#literally and if the person they put in our department gets taken out one more time im actually gonna have the store manager over that

[mullettaegi]

yknow when i started my job (or when i was being interviewed) someone made an offhand comment about me still having a social life (i think they mightve even emphasised this that im still young). and i wasnt really too bothered cause i struggle to connect with my friends so i didnt think much of it, what with having a 20 hour contract. i knew there would be overtime too, thought maybe about 5 hours is alright, 25 hours a week in total. im going to work 91:30 hours in january. i have not worked since the 31st of december and will return to work on the 9th of jan. between the 9th and the 29th i will work that aforementioned 91:30 hours. i work 3 out of 4 weekends this month. what fucking social life is that, huh? thats fucked up.

[decolonize-the-everything]

Ok, you seem to basically be saying project 2025 is inevitable so don’t vote because Joe Biden is evil. So then, how do we survive when contraception is made basically illegal, lgbt people are outlawed and possibly murdered, etc? Or are we supposed to just lie down and die?

These are two extremely specific scenarios that heavily play into self victimhood and narratives of powerlessness and frankly, I don't have the energy to pretend it's something else when there are a handful of rebels with literal fucking sticks fighting against a genocide being carried out by the world's richest powers.

You are neither a rebel nor are you fighting the world's richest powers with makeshift weapons or your bare hands. You are stressing about which box to check off in November, so my genuine advice is take your head out of your privileged asshole and consider that you have way more options than "vote" or "die" and lying to yourself about those being your only options is only gonna help you sleep for so long.

There are people like you and me literally fucking fighting for their right to live and exist, for their homes, for crumbs of food, dying for water, etc.

And you with your little American ballot in your hand have the audacity to say "should I just lay down and die" cuz I don't think you should check the Genocide Joe box???????????? And then you ask ME what IM going to do about it if cops possibly murder you when Trump is elected?

And you ask like that isn't ALREADY a daily reality for anyone living under Biden in the USA!!!!! We had protests for a whole fucking summer about police brutality cuz cops won't stop killing Black people! And they haven't stopped, you know.

So what was your answer when they asked us for our intersectional solidarity to save their lives? How much effort did you put in? Did you learn about mutual aid or direct action or how to protest? How to organize or draft demands so you can effectively make change year-round?

Cuz I remember how often those posts were going around. I know you saw some of them at least.

Did you make the effort to save someone besides yourself? Or did you think it was all unnecessary because you were fortunate to be wrapped in privilege?

You know, I didn't see one viral post from any white queer ppl saying "WE NEED TO (x) YOUR LIFE DEPENDS ON IT!" about defunding police departments or masking 🤧

What did you expect Black people to do when you didn't care enough to listen? When BLM stopped trending? What about Palestinians? Did you expect them to lay over and die? Did you think about what would happen if you abandoned them? Did you care?

But it matters now that you're on the other end, don't it?

ANY singular marginalized, oppressed group on earth can tell you letting them kill you has never been an option.

Stonewall didn't happen in a voting booth. Neither did the civil rights movement. Nor did our treaties. Even suffragettes committed arson and bombing campaigns.

We have never just laid down and let them kill our community or treat us like we are lesser. We have always taken what was ours because the nature of oppression is that you will never be given what you deserve, even if you vote for it.

"do we just lay down and die"

Liberation doesn't have a manual so I can't give you the step by step. But I assure that we will not find it through a bureaucracy and government built to silence, erase, and oppress us. And it sure as hell won't be found in a boomer that sleeps peacefully at night after killing children and denying genocide.

And the only fucking people that use others as stepping stones for their own comfort and well being are oppressors and fascists.

So additionally if you're sitting there upset because my morals don't bend for the privileged and you're thinking about how awful I am cuz I can't be convinced to justify killing people from Sudan and the DRC and Palestine instead of queer Americans then get fucked. Cuz you would be the EXACT type of person I loathe.

We are all in this together or you are with the oppressors. No more in between. We don't have the luxury of having the time to pretend there's any good reason to be a fascist apologist.

At this point, you're either fighting for progress and human rights or against it.

"are we supposed to just lay over and die"

If I die it'll be a warriors death and I think every single person on earth who has asked me "so what are we supposed to do?!" should work on having the same answer.

[lemoncrushh]

Connect

Summary: Not wanting to lose their connection, Lily takes a surprise trip to see Harry.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: Real Harry x OC, written in first person. This is the last of my writings from 2019 (technically the first one since I'm reposting backwards). Obviously, this was heavily based on Live on Tour. I think I was just testing the waters then after having taken a break from fics. The only thing I focused on in 2018 was a longer fic which will come later. So next, I'll be reposting the one shots from 2017.

“I miss you,” he said, his voice raspy and weary.

“I miss you, too.”

“I wish you were here with me,” said Harry. “I know you didn’t wanna be, cause it’s crazy, but-”

“I never said I didn’t wanna be,” I interrupted.

“Well, you can’t. And I get it.”

With a sigh, I rolled over onto my stomach as I gnawed on the inside of my cheek. The truth was, I wanted to be with him more than anything. I just felt like it was too soon. We’d only started dating a few months before he left for the tour. Things had been such a whirlwind then, that it was a wonder we’d managed to actually become a thing. I’d worried that we’d moved too fast, and when Harry had asked me to consider flying out for some of the shows, I’d hesitated. In the end, I’d told him I couldn’t do anything on short notice since I didn’t have vacation time yet and my job was still relatively new. But I promised I would make plans to be with him for his final show in Los Angeles. He’d said he understood, but each time we talked on the phone, he seemed to miss me more and more. It broke my heart to say the least.

“I just don’t think I can-“

“Lily,” he interrupted this time. “It’s okay. Let’s change the subject.”

That night when I went to bed, I thought about our conversation. Though the rest of it had been sweet and light-hearted, I had felt the weight of Harry’s tone. He wasn’t mad, or even upset, but I could tell he was having a hard time concealing his emotions.

Throwing the covers off of me, I hopped out of bed and grabbed my laptop. Like the word nerd I was, I googled.

Emotion. Noun. A natural instinctive state of mind deriving from one's circumstances, mood, or relationships with others.

Relationship. Noun. The way in which two or more concepts, objects, or people are connected, or the state of being connected.

Harry and I were connected. I knew it from the moment we met. Not to sound cheesy, like it was some grand scene of kismet in a rom com, but I’d felt something that first day.

Literally, it had been my first day at my new job. After years of trying to be a writer and applying for any kind of position that was remotely associated with writing, taking jobs as a receptionist at a local fluff newspaper and a data entry operator in the accounting department of a publishing company, and even working behind the counter at a bookstore, I’d finally landed my dream job. Well, not so much dream as it was...how shall I put this...the bottom of the totem pole at a company I wanted to work for. Everyone’s gotta start somewhere, right? So what if I was pouring coffee and scheduling meetings and *cough* picking up dry cleaning? I was working for an amazing magazine. No, I wasn’t writing anything yet, but I was finally getting somewhere!

The stars must have been aligned that day. Being the “new girl”, I was led around the office by my boss as she introduced me to everyone. We’d just made it past the editing department when Candace, my boss, lifted her cell to her ear with a frown.

I didn’t understand the conversation, especially with only hearing one side of it, but I certainly caught the words “Harry Styles” and “lunch interview” followed by a few expletives. My breath stilled, and I’m pretty sure my heart did too. Trying to act casual as Candace returned her phone to her pocket, I blinked several times and shifted the weight between my feet.

“Lily,” she turned to me. “I know it’s your first day and you barely know your way around here, but I need a favor.”

I nodded. “Of course.”

Her expression relaxed as she gave a gentle smile. “Congratulations. You get the opportunity no one else has ever gotten on their first day.”

I wasn’t sure why I’d agreed to it, other than the fact that I’d wanted this job more than anything, and impressing Candace was my top priority. But to say I was a nervous wreck as I rode next to her in her BMW to a restaurant so luxurious I’d only ever dreamed of dining there, was an understatement. Apparently Candace’s head writer had gotten into an accident on the freeway that morning and was unable to get to the interview on time. That meant either sending someone else to have lunch with Harry Styles or going herself. Deciding quickly on the latter, and because it was my first day as her personal assistant, I got to tag along, notebook in hand. Well, not exactly in hand. It was in my bag. But you get the idea.

I hadn’t really known what to expect, both in meeting Harry and in getting to eat lunch at this particular restaurant, but within ten minutes I got the answers. The restaurant, while swanky with a limited menu, still felt like any other restaurant I’d been to, albeit upscale. Cloth napkins, iced water in big glasses that looked like they were more for wine or brandy, and tinkly piano music to complete the ambience. And as for Harry Styles...well let’s just say, he was the coolest person I’d ever met. And I don’t mean cool as in too cool for me, or too cool for school. I mean he was so completely down-to-earth that I immediately felt at ease. Sure, my insides were a mess, my heart beating out of my chest and my stomach doing somersaults, but despite that, he didn’t come off as a “celebrity”. He was charming and funny and easy to talk to. And because I was Candace’s assistant, you would think he’d only direct his answers to her. But he looked over at me several times with a sexy, easy grin and made sure he included me in the conversation.

Once Candace got up to take another phone call, and I was left alone with Harry. Afraid I might say or do something stupid, I looked at the notes I had written down. Candace of course had recorded the conversation on her phone with Harry’s permission, so I wasn’t quite sure why she’d had me take notes too. But such is the job of an assistant, I presumed.

After a moment or two of silence, Harry said something, though it took me a second to realize he was addressing me.

“Sorry?” I looked up from my scribbles.

