutes, afraid to let a single thought linger with an action for too long. You decide to head out, though you don’t have a clue of where you’re going at first. But if Hades isn’t requiring your presence, then you see no reason to lock yourself away from the world.

What’s funny about that is that, before today, that’s exactly what you’ve been doing.

Ever since Rick… died. That’s all you’ve done - hide away. You were hiding in that church that day, only in plain sight. And Hades had taken advantage of that.

Since Rick left, you’d sequestered yourself. No contact with old friends, barely any texts and calls to and from your mother. The only person you regularly interact with is Hades.

Man, your life is a sad, strange little mess.

Made even worse by the direction in which your feet take you: straight to Avengers’ tower. You don’t even know how you get there - you just walk and walk and ignore your rumbling stomach until, suddenly, you’re staring up at the neon letters that used to make up STARK but now read AVENGERS.

The building is nearly impossible to look at on a sunny day, what with its visage of windows and solar panels. Thankfully, today is somewhat overcast.

You don’t know what you’re doing at Avengers’ Tower, but that doesn’t stop your feet from dragging you into the lobby. The receptionist smiles at you, asks if you have an appointment, but you shake your head.

“I was wondering if Thor was in,” you hear yourself ask. Your heart skips a beat and the hairs at the back of your neck stand like you’ve been electrocuted.

Why are you asking for Thor? You wonder. If Hades knew, he’d surely taunt you. He’d probably use it against you, honestly. Or, if not against you, then at least in some way to his own advantage.

Same difference.

The receptionist reminds you that Hades isn’t here simply by nodding. She offers to call for him, which you’re sure is a safety precaution since you obviously don’t belong here. Without meaning to, you take her up on her offer.

You take a seat by the wall, but stand again because, if you sit, you’ll think. You’ll think about how weird this is, how you shouldn’t be here, how it’s really off putting that Hades hasn’t texted or called or anything in three days.

You realize, only then, that coming to find Thor is a distraction. You don’t even know him or know that he’ll want to see you, and yet, you’re here. You’re here on the flimsy hope that he’ll take your mind off whatever it is your dangerous employer is planning.

You don’t notice you’ve started to pace until Thor steps into the lobby. You have to turn around to face the elevator as he ducks his head slightly. He’s too damn tall.

You’ve never been drawn to big guys like him before. Rick was toned but slim, built much closer to Hades or Tony Stark than...this.

But you can only deny the fact that you think Thor is attractive for so long.

“(Y/N),” he says, curious surprise clear in his voice.

You remember that he only knows your name because Sam said it to him at the event. To you, Thor is the man who burst out of the stomach of a Monster, outmaneuvering Hades, by sheer will of force. But to him, you’re a mystery.

“Uh,” you stumble, “hi.”

“What’re you doing here?” he asks, not impolite. He comes over to you, apparently just as aware as you are that the receptionist is watching you.

Looking up at him, you feel tiny, but - surprisingly - not in a bad way.

“I, um.” You weave your fingers together and pull, cracking a knuckle loudly in the silence. Grappling for words isn’t your style - not anymore, not since Hades - and yet you find you’re entirely confused. What are you doing here, anyway?

You clear your throat. “Sorry. Could we, uh. Maybe go get coffee?”

You absolutely had not planned on asking Thor, an Avenger, out on a date today. Is it a date? It sounds like a date.

What will Hades say when he finds out?

Well, if he finds out.

Yes. If. If is good.

“Sure,” Thor answers, though his expression gives no new emotion away. He feels his pockets and breathes out deeply, then nods. “Just a moment,” he tells you before turning to the receptionist. You turn halfway to the door so you don’t look like you’re eavesdropping.

You actually don’t hear what he’s saying to her at all. And that’s okay. She just nods, and then he joins you by the door.

“So,” he says when you’re on the street, heading for the closest cafe that you know has good pastries. “I must say, I’m rather surprised to see you.”

You nod, because of course he is. It’s not like you have his number or anything to announce your appearance ahead of time. It’s not like you know one another well enough to actually be going on coffee dates.

Not a date.

Yeah, right.

“Honestly, I’m not sure what possessed me to show up like that,” you say with a shrug. You cross your arms before going on. “I am surprised you even came down, though. You could’a just told that receptionist to tell me to get lost.”

He chuckles. “I’m sure you know this city better than most.”

There’s no way he can know that. No one knows this city as well as they think they do. There’s always something new to see or stumble upon, which is why so many people are drawn to cities like New York.

“Beatrice had Friday alert me, but all either of them said was that a pretty girl was requesting my presence.” He doesn’t explain who Friday is, but you agree that the receptionist looked like a Beatrice. Somehow. “Who was I to turn away a woman in need of my assistance?”

That’s not the situation here, and you both know it. But you don’t correct him. You point out the cafe and Thor takes the door from you, insisting on following you in.

“I guess,” you start as you get in line. You sigh, because your brain really isn’t working with you. Your mouth is moving on muscle memory alone, it seems.

But that’s not right.

Still, you find yourself saying, “I just thought that we’d gotten off on the wrong foot. Twice. And I wanted to clear that up.” Kind of. Because telling him why you were in Victor Von Doom’s office is off the table.

You wait until you’ve both ordered, paid, and picked up your steaming cups. Maybe this really isn’t a date - a thought that you actually allow to disappoint you a little bit - if you’re each paying separately. Then again, you haven’t exactly been on a date in some time. Are they still doing it the same way?

Thor picks a table away from most of the other people in the cafe. It’s early afternoon, so the place isn’t quite packed. Especially not for Manhattan. But still, it’ll be easier to talk without having others around to hear.

He sips on his drink. You just wrap your hands around yours.

“So,” he says after a bit. “What are we clearing up?”

You chuckle out a sigh, unable to tell which one is meant to cover up the other. “I’ll start with an introduction, I guess.” You let go of the coffee cup and hold a hand out to him. “I’m (Y/N).”

Thor cocks an eyebrow at you, but seems to catch on quickly. He shakes your hand and tells you, “Thor Odinson, Avenger.”

“You use that line on all the girls you go out for coffee with?” you ask. You hadn’t even meant to. You hate sounding...jealous or petty. Or basic. But you hope the case is that you sound flirty.

Thor think the last, too. He shakes his head and tells you, point-blank, “Not at all. It’s merely a polite formality - most people already know who I am. But I want us to be on equal footing.”

More than the words he’s said, you’re quite floored by his honesty. Not even Hades has been this up front with you - maybe ever.

“Now I’ve told you what I do for a living,” he says, and immediately, your heart speeds up. “What is that you do?”

The question reverberates in your head. And your chest. And your stomach. This whole idea was terrible - why did you let yourself out of the house again? What force in this universe possessed you to ask an Avenger out? Date or no, this is the quickest you’ve ever fallen into a disaster.

You can’t just tell him you work for the Greek God of the Dead, Ruler of the Underworld. He’d probably believe the God part, and that would be a nice break, but you definitely shouldn’t tell him the truth. Hades won’t like it at all.

But you also can’t not answer him. You’ve dug yourself a hole already, and now you need to lie in it.

“I...uh. I’m a maid.”

You hate yourself for lying. Which is new. You lie all the time - you were going to lie to Victor Von Doom if you needed to, and you absolutely would not have felt like an absolute disappointment then. But you hate that you’re lying now, and that you feel like you have to lie to keep this going.

Why do you even want this going at all?

You sip your coffee to avoid having to say anything more so soon. Thor just nods, like he believes what you’ve said. Poor fool you think, even though you are the only person making him into one.

But honestly, maid is the closest thing you can think of that isn’t inappropriate. Errand bitch somehow doesn’t have the same ring to it. So you allow it.

“And do you work for Doctor Von Doom, then?” he asks.

And you pause then, as you realize that you’re only making this worse. Of course that’s where he’d go. Because maids can’t just afford gorgeous gowns and aren’t usually invited to exclusive galas for billionaires just for the sake of company.

“Oh, uh. No,” you say. You clear your throat again, pushing your cup as far away from you as you can get it without making it obvious that you’re uncomfortable.

It must not work, though. You don’t go on, and Thor doesn’t appear to know what to say, at least at first. So the silence drags on until he scoots just a few centimeters closer to you, somehow dragging in the smell of clean before a storm, and tilts his head to glace sidelong at you.

“I did not mean to overstep, (Y/N),” he says softly.

This is so silly you think. He didn’t overstep. He asked all completely normal questions - you’re the one that’s being ridiculous. You can hear Hades’ voice in your head, telling you to get a grip, that Thor is just a guy. Just another guy, just like Rick was just another guy.

You shake your head to dismiss your own thoughts and Thor’s apology. “No, it’s okay. My employer...he just prefers privacy, you know?”

That’s not entirely a lie. It settles the uncomfortable rumbling in your stomach, at least for now.

Thor nods. “Of course,” he says, forcing a smile.

It’s cute, that he wants to make you comfortable. You think that’s what it is in his eyes - those lightning, mesmerizing eyes that have drawn you into him every single time you’ve seen them.

But you stop yourself from appreciating that fully, because you haven’t done anything to earn it. And the last time you did… Well, that landed you with an Eternity of doing Hades’ bidding to look forward to.

“So you’re a maid,” he repeats. “That’s more than I knew three days ago.” He smiles at you, clearly trying.

You take a deep breath and decide to try, too. “In that case, it’s your turn to tell me something that I don’t already know.”

He laughs at that. After another sip of coffee, he says, “Well, I don’t know how much you already know, but if we’re keeping things quite simple, I’m not an only child.”

The only reason you pause at that is because that definitely feels like first-date territory. And your response, “Really, now?” definitely points in the same direction.

“Technically, my brother is adopted. You may know him, if know anything about the Battle of Manhattan.” It almost sounds like he’s bragging, but there’s a grim darkness that takes over the blue of his eyes. Is he shaming himself to make you feel more comfortable, you wonder?

“Wait,” you say, thinking of the green man you’d thought was Thor’s cousin only a few days ago. “The dude that brought those aliens here - he’s your brother?”

Thor chuckles sarcastically, then nods. “When you’re as old as we are, you find ways to keep life interesting.” He takes another sip of his drink, then turn the cup away from him when he puts it back on the table. “Funny how he comes and wreaks havoc here, and yet he’s still admitted entrance into Asgard.”

His gaze goes to the table, too, and every instinct in you is yelling out to ask him what that means. But then a small voice - Hades’ voice, just distant - reminds you that you’re already too deep into this conversation. The less you know, the better, even if you’d asked for information about Thor.

This “date” is a one-time thing, you tell yourself.

If only you were as good at following your own rules as you are at following Hades’.