“Is the interview done?” he asked, his eyebrows raised.

“Um...I don’t think so,” I stumbled.

“Then why are you looking at that? I’m right here.”

My heart plummeted to my stomach, and I thought I might vomit the salad I’d just eaten.

“Sorry,” I mumbled as I shoved my notebook into my bag, my face no doubt red from embarrassment. I wanted to crawl under the table...on the other side of the restaurant.

Suddenly Harry laughed. A good, hearty laugh. I looked up at him to see the little crinkles next to his eyes as he chuckled, dimples dipping in his cheeks.

“Loosen up, Lily,” he said.

It took me a second, and a shake of my head, to remember that he knew my name. But the fact that he’d remembered it after only learning it once briefly when Candace had introduced me was another thing entirely. And...was he teasing me?

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“I’m just giving you a hard time. You seem very nervous.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he smiled. Then he gestured toward where Candace had walked off. “Is she hard to work for?”

I relaxed, exhaling and placing my hands in front of me. “Truth?”

“Of course.”

“It’s my first day.”

A grin spread across Harry’s handsome face. Just then Candace emerged from the hallway headed back to our table. Harry quickly and simply leaned over towards me, covering my hand with his.

“You’re doing great,” he whispered.

And that’s when I knew.

Okay, it’s not when I knew we were meant to be together or would fall in love or any of that. But I felt connected. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but it was something.

I hadn’t gotten another assignment quite like that one again. At least not yet. Most of my job consisted of running errands and getting coffee, although I did get to see and greet a few celebrities here and there. But when Harry’s interview was printed, I received a bouquet of flowers. Lilies.

Harry and I laughed about it for days after he called to ask me out. We both agreed it was cheesy, but he admitted he liked the cheese. I’d fallen for it, after all. Sucker.

Emotion. Noun. A natural instinctive state of mind deriving from one's circumstances, mood, or relationships with others.

I stared at the screen, reciting the definition over and over. Harry and I were in a relationship. He was far away and it would be a long time before he returned. How could I not feel any emotion about it? How could I not consider his feelings as well? How could I keep pretending I didn’t miss him more than anything? How could I possibly keep this amazing relationship alive if I wasn’t willing to try to put more effort in re-establishing our connection?

Connect. Verb. Bring together or into contact so that a real or notional link is established.

Indeed.

With one or two more clicks of the mouse, I found myself on an airline website. Then opening a second tab, I brought up another website and searched for Harry Styles tickets. Flipping between the two sites, I chose a concert on a Saturday and managed to find a decent price for a flight. I figured I could fly out on Friday and be back by Sunday. I wouldn’t even have to miss work. A few clicks later, and I’d made my purchases. I was going to see Harry.

It had been a while since I’d been to a concert. Despite being a huge fan of music and having my own list of favorites, I hadn’t been inside an arena in at least a few years. My ears were already ringing from the noises around me, fans eager for Harry to take the stage.

I had a seat near the B stage. I hadn’t known what that meant until I’d bought my ticket and began to watch fan videos on YouTube. During the middle of the show, Harry stepped off the main stage and walked the gauntlet so to speak, screaming fans on either side, and made his way to a second smaller stage near the back of the arena where he performed a few songs acoustically. I’d watched several videos so far, and this was probably my favorite part of the show. It seemed so intimate, like Harry was giving his audience a special little piece of himself. Sometimes he’d throw in a little banter which made me giggle and remind me why I liked him so much.

I’d also seen fans giving him flowers. I thought that might be a little presumptuous and perhaps even ridiculous, not because he didn’t deserve them, but because...what if he didn’t take them? Or what if they got crushed in all the excitement? The poor girl spent her money on a bouquet for nothing. But I reckoned I’d take my chance. And if nothing else, we’d have a laugh over it later.

No, Harry didn’t know I was coming. It was a surprise. We’d even talked on the phone the night before after I’d landed and was snug as a bug in my hotel bed. He hadn’t a clue.

When the lights went out, I immediately felt the excitement the rest of the arena did. I even laughed and hugged the girl next to me when she grabbed my arm and screamed in my ear.

Before the first song was over, one thing was certain. Watching Harry Styles on YouTube was not the same as watching him in person. You would think I wouldn’t be screaming and dancing with the rest of the crowd since I actually knew the guy personally, let alone had the privilege of dating him. But holy cow, was I a fangirl! It was like watching Mick Jagger, Freddie Mercury and some cool indie rocker all rolled into one. I was so mesmerized and lost in every single song that I almost forgot about him coming to the B stage. Until it happened.

I’d laid my bouquet of lilies as gently as I could underneath my seat, hoping they didn’t get stomped on. I quickly retrieved them as soon as he took the steps down the main stage and waited for him to come closer. To be honest, up till this point, I suppose I had just assumed he would catch a glimpse of me, but I hadn’t considered anything further than that. My stomach started doing the flips as he climbed onto the small stage, and I saw him wave to the crowd. I didn’t want to make my presence obvious, but I did want him to know I was there. But his eyes grazed right over me and then he pulled his guitar strap over his head.

Disappointment ate at me as I felt my chest deflate. Nevertheless, Harry sang the first song beautifully, and it brought tears to my eyes. As he introduced the chords to the next song, teasing the audience a bit, I almost thought he saw me. But instead he tucked his guitar pick between his teeth and spread out his arms, making the crowd cheer loudly. The girl next to me began to jump up and down, making the ground tremble beneath my feet. I sort of wished she’d make enough noise for Harry to look our way, but he seemed to be taking it all in, letting the fans simmer in their excitement.

Finally, he began to sing. It was one of my favorite ballads where everyone with a cell phone brought it up to display their flashlights or bright screens. I sang along with him, wishing I could somehow channel my thoughts to him, make him look my way telepathically. Suddenly, during the breakdown after the bridge, his gaze met mine. It was kind of comical how his eyes widened as though he wasn’t sure he’d really seen me. I smiled, holding my lilies underneath my chin. Then he smiled too, one corner of his mouth sliding up further than the other. The crowd seemed to scream even louder, thinking his pause and smirk was somehow a reaction to them. I was perfectly fine with letting them think that. But I knew it was for me.

Harry finished the song, his audience singing in unison. Then he took me by surprise by setting down his guitar, walking to the edge of the stage, and reaching out. At first I wasn’t sure what was going on, but then someone nearby, a stagehand or someone from the soundboard, or maybe even Jeffrey Azoff, heck if I knew then, took the flowers from my hands and handed them to Harry. He smiled, inhaled deeply, smiled even wider, then blew me a kiss.

Everything after that happened so fast, it was a whirlwind. I think someone took the flowers back from Harry and put them somewhere. Then Harry sang one more song before heading back to the main stage. The cute girl next to me grabbed my arm again and squealed that he’d taken my flowers, and I was so freaking lucky, and that she was gonna do that next time, if she got to see him again. I giggled with her and squeezed her hand, then we watched the rest of the show in glee.

I hugged my new friend goodbye after the lights came back on, not really sure what to do next. Obviously I’d come to see Harry, not just his concert. But I didn’t know if I should stick around and wait for him, or go back to my hotel.

I opted for watching the crowd fizzle out as they sang and danced down the aisles towards the exits. I was just about to climb the steps myself and make my way to the restroom when my phone buzzed in my pocket.

Where are you?

I grinned, quickly texting him back.

Still in my seat.

I’ll send someone for you.

I wouldn’t have been surprised if I’d had to wait another half hour or so before someone came to retrieve me. Working somewhat in the entertainment industry - even for a few months - I was used to a lot of waiting. But it wasn’t barely five minutes before a man with a tight smile on his face came to greet me.

“Follow me,” he said simply.

The hallway backstage was brightly lit and smelled of sweat and cologne. It reminded me of a high school gym. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting as I’d seen many movies and documentaries about bands, but for some reason it wasn’t that. Still, I followed the man down the corridor to a closed door onto which he knocked. Someone must have given him the all clear and he pushed open the door and gestured for me to enter.

Now, the fangirl in me would have kicked myself for not first noticing the shirtless Harry Styles sitting in a chair by the mirror, but instead the bouquet of lilies displayed in a vase next to him. However, the girlfriend in me was all heart-eyed and flustered.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I heard him ask.

Blinking my eyes, I smiled at him, finally getting a good look at him. Weak knees. Heart palpitations. 9-1-1, people. How did I get so freaking lucky, as my new stranger friend would have said.

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” I beamed.

“Well, mission accomplished,” he chuckled.

With the grace of a gazelle, Harry rose from his chair to stand in front of me. I’d almost forgotten how tall he was. Man, it had been too long.

“Truth is…” I cleared my throat. “I missed you.”

Harry said nothing, merely nodded, his eyes glowing as they seemed to memorize every curve of my face.

“And um…” I continued as he suddenly touched my arms, his hands cupping my elbows.

I momentarily lost my train of thought as Harry lowered his head and began to breathe on my neck. I felt goosebumps all over my flesh in an instant, and I instinctively lifted my hands to touch his chest.

“There’s an and?” he said low into my ear.

“Yeah,” I sighed. “But it’s not important.”

“Of course it is. Or you wouldn’t be here.”

He lifted his head again to look straight into my eyes.

“Tell me,” he said.

“I just...didn’t want to lose our connection,” I confessed. “I think we have something great. And I hope you do, too.”

Harry nodded, a soft smile on his lips. “I do.”

“I admit, it’s hard being apart from you,” I added, looking down at my hands that had somehow landed on either side of his butterfly tattoo. “But I’d be an idiot if I didn’t let you know how I feel.”

Harry pulled me to him then, and I felt him sigh.

“And how do you feel?” he asked.

“I just said.”

Harry laughed. “No, you didn’t.”

“I feel...emotional,” I side-stepped.

“That’s a bit redundant, darling.”

I bit my lip. He was gonna make me say it, wasn’t he? As much as I was a word nerd, that was one word I couldn’t just blurt out. Even though I definitely felt it. It just wasn’t easy for me.

“Well, how do you think I feel, Harry?  I mean, I just flew out here from L.A. to surprise you.”

“Oh, I dunno,” he teased. “Could’ve been for another reason, and I just happened to be here…”

“Harry!”

He threw his head back laughing before kissing me on the forehead. Then the nose. Then the mouth. The kiss deepened, and for a minute I thought perhaps his inquiring was over and we were just lost in each other. Then he stopped suddenly and whispered against my lips.

“I love you, too, Lily.”

If you enjoyed, please like, comment, reblog or send me a msg!

MASTERLIST | KO-FI | FEEDBACK

[fuck-customers]

I wish there was a way I could convince my boss to get on board with the idea of a suggestion box, so that all of us employees could anonymously write suggestions for how to improve the store + things we'd like that might make us more productive, feel more appreciated, etc. But there's no way for me to bring it up without making it seem like the reason for the box is because she's such a fuckup as a manager. (Because that is the real reason lmao) She's also the type who would read a legitimate constructive criticism and scoff and wave it off as us asking for something extremely unreasonable or make up some bullshit about how xyz can't be done to improve the store because there's not enough hours, or crew, or money in the budget, whatever. I can actually picture her doing that.

The past few days I've been obsessed with this idea (mostly because I had a nightmare shift that would've easily been avoided had she done her job and managed correctly and assigned people to do the setup work beforehand) but I can't think of a way to get her on board. I've considered just making a box myself and putting it in the breakroom with some pens and paper scraps, but I predict it wouldn't even be a full day before she tosses it out.

So, just to get some off my chest, I'm going to put some of the suggestions I WOULD'VE written here.

•Either bring back the stocking crew that came in at 5:00 a.m. before the store opened or schedule extra people on delivery days to stay in the stockroom and unbox all products and sort them by department/aisle BEFORE putting product out on the sales floor.

(This one is a direct reference to the stocking shift I recently had that was a nightmare because none of the stock had been pre-sorted by department, which was done in the past by the stocking crew, so we had to open boxes and sort them on the sales floor while simultaneously stocking items, while the store was open and we were constantly interrupted by customers. This made stocking take at least double, if not triple the time it would've taken. That delivery was a week ago, and the boxes are STILL sitting on the sales floor, half-stocked)

•While stocking, have each employee price tag each individual item, as our stock does not arrive pre-tagged, so that customers are not confused about the prices, since upper management removed the store scanners.

•Assign the ASM or a lead to exclusively do the schedule so that the schedule is regularly posted the 3 weeks out, as required, not 3 days out.

•Assign a lead or promote a non-management employee to be a trainer to correctly train the new hires.

(As of right now, new hires are hired and then basically thrown on the floor and told to figure it out and fend for themselves, obviously leading to many mistakes that need to be unfucked by the rest of the crew, they'll ask other employees for help, but most of those employees were "trained" in the same method, so they'll show the new hires the wrong way, the blind leading the blind, essentially)

•Schedule more than 1 person per department, this way there is adequate coverage in the event of a rush, plus in downtime, one employee can assist customers while the other does go-backs/recovery and makes the department look neat and presentable.

(The store looks like a tornado hit it currently) (I also know this one is probably a union-busting thing, but honestly? Remember KM@rts and how messy they always looked? My store makes KM@rt look like a model store)

•Do some morale boosters. Every employee in the store looks like they're in prison. (We kinda are) We literally got an online review (that SHE HERSELF PRINTED OUT) that stated that we all looked miserable and looked like we needed a moral boost. We desperately do. The real solution would be better pay and hours, but we know you, the SM don't have that much control over that. You could do small things, though. The previous ASM would regularly bring in snacks for the breakroom for us, would regularly have potlucks on holidays that brought us all together, she would also make sure to regularly tell each of us that we were appreciated and would recognize our hard work. Even if it was bs, it still raised morale.

ANYWAY, thank you for letting me rant. ✨️🙌

P.S. I know obviously none of you know my boss, since I'm anonymous and didn't specify where I work (for obvious reasons) but do any of you think the suggestions box thing has even a slim chance of working? In my head, I wasn't going to tell her it was my idea or ask permission, I was just going to set up the box in the breakroom and throw in a few of my own suggestions and see if any of my coworkers add their own. Because I felt if I asked permission or told my boss my idea, she'd take offense that I was indirectly calling her a fuckup (she is) and undermining her authority or some bullshit like that. Or do you guys think if I just do it without telling anyone, she might be curious and at least look at a few suggestions? Or should I ask her to set one up? I really don't think that would go well, personally.

Posted by admin Rodney.

[breealtair]

Okay so I've read a fanfic once upon a time where Steve was dragged to a school performance of Rocky Horror Picture Show by his gremlins who are attending to support Eddie who is playing Dr. Frank'n Furter and Steve has his bisexual awakening seeing Eddie in fishnets and a corset. And it was fantastic.

HOWEVER.

Imagine if maybe Steve was in the production. Hear me out. In a world where Steve and Robin became friends before he graduated (or maybe it's a midnight shadow cast at the local drive in), Robin has been cast as Riff Raff.

(listen the the theatre department at my college has a tradition of putting on a shadow cast every year and we have always cast a female presenting queer person as riff raff and its literally the hottest riff raff can possibly be and Robin has the same vibes of the people I've seen in the role she would totally rock it)

Anyways, Robin is cast as riff raff and she some how drags Steve into being in the show. I'm imagining either they didn't have someone to fill the role OR Nancy was cast as Janet and it was a poor attempt at trying to get her best friend back together with his ex.

And of course there is Eddie as Frank'n Furter and working with him in such a way throws Steve into the deep end of his bisexual awakening (plus the two gross close together)

Now here's the thing. I'm torn between Brad and Rocky for the Role that Steve would be cast in.

Because on one hand, Steve being Brad while Nancy is Janet would be great because of the the bedroom scene and the parallel of Brad and Steve both having their bisexual awakening while trying to maintain the heteronormative expectation of staying with Nancy/Janet.

But on the other hand! Steve as Rocky is both hilarious and so great. For one, I had the joy of co directing a shadow cast and we cast a himbo football player who had no idea what Rocky Horror Picture Show was. His gay friend in the department told him he had to audition and he did so no questions asked. His LIP SYNC audition was Tequila by the Champs which only has one word in the whole song and he basically stipped down to his underwear (without our prompting) and shimmied around the room for the whole song. So I know the joys of having a jock himbo cast as Rocky. It's a delight. His football friends came to see the show and were scandalized. He was so confused by everything that Rocky Horror is. He really bonded with my best friend who is gender queer as fuck and played Frank'n Furter. I saw him discover some stuff about himself. He rocked that corset. A himbo jock as Rocky is top tier (only to be out done by the time we cast a female cosplayer who had just taken a weight lifting class and was able to dead lift a man twice her size). So imagining Steve as Rocky also fits just as well and still lends to the "trying to set Steve up with Nancy" bit because, you know, touch a touch me exists.

Some more food for thought is the time that my school cast two gay best friends as Janet and Brad except they cast the lesbian as Brad and the gay boy as Janet. The chemistry between the two of them and the way they were able to truly performe a peak satire of gender norms from a crossdressing perspective was truly amazing. That was truly a fantastic time and I could totally see a fic where Robin was cast as Brad and Steve as Janet.

Basically what it comes down to is that, I've seen a couple of fics in which Eddie is Frank'n Furter and Steve watches the show, but I have yet to see a fic where Steve somehow winds up in the show and has to face his bi awakening in the most tactile and face to face way possible.

So I need help.

One, which role would be the best role for Steve? (One plays into the jock himbo vibes, the other into the hetero facing his bisexual awakening, and the last plays into the platonic with a capital P soul mates vibe)

Two I need someone to actually write this fic (or all three versions of it honestly.

(Honestly. I feel like Steve would play Janet with Robin as his Brad only after he had been in the show once and felt more comfortable with the show and himself. I also think that him as Rocky would make sense because it would be the role that all his friends who were familiar with the show would push him towards. Meanwhile, maybe Nancy and Jonathan are cast as Janet and Brad and the whole "rocky stealing Janet away from Brad" thing would be part of the "get your girlfriend back scheme" on Robin's part.)

[stagefoureddiediaz]

I'm not sure who to ask, but you always seem happy to answer questions, so I'm sending this your way.

I'm "newish" to the fandom. Never really kept up with spoilers and metas and things like that. So, I'm curious if you could tell me: Has the buddie speculation always been like this? Like, it just seems like the people promoting the show are really pushing thoughts to connect to Buddie happening.

And it's fun and exciting. Don't get me wrong, but I guess I'm just wondering how prepared I should be to not get my hopes up?

Love your blog, and I hope you're doing well ❤️

Hey Nonnie

I'm so sorry its taken so long to get round to answering this ask. I am always happy to answer asks and I'm so glad you sent this my way - even if I'm not sure if I'm the best person to answer it!

firstly welcome to the fandom - I hope you enjoy being a part of it with us!

in answer to your actual question, it depends on if you mean the promo team or if you mean the teams making the show - as in the script writers, set, props and wardrobe departments etc.