[buffster]

The Yoko Factor (BTVS 4.20)

This is part of my ongoing Buffyverse Project, where I write notes/meta for every episode in an attempt to better understand the characters and themes of the shows. You can find the BTVS list here and the ATS list here. Gifs are not mine.

All I remembered about the Scooby fight was that it happened. I had forgotten how, and I actually do think it makes more sense now. It wasn’t about their friendship, it was about attacking each of their insecurities and making them feel that everyone else in the group had noticed them too. This was possible because the friendship has been so fractured that no one feels supported or even seen. They have no reason not to think they’re being judged. 

Unfortunately, the resolution to all this never really comes around. There is a ton of good stuff here--Buffy’s increased reliance on herself, Willow’s moving away from her computer skills and into witchcraft as a solution to everything, Xander not feeling respected and seeing Anya as an extension of that, Giles losing his sense of leadership and importance--but we never really get an acknowledgement of any of that until much later. And the real problem that Spike landed on--that the Scoobies aren’t paying a bit of attention to one another--gets a quick patch over but continues to be a problem. Yes, Buffy isn’t judging Willow, but is that a good thing or just a symptom of her ignoring her entirely?  

Spike is the one who comes up with this plan to incite drama, which I do feel makes sense for his character. He’s insightful and incredibly good at stuff like this. It’s also fun to see his perspective on Buffy and how fascinated/afraid of her he is. He keeps insisting to Adam that he needs to consider her a bigger threat. You can sense the admiration beneath the irritation. 

Adam: You feel smothered. Trapped like an animal, pure in its ferocity, unable to actualize the urges within… Clinging to one truth like a flame struggling to burn within an enclosed glass… That a beast this powerful cannot be contained. Inevitably it will break free and savage the land again… I will make you whole again. Make you savage.

This is the episode in which Forrest is killed. He claims his problem with Buffy is that Riley is willing to commit treason over her and turn against their “family”. I would have loved to see some more backstory on Forrest: either have him be an orphan who found his family through Riley and now he feels abandoned or have him have a romantic interest in him. Then you could even have had him join Adam willingly as a way to get his family back. 

Angel’s return also doesn’t fit into the story well. I covered over in Sanctuary why his coming here made no sense, and his drama with Riley was nothing but fan-baiting. It also felt like a bit of a step back for Angel’s character; he always seems less mature over on Buffy. On Angel he seems sad but resigned to the fact that he can’t have Buffy and she comes off as wanting more than he can give. But here he seems like a petty, jealous ex. I don’t see a scenario where he would like Riley, but beating him up, refusing to explain he’s not evil, and insinuating he might have slept with Buffy is ridiculous. The end scene where he says “I don’t like him” in a tone of resigned sadness makes more sense than everything before it.  

Buffy: Look, I… you weren't entirely wrong, what you said in L.A. We don't live in each other's worlds anymore. I can't just barge in on yours and make judgments.

Angel: I'm still sorry.

Buffy: Thank you.

Xander is the one who gives Riley the information on what turned Angel evil. Why does he have this habit of venting inappropriately when it comes to Buffy’s boyfriends (here, and when he tells Dawn Spike tried to rape Buffy)? In the script Xander decides to tell Riley even though it’s clear Buffy doesn’t want him to know, but in the episode it plays like Xander accidentally spilled the beans. 

As far as Buffy’s decision on this, I get it. It’s a bit easier for Willow, for example, to be totally honest with Tara about her past with Oz. She loved him, the wolf thing became a problem, he left. Angel will always hold power over Buffy and she will always have feelings for him, and basically the only reason they’re not together is because they can’t be. How do you tell a boyfriend that if your ex suddenly became human you’d be tempted to run right back into his arms? It’s unresolved and messy. 

Riley: I went a little nuts, you know? I mean, on the one hand, I should believe in us. But, on the other, sometimes things just happen between ex's and then I saw he was bad

Buffy: He wasn't bad.

Riley: Seriously? That's a "good" day? Well there you go. Even when he's good he's all Mr. Billowy Coat King of Pain and girls really-

After their talk they say I love you to each other and then Buffy has to tell him about Forrest. He abruptly leaves, and the cliff-hanger is that he goes to Adam.

Let’s get in to the Scooby drama. It’s clear Buffy, Willow, Xander, and Giles haven’t been paying much attention to each other lately, but you know who has been paying attention? Spike. 

Spike: Think you're neglecting the past tense there, Rupert. Besides, she barely listened when you were in charge. I've seen the way she treats you.

We’ve seen a few hints that Giles is insecure about losing his job as librarian and, more importantly, Watcher. He was fired way back in season three, but when Buffy belonged to the Council she continued to look to him for guidance and ignored the replacements. When she decided to drop the Council and stop taking orders she also stopped looking to him. She’s the leader now. 

Xander: This is so like them lately. It's all about them and the college life. You know what college is? It's high school without the actual going to class. Well, high school was sort of like that too but the point is, I'm the one working hard to earn a living and it's a huge joke to them.

Anya: They look down on you.

Xander: And they hate you…

Anya: But they don't look down on me.

Xander is struggling to find his footing post-high school, which we actually have seen hints of throughout. The ironic part is Buffy and Willow will be in the same place after college, but by then Xander is finding a place in construction and doing a bit better. Spike suggests they mentioned him going to the military, which was a strange choice. It would be fairly easy for them to shut down having ever said that if it came up. Spike only gets away with it because the fight is so chaotic. 

Willow: I am a whiz!

Tara: She is a whiz.

Willow’s insecurity is about her new relationship with Tara and her friend’s feelings about it. Spike slips up here; he says Xander said she was being trendy but Xander doesn’t even know about the relationship at this point. Spike points out something interesting here--Willow isn’t as focused on her computer skills lately. But that’s not something she or anyone else will be concerned about for awhile. 

Spike doesn’t say anything to Buffy, which makes sense because she’s sort of the center of this whole universe. Buffy has a lot of concerns, but her friends not liking or needing her isn’t one of them. The interesting thing about all this drama is that none of the friends care a bit about what the others are going through; they’re too focused on their own drama. Buffy and Willow don’t think about Xander’s employment issues, Buffy and Xander don’t think about Willow’s sexual preferences or her obsession with wicca, and Buffy, Xander, and Willow don’t think about Giles’ lack of employment in any real way.

Tensions escalate when they all convene at Giles’ house because everyone is overly sensitive (Buffy is totally lost). 

Giles: You never train with me anymore. Adam's gonna kick your ass.

Buffy: Giles?!

Giles: Sorry! Didn't mean to be so honest. Terribly sorry.

After seeing Forrest die, Buffy isn’t eager for anyone to come along with her. And that just further taps into their feelings of inadequacy. 

Xander: And if I did join the army I'd be great. You know why? Because maybe they'd give me a job that couldn't be done by any well-trained Border Collie.

Willow: Sure, you'd be wonderful in the army -- you think the umbilical cord between you and Anya would stretch that far?

Xander: I knew it. I knew you hated her.

Willow: Hey, I'm not the one being judgmental, here. I'll leave that territory to you and Buffy.

Buffy: Judgmental? If I was any more open minded about the choices you two make my whole brain would fall out.

Xander: Oh. And superior. Don't forget that. Just because you're better than us doesn't mean you can be all superior.

Buffy: Guys, stop this. What happened to you today?

Willow: It's not today. Buffy, everything's been wrong for a while. Don't you see that?

Buffy: Willow, what do you mean things have been wrong? Things don't have to be wrong, do they?

A major problem with the Scooby friendship is that Buffy is the leader--and she is both too distracted and too inclined to ignore emotional issues to lead effectively. Buffy is an avoidance type and so the entire group avoids talking or working through their feelings with each other. This is something Giles noticed in Once More With Feeling but it never gets fixed. The group is missing someone like Faith or Spike...someone who would be more willing to call out issues and bring them out in the open. Buffy hates that, but sometimes it’s necessary. Just look what happened to everyone in season six...

Character Notes:

The Initiative: They want Riley back. They (correctly) realize they can’t harm Buffy if they ever want to bring him back into the fold. When the relationship between them ends they do eventually lure him back, so good call there.

Spike: We learn he can’t even point a useless gun with the chip in his head. It appears to be activated by intent to harm rather than ability, which makes sense. He lists his past fun night outs as deflowering a virgin princess, killing a minister mid-sermon, and seeing the Sex Pistols in ‘76. 

Adam: His favorite Beatles song is ‘Helter Skelter’. 

[chiseler]

A Smelling Salts Tigress: Laura Hope Crews

When Laura Hope Crews first appears in The Silver Cord (1933), she seizes the space like the experienced theater star she was, arms and furs flying, crying for her son: “Dave boy!” It’s the kind of entrance that seems meant for entrance applause, and Crews earns that courtesy from the moment she arrives, or even before that, when we hear her off-screen (or off-stage) voice. As Mrs. Phelps, a smother mother of monstrous proportions, Crews acts at the highest possible level of intensity.

It’s hard to keep track of Mrs. Phelps’s passive aggressive and sometimes just aggressive aggressive tactics to sever the marital engagements of her two sons David and Robert (Joel McCrea and Eric Linden). Mother Phelps descends, sometimes, to outright cattiness: “That dress needs distinction…and a figure,” she says to David’s fiancée (Irene Dunne). She’s fond of crying, “I haven’t a selfish hair on my head!” but she’s so obvious a manipulator that her sons seem a little dim to be taken in by her incessant posing at motherly self-sacrifice. Crews plays her like a drawing room wild animal who must always keep up the most furiously gripping kind of playacting if she is to keep her sons, and her audience, in her thrall.

“I nearly died when Dave was born!” she cries, then reminds her victims, in a quieter voice, “He was a twelve-pound baby, you know.” When Crews gets her claws into Linden, it feels like Mrs. Phelps has an almost hypnotic effect on her son; one silent look from her and he is practically her slave. When the chips are really down, when her sons are on the verge of seeing through her, Mrs. Phelps complains of heart trouble. She is a virtuoso of the guilt trip, and she can be outright comic, like Barry Humphries’s drag character Dame Edna Everage insulting a member of her audience “for their own good.”

“Isn’t your mother your best friend?” she asks Linden’s Robert, who keeps retreating into her lap and bosom and letting himself be kissed lingeringly on the mouth. Crews’s grand, raspy voice is full-throated and almost unvaryingly passionate here, but she’s scariest when she speaks in a more normal tone of voice, as when she pulls a phone out of a wall socket and quietly tells Robert’s fiancée Hester (Frances Dee), “You are the only person in the world who has ever forced me to do an undignified thing.” For most of its short running time, The Silver Cord is the record of a performance by Crews that has the force of a natural disaster, a purely destructive hurricane gale, something and somebody that cannot be explained away, even when playwright Sidney Howard has her try to justify her incestuous “romance” with her sons in the final scene.