If you mean the former, things in terms of promotion aren't really that much different from pre season 6, we've had a bit more from cast members other than Oliver this season than last (they let Ryan out of his cage a little bit for starters!!) , but its not really been that much different to before.

If you are talking about the teams making the show then yes they have stepped up their game considerably this season. A lot of people rat on Kristen Riedel as showrunner, which I think is grossly unfair -things might've been a bit bumpy in transition when she took over -(I personally think she tried to take too much on by writing, directing and being showrunner, but she realised this and stepped back in order to do right by the show and that says a huge amount about her) but actually we are getting a lot more tying up of loose ends and making use of things in canon that wouldn't have happened under Tim - KR is a master of making use of what canon has already put in place to build on the story and flesh out characters far more than we see in a lot of shows.

It is important to note that the showrunner has final say about pretty much everything that we see on screen, about what is being put out there - if KR didn't want the step up in buddie related metaphors such as the couch then we wouldn't be seeing it on our screens so the fact we are seeing it is telling and there really isn't any other way to read it other than the intention is there from the show for Buddie to go canon - slow burns are just that a slow burn - we're not going to get it all given to us in 2 episodes - that would be a diservice to the characters and to the work the show has been doing. They started the build up for this at the beginning of season 3 (I remain convinced that it wasn't part of the plan in season 2, just a happy accident that they decided to play around with a bit in the later part of the season to see if it had legs or if it was just a bit of a flash in the pan) and there has been a very purposeful build up since then.

KR and the PR department are not going to explicitly say 'oh yes Buck and Eddie are endgame' in interviews - that would spoil the journey and they are never going to do that. I keep saying it , and others do to, Buddie going canon is huge - it will literally be the first queer romance slow burn on television that has been done with intent and given the same amount of care and consideration as a heterosexual slow burn on any other show and there is absolutely no way they are going to ruin the build up or the moment it happens - they want us to be kept guessing until it happens - that is good storytelling, they want us to still be surprised when it happens because even if we know its going to happen we don't know how or exactly when.

This show is incredibly good at taking us in one direction before changing tack and misdirecting us for a little bit. None of us were quite prepared for just how badly Buck was going to deal with his Everest sized mountain of trauma -we knew he was traumatised and we knew he needed to deal with it, but not a single person saw just how badly it was going to play out (or how much it was going to hurt us when it happened), but we do know that the show likes happy endings and likes to show healing so however bad it might be right now, Buck will come out the other side a better person who has had some major growth and ready - ready for Buddie canon - because he wasn't there yet - we all knew that!

I am totally prepared to be wrong, and feel free to come at me with knives if I am, but there has been too much intentional build up this season (and even last season which was building us up to where we are now as well) for things to go in any direction other than Buddie - we just have to trust the show and the process and enjoy the ride because I have no doubt its gonna throw us another curveball or two on the way but when we get there its going to just be so epically good!

Sorry I think I went of on a bit of a ramble 😳😳😳 but I hope it was worth the read! I'm always here to answer questions!

[selfless1978]

<;previous

next>

Endings and Beginnings

"You sure about this?" Raph asked. They were on the rooftop of police headquarters, looking down at the streets below. Raph had his foot propped on the parapet, elbow resting on his knee, and was looking at his brother as his toothpick went from the left side of his mouth to the right.

"I am." Leo waited with crossed arms as his backside leaned on the same parapet.

"Chief is goin' to have a stroke." Raph chuckled.

Leo just shrugged. "If she wants our help, she humors me on this."

They both grew quiet as the rooftop door opened and the head of the police department and her aide walked out towards them.

"You wanted to see me?" She asked as she stopped in front of the duo.

"I did." Leo looked at her for a long moment, trying to guess her mood. That is, until he decided that it really wouldn't matter one way or the other. "I'm going to get directly to the point."

"Uh-oh." Raph muttered quietly. He very well knew that tone in his brother's voice. Leo was about to come down hard.

Vincent Raised a brow at that, but Leo didn't give her the time to ask. "I reviewed everything you gave me." His tone was calm, deceptionly reasonable. "Your collection wasn't complete."

"We have ev-"

"No, you don't." Leo almost glared at her now. "Chief Vincent, to put it bluntly, I am pretty certain that the legal system, school system, and military system created this monster that you now can't control."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me." Leo began dropping files on the ledge. "Her school files. Somehow these didn't make it into your main file. Look it over and tell me what you see."

As soon as she picked that folder up, he dropped the next. "This is the police report and file on the man she killed. Donnie figured out her link to the man. Did you know that he molested her? And the girl he murdered was a close friend of hers? And he never was made to face accountability for what he did to her personally?"

Vincent shook her head no as she read the file she was holding. Jade was looking over her shoulder.

"Of course not." Leo dropped a third. "Did you dig deep enough in her background to learn that she was raped in the army, and the perpetrator was cleared of the charges against her?"

"What are you getting at with this, Leonardo?" She was beginning to look angry.

Good.

"What I'm getting at is this. This woman has literally suffered since she was a child. Bullied, raped, molested, been through hell on deployments, her husband left her and her children with next to nothing. She struggled raising those kids, but she did the best she could. And instead of getting some kind of assistance, her children are taken from her. There is more, but I think you get the point."

"I'm beginning to think you are blaming me for her actions."

"You personally, no." Leo recrossed his arms. "The entire system, yes. So many times has she been let down, hurt, disregarded. Not once did any single agency actually help her. Then, her children are taken away from her. Because of a housing issue. But, did anyone help her? No. She was given the run around. She lost the most precious thing she has. On top of everything else, this was the straw that broke the camels back."

Chief Vincent let out an exasperated sigh. "None of this changes the fact that she is a dangerous individual that needs to face custody and her actions."

"Like those who pushed her to this point are?" Leo raised a knowing brow. Of course they weren't, and everyone on that rooftop knew it. "I've always believed that helping instead of harming was the whole point of all these agencies. And yet, here we are with a very dangerous woman who places the blame on all of those supposed helpful organizations."

"Ya might as well break it to her, fearless." Raph straightened. "This conversation isn't gonna get any prettier."

Leo nodded his agreement. "Chief, you asked for our help, and we will. But only under the condition that she stays in our care, along with her children."

"What!?" The Chief's face was turning an interesting bright shade of red.

"You heard me." Leo's face and voice was stern. "Do you honestly believe that any cell you have can actually hold her?"

"It held Bebop and Rocksteady." She was glowering at him now.

"They're also dumb as shit." Raph rolled his eyes. "She's a hell of a lot more smarter." He paused. "And besides, they still got loose."

"Because the transport-"

"It doesn't matter!" Raph cut her off. "They're out there! Ya'll dropped the ball on that!"

Leo held out a hand to calm his larger brother. "Those are the terms. We get her, or you catch her yourself."

"You can't just take a fugitive in your care!" Vincent almost screeched. "There are legal proceedings that need to be done!"

"We'll take care of that part too." Leo gathered up the paperwork, obviously getting ready to leave. "She won't go unpunished. So, what will it be? We get her or she destroys a few dozen more squad cars?"

Chief Vincent looked at him with a mixture of helplessness and anger. He just met her gaze with his calm one. then, her shoulders slumped in defeat. "Fine. We'll do it your way."

Leo nodded, then laid a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry to do this to you. I really am. But I honestly believe this is the best and safest way for everyone.

"I hope you're right." Vincent sighed.

"He usually is." Raph grinned before they both leapt off of the building

@raisin-shell @raphsweapondealer

[grilledkatniss]

Okay so I'm just now catching up on whatever this "why is she shading Joe if she's happy in her new relationship omg" and the comparisons with Lover's I Forgot That You Existed's reactions of "why would she feel the need to come after Calvin if she's in a happy relationship omg" and...

Alright, listen. Here's my super fresh out the over hot take: have we forgotten who we're talking about? Melancolia, and digging up the grave another time, and never leaving well enough alone, and remembering it all too well, and looking back, and recalling now, and seeing it all now that it's gone, and wishing she'd realized what she had, and the whole ass concept of midnights is her dealing with the past and coming to terms with the series of events (happy or unfortunate) that led up to where she is now. It's her coping and doing that hindsight is 20/20, introspective psychoanalytic revisiting of the past, a terribly underappreciated skill characteristic to someone who's very emotionally intelligent. She's like an Olympic Gymnast in emotional maturity and intelligence at this point, and as such she never stops training and practicing -as in, she never stops reminiscing and taking apart what was and isn't anymore, like someone who's trying to figure out what didn't work out, what was the last straw, where were the signs she missed, what should've gone differently, how they could have fixed things, etc etc- It's her niche, her field of expertise and trade mark. Why is it becoming an issue now? Like, our capacity for empathy is super selective, honestly.

Also, now knowing how long it'd been shelved, there's a new bigger book of itemized speculations from the public, many of which will hardly ever get any sign of official recognition, much less one of direct confirmation.

It was probably one of those songs that was meant to be just for her and never released, or that didn't fit any album yet. Hell, it was probably what nudged her into starting a whole new album after an entire year of putting out rerecordings. Maybe she was already well underway designing the concept for the album, maybe the concept was already set, maybe this one at the moment fit said concept and was a call back to another sleepless night that could've taken place at any point in her life, be that recent past or decades ago past, current relationship's past struggles, ancient relationship ponderings.. you know what I mean? She's not doing anything out of what we've learn to expect from her throughout her career but more specifically when it comes to her latest studio album, which literally, as the well established and expressively stated core concept foretells, is an exploration of a lifetime of insomnia inducing ruminations.

[That being said, at the beginning of the year she did spend quite a lot of time flying back and from NYC's Electric Lady Studios (but I actually think she was most likely working on the rerecording of Speak Now and 1989) so there's that on the table.]

But at the end of the day these are people we don't know personally, and unless Joe decides to write a memoir (highly improbable), write another few songs but on his own and make them public, or write/direct a piece in the audiovisual department that specifically addresses the end of a long and very scrutinized relationship, idk something of the like, we might never know his side of the story. Taylor has this very public outlet and a huge platform whereas Joe doesn't beyond his sporadic Instagram photo dumps every once in a while.

Anyway, I don't think her puting an already published song now out on Spotify is a dig. She probably knew this assumption was inevitable and by now super predictive, cause this type of speculation has happened with literally every single one of her songs. She simply decided not to shield away from the scrutiny that was to come regardless and not let the public frenzy censor her anymore. People were gonna think the worst either way, make up theories and demonize her and the intentions they imagine she had for putting out a song about her own life.

I also think she learned from the experience of the re-releases that now she doesn't have to limit her self expression to appease absolutely anyone other than herself. She doesn't have to keep the men in suits with the big pockets happy to get where she wants to go. The rerecordings are a passion project of hers, where the fans' impressions and opinions haven't weighed too much in the making of. Yet, the relentless encouragement she's received from said fans, along with the praise from the media as an after the fact result (which could have never been taken for granted since none of them were counting on it getting any sustancial pay off, keeping in mind an enterprise like that hadn't had that much commercial success in previous attempts by several other artists... which is exactly why she was doing it more for herself and her own personal moral and legal gain) have helped in getting her out of her head about releasing discarded projects. You know, stuff that for some reason or another had to be cut from the final more polished official version of the end product. And it reassured her in the fact that, in the position she's in, at least today, whatever she releases will most likely not bomb commercially. Also, as an added bonus, not only does she get to get things off her chest and speak her truth, but revel in the knowledge that it feeds both the media and her own fanbase with content she knows it's desperately being sought after and craved for, not out of necessity but out of greed for anything resembling an inside look into her up till very recently pretty much kept under wraps and extremely undisclosed private life. Yes, even if it's calculated, cause it's a taste of the type of flaunting and overexposing she was known for during the 1989 era, where everyone and everything clung to her for clout.

What was my point? Something along the lines of be thankful for the dashboard food she's providing us with, but also be nice??? Be more aware of the bigger picture and the inner workings behind the decision of putting out a previously shelved song??? And be empathetic??? It's not that hard??

And, sidenote: in case it was so -that she's still harboring some type of feelings towards Joe (anger, resentment, sadness, longing, etc)-, she's completely entitled to feel any which way she might deem appropriate in regards to her own life, her own relationships and situations, and act and react upon them accordingly. We, however, are NOT entitled to any answer whatsoever. All tidbits, drops of tea and crumbs of scones are hers to disclose if so she chooses and at will, not ours to demand.

[asiancatboy]

my manager is really sweet actually

so i used to rarely put cams on in our small group calls, it took me a good couple of months to do it consistently even when i have nothing to add to the meeting

but we've now switched out our small morning stand-ups for an official wider department stand-up of maybe 20 ppl & there's this one woman there who has taken charge of the meetings for some reason (idek what her role is or what she does, she just loves to talk & is pushy abt everything tbh) & lately she's been insisting that everyone turn on their cams. like literally will not let the meeting start until every. single. person. has their cams on & makes passive aggressive comments abt being fickle abt appearance or whatever & just straight up names & shames ppl it's kinda ridiculous

anyway this morning the dysphoria was so bad i just couldn't do it & i was stressing bc literally nobody cares like it's just a camera it's just a face but then she makes a pointed statement & now well damn everyone's waiting it's getting awkward i'm stressed if i turn my camera on now does it just make me look like i've just been stubborn or does it mean i'm just not pushing myself enough like it's just a 15 minute meeting should i have to push myself do i need to ask for an official exemption will it draw more attention to myself how do i get out of this

& after this weird uncomfortable silence my manager goes 'if anyone is having tech issues just send me a message it's all good' so i send her a quick brief msg like 'hey can i not have my cam on today. dysphoric' & she's all 'no worries <3' & covers for me which is. huge relief. then later in our scheduled 1:1 she brings it up briefly like 'btw i'm going to have a word with [the other lady] to stop pressuring my team. it's my job to manage them & it's getting kind of silly. also if you ever feel not great you can keep your cam off or skip the meeting entirely. you don't have to ask, just send me a message'

i don't think i'd skip the meetings but it's really nice to know the option is there. it's a big relief to know i don't need to keep pushing myself especially when there's going to be a lot of changes coming up soon and i can work on preemptively giving myself room to breathe instead of just powering through whatever y'know?

[imightgetbetter]

i need some friendship advice….so my best friend is a bad texter (like really bad) she won’t reply for weeks and only responds when she’s at work (we work at the same place but different departments). I’ve talked to her about it and how it makes me feel like she doesn’t care about me or our friendship, it’s started to feel one sided. I’ve tried to not reach out as much and not answer her right away but i don’t know what to do anymore. I know she’s had bad days and can’t get out of bed but she prioritizes other things such as smoking weed and responding to a group chat we’re in. I just feel like i’m giving all of me and getting nothing in return. I don’t want to stop being her friend but I don’t know how much more I can give. I’ve tried to lower my expectations and tell myself to not rely on her for anything but I don’t have anyone else

hi friend. here are our thoughts:

bestie: Okay, this is going to come from someone who has 589 unopened text messages on their phone right now. So first off lemme start off with the simple fact that I HATE texting. The number one reason why being that I'd rather talk to someone and be able to actually fully focus on them and the conversation we're having vs texting them while I'm in the middle of my day having to focus on other tasks at hand. Examples being of running errands or dealing with craziness at work. I want the person I'm talking conversing to know that they have my attention, instead of me giving a lazy half-assed response because I'm pulling my phone out to message someone back while I'm in the middle of trying to make dinner or trying to problem solve at work. NOW, there is a second portion as to why I don't like texting and am so terrible at opening and responding. I am interacting with people and talking to people and around other people, about 14-18 hours a day give or take, and I am considered the extrovert out of our friends, but truly sometimes I just can't even try and force myself to socialize with people via a phone screen. I'll be honest and vulnerable on here and admit that I have been through some shit that has resulted in terrible episodes of depression and during these episodes, it is extremely hard to not only put on a fake smile and socialize with people at work because I literally have to in order to make money and pay bills, but to also do so during MY time with others. It doesn't matter if it's my best friend or a family member, somedays I really truly just can not respond to. I'm sorry you feel like the friendship is one-sided because I've also been in situations similar to yourself, and it hurts but sometimes you just have to stop and let them take care of themselves before you can mutually work on the friendship. Someone said something to me a long time ago and I've tried to carry it with me 'I can't care for or take care of others until I've taken care of myself.'. It almost sounds like that may be what your friend needs to do, take care of themselves and then work on the friendship with you. At the end of the day sadly you may lose a friend or become distant for a while, but I can guarantee that something good will come out of it. Whether that be that this friendship flourishes later down the road, or a new friendship happens with something else. The other thing to keep in mind is that sometimes we grow out of relationships and it can be difficult for one to express their thoughts or emotions to the other. My advice is to just have grace with this person, if you feel like a confrontation needs to happen for you to gain closure, great. If you feel like you need to just slowly let it fizzle out and end on its own, great. At the end of the day you are the only person who knows what it is that you need to do.

me: honestly, i am a really big communicator. i want to talk to my friends all the time, and the reason bestie and i talk so much is mainly because we live together, but before that, we had to make facetimes work and whatnot because she hates texting. i have a lot of friends that don't text, and it took me a very long time to figure out how to come to terms with the fact that everyone is a different communicator. but that's really what it comes down to. everyone communicates differently and you may need more communication. there have been people where i've said, this hurts me! i wish we talked more! and they express that they can't speak or they don't have the energy or whatever the case may be, and that doesn't mean they don't care (not playing devil's advocate but, this is my experience), they just can't right now. i think what you really need to do is take a step back and think about what you want in your friendships and what you can give! you can't give all of you, baby. you deserve to have that effort given back to you, and you will find people that do that. i have so many different friends now! friends i talk to every day, friends i talk to once a month. they're still your friend if they invest in you, but some people just can't invest every single day. i genuinely want the best for you and i think you are so sweet and you deserve to have all the best things with your friendships. i think maybe taking a step back and sitting with yourself and understanding what you can and cannot take is important here. self-reflection and understanding is the best thing you can give yourself at this time.