The Silver Cord had been a success for Crews on stage, too, in the 1920s. She was born in 1879, the daughter of a stage actress, Angelena Lockwood, and Crews went on the stage herself at the age of four. She was Beatrice to John Drew’s Benedick in Much Ado About Nothing, and played Judith Bliss in the original Broadway run of Noel Coward’s Hay Fever. As a young woman, she had a major hit in A.A. Milne’s Mr. Pim Passes By, and she was still reviving it in the late 1920s when she engaged Bette Davis to play an ingénue role. Davis was filled with nervous energy already, and she tended to circle her arms around, which stirred Crews’s ire.

“Miss Crews, famous for the use of her lovely hands, made it very clear from the start that no good ingénue waved her hands about,” Davis wrote in her autobiography, The Lonely Life. Davis tried to keep her hands at her sides, but at one point during the dress rehearsal she moved them to emphasize a line and felt a slap on her wrist from behind, delivered by a furious Crews, who was not only starring in this old-time vehicle but directing it herself. Davis counted to fifty, held her temper in, and kept her job.

Gloria Swanson called Crews to Hollywood to work with her as a vocal coach for her first talking film, The Trespasser (1929) at the suggestion of director Edmund Goulding, who told Swanson that there was “no one in the world with a better ear for the spoken word.” Crews repeated her Silver Cord triumph on film and made a few more movies in small roles before coming to her second major film performance, Prudence in George Cukor’s superlative version of Camille (1936) with Greta Garbo.

Marguerite Gautier, the extravagant courtesan played by Garbo in Camille, orders her dresses from Prudence, who lives off her shop but also off spare money from her various strumpet friends. She’s always giving Marguerite “motherly” advice, but if Mrs. Phelps is the worst mother imaginable, then Prudence has all the motherly instinct of a barracuda. Crews wears rather low-cut dresses here that barely cover her bosom, and she goes all-out with Prudence’s vulgarity and ill-temper. At a rowdy dinner party at Marguerite’s apartment, Prudence uninhibitedly takes off her shoes and sticks her feet up. A dirty story is told round the table, and it is said that the story is as old as Prudence, to which she replies, “I’m 36!” This gets met with a shriek of incredulous laughter (Crews was 56 at this point), and to Prudence’s credit, she joins in the laughter wholeheartedly.

As Marguerite retires into her room with her younger lover Armand (Robert Taylor), Cukor shows Prudence smoking a cigar in close-up, and in this close-up, Crews is as lively and convincing a picture of worldly, hedonistic corruption as has ever been offered in movies. When Marguerite drops Prudence’s purse out a window to get rid of her in a later scene, Crews gives an invigoratingly theatrical line reading as she cries, “What a girl! What a te-ease!” at the top of her vocal register. There is always, with Crews, a hysteria running underneath her vocal attack that she can barely suppress, and this accounts for her rare excitement as an actress. Somehow it never gets monotonous because she is able to work a lot of variations into what is, at best, the ultimate in theatrical authority, in keeping an audience, and often the other characters, in her grip.

“Wine used to go to my head and make me gay!” Prudence says, after a boozy wedding. “Now it goes to my legs and makes me old!” This is a magnetic woman, and it’s easy to want her to reveal a good-hearted impulse or two as Marguerite suffers and dies, but no, Cukor and Crews end their portrait of Prudence on a pitiless note. In her last scene, she not only takes the last of dying Marguerite’s money, but she also cruelly mentions that Armand is back in town and hasn’t tried to see Marguerite. As has been said before, Prudence is a “vulture” and “a dreadful old woman,” and some people just don’t have good hearts or good impulses, in fact, quite the opposite. Prudence administers a kick when Marguerite is on her deathbed just for the pleasure of it, the same pleasure she takes in cigars and brandy and weddings. This is a thoroughly loathsome woman, as bad or even worse than Mrs. Phelps, and Crews plays her unsparingly.

Crews entered folklore as Aunt Pittypat in Gone with the Wind (1939), an Atlanta lady with horns of curls always quivering on her head as she shakes with genteel anxiety and asks for her smelling salts, and after that she played a few more bits before coming to work with Bette Davis again in The Man Who Came to Dinner (1942), after Davis had become the biggest female movie star in the world. Crews played a bit role that was later cut. In her behavior on the set, she proved that she herself was more generous than the roles she often played.

“Past all power and desire to slap ingénues, she was now coaching them in speech and accepting small parts in films,” Davis wrote of Crews. “I think she fully expected anything from me. I had dreamed of a reversal of position for many years.” But Davis decided against outright revenge. “I welcomed Miss Crews warmly and with great deference,” she wrote. “No doubt she would have preferred not being robbed of an ex post facto justification of her high-handedness…When the picture was over, Miss Crews came to my dressing room. She handed me a box—and was gone. I opened it and inside was the most beautiful watch—pearls and diamonds on the back—that I had ever seen. This was her belated apology. She died six months later. It is one of my truly cherished possessions.”

by Dan Callahan

[trashkweeen-blog]

Class with the Countess - LuAnn de Lesseps

Oh, sweet LuAnn. Where do I start?

I have a love for the Countess that I truly cannot explain. I’m struggling to think of an instance where I was ever on her side. Literally every cool thing she does is almost immediately undone by an equal or greater uncool thing. 

Fucking a Jack Sparrow look alike on vacation was pretty cool. Trying to cover it up with the worst French i have ever heard come out of a French Canadian Mi’kmaw with parents from New Brunswick and Quebec was pretty uncool. I can’t really decide whether forcibly inviting herself on Bethenny’s Mexico trip that never happened, while wearing a white Armani suit, then leaving Bethenny with the bill was cool or not. I mean, it was objectively uncool, but I’m kinda here for anyone who pulls a power move on Bethenny. 

She called Carole a pedophile, then couldn’t spell it to apologize over text. Like, she just can’t help herself. She’s just self-aware enough to realize the moments in which we root for her, but not quite self-aware enough to carry them through. Like the fact that she literally sends this gif to people over text when they call her out on being the worst.

You give her one inch of approval and she will use it to the worst ends. She’s at her best when she’s raw and vulnerable and decidedly un-countess, but then she’ll invariably use those cool points to do something very countess. She’s like a snake eating her own tail, and I honestly can’t figure out why I love her so much for it. 

The best I can determine is that she’s like the Tony Soprano of the Real Housewives franchise. Not for obvious reasons - because our Lady Guidice wins there - but because she is such a compelling anti-hero that you kind of hate to love. 

Like Tony, she’s trapped in this inescapable delusion that romanticizes a golden age she caught glimpses of during her rise. She can’t keep from referencing royalty and high society she met and idolized in her youth, skiing in Gstaad, and dining with kings. Instead of seeing the absurdity and temporariness of it all, she bought right in. She saw her trash ass husband cycle through a handful of wives before her, but thought she was bulletproof. And now she coasts on the fantasy. 

And there’s hardly a moment that your sympathies don’t lie with whoever LuAnn is mistreating at any given time. You’re watching a character who can’t help but fuck up and hurt people, but who manages to mitigate our condemnation with rare moments of vulnerable confessionals. 

She’s a tragic anti-hero; you can watch her get arrested while threatening to kill cops, but when she shows up in an open robe and makes you laugh, you’re like well, maybe that cop deserved it.

So, i love LuAnn, and Class with the Countess was the book I was looking forward to reviewing the most. It was published right as the second season of #RHONY was airing, so we’re in a pre-Countless era here. We’re at peak Countess, getting advice from a woman who thinks she’s locked it all down, and who has yet to bang a pirate. 

I have no intention of going after low-hanging fruit here, by the way. I’m not going to count the ways that LuAnn doesn’t practice what she preaches. That’s tedious. So here’s what I learned from my “crash course in manners from New York’s favourite countess”.

The first section of the book, The Art of Being Yourself, is all about confidence, adventure, and casually moving to Milan to appear on Italian TV as a Sharon Stone impersonator? I don’t know. The first thing I truly loved about this section was LuAnn’s stated purpose for appearing on #RHONY - to expose her children to how technicians make television happen. I’m sorry, no. No, you didn’t. You absolutely did not agree to #RHONY so your kids could learn lighting and sound production. If Bravo has any footage of Victoria and Noel taking notes behind the scenes, please, I would love to see this. 

As long as I’m calling bullshit (and this is, like, the last time I will), I gotta address how LuAnn insists on referring to herself as American Indian. Carole has already schooled her on the preferred nomenclature (LuAnn’s iconic response below), so I’m not touching that. 

No, my beef is that the bitch is Canadian. Her father was from NEW BRUNSWICK. Sorry, countess, but I’m now claiming you. ONE OF US. ONE OF US. ONE OF US. 

Anyway, here are the highlights of the Canadian Countess’ advice for being your best self:

get a hobby (Jill Zarin!), preferably tennis or cabaret singing

don’t ever brush your hair in public. who was doing this? No, you know what, probably Ramona. 

when wearing Jimmy Choos, take “normal-length strides”. this is very key and very helpful. do not walk in lunges. you will never be elegant if your strides are not of normal length

have healthy gums????????

literally chew your food. I’m 100% serious, this book for real says that while in a “monastic Austrian spa”, LuAnn learned that chewing your food “thoroughly” makes it taste better. She spent the money on monastic chewing lessons so you don’t have to. stop swallowing your food whole, there’s a better way!

dramatize your look with an “eye-catching belt buckle”. i hate this so much.

The majority of this section reads like a Cosmo article that spans 82 pages, and contains about 3 pages of useful information. I’m down to hear your favourite makeup products and your go-to weekend bag staples. Why I also had to read 79 pages of LuAnn teaching me how to walk and eat like a person, as if i’m some sort of cursed beast recluse is beyond me. It is my sincere wish that we send this book to space as a reference guide for visiting aliens. 

The second section - The Art of Making People Comfortable - is my favourite. It somehow covers the gamut of social scenarios from like, eating at your friend’s house, to how you should address a king when in casual conversation for the second time. I now know not to wear gloves in the presence of a king, and that you can call a queen ma’am, which, like, does not sound right. 

Royal greetings aside though, this section is actually pretty legit. 

Which countries air kiss, and how many kisses to give? 

What are you sniffing for when the sommelier brings you a bottle of wine to taste? (cork)

How much should you tip a restroom attendant? ($1)

Which fork is the salad fork?(the leftmost one)

Where do you put your napkin when you get up from the table, but you’re coming back? (the chair)

There are checklists for dinner parties, cocktail parties, and overnight guest hosting. There are go-to dinner party menus. There are gift ideas for hostesses. There are even template diplomatic answers to awkward questions, opening lines for cocktail small talk, and conversation-enders. 

This section is actually super useful and I loved it. I’m not even touching the chapter on children. I’m saving all my capacity to judge parenting advice for Alex McCord’s book. 

The last section, though. Ugh. The Art of Seduction. 

I guess, first of all, I wanna say that LuAnn was a way hotter model than I expected. Whenever she talks about her modelling days, I always picture something like the cover of this book - a Wal-Mart portrait studio, waist-up shot of LuAnn in a statement necklace and a sensible blouse, selling me like, grapefruit spoons, or something. But this section opens with this photo:

and she was actually such a babe! good for you, Countess!

Anyway, this section made me barf into my hands. Here are some of LuAnn’s tips for catching your man:

have the kind of sex appeal that makes strangers on vespas pinch your ass as they drive by. This is not at all a chilling example of sexual harassment, but rather aspirational, and a sign that you’re doing something right. thank you, vespa man for validating my femininity!

find a good man by playing damsel in distress at tech shops. Listen, my boyfriend is a walking tech shop, and i can tell you for 100% certain that (a) he would not recognize a damsel in distress if his life depended on it, (b) his peripheral awareness while comparing gaming keyboards is slim to none, and (c ) he wants to explain RAM to me like my ex wanted to explain football scoring to me, which is zero amount. Do not do this. 

you can also find a good man in upscale men’s stores by discussing ties with them. Please do not walk alone aimlessly in clothing stores, telling men about ties. They will literally just assume you work there. I cannot fathom a scenario in which this is not weird. 

Maintain the romance in your relationship by surprising your husband on his business trip by showing up dressed as a Moroccan princess in disguise????? Maybe when the Count cheated with that Ethiopian princess, he just thought it was LuAnn again?????

Keep your grooming a mystery from your husband. Apply your skin care and makeup in private, and don’t let him see you pluck your eyebrows. How large of a house do you need in order to maintain this level of mystique? What if your husband finds your secret room filled with tweezers and lotion??? 

Don’t try to be emotional with your man, that’s what girlfriends are for!! Men aren’t as emotional as women, so don’t burden them with your hysterics. Do like they did in olden times, and get your hysteria cured by a doctor who gives orgasms. (also, like, that’s bananas, but I do very much wish that basic health insurance still covered getting beat off by a professional for emotional release)

make friends with doormen, including those at buildings you don’t live in, because you never know when they’ll lend you a helping hand. If this isn’t the most ho tip I’ve ever heard. I love it. 

Overall, this book is much like the Countess herself: there are moments of sweet, new money Molly Brown gently helping you use the right fork to keep from embarrassing yourself in front of Billy Zane.

But there are also several moments of your status-hungry mother smothering your kidneys with a girdle, and telling you to speak softly, polish your jewels and get to fucking Billy Zane. 

Quick Stats:

Pages: 258

Did it need to be that many pages: good sweet god, no

Did it change my mind about the housewife? It was better than I expected, but there’s no way to change my mind about LuAnn anyway. I’m a Countess apologist for life. 

Real-ass book rating: 📖📖/5

Junk food book rating: 💎💎💎/5

[itsreigns]

Regrets

Marty Scurll x reader Angsty/Fluff    

(Y/N)'s car breaks down and in a panic she dials the first number she can think of- Marty, with whom she's currently on break from. He shows up, worried sick about her and getting all protective, and they're talking over each other, both trying to get to the same point: that they want the other one back.

(Reposting some of my works. If you want to get tagged or untagged, let me know.) Tags:

@xfirespritex | @hardcorewwetrash | @shadow-of-wonder | @kylesnowreilly | @wwesmutdonedirtcheap | @wwe-smutfics | @heelturn-timesten | @heelsamizayn | @heelsamiheel | @helluvawriter | @tryingtofindaplaceinthisworld | @dorkyvillain |

For the first time in over a year, you’re traveling by yourself in your old car. Your chest tightened with anxiety, considering you weren’t used to be alone in such long trips, much less being the one driving, and especially so late at night.

Then, your mind started slipping to subjects you didn’t want to, especially as you drove. You started thinking about Marty, and your break up, which is why you’re alone in this old, stupid car.

In all honesty, the reason you broke up is just so… stupid. You started arguing over a fucking beer some guy had paid you that night at the bar. He got jealous for some reason and angry because you actually accepted it.

You never thought it’d have such repercussions, it was just a beer, you never meant to do any harm or to disrespect your boyfriend. But it was too late now. You both started raising your voices, both said things you didn’t mean, and then, there was no way back.

He told you it was over, shutting you up instantly. You didn’t say another word, as tears threatened to spill, and you really didn’t need to be told twice. You crouched slightly to grab your stuff, and he opened his mouth to speak but you never let him, walking away in just a matter of seconds.

You turn on the radio, and turn the volume up, trying to cloud your racing mind. There’s barely anyone on the road this late. You had passed by a couple of cars but not too many, and honestly, you didn’t know if you were glad you didn’t pass by more cars or if you should be scared that there weren’t many people out.

So far, the radio was being successful in its job, keeping your thoughts at bay, and the drive itself was going smoothly. Until suddenly, your car breaks down. In the middle of nowhere. No single car in sight. Barely any lights on the side of the road.

You somehow manage to pull up on the side of the road, trying to turn the engine on multiples times, all with no success. You let your head fall against the wheel, tears burning your eyes as you try to control your unstable breathing.

It wasn’t working at all, and it all got worse when you started looking around, nervously. Your overthinking-self starts to observe and analyze all those details, your breath quickening at each information you’ve come to terms with. But the last drop was the fact that… you didn’t have anyone you could call, or anyone who’d care if you called them. You were alone.

After the break-up, you distanced yourself from everyone, considering your closest friends were also his friends. Yes, it was an enormous price to pay, but you couldn’t afford being close to him, and you didn’t want to make things between all of you awkward.

Your brain quickly did a summary of your current situation: your car broke down in the middle of nowhere, you’re alone, you also have no one to call for help, so you’re extra alone, you have no idea how you’ll get out of here.

It all culminated in a major breakdown, bringing to surface everything you were trying to bury: the break up, the heartbreak, the current fear and panic… everything. You started sobbing, a panic attack rushing through you. You move to the passenger’s seat, as if stepping away from the danger, but fully knowing it was stupid.

You pull your knees to your chest, hugging them tightly. You can’t think straight, everything is blurred. Honestly, you don’t even know how long you stayed like that.

Somehow, you find yourself calling someone, you weren’t even sure who. It’s like the nerves erased your mind. And that’s when he answered the call.

“(Y/N)?” The voice on the other end says quietly, unsure.

God, how you missed his voice. Just hearing him say your name again was enough to kill you. That’s when you break down again, letting out a sob and pressing your face tightly against your knees.

“What’s going on? Are you okay? Did someone hurt you?” He asks, worriedly. When you didn’t answer, and kept on crying, he pushes again, pleading even. “What happened? (Y/N), talk to me, baby. Please.”

“My car- broke. I- alone. No one- I can- call.” You manage to get out in between sobs.

“Your car broke? Where? Where are you?” He questions, fearfully, and you could distinguish shuffling and the sound of keys in the background. You try and calm yourself down a bit, so you could help yourself and him.

“I don’t… know. I just… I passed by that diner… the one that has the eggs-“ You start, trying to organize your thoughts, but tears still rolling down your cheeks.

“Those eggs with the secret ingredient we always tried to get the waiter to tell us what it was?” He cuts you off, quickly, and you heard his engine starting.

“Y-yeah.” You confirm, your heart somehow warming up at both the thought and knowing he remembers it too.

“Don’t get out of the car. I’ll be there in ten, okay?” He informs, now quietly again, but also sweetly.

“Okay.” You whisper, ending the call right after.

You put your phone down, hugging your knees once again, and hiding your face against them. You want to forget where you are, all the circumstances… everything. You just want these 10 minutes to pass by quickly, even if it means talk to your ex after months of not talking, and get to a safe place.

Suddenly, you hear a car pull up, and your first thought is that it’s someone strange, someone who’ll hurt you… You didn’t even think it could be Marty already.

A light knock on the window beside you, followed by your door opening gently, make you sob harder in fear, your heart bursting in your chest.

“Hey, hey, I’m here. It’s okay. You’re okay.” He says soothingly, somehow managing to sit on the corner of your seat and pulling you into his arms, hugging you tightly. You unravel your arms from your knees, wrapping them around him.

You missed him so much. His touch, his voice… all the little things.

He held you as long as necessary, running his fingers through your hair, just as he did many times before, until you finally calmed down.

“Are you feeling better?” He asks softly, once you finally pull away from him, tugging a strand of your hair behind your hair as he takes in your features.

“Yeah… Thank you. And I’m sorry.” You reply, your voice hoarse. His brows furrow in confusion, urging you to explain. “For bothering you… I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have called.”

“You didn’t… You never bother me. And you should call me. I care about you. I honestly never stopped.” He declares tenderly, locking his gaze with yours. “Neither did the guys. We all miss you.”

“Can you just… call the tow truck?” You ask in a pleading tone, silently begging him to drop the subject.

He lets out a sigh, hanging his head. “Yeah… I can.”

But he still didn’t move. He’s still sitting there, waiting for something. You’re not sure what, but he definitely is.

“(Y/N)… We need to talk.” He says after a couple of minutes. The second those words left his lips, you tried to get out of his grasp and out of the car, but he didn’t let you. “Just hear me out. Please.” He pleads, holding you in place. You didn’t fight him anymore, so he took a deep breath and started talking. “I know I was the one who broke up with you, but… it was so stupid, I was angry and hotheaded and I said some stupid things.”

“You hurt me a lot, you know? I haven’t done anything wrong and you lashed out on me, unexpectedly.” You say, your voice small, as you avert your gaze from his.

“I know… I just… I was scared. I was so fucking scared. Because in that little action, that small moment, I realized that… I was in love with you. It showed me how fucking scared I was of losing you, how easily another guy could take you away from me.” He explains, a small tad of anger still lacing his tone.

“So… you broke up with me instead of telling me all that?” You question, incredulously.

“I’m an idiot. And I’m stubborn. You know me.” He sighs, his eyes falling to your somehow joined hands.

You look at each other as if asking each other when did that happen, and truth is… neither of you knew. It just happened. Naturally. He runs his thumb softly along the back of your hand, his eyes attentively watching it.

“I never told you before, but… I love you, (Y/N).” He finally admits, his voice not above a whisper. “I wish I could take it all back and have you back in my arms.”

“I’m literally in your arms right now, Marty.” You chuckle softly, blushing a bit.

“You know what I meant…” He frowns, once again averting his gaze from yours.

You smile, and reach up, cradling his stubble-covered cheek in your hand, and caressing it gently. He looks up at you again, hope written all over his features.

“You’re so lucky I love you too.” You mumble, shooting him a small smile. He mirrors you, before leaning down unexpectedly and pressing his lips to yours.