[cafecitoeddie]

okay so i’m dreading tomorrow. but also... completely giving no fucks?? it’s a weird feeling.

i’m having some issues with at work that just have me on edge. i work in a printing company that has a graphics department that builds proofs from scratch / works on existing art / does a mix mash of both. we generally produce pharmaceutical cartons and actual pill holders, i.e. a blister pack. i work as customer service facilitating the exchange of artwork that comes in to the graphics department. it’s my job to make sure they understand what the customer wants and provide them with all that they need to make everything run smoothly. it’s gone fairly okay since i started in january, save for a few months at the very beginning where i felt like i was gonna quit or burst into tears any second.

anyway, the graphics department are a special bunch. you got people that have been there for years and years who know everything there is to know about anything but still want to act like spoiled babies who can’t understand a simple instruction if you forget to dot an i. and you got a new guy who basically follows the crowd.

monday morning i went into work with files for 39 items the customer wanted worked on. mind you, we have already run proofs for them of those 39 items so all the graphics team needs to do is build upon already existing files. there were 3 monthly cartons, and 12 weekly cartons plus 24 daily blister packs with copy on the front and on the back. i separate the jobs as the 3 monthly cartons in one bag, the 12 weekly cartons on another and the remaining 24 as two bags of week 1-6 and 7-12. i do it for a reason. i do it because its a lot of items to work on at once so i thought i’d make it easier. no, one graphics person decided to pick up both bags and work on it all by herself.

 the direction for 12 of those items is literally to bold certain words and make certain words present tense, i.e. chew instead of chewed, swallow instead of swallowed in 2, literally two, lines of text. THAT’S IT. it’s not rocket science. but the one graphics person who thinks she knows everything has taken 3 days to do that. meanwhile i’m stuck in the middle having to field questions not only from our salesman whose account it is but the customer asking where the proofs are actually at. when i spoke to graphics about it this morning, i was told ‘oh well, they’ll get it when they get it.’ how are you going to tell me that and put me in a position where i have to go back and forth with the client? my manager had to get involved today and even questioned graphics herself and was told well they’ll get the rest tomorrow when i finish because i’m not working on it any more. mind you it’s still 40 minutes before her time to leave.

i’m so so glad i’m not being blamed for anything but tomorrow the graphics department manager is in and the salesman is due to be in the office so there will be talks and i know and i can feel i’m going to be put in an awkward position. i hate it. i hate feeling like i’m being pushy or demanding but it’s literally your job to work on this art, get it over with push it out quick and then go back to being on your phone or doing nothing. hell, god knows i love me some tumblr but i get my shit done. nobody is sending my emails for me. if i miss something its noticeable because the customer is asking the salesman for art files or proofs or answers no one can answer but me because i’m on copy for the emails. i’ve missed things before and been apologetic about it but graphics wants to take their sweet ass time with something and it’s allowed, and even encouraged sometimes. it’s not fair. i hate this so much. my stomach hurts. i’m doing everything right and i still get fucked.

[kyberphilosopher]

Androphobia

Requested? No Word Count: 7014

An Android attempts to offer comfort to someone with sleeping trouble.

Androphobia [an·drow·fow·bee·uh]; Fear of or aversion to men. A related concept is misandry, the hatred of men, but not necessarily fear of them.

  * ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

Every woman or female born member of society has experienced an off putting encounter with a man. 

This is not to be entirely blamed on men- not as a whole, no. But individuals, the ones you run into on your way out of the grocery store, the ones who stop you on the streets, they are the ones to blame. Some women have the guts to tell them off. Not an easy task with the given anxiety, but one to take pride in for the capability that comes with it. Some women stay quiet, rush away as fast as their polite feet can take them and hope someone will see the problem. They usually don’t. And some women are outliers, tricking their ways out of interactions with these men one way or another, and to them I take my hat off. 

There are men who are easily construed as monsters, when in the dead of night their silhouettes flash beneath the tallest of streetlights. And there is no reason to not believe them as such right then and there, for as spoken by our Lady Galadriel, “the hearts of men are easily corrupted.” And any look into statistics will back up this fear, any personal experience, any hug that’s gone on just a bit too suspiciously long, any catching of those wandering eyes and it’s easy to feel in your heart that men are not to be trusted. They are not to be confronted, nor left alone with, and they will jump at the opportunity to put down anyone for the validation of other men. 

This is the reality of women and men in 2021. It is the same for several in 2039.

 * ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

You step out of your old, dusty car. Chips of the dark red paint flake away as the raindrops hit it. Above you, the gloomy, warm gray clouds roll against each other in different shades and sizes, high above the skyscrapers and the stress of the world.

Gathering your belongings for the day, you shut the door with your hip and shoulder everything. Then you make your way towards the Police Department, your work, with the heels of your shoes scuffing against the parking lot. 

Across the way, you can see Detective Reid, who rubs his brow while he does his usual slamming of the car door. There’s no point in looking for Hank at this ungodly hour, he’d never be in on time. He’ll probably park his car next to yours as usual- a little too close so it’s hard to squeeze into your own and pull out without causing his vehicle damage, but you never say anything. Not because you are one of the people who feel threatened by Hank as a man- It’s more because you trust Hank as a person, that you’d never bring up the obvious annoyances he places upon you and everyone else. Though, once you had tried. 

(“Cars parked a little close, don’t you think?”

“Shut the hell up.”)

The inside of the Department is bustling. A female Android brushes past you briskly, the others at the front desk all seemingly click clacking away in their own brains. Even months after they’ve gained independence, it’s not uncommon for you to remember how they were before. How still and lifeless they were. And looking back on it, it was awfully sad. They seem busier now, more alive and fast. A strange image, in your mind, but not an unwelcomed one. 

You reach your desk in the lobby, on the right side of the room slightly separated from the officers. You’re a psychologist, so it’s not plausible for you to be seated next to bias. Instead you’re in your own corner, with a rather cluttered desk on the top and empty rows of drawers. You do, however, keep a small japanese cherry blossom tree on the top, courtesy of Hank, though his has all but fully withered at this point. 

And then you’re ready to start your day. Pull out your chair, click your pen and type away reports and notes on the computer to send to the detectives. You don’t have any meetings scheduled today, so there’ll be no need to prepare questions or anything of the sort. Just an easy day. 

And then...

As you and I, the dear reader, have already discussed, finding men to be generally scary is an easy task. And even though you are smart enough to know that it’s simply not possible to truly believe that every man or male presenting individual is terrible, or has done terrible things, or has experienced the desire to do something terrible, there are times where you can’t help the cautiousness. You can’t help the flinch, the distrust, the physical distance, the hand in your pocket grasping for anything to use in self defense. Seeing men like Detective Reid in power, brutish and given guns and easily agitated, certainly doesn’t help.

So when you swish your chair around and come to a stand, your heart drops. You’re looking into the presence of someone tall, with broad shoulders and a strong chest. A man. 

[Sort of.]

“Good morning, Doctor L/N.”

“Connor,” you breathe out, eyes flitting down as you attempt to quiet the thump thump thumping of your heart in your throat. “I- I didn’t-”

“Your heart race has increased. You appear stressed, Doctor L/N.”

He cocks his robotic head to the side, his eyebrows creasing as the literal gears in his head turn. 

“You just startled me,” you admit, grabbing the back of your chair and moving it over as an excuse to create a bit of distance between you and the [possible] threatening force. “What is it, Connor?”

Now, for context, you and he were not considered close. You’ve spoken a few times, though never as friends, only friendly. You remember seeing him last Winter, when he would stand out in the snow outside the station, just gazing up after Hank had already returned to his own home. You remembered how he was different from the other Androids, besides being more advanced to begin with. You’d never said anything about that. It was obvious the only person it would’ve really mattered to, Hank, was already aware of this. And Hank liked Connor. There was no point in interfering. 

In Connor’s eyes, you could really do no wrong. You were smart, intelligent, and diligent in your work. Your job had been threatened by the presence of Androids for years by the time Connor had showed up, but it still appeared that they wouldn’t have done your legacy justice. But despite this, interactions were scarce. You were not friends. You were friendly. And you were always on your guard. 

“I was hoping to hear your thoughts on a case Lieutenant Anderson and I have been working on,” Connor tells you. He’s always made efforts to keep eye contact with people, and the tilt of his head tries to follow your eyeline to do so. But it’s never to any avail. “I apologize for the abruptness, but the thought only occured to me last night and I think it could be a good one.”

“Yeah, sure,” you answer. “I can help with that. I’ll get the details from Hank when he comes in.”

“No need,” the Android quickly assures you. When you look up to him for a brief second, you can see his tongue sway against his bottom lip, creating the softest of imprints. His dark eyes glitter like a beatles in the catch from the light above. 

He produces a light, manilla colored folder lined inside with papers. “I hope you’ll find all the details you need here,” he explains, offering the file to you. 

You take it after a moment, watching his thumb let go in the softest, most normal way possible. 

“Thank you, Doctor L/N,” Connor smiles. “I’ll go get you your morning coffee.”

Connor is like a dog in that way. Not in an insulting way, or an obedient way. In a kind way, in a warm way. With his chocolate eyes and the dimples when he smiles, it’s hard not to want to just believe that he is incapable of hurting anyone or anything. Especially a woman. 

But when you snap back to reality, you can see his male form. His set back shoulders, the robotic strength, the fact that he was programmed to execute any task he so desires. And then you’re right back on edge, wanting to step back from him until you’re sure you can take a full breath. 

It’s easier when he’s taken himself away. You can see him through the glass walls in the kitchen, waiting for the pot to heat up. Doesn’t seem so bad from far away, like most of them do. 

You return to the chair and open the file. At first, your eyes flit to the pictures attached at the top- one of a woman that looks so familiar, another of a man whose angry brows cover his eyes. Then they move to the written report, and something clicks. 

The woman in the picture was an acquaintance from college. The man next to her was the main suspect, and apparently her lover.

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

“Morning Doc,” Hank waves tiredly. Then his tone changes slightly. “The fuck are ya doing at my desk for?” 

You push yourself from your lean on the edge of his property anxiously. “I read the report on your case. The Carla Rodriguez one.”

Hank sighs in his classic sigh, tired and grumpy from the morning and being alive. “What about it?” he questions, rummaging through his large bag of prescription pill bottles he’s brought with him every day this year. You suspect Connor has something to do with this.

“I had a... personal relationship with the victim,” you begin, crossing your arms. “I knew her.”

Hank looks at you, bewildered. “You were sleeping with my victim?”

“What? No. What? I- anyway. Carla and I were in college together.”

Hank’s face changes. He leans back with high raised brows in the way he does when processing something. 

“The boyfriend did it. I remember him from back then, I think. Real angry guy.”

“You’re sure you know what you’re talkin about?” Hank questions you, though not in an insulting way. You know it’s anything but that. 

“I’m sure. I can tell you what you need but you know I can’t testify. You won’t be able to use my bias in your report.”

“But the bias is the whole point.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, along with your shoulders. It’s the universal symbol for ‘I don’t know what to tell you’. 

“You talked to Connor about this?”

“Well, no. I- he wanted my opinion but I didn’t tell him this part.”

Hank glances around. “Where's he at anyway?”

You shrug again. You’re thinking about the disposable coffee cup on your desk, left there by Connor a few hours ago, that you’d never brought yourself to touch. 

“Run it by the Android before we do anything,” Hank advises you. “Nutjob’s got this whole system in his head.”

“Yeah,” you mutter as Hank seats himself. “That guy’s weird.”

“Tellin’ me?” Hank groans. 

And the rest of the morning you spend avoiding Connor, thinking at your desk, barely doing your job while you let yourself get lost in thought. You’re not usually like this. You’re very professional at work- you love this job. The thrill, the learning about criminals and their rehabilitation- it makes you feel so tranquil. Complete, even. 

But knowing a victim, knowing the perpetrator, still adapting to the change of Androids looking happy for once, knowing Hank pretends you’re the child he lost- it... it...

You snap your drawer shut. 

What’s wrong with you today? 

You huff out dry air. When you turn ever so slightly, you can see Hank at his desk, eyes already on you with concerned and empathetic brows. Seeing him calms you down a little, at least makes you feel more in the real moment. After a moment, you turn back straight. Then you smooth back your hair, and open a your file again. 

“Doctor L/N?”

You look up slowly, recognizing the boyish, sturdy voice of Connor. Sure enough, there he is. Tall, looking down at you with his warm, brown eyes. They remind you of an excited, loyal dog. Yeah, you think, Connor seems like a dog person. 

And then you catch the sharpness of how broad his shoulders are, how little effort it would take for him to kill you, or pin you down, or come at you in the dark. 

“Can I speak with you candidly, Doctor L/N?”

“You...may,” you say slowly. Connor begins to squat, until he is level with your eyeline, though he’s over on the other side of your desk. From your view, your cherry blossoms pink petals stand out against the paleness of his skin, and then the darkness of his hair. 

“I heard what you said earlier to the Lieutenant,” he begins. 

Truthfully, your eyes flicker around his face, mostly between his lips and his nose and his eyes. They’re all so realistic. Well, obviously that was the point in his creation, but still. They’re so human. Connor is human. Even the way he seems to move his mouth, like his lips are just a little dry, is human. Such a strange detail. Perhaps you would never have noticed it if he hadn’t gotten this close. 

“When?” you question. 

“About 3 hours ago, about the file I gave you.”

Your eyes snap away. Connor’s own eyes follow your movement. 

“I know that this must be difficult for you-”

“Connor,” you sigh, slightly exasperated, but still holding it together. Your eyes close like you can’t bear to look at anything in the present moment right now. You must be trying to pretend that you’re somewhere else. “I’ll be alright. This was in my job description.”

The Android’s eyebrows knit for a split second, confused. “Overseeing the psychology behind your friends death was in your job description?”

And it’s a genuine question from him. That’s what makes it so hard to contain your laughter, no matter how frustrated or overwhelmed you are right now.

“Yeah,” you finally muster with a light chuckle. “Apparently.” Then you’re back to business. “This is my job. I’ll be alright. Thank you for your concern.”

“I just considered that, since you’ve been on the news before, the suspect could know that you’re involved.”

“So?” you ask, slightly more snappy than intended.

���He may know you’re here and subsequently attempt to cause you harm.”

There are two conflicting sides in your brain right now. The first one says: Now think about this. How could he harm you in a place full of cops? It’s not like he knows where you live or anything. How could he even find that out? When they bring him in, he’ll be in custody the whole time. Gavin won’t let him out of those handcuffs. Everything will be just fine. 

And the other part? It shows you a dark, masculine figure, looming over you. Police department or not, he is there. He will cause you grief and harm, do something so terrible to you you could not even fully imagine it enough to anticipate yourself. 

And, despite your better judgement, and to your full awareness, you listen to the second half. 

“Okay, so,” you breathe out. “So what are you saying?”

Connor’s eyes draw to his left in a stutter, his mouth parting as if he’s in consideration. “The Lieutenant and I had talked about... having you stay in a... safer place.”

Your eyebrows pinch together. “What do you mean by that?”

Connor looks so human in this moment. it’s so apparent, and piercing in this exact second. The details in his eyes, slightest of blemishes on his cheekbones. 

Connor leans in, his eyebrows raising. Subconsciously, you lean back ever so slightly in response. 

“We were thinking of taking you to the Lieutenants place.” He sees your eyes widen, getting ready to give a vocal response. “It’s a very safe place,” Connor promises. “I can assure you there are many rooms to your liking.”

You take a minute, looking the Android right in his warm, hopeful, perfectly symmetrical eyes. “Connor, I’m not interested in having this discussion right now.”

“It’s just-”

“Back off,” you snap. It’s assertive. Something you don’t usually do towards masculine presenting beings. 

As soon as you say it, you regret it, however. The person across from you just looks so heartbroken, almost. His big brown eyes, the ones that remind you of a loyal dog, are looking right at you. How could you not feel bad for snapping at Connor? Sweet Connor, who doesn’t take pleasure in hurting people no matter how much you convince yourself he does. 

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

The Carla Rodriguez murder case went on for two more days. Her boyfriend, unfortunately, was not yet found. Hank was working on obtaining a warrant based on your instincts that would give him access to search family members houses for the man. Things were becoming focused. 

Each night you went home, you struggled to sleep. You did in fact, find out that Connor may have been onto something when he suggested the consideration of safety. You indeed stayed up later than usual, using both locks on your dirty apartment door for once. It was hard to fall asleep. Whenever you did, it became all too easy for you to imagine a solid, big, broad shouldered figure standing over the foot of your bed, waiting to strike. 

A man, as usual. 

Ironically, you did feel better when Hank- a man- would come into the station. And then there was Connor, who was somewhere between a puppy and a wolf, half following Hank, half fully capable of loading and discharging a gun. Connor made you feel safe too, but only by association. It felt bad to think about him after the snapping that occurred Thursday, but it could’ve made you feel worse to act unprofessionally in the work place. It was best you try to forget it, and try to forget that Connor has unlimited and invincible memory. 

On Sunday, you and Hank had your weekly scheduled lunch. Nothing fancy, just fast food from a food truck by the train tracks. You’ll both probably get burgers, except Hank will try to add lettuce and some vegan bullshit to convince you he’s sticking to his diet. Of course he will. 

You throw the keys to your locker in the backroom into your desk drawer, and slip it closed. Across the floor, Hank is already ahead of you, tugging on his crappy jacket and somehow standing patiently and grumpily at the same time. 

“Ready to go?” you ask as you approach him, your own jacket in hand. 

“Yeah, just waitin’ for the kid,” Hank replies casually. 

“The kid?”

“I’m ready to go, Lieutenant,” the enthusiastic voice of Connor rings out. He has one of those voices where you can tell when he’s happy and smiling too, and he is in this very moment. 

Nobody ever joins you and Hank. You knew Hank had taken Connor to the truck before, but that was just between them, and this was just between you. An odd decision on Hank’s part to make such a change. 

“Alright,” Hank calls back. Then he turns to you, the smallest of knowing grins on his face. “Ready when you are, Doctor.”

You just nod your head and start walking out to Hank’s car, unsure of what to do think. In the end, you decide to just not think at all. 

“What are you doing this for?” you’d ask Hank as you were walking, when the Android known as Connor was out of earshot. 

“What? You got a problem with Connor?” You shake your head no. “Well good. Because besides bein’ a freak he’s perfectly fine.”

Yep. Thanks, Hank. 

The drive over is silent, besides Hank’s music. You like his taste, but it doesn’t make you feel less tense around Connor. On the other hand, Connor is completely oblivious of said tension. You can see him in the rearview mirror, smiling and looking out the window every now and again. 

Once arriving to the scene, Connor gets out first. You click your seatbelt away, about to pull the handle open when you notice Hank hasn’t moved at all. 

“You coming?”

“Mm,” Hank fake thinks, flipping through his cd cases. “Nah.”

“Well then... well then are you even hungry?”

“I got food back at the office,” he sighs, not even looking up at you. “Indian from last night. Gonna wreak havoc on the ol’ plumbing.”

“Then what did you bring me here for?” you question finally, developing a tension headache from how often you’ve been knitting your brows together lately. 

Hank looks up and over, an almost offended expression on his face. You can see it in his wide old eyes, the angry eyebrows, the slightly opened mouth. 

“Because I’m trying to create a warm and loving social circle.”

“You one time told me die because I ate your jar of pickles!” you cry. “Oh my god- Hank, is this about me and Connor? Is that it? You want us to get along?”

“Yeah, and what if I do?” Hank turns to you fully, putting an angry hand on the steering wheel to clutch something. 

“It doesn’t matter!” you exclaim. “It literally doesn’t matter at all!”

Hank is quiet. You can see his beady, angry eyes on you, his jaw clenching. “Get the fuck outta my car,” he says at last. 

“Gladly,” you mutter. You open the door and slam it closed. 