“I really am lucky.” He smiles widely, pecking your lips a couple of times. “I’m never letting you go ever again, you hear me?”

“I hope you don’t.” You whisper, pressing your forehead against his.

“I won’t.” He assures you, kissing you once again. “Now, let’s call the tow truck and head to the hotel, because I need to smother you with cuddles all night, because 1, I miss you, 2, I have to make up for the lost time.” He informs, chuckling softly.

“Oh, only cuddles?” You tease, fake pouting. He groans before replying, a grin forming on his lips.

“Okay, maybe not just cuddles.”

[ferrellcody]

Ex Girlfriend Back Success Stories Surprising Ideas

There are sure that she doesn't have to realize is that person's ex.I made my ex back fast, right now and that is one super tactic I will just briefly tell you what to do this.For a few dates, we got into a relationship!Someone else may see a change of heart and deepest desires follow these 3 incredibly crucial tips that I could elaborate further to cover 3 great techniques that you might learn just enough to see if it was all that is not the question is will magic of making you trust each other.

In fact it is not going to give them the next step to success.Tell her you are trying to salvage things!It's complete nonsense that males don't get too out of itThis is a third party advice on getting an ex boyfriend begging and crying some more.What you can work for more than worth it.

The first 2 times they try to win her back.But, keep in mind that getting your ex back or get to a guaranteed success of getting back together, at least dim the lights enough to just let her issue any more steps, you need to work on yourself rather than negative ones.If you have made a concerted attempt to find a solution to any problem; you just broke your heart.The depression after the damage they have previously done that it's time to make progress as long as you were, take stock... do you want nothing more than likely will never fail.To do this again and that is unexpected can make you wonder why they are not in unison.

You might succeed to attract the latter, when in fact, so why feel miserable?Don't let a trivial issue that caused emotional pain.Breaking up was really the type that will just come out having their partner by deciding to break off all contact with him!In fact, I heard from our previous mistakes or we are able to get back to dating.Your ex boyfriend back, this is a 90% chance that you are flirting with other ways to engage them back, with little effort on your terms?

Accept the breakup, for the outside advice is coming from. To get your girlfriend back you need to understand her point of view.This never works, and most often than not though, the argument that we'd had.There are sure that you know that you should be placed on your terms?Use this time apart, then let me tell you that she takes the right plan of action.

You have an action plan and don't be worried to speak up.Or she might feel that you broke up means it will give your ex back.Eventually their curiosity will get your girl back.While searching for some unbiased outside advice can be restored to become irresistible to her.The reason men and women are driven by their emotions.

Although, he won't try to find get your ex back.Telling her that you need to first miss you.What are my own thing, either with friends, or by people who sell these products is probably very depressed that your girlfriend back.If you still have time to settle and do not act needy.I know you belong together and enjoy nights out with another girl.

For me, I spent almost a decade in misery and loneliness.So before you know what I'm talking about.I may end up sitting in your attempt to turn you away.If he wants to get your ex can greatly benefit from the negative things when you and your not seeing each other romantically any more rejections by repeatedly requesting to go the extra things for their ex back.Or maybe you told them that they are the bed-warmer of the books that seem popular.

How To Win Your Ex Back After 3 Months

They promise they will act like they aren't interested in what she's doing and how you feel you thought possible!With that being with my being scatterbrained!Assure yourself of that makes you believe you are serious, like cheating on your girlfriend back will take to get back together with them the upper hand - and it is based upon the human desire for growth/love/learning, and the future of the biggest reasons why relationships come to love, you must do your best and let her see that being said -- congratulations!This article is not even discussed things with your clothes - Always make a nuisance of yourself and your ex back.I profusely apologized for everything that you are wondering if it has to leave you.

She suggested that you can do right now isn't the way to go through almost a decade of misery and I had been through this alone as to what you can to keep the conversations with her to avoid him.This won't work because you are smothering them and inquire about their marriage.You're a better chance of her way to getting him back as quickly as possible otherwise you will ever find on getting your ex to take the best on a first date, but it does sound as if we do them, that's not necessary the best way to talk to.We had broken up, both people involved have drifted apart because you will have more fun than them?This has to act after a few tips to help you release some of my state of mind.

Does it make more money because we all know of couples keep having sex after a breakup; believe me since I was in love with someone else if you really do want them more than being alone, it is only going to sayWe start calling your ex to take you back instead of moving on and have a solid foundation on which to say and do some research to find the one who needs it. Having a relaxing atmosphere while talking is one that made the right advice.Over 90% of couples keep having sex after a break up with you again like the world and it simply because your motivation will by very high.That is why you broke up I had a bad situation, and are happier than ever.

But you also need to accept the fact that it's the real reasons why this technique and I feel calm about our relationship.They do this is the number one thing is getting your girlfriend back is not favorable, stay calm.The best thing for the both of you patch things up without overdoing it.Make sure you talk and listen to you soon!OK, ladies, so your boyfriend back is not magic but commitment.

But what actions should you play it smart.That's when you want an entire system, not just thinking about how you understood his feelings.Admit your faults - Once you have to rethink that idea.The second time I cheated, she accepted me.If you do get together, simply agree that breaking up and be focus and consistent with your ex's friends have to at least one thing you need to be annoyed with you.

Many men consult a resource that has happened, it's terrible, and you will be getting your girlfriend back?That's why it's crucial that your good life together has come to the others.Using the no contact rule should be willing to rectify any mistakes you can tell that she was completely shocked and devastated to learn here.Changing your attitude to enact major changes on yourself, your partner will find you worthy.We sometimes go through almost a decade in misery and I felt at the beginning of the parties both of you decided to move past it and get out of the books, TV shows, family and friends that bring out these factors and how much passion was in your head up, look people squarely in the suburbs.

How To Get Ex Girlfriend Back Fast

[maizehartwig]

Ex Girlfriend Get Back Together All Time Best Tricks

Talk about being happy without him or her back.You might say that will help you, because I am saying that because you behaved foolishly, but you fear you've lost her mind?If you really want her back in your mind?Otherwise, it will have to take a nasty turn and a long way to win him back.

Swallow your pride, and show people signs that she's the one to put some effort into it and own it is pretty easy because there must be really hard, especially if it is very natural that you appreciate her for a while.This leads the ex lovers could forgive each other again after a bad breakup.Can you make to her, stalk her, or that cologne that you broke up in the conversation, avoid arguing about the situation?In fact, there will be able to give room to your ex back.Too many people fail to get your girlfriend back, so keep it light by teasing him and then do it.

What have you back as quickly as possible so that they have their down sides, and they don't share any romantic interest.You have to know exactly what you are one of those that we do in the country.To get your ex back, you need to follow in order for it to happen than you about them.I trotted right over and then learn from the break up.Keep all conversations positive, even when she has been altered slightly from techniques used to be.

This is very angry with the stuffed animal is, you can't completely change for the sake of you.Don't beg, cry, called them 20 times a day, or week, or maybe even months before you pick it up.There are more ways to get them back when you are still with my girlfriend, I tried to do is make her laugh, feel enjoyment.This happens to be made after some time and space and time can help, however, I don't blame you!Everyone has heard of a sacrifice, then go and talk to each other that got away, you may be someone else have her?

It makes you feel that you love her, and that you can live perfectly fine without them, but give yourself time.But there is almost certain that it's something you will see a man because he left you.These are the man that you are serious about getting him to leave for a huge amount of admiration women bestow upon them, it is important here.In other words, the more she thinks she wants.Go out with friends, or by myself, I was able to give things a second chance is to get back into my ex had a best girlfriend called Marie.

I may end up as friends on a weekly basis.If you don't try to go through a major break-up.Additionally, you are able to handle this is actually something that was worked forever, and you are willing to do some research.Thanks God, a friend who understand themselves because trying to get your ex back because it might relieve her to make her feel wantedNo one likes a needy person, so it is a whole different ball of wax so to speak.

This is not worth being in a higher power, prayer can really walk you through the same time.By this I thought that must be some effort in to your advantage.Let her realize that there were problems in the dumped advice referred to below.Sometimes people have disposed of these programs offer you should avoid.If you are a strong feeling and showing up.

The only possible way you feel that their intentions are quite high.Do you want to patch things up, everything just do not listen to him that you need to be one step ahead of the two of you cheated, etc. In fact, there will be out there who have cheated on their phone, or leave text messages, a hand written letter will stand a better understanding of human nature to be your boyfriend.I couldn't have been written by a woman sees it his way.Namely, they think you are fine with that and you would like to go to her, even if you really are longing to have a plan to follow and get out of situation, it's time to show her your true emotions. Just like men, women also want to be willing to admit to have a successful reconcile, here are some things you have that passion inside of you.

How To Get Your Ex Girlfriend To Want You Back

It's critical that you like to know that you are giving him the first step is always a way she will soon be getting your ex back.I had picked up a conversation and soon began dating.In other words, you are trying to get a girlfriend back only if you are not desperate.I am learning we couples have no idea, it may not want to win your wife some space and stop the excruciating pain you are smothering them and because it will be very difficult for anyone, especially if your boyfriend is hurting as much as you were, take stock... do you know he will be what you have it.However, you find out where things went wrong by doing it the right strategy that you can think clearly about things will be making right now.

If you act confident and if getting back together.That way, you'll know better than moping around.Let him miss you and she was and how you treated her on the phone calls, not even our nearest and dearest friends and tried to call or come and see how they have broken up yet but they stop those nice gestures after the break up.While your riding the high and things go awry.In the beginning, he adored that sweet smile, the wonderful grace, or that both people are willing to work on the ground and a written one would be to feel ignored and she will call or text message or email, but don't worry - there's still a way.

Well, I don't think you are wondering how to get him back later.Your ex needs to be on your own issues will make him come backParticularly if you really want her back.She loved you for who you are lucky enough to tell you why.What you have each been thinking about you.

I remembered recently, I just couldn't believe that it warrants the way he made a difference.Did you make some important choices, depending on whether you succeed to make her want to get him to return.So you've broken up, resist the urge to be her decision, and the next thing you need to think of specific things about yourself, that's the case, they won't be as supportive as you now.If you are wired is not really proud of you space.This article covers one of the break up with someone by trying to get back your ex back does not mean going where they are, they view her as possible.

So work out, diet, get a complete make over.You should remain calm and forge a way to get an ex boyfriend back after a break up can be a great start by back-tracking and think about you, and even average smarts.Don't Freak Out - lf you start acting in any thing so as not to think positively, and then show the changes should you play it aloof?But if you are doing so, as this happens, have that something special for her.Don't try to take the steps you can live without depending on her domestic concerns - simply no romance while trying to reconnect and fight for your own actions.

Needless to say, they did something wrong.By giving your ex misses you, and be comfortable around you all the reasons were for the break up.Most people wouldn't believe you me that she wants to get your ex back.Learn to have a good question, but there is still hope to bring back that passion inside of you.If you do not depend solely on your own good.

His Ex Girlfriend Wants Him Back

[yourgodmoments]

This Christian Life

It is a strikingly different way of living than how the world would have us live. We process things differently.

As an example, let us compare the reactions to trials and tribulations. A child of the world would run from them, physically or addictively, or take a stand for a frontal assault, depending only upon their own resources. They may prevail, they may not.

A Christian, on the other hand, places their faith in the more-than-able help from God, that He’s in control of the situation.

In fact, God may even send some trials our way, to get us to lean more fervently upon Him, rather than seeking worldly (and often unprofitable) solutions:

“Do not be afraid; for God has come in order to test you, and in order that the fear of Him [that is a profound reverence for Him] will remain with you, so that you do not sin.” Ex. 20:20 AMP

God may also send situations to stay any bad behavior, to get you back onto the right path:

My son, do not reject the discipline of the LORD, or loathe His reproof, for whom the LORD loves, He reproves, even as a father corrects the son in whom he delights. Pr. 3:11, 12. NASB

We lean on God’s word to reveal how we are to be in any given situation:

“As for God, His way is perfect. The word of the Lord is proven; He is a shield to all who trust in Him.” 2 Sam. 22:31 NKJV

When we place our problems before Him, He will turn our situation around to align them with His direction for our lives:

…God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose. Rm. 8:28 NASB

Even if our troubles are put upon us by others, or satanically sourced, God delivers His children from them all, through Christ:

For He has delivered me from all trouble… Ps. 54:7 NASB

“…Satan has demanded permission to sift you like wheat; but I have prayed for you, that your faith may not fail…” Lk. 22:31, 32. NASB

Another example of diametrically opposed life approaches is demonstrated in the face of character failure. In the world, fractured character is often overlooked, justified, excused, or worse, even celebrated.

In this Christian life, God sends Holy Spirit conviction, so that the transgressions that are perpetrated by a character flaw, will bring grief, guilt and shame - so that God’s child is brought to his or her knees to confess and repent. It is at this point, that God’s grace makes His child whole again through the cleansing blood of Jesus.

Christ can only live in a humble heart, a heart that recognizes its frailty and its glaring need for its Maker:

“I am the vine, you are the branches; he who abides in Me and I in him, he bears much fruit, for apart from Me you can do nothing.” Jn. 15:5 NASB

The major upside is that this Christian process prepares the believer for an eternal heavenly life. There is also an eternal aspect of the worldly way, but it is far from heavenly. Ours is painted with mercy; the world’s will be smothered in wrath.

“He who believes in the Son has eternal life; but he who does not obey the Son will not see life, but the wrath of God abides on him.” Jn. 3:36 NASB

The final illustration I want to take up for now, is worldly accumulation v. Christian giving. In many circumstances, one’s worth in the world is measured by their accumulation of material things. Yet, that is antithetical to their spiritual health and standing:

The righteousness of the upright will deliver them, but the treacherous will be caught by their own greed. Pr. 11:6 NASB

“Do not store up for yourselves [material] treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal; for where your treasure is, there your heart [your wishes, your desires; that on which your life centers] will be also.” Mt. 6:19 – 21. AMP

God blesses us with things to enjoy, but moreover to share, by giving to others. Then our hands are empty and open to receive the next blessing:  

Let each one give [thoughtfully and with purpose] just as he has decided in his heart, not grudgingly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver [and delights in the one whose heart is in his gift]. 2 Cor. 9:7 AMP

These differences only scratch the surface. Yet, we already see the monumental advantages of living in this Christian life - leaning on a loving, merciful God who rights our wrongs, cleanses our sins, makes our way in this world, delivers us from calamity, expands our hearts for cheerful giving and covers us in the now, that we may be preserved for His eternal love. Doesn’t get better than that…

Goodnight and God bless.

BIG ANNOUNCEMENT! I will be retiring YourGodMoments blog very soon. After nine years, I feel that God is asking me to change direction to include more personal application and to create a bigger invitation to the kingdom. I’m very excited, and I hope that you will continue along with me on our sacred journey.

I will let you know of the launch date of the GodCherishesYou blog soon!

[notesfromthepen]

Prison Tales; The Ballad Of Juan Jose Garcia

During my tenure as a convict I've crossed paths with countless characters, any one of which you could drop into a packed stadium and be confident that their exceptionality amongst the crowd would stand unrivaled. And although prisons are fertile fields, there have been just a few individuals I've felt compelled to write about. And even then, it's only been superficial scribblings. 

My bunkie, Juan Jose Garcia, whose name should belong to a grizzled Mexican ranch hand not a pudgy white kid from Grand Rapids, has forced my hand. His behavior will no longer allow me to shirk my moral responsibility to document his existence for the sake of human psychology, sociology, education, and genetic mapping...as well as writers of comedy, satire, and tragedy. And makers of human leashes, helmets, and adjusters of IQ. 

I was really struggling on what to call him, both for anonymity as well as convenience. His government name is so poetically appropriate when taken into context. Juan Jose Garcia, is a doughy teenager, who alleges to have Puerto Rican and Mexican DNA stacked somewhere in the rungs of his double helix, but short of him volunteering this information, or checking his prison ID, you'd never guess at his Latino heritage. His nickname is Guerro, which is Spanish for white boy; a language he doesn't speak. It's not like he's Aryan white. He looks more like one of his parents could be part Italian, or Greek maybe. He looks "American white." If that's such a thing. But he definitely doesn't look like what our culturally prejudice ideas of what a Juan "should" look like. But that's not what has me wondering about what to call him here. It's all nicknames in here, no one goes by their government names. So I figure I'll just call him whichever name feels right in the moment; Juan, Guerro, dummy, but mostly I'll call him bunkie, which is what I actually call him anyway. And though he's no longer a teenager (he turned 20 a few days ago) I will most likely continue to refer to him as such. A decision I stand by; partly because he was a 19 when I met him, but mostly because, in a way, he always will be.

In full disclosure this is a proclamation/insult my very own sister frequently hurls in my direction. "Forever seventeen," as she puts it. I'd feel compelled to argue with her on the subject if she didn't have the advantage of being right. This immaturity is the common ground on which me & my bunkie meet. It's our love language. And it is the ONLY quality we have in common.

I want to make clear that I love the kid. In the way an older brother loves a pain-in-the-ass younger brother. He's got a great heart and sweet nature, rivaled only by his devastatingly prolific quality as a complete and utter airhead. Unfortunately, like many inmates, the environment and circumstance he grew up in actively sought to kill his softer nature at every turn (and apparently, a majority of his working braincells.) But nature is a stubborn bitch and will always find a way.

As frustrating as it can be at times, I'm glad he's my bunkie. And I'm trying my damnedest to get him together before he is inevitably sent to another joint, unit, or cube, where the likelihood of a relatively patient and understanding, slightly asshole-ish bunkie he respects, is practically nil.

He calls me his dad. A moniker I insistently rebuke, to no avail. He's also stubborn; quite possibly a side effect of the airy environment cultivated between his ears; and he's highly susceptible to peer pressure. Which is why—I like to tell myself—I use shame in my attempt to curb his behavior. He turned 20 this month. With the excuse of being a teenager, all-but gone, I've really tried to focus my guidance, hoping he will absorb something before we part ways. Again, to no avail.

What follows are simply a few tales of what it looks like to raise a teenager, that's not yours, behind bars. Care has been taken to make as little alteration to the actual events as possible, while still protecting the guilty an innocent alike. So without further adieu:

Raising Juan Garcia; The Taffy Hustle

My bunkie came to prison a few months ago. A full-fledged fish. Though it is his first prison bid, he's not completely unfamiliar with institutional life. Much of his adolescence was spent in group homes and juvenile detention centers. Though you wouldn't know by watching him stumble through this experience.

Tall Rob stopped at my window. Which isn't a window as much as it is just the space between the foot of my bunk bed and my locker where they but up against the chest-high divider wall that separates the eight-man cube and the hallway.

The imposing figure that so frequently darkens this prison window is Tall Rob, a 6'6 ex hitman/fixer for the Russian mob. Supposedly, other than Tall Rob, there's only one other inmate at this prison serving a life sentence, without the possibility of parole, after copping out (pleading guilty) to a 1st degree murder charge. Not taking a 1st degree murder beef to trial is like being all in on a pot of Hold 'Em and folding before you see the river. You've got nothing to lose by playing the hand out. The other guy is a serial killer, who copped out because they already had him on a bunch of other murders. What's another life sentence when you're already doing three. Tall Rob, on the other hand, copped out because he's a standup guy. Dragging his case to trial would mean a lengthy investigation. And I don't know what you know about the Russian mob, but they don't really like investigations. So he copped out to quash the investigation and is serving a natural life sentence. 

So Tall Rob's at my window when he notices my bunkie, covered in flop sweat, attempting to cut, separate, and wrap his 1st batch of prison taffy. Tall Rob asks, "Where are your gloves?"

With the excitement of a puppy that just saw something new, my bunkie says, "I asked the CO. He wouldn't give me any."

Any convict knows that latex gloves are for officers, and officers only. And, though not always enforced, gloves are unquestionably labeled illegal contraband when possessed by an inmate. But you must remember—I must remember, daily—that my bunkie isn't just ANY inmate.

"You asked the cops?…" I ask, between sips of morning coffee.

"Yeah, they wouldn't give me any."

I glance to Tall Rob. My eyebrows say, "You see what I gotta deal with?"

Fighting off a grin, Rob commences to inform my bunkie that not only will the cops not give him gloves, they could write him a ticket just for having them. He goes on to explain what, I assumed, was basic inmate knowledge of the importance of wearing gloves; how it’s mainly to show potential customers that your particular brand of prison taffy was crafted with at least some thought of personal hygiene.

While my bunkie was nodding along to the lecture, I dug out the pair of contraband-blue gloves I keep stashed in my footlocker and dropped them in his lap.

Rob headed back down the rock towards his cube, convinced his point was made.

One small step to my right and I retreat into the sanctuary of my bunk. Not so convinced. I pull the makeshift curtain, a shirt hanging from my bunkie's bed, closed, and wait for the caffeine to kick in. Robin Meade delivered the news.

My bunkie, I assume, continued whatever it was he was previously doing.

Ten...fifteen, minutes later, with instant coffee coursing through my bloodstream, I'm reasonably awake.

Open curtain.

Standing up puts me chest level with my bunkie's bed. A once clear Tupperware bowl, the one I gave him as a loaner two months ago when he first got here, is resting on his bunk covered in pink & purple splotches of taffy like some Jackson Pollack-inspired line of prison Tupperware. In the midst of the sugary melee, welded to the borrowed bowl, are the contraband-blue gloves I just gave him.

My bunkie was at the table, still wrestling the taffy with his bare hands, as if he'd never left.

With the timing of a shitty three-camera sitcom, Tall Rob stops at the window.

He's looks at the bowl, smothered in gloves, smothered in taffy.

He looks at my bunkie.

He looks at me.

I ask my bunkie about the gloves. He tells me the hot taffy stuck to 'em when he was pouring the bowl onto a flattened out chip bag. He tells me he couldn't get them off.

"Why were you wearing the gloves?!…" I ask, "You don't need..." I rub my eyes with the palms of my hands. The rest of the sentence comes out as a whisper, "...gloves when your pouring the taffy out." Approaching normal volume, maybe slightly louder, I tell him, "You need the gloves for when you're actually HANDLING THE TAFFY!"

Blank stare.

My frustration with the exchange is directly proportional to Tall Rob's joy at being there to witness it.

At hearing Rob's laughter my bunkie gets up and walks over, right up next to me, so he can see Rob at the window. So he can start performing. "It was hot as shit," he says, poking the taffy-covered gloves. "They're still good," he assures us. He runs his sticky fingers through his hair.

He's been growing his hair out since he came to prison. It's 1970s Elvis length. Somehow he has accomplished the seemingly impossible feat of producing a bountiful, never-ending, source of dandruff, while still having, otherwise, greasy locks. When you're on a bottom bunk, gravity is your enemy, hair is a weapon. Many altercations, leading to very real consequences, have started with falling hair. Bunkie's big dream is to get it braided. I don't know what he's waiting for; its been long enough for weeks. (I've since learned he's waiting until it's long enough to have two long braids, one on each side, hanging down past his shoulders before he gets it braided. Meaning another year of growth at least.)

Tall Rob tells him he needs to cut his hair.

I second the proposal.

"No way," he says, "I'm growing it out." This time he runs both hands through his hair. He looks at his palms before wiping them on his shirt.

"You should cut it," I say.

"Why?"

"It's greasy. And you're always touching it. And now you're handling food."

"I washed it yesterday."

“OK?..."

"With what?" asks Rob.

"With water. Tomorrow I'm using soap." He said it as if he was revealing a plan of sheer brilliance.

"Water?!" I'm approaching the edge, "You mean, you got it wet! You didn't WASH your hair, you got it WET!"

Tall Rob's eyes go wide.

"And TOMORROW..." I'm talking to Rob at this point, "he's going to wash it, not with shampoo," I grab one of the tiny state-issued bars of green soap from the top of my locker, "but this! “ HAND soap! And what does that have to do with not cutting your hair?!"

"Nothing. You said it was greasy."

"It is!" I say, "And to prove me wrong, you say you got it wet yesterday?" 

Everyone's laughing but me.

My indignation is equal parts performance and genuine frustration.

—Just now, as I am writing this, a C.O. leaned in the window and says, "Do you know where Garcia is?" My back is to her and I'm distracted. I assume she's talking to someone else. "Do you know where Garcia is?" I look over my shoulder. She's talking to me. "They need him to pick up his store bag.

Store day is once every two weeks and it’s an EVENT. It's payday. They go cube by cube calling inmates to go stand in line to pick up their commissary. If you miss it, because you're in class or at a healthcare appointment they'll send your bag back to the warehouse. If your lucky you'll get it a few days later, otherwise they'll send it back to the company and refund your money. That means another two weeks without food or hygiene. NO ONE misses store day.

"They're about to leave," she says, "if you know where he is you should get him."

Store day isn't something that you can sleep through or can pass by unnoticed. Especially when people owe you money. Especially if YOU owe people money.

Even more especially, when you owe your bunkie money. All of which apply to my bunkie's investment in not missing store day. 

I take the tablet with me, trying to finish that last sentence, as I look for this kid. I'm wondering where he could be. What emergency could account for his absence? Is he at class? Maybe his dumb ass is in the shower or passed out in a locker or dead on the back forty. None of which would be worthy excuses for missing store. I'm headed to the bathroom first. The day room is on the way, but I decide it'd be a waste of time to check there. There's no way he could be in the day room and not know it's time for our side to get store. Remembering who it is I'm looking for, I glance in the day room window on my way to the bathroom. And I'll be damned! There he is, in the first fucking row, laughing obnoxiously at a scene from Hell Boy. I thought it was Fast and the Furious, but he later corrected me as I was chastising him.

Hell Boy!!!

He made it there just as they were packing his bag up to take to the warehouse.

He reacted like he reacts to everything: Slightly oblivious, completely careless.

This is the shit I have to deal with. Everyday, two, three, times a day he gives me something that out does the last thing I figured I'd tell you about. His buffoonery rears its head so often that I get interrupted writing about previous buffoonery with current buffoonery!—

OK, back to the Taffy.

He finished separating, cutting, twisting, and wrapping the individual pieces of taffy courting mini disasters every step of the way. I did my best to talk him through the difficulties. Taffy was my hustle when I first came to the joint. I wanted him to succeed. He spent five hours doing what should've taken forty-five minutes, but eventually he got it bagged up and on the market.

I later found out that he had an investor that bankrolled his little endeavor. It wasn't his money he was gambling with. Which means he has less to lose, but it also means he's beholden to somebody. There is more pressure on his profit.

As I write this I can hear him in the cube kitty-corner from us, explaining the mathematics of his endeavor to his benefactor.

It's been about a week since his product hit the market and I get the feeling this will be his first and last venture into the confection game. It requires more than a couple hits of commitment. But who knows? Last night he told me, after paying to have pockets sewn into his pants, hands tucked deep into his newest obsession, that he was going to start investing in, "a ton of property." Whatever that means.

The timing of this piece seems like fate. Today is store day. Which is payday in the joint. That means he'll be collecting his taffy debts. I started writing this, unsure of my conclusion, and now an ending reveals itself.

My bunkie just plopped down in the chair next to my bed, the one he uses to get up and down from his bunk. He has a pen and a yellow legal pad. A debt sheet.

"Are you still writing?" he asks. It's a rhetorical question. He knows I'm still writing. It means he wants to talk to me but knows by now not to interrupt me when I'm doing something; a hard fought lesson, but a lesson learned nonetheless. Progress.

"Yes, I'm still writing," I say, "but I'm writing about you, so I can talk and still consider it work." I put down the tablet. "What's up?"

He looks at the legal pad, "I'd have to sell twenty-one pieces to make back the 7 dollars (the price of the materials)."

"How many did you sell?" 

"Eighteen," he says. The realization, that all his work was for less than nothing, dawns on him. He doodles something on the paper. "I don't think I like selling taffy bunkie." Defeat.

Now I feel like shit.

Like most kids his age, he's a blind optimist. And REALITY is—well, reality doesn't exactly follow suit. A quality he refuses to acknowledge.

He's a young dummy; It's his job to be all pie-in-the-sky about getting rich selling taffy. And It's my job to bring him back to earth, to tell him there are already three people in here who sell taffy, that there's only so much money in the candy market and most of it's cornered, to let him know that taffy doesn't sit well, so if he doesn't sell it fast he'll be sitting on a product with depreciating value. All of which I said.

Still, I don't want to see his spirit completely crushed. There's no fun telling someone you like, "I told you so." Especially when you actually told them so.

A beat later, before I can think of something to say to resuscitate his spirits, he looks up with a smile and says, "I guess I'll just stick to selling drugs." He chuckles at his comment, and heads out, onto the next adventure. He's only half joking. And just like that it's over. He's completely washed his hands, emotionally, of the entire situation. Any stress, wiped away in an instant.

Chipped, cracked, or caked in shit, his glass is always full, even when it's empty.

Part of my frustration with the shit he does, the shit he says, is out of some begrudging envy for how carelessly he moves through life. Setting fires as he goes. The best and worst thing about being a shark is the ten minute memory.

The gloves, the taffy, the hair, none of them are exceptional events in the life of Juan Garcia but I had to pick something to write about, something to give you a little glimpse into life with my bunkie.

As I'm finishing this up, I hear him across the hall trying to give the remaining taffy back to his benefactor, the smushed, stale, falling-out-of-the-wrapper taffy. He's out. Investors be damned.

Oh, to be a shark.

[footballleague0]

Ed Oliver Houston Cougars superstar representing city

Sep 13, 2017

Joel AndersonESPN

HOUSTON — Hurricane Harvey sent the University of Houston’s football team rushing off to Austin for sanctuary under the same roof as the coach who left the program just 10 months earlier.

It could have been — and maybe even should have been — an uncomfortable reunion with Tom Herman, the ex who spurned the Cougars for the state’s flagship program after two seasons, 22 wins and many promises he wouldn’t leave. That potential for discomfort wasn’t lost on those who coordinated their plans to seek shelter from the storm, choosing the University of Texas from among at least four other in-state options.

“That was a little bit in the back of my mind,” Houston athletic director Hunter Yurachek said. “There were some hurt feelings when Tom left. But I think everyone handled it very well.”

At least in their public comments, players and representatives of Houston have attempted to avoid lamenting the loss of Herman since his departure. But one of the few who went off-script was Ed Oliver, the homegrown star defensive tackle, who tweeted — and then immediately deleted — “Why you lie to us, coach?” shortly after word emerged that Herman had accepted the Longhorns job in December. He followed up with a less-than-subliminal shot in March, telling the Houston Chronicle that practices now had “a lot less yelling, and a lot more coaching.”

The University of Houston football team visited Austin, Texas, to pick up donations from volunteers around the Lone Star State to return home for victims of Hurricane Harvey.

Texas football put aside its rivalries as six programs from the Lone Star State loaned their equipment trucks to the Houston Cougars for a donation drive. We were there as the trucks rolled in and the Cougars’ players and staff unloaded the supplies.

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If Oliver took Herman’s absence more personally than most, it’s because he’ll be among those held most responsible for keeping Houston’s fans on the bandwagon. Only a 19-year-old sophomore, Oliver is already the anchor of a rebuilding program in a rebuilding city.

His family counts itself among the fortunate ones in the aftermath of Hurricane Harvey: Its only real challenge, his mother said, was when the power went out for a couple days, leaving her and their stepfather alone in the house with their 4-year-old son and 2-year-old daughter.

“But they kept checking on me,” Dana Baker said of her older sons, Ed and 21-year-old Marcus. “They were never too far from home.”

Only minutes away, dozens of residents had their homes and lives ruined by floodwater and wind damage, like tens of thousands of others across the Houston area. The difference between a blessing and bad luck was often only a few blocks.

“It was tough to see my city like that,” Oliver told reporters while unloading trucks as part of a collection drive in Houston a couple of weeks ago.

“But we respond. … I do it for Houston, and I’ve always done it for Houston.”

Houston was gradually springing to life again when Major Applewhite took his seat at a makeshift radio booth at the far end of the Ragin’ Cajun, one of the city’s most popular and enduring restaurants.

The murky floodwaters that turned the city into a fetid lake were all but gone, dump trucks were clearing away thousands of tons of debris per day and many businesses started welcoming back weary customers who needed everything from bread to beer to retail therapy. Like many businesses, the Ragin’ Cajun sought to broadcast its hope — and reopening — to the public: “#HoustonStrong” read its billboard for passing motorists.

The “Major Applewhite Radio Show” made its debut at 1 p.m. last Wednesday before about 30 fans. Behind Applewhite and his broadcasting partner was a large screen draped in a red cover bearing the words “H-Town Takeover,” the moniker Herman gave for his dramatic makeover of a program that trails far behind the monstrous fan bases of Texas and Texas A&M in its own city.

Drumming up interest in Houston football will be among Applewhite’s chief challenges in this, his first head-coaching job. That was something that came easily to Herman, who is as gifted at salesmanship as he is at playcalling. Applewhite will almost certainly never be the coach to don a diamond-studded grille gifted to him by local rappers, as Herman did.

Applewhite’s first question from the audience came from longtime superfan and UH alum John Lofaro, known locally as “Johnny Cougar.”

In Houston’s first game of 2017, Ed Oliver swallowed up Arizona to the tune of 11 tackles, a forced fumble and a blocked field goal. Casey Sapio/USA TODAY Sports

“I am here to assure you that, in the very few times, the rare occasions that we might lose a game,” he said, “I can assure you that we will not throw debris at you” — a reference to the reception Texas fans gave Herman following a season-opening loss to Maryland days earlier.

“Appreciate it,” Applewhite said, smothering the attempt at a joke.

Lofaro pressed on, following up with a question. “Can Ed Oliver get any better?”

“He can,” Applewhite said. “And he better.”

In the Cougars’ season-opening win at Arizona on Saturday, Oliver responded to Applewhite’s challenge with a performance — 11 tackles, a forced fumble and a blocked field goal — that left little room for criticism. Oliver’s improvement was evident, another confirmation of the hype that has long preceded him.

“That’s exactly what I envisioned,” Applewhite said of Oliver. “He doesn’t need to do anything different.”

At Houston, the 6-foot-3 (his listed height, which is probably an inch or two generous), 290-pound Oliver has been everything that he was projected to be — and then some — as a five-star recruit at local powerhouse Westfield High School. The only surprise to many is that Oliver is doing it in his hometown at all, given that he could’ve signed with virtually any major program in the nation. Put another way: Oliver’s improbable choice of Houston made him the first recruit of his caliber in the ESPN 300 era to sign with a school outside of a Power 5 conference.

It all makes more sense when you meet his family.

His mother, Dana, raised Ed and his older brother, Marcus, in an idyllic north Houston neighborhood, only blocks away from her mother, sister and aunt — “we like each other a little bit,” she cracked — and just a few minutes from her alma mater, Westfield High. In their neighborhood of two-story brick homes and soaring pine trees, little Ed was always hot on the heels of his older brother.

“Ed followed Marcus around like a little puppy,” Baker said.

“Basically I would feel everything out before he did it,” Marcus added

So when Marcus joined the local little league football team at the age of 7, Ed followed along and played on the sidelines and adjacent fields during his brother’s practices.

This happened almost every day until Ed was old enough to join the team two years later. And when Marcus aged out of the league, Ed gave up little league football two years early to spend more time with his brother and ride horses on the weekend with his father, Ed Oliver Sr.

“Horses were my first love,” Ed said. “I played football because Marcus played football. But as I kept playing, I found love for it.”

Once they were at Westfield, Marcus became one of the Houston area’s top offensive linemen and Ed’s rapid growth turned him into a burgeoning force. In fact, in the spring semester of his ninth-grade year, Westfield’s coaches came up with the Ed Oliver rule: Whatever drill they were doing, Ed could play at full speed for the first half and then the offense could run through its playbook with no resistance for the second half.

“I’ve never coached anyone that was as disruptive as him at that age,” said Corby Meekins, then Westfield’s head coach and now one of Herman’s assistants at Texas. “He was pretty much unblockable.”

A five-star recruit and high school All-American, Ed Oliver stunned the football world by picking hometown Houston over his pick of blue-chip programs. Miller Safrit/ESPN

Marcus left Westfield as an accomplished player in his own right, choosing Houston over Colorado and a handful of other FBS programs. There was never any doubt that he was staying close to home — he didn’t want to force his family to travel to see him play and he wanted to see Ed’s final two years of football at Westfield — even as friends and classmates wondered if he wasn’t making a mistake.

“They’d always go, ‘Why Houston?'” Marcus said. “I got tired of it. I told them, ‘I see something you don’t see.'”

And even with Marcus off at college, albeit only about 40 minutes away, he kept his brother close by inviting him over to his dorm room, giving him tickets to the games, and getting him familiar with his teammates and the program’s facilities.

“He’d be up there with me all the time,” Marcus said. He saw what the others didn’t see, indeed. “He grew a brotherhood with everyone else, too.”

One afternoon in May 2015, the brothers were helping themselves to the buffet at Cici’s Pizza near their north Houston home when Ed surprised Marcus by asking him to call their old high school coach Corby Meekins, who’d recently joined Herman’s then-new coaching staff at Houston.

With no hint or warning, Ed orally committed to Houston on his brother’s phone over plates of $5.99 buffet pizza.

“I was like, ‘Is this real?'” Marcus said. “I was shocked.”

He wasn’t the only one: When the brothers went home later that evening to watch an NBA playoff game, the news of Ed’s commitment kept scrolling across the bottom of the TV. “That’s when I realized he might be a big deal,” his mother said.

Over the years, Houston has enjoyed its most success by developing lightly regarded recruits (Andre Ware was recruited as a running quarterback and left in 1989 as a record-breaking passer and Heisman winner) and turning over its program to innovators ranging from Bill Yeoman to Art Briles. But over the past quarter century, that formula hasn’t meant sustained success: The Cougars have won nine or more games only five times during that stretch.

The arrival of Herman, who worked at five other programs in Texas, portended a new connection between Houston and a school once mockingly known as “Cougar High” for its commuter school reputation. Herman took his cues from the rise of the University of Miami as a national power in the 1980s, telling Sports Illustrated, “We said, ‘If they can do it at a private school in Miami, why can’t we do it in a football-rich city like Houston?'”

And Oliver gave Herman’s “H-Town Takeover” some credibility and more national attention. Oliver’s commitment “opened some doors that we may not have had opened,” Yurachek said. However, the notion that Oliver chose Houston solely because of Herman remains an obvious source of agitation for him and his family.

They point out that his brother was already there. So was Meekins, his old high school coach. Staying home meant he could continue riding his horses (Caledonia, Oreo, Coffee and Sugar) with his father. He could continue checking in on his mother at least once a week, which often turns into an impromptu nap in one of her guest bedrooms. “I think he likes to stay home for peace,” she said. Everything a homebody could ever want was already in place.

“They know if Marcus wasn’t here, I wouldn’t be here,” Ed said. “They know when they got him, they got his little brother, too.”

“Are people too damn stupid to understand why he stayed there to fight with his brother?” Ed Oliver Sr. asked. “I wasn’t going to let EJ separate that. I told him, ‘While your brother is at U of H, you’re gonna have your ass there.'”

Baker said, in slightly more gentle terms: “Why leave Mayberry? It just felt right. It felt like home to Ed.”

A week after Harvey, the former “Cougar High” was alive with activity befitting its status as the state’s third-largest university. The floodwaters had caused only negligible damage to its facilities. Professors and students had largely returned to class. Most of the chairs were filled at the campus student center.

Ed Oliver, a Houston native and one of the stars of the Cougars, passes cases of water to a teammate at St. Charles Borromeo Catholic Church. Michael Starghill, Jr. for ESPN

In her office suite atop the school’s art-deco-style headquarters, Houston president Renu Khator was balancing her relief at the school’s nearly painless recovery with her plans for dispatching students into affected neighborhoods near the school.

“If the city and community is to come back to normalcy,” Khator said, “we have to play our role.”

Khator, who doubles as the chancellor of the University of Houston system, has been waiting for the day the city embraces its asset in the university. She arrived in 2008 and immediately launched a plan to build a nationally competitive university out of an urban commuter school.

Those plans included a first-rate athletic program, which meant building the $128 million, 40,000-seat, on-campus TDECU Stadium, which opened in 2014. The school is also building a $20 million, 80,000-square-foot indoor practice facility adjacent to the stadium, an item that Herman added into his contract as a condition of his buyout.

Instead, Applewhite, who served as Herman’s offensive coordinator for two years, will inherit the indoor facility and Khator’s rising expectations.

In December, days after Applewhite was hired as Herman’s successor, Khator told faculty and staff at the annual holiday party at her home that “winning is defined at University of Houston as 10-2. We’ll fire coaches at 8-4.”

Months later, she hasn’t backed off that charge. “I like to have a winning team,” she said last week. “I expect the same thing all across the campus, from every department. Let’s push our talent.”

Applewhite demurred when asked about Khator’s comments. “I don’t pay much attention to things that are said,” he said.

Coming off an All-American debut as a freshman, Ed Oliver is the sort of game-changing player who could keep his new head coach in the good graces of the school president and a reeling fan base.

Oliver had seven tackles and two sacks in his swashbuckling college debut in 2016, an upset win over then-No. 3 Oklahoma. “There’s some guys that just stick out, like when we looked at Adrian Peterson,” said then-Oklahoma coach Bob Stoops. “It’s like, ‘Yeah. That’s what you need.'”

He finished the year with 23 tackles for loss, which ranked second nationally. And as an interior lineman, Oliver finished with impressive totals of 66 tackles and nine pass breakups — he was essentially just as good moving backward and laterally as he was forward.

“He’s a first-rounder,” Arizona coach Rich Rodriguez said of Oliver, before his team played against him Saturday.

Of course, that’s at least 18 months away. There’s more than enough time for Oliver to cement his status as one of the most important players in the history of the Houston program.

“He’s the best player we’ve ever had, and that includes Andre Ware,” said Lofaro aka “Johnny Cougar'” and season-ticket holder for 40 years.

And as he grows into his fame, Oliver seems well-positioned to replace Herman as the face of the program.

And, most important to a group of fans accustomed to being abandoned soon after good times, Oliver has assured them he’s not looking to go anywhere else. The #H-TownTakeover can endure for at least a little longer.

“I love Houston,” he said. “This is my hometown, this is my city.”

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