Looking across the wet, rainy street, you can see Connor looking up at the sign of the food truck known as Chicken Feed innocently. You breathe out, feeling the heat from the previous ‘discussion’ beginning to melt away. 

Okay, Y/N, you tell yourself. Just go talk to him. 

You begin your walk across the street, hearing the light tapping of the rain hitting the asphalt all around you. His back is getting closer and closer. You still have a chance to turn around. 

“Hey, Connor,” you say lightly. 

“Hello, Doctor L/N,” Connor greets in return warmly. 

“Whatcha... thinking about eating, there?” you ask, both of you knowing damn well Androids can’t eat. 

“I’m not sure,” he admits. Then he shrugs, and very genuinely says, “I guess I could have some french fries.”

“Alright. I’ll get you some.”

And you do. And you feel so stupid while ordering it. The guy in charge, Gary, looks at you with an ‘are you sure?’ expression on his face, but you only continue with the order, confirming that, yes, you are sure. Then you and Connor sit next to each other in silence, waiting for your food to be ready. You pretend to be very interested in a stain on one of the back menus for about three straight minutes. 

“Here you go,” Gary hands you the food. You take the bags and speed off immediately to an umbrella by the place. Even though you’re essentially powerwalking at about 6 miles per hour, it doesn’t feel fast enough in the moment. Connor is right there beside you the whole time. 

“Here’s your fries,” you mutter, pushing the bowl towards him. 

“Thank you,” he says, formally. Then Connor just stares down into the bowl. 

“I appreciate you paying for this meal, Doctor L/N,” Connor decides to say after another moment. When you look up, you can see he’s leaning down ever so slightly so that he’s closer to your height, and making pretty sturdy eye contact. It’s moments like this that you think you’re talking to Connor’s social programming, and probably not him naturally. 

“You don’t have to call me Doctor, Connor,” you breathe. “We’re not at work right now.”

“I apologize. How would you like me to address you then?”

“Well... how would you like to address me?”

Connor thinks for a moment. You can tell because his led is switching between yellow and white. Then the beginning of his eyebrows start twitching, along with the corners of his mouth, just like a human would when they have several thoughts on the tip of their tongue but none of them seem just right. It’s cute when he does it. 

“You can just call me Y/N,” you rush out in an attempt to save Connor from quite possibly exploding. 

He does the twitching once more, then looks up to the top of the umbrella without moving his head. “And, is this outside of the workplace or in it as well?”

“What would you prefer?”

His led goes yellow again. He looks back to you. “That depends whether or not you consider us friends, Doctor L/N.”

This takes you back. You’re silent, stunned, looking at him with slightly widened eyes for a few seconds- maybe a whole minute- before you make the decision to look at your burger and change the subject. 

“How’s been adjusting to life as a free man?” you ask, unwrapping the foil from your warm food. 

Connor adapts to the subject change after a few seconds, and you know that he’s seen right through you. “It’s strange,” he tells you, deep in thought, but sincere. “But, people seem happy.”

“Are you happy?” you prompt further, biting a big bite into the meat. 

Connor thinks again. He thinks a lot. “Yes,” he decides. “I suppose I feel alive,” he admits. It sounds like a confession, and when he turns his head to look over to you, he sees your eyes are already on him. “Are you happy?”

“Am I happy?” you repeat in question. “I... guess I am, overall.”

“Do you enjoy working as a criminal and forensic expert?”

Now it’s your turn to think. You swallow down your bite. “Yeah, I think so. It’s what I’ve wanted for a long time. And now I have it, and I’m comfortable and all. So yes... And you? As a detective?” You bite into the burger again.

“Well, it is what I was created for,” Connor tells you, with an almost charismatic, joking tone. It looks like he’s smiling a little, too. Cute. “I think so. Working with Lieutenant Anderson has gotten better.”

“God, I remember when you first came in,” you roll your eyes. “Hank was all in a mood. One of the grouchiest days for him. But he likes you now.”

Connor watches you pull the burger away from your face. He’s thinking again, but also admiring your features from up close. He doesn’t usually get to do this with you. The proof is in the lack of response to the ‘would you consider us friends?’ question. 

“You know,” Connor says, and you can hear the sincerity in his voice for the millionth time. “I really admire how talented you are in your line of work.”

You feel heat in not just your cheeks, but in the rest of your face as well, as if you have a very sudden fever. You decide to keep your face down, trying to naturally make it not look like you’re using your burger as a shield. “Thank you,” you respond. 

The heat begins to subside, so you look back up to him. “I admire your...” and you can’t finish the sentence. Not because you can’t think of anything to admire. You know you had a good one in mind to say to him. But when you look up at his boyish face, with the innocent smile and the comforting eyes and the most human details in his skin, you lose your train of thought. 

It seems too late and rude to continue by the time you regain it, so you just decide to leave it and eat your burger as quickly as possible. 

“Are you done with your fries?” you ask, as Connor looks down at the untouched basket.

“Yes, thank you.”

You don’t even look into the waste of 2 dollars as you speed walk to the trash can and dump it full of everything. Then you hop across the street, Connor right behind you.

Getting back into Hank’s car makes you roll your eyes. It’s not that you’re mad with Connor anymore so much- not that you would describe the feeling as mad in the first place. You’re not even sure you’re ‘mad’ at Hank so much anymore. It’s more like you’re in the area that you previously had a yelling match in, so all that energy is still there. So stupid.

“Hey, you two,” Hank greets, though to you it sounds condescending.

“Hello,” Connor chirps back.

You just shoot Hank a glare.

“How was lunch?” The old man prompts, holding your eye contact knowingly the entire time.

“It was fine,” you tell him.

“Fine?”

“Yeah,” you practically seethe. “Just fine.”

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

You stay in your house for another two days. Sleeping has become far more difficult, though you’d never openly admit it. Hank can see it in your face. There’s dark circles under your eyes, far more noticeable than before. Your eyes are dragging themselves down, along with the rest of your body which seems to be in a constant slump. 

You’re like a zombie. You’re just carrying yourself around, mindlessly doing your tasks while you try not to nod off at work. Hank hasn’t said anything. He just watches you from afar, not knowing how to apologize because he’s never been able to pull himself into one. 

Connor hasn’t said anything either. Hank’s pet has continued his daily routines around the precinct, going where he’s told and sitting on the other side of the older man. You haven’t been observing them much lately. Been a bit too preoccupied with the threat of sleep paralysis to do anything that you find matters in a social sense. 

Carla’s case is still open. Her boyfriend is still out there, watching and waiting. Maybe for you. Maybe for some other innocent woman. You keep picturing him towering over you, his shoulders looming, strong jaw twitching with anger. Those masculine brows, defined with the intent to strike at you. Kill you, like your old friend. 

Finally, on the fourth day of little to know sleep, you fell asleep at your desk. Completely zonked out, your head slumped against the surface, squishing your cheek in the process. Connor jumped up from his seat, Hank following shortly after. But there was no threat, you were simply resting. Once the two realized this, they calmed a little. Hank opted to send Connor over to you to check you out, crossing his arms as he got ready to observe. 

The Android creeps over. Your breathing is steady. So is your heartrate. You’re not in shock or anything at all. You’re not even hurt. 

“Y/N?” he prompts lightly, now crouched to be close enough to your ear so he can whisper. His chocolate eyes glance around the precinct, looking for anyone who might have noticed you to try and save you some embarrassment. Then he glances towards the Captain in his office, and he knows he has to hurry himself so you don’t get caught and reprimanded. 

“Doctor L/N?”

No response. Connor looks back at Hank, who shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly with little help. 

“Doctor L/N, you have to wake up,” he tells you, poking the back of your slumped shoulder. 

You were asleep, yes, but apparently not very deeply. You stir from your slumber, raising your head and your mousy appearance to look over at Connor with confused eyes. 

“What happened?” you strain, stretching. Connor detects a bit of drool on the corner of your lips. 

“You fell asleep at work,” Connor explains slowly. 

“I did?” you squint, obviously still out of it. 

“You have... drool on your lips.”

You wipe the left corner. “The other side,” Connor gestures lightly to his own lips. “Yes. You got it.”

“Was I out for long?” you look around, adjusting to the so very bright lights of the building. 

“No,” Connor answers in that sweet, sweet voice of his. “Maybe a minute, or two.”

“Oh,” you say, your eyes wandering around. 

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

That night, it rains. 

Thunder echoes, with  ripples of light from the lightning that bears across the sky like great claw hands. 

You watch the view out your window from the middle of your bed for a long time. You’re curled up in a ball on the blankets, not even under them. You’re just there, watching the sky that reflects in your eyes. 

A sudden stir in you gives you a change of heart. Something you can’t explain to the fullest extent, something not even I, the one in charge of relaying all that’s happening to you, could explain the exact feeling. It’s like the snapping of a rubber band at 2:15 in the morning. 

You can’t stay in this apartment anymore. Not even two locks are enough to protect you. Not your kitchen knives, or the gun given to you from the department for self defense. None of it seems like enough, because all of those things are used after something happens. They don’t prevent it. 

You’re in a hurry. The comfiest pajamas you own are soaked in the salty rain water and protected only by the simplest of winter coats you own. It’s nice, though not appropriate for the current weather of course. Your hair gets drenched fast. Every individual drip that falls from the tip of your nose is felt, like you’re more hyperaware than usual. 

Now you’ve arrived at a house. A one story, fairly inexpensive home with a garage and recognizable old car out front. As you approach, you can already hear the barking of a dog, see a neighbor turn their lights on briefly to observe you, and feel the shivering of your knuckles as they tap on the door sporadically.

Come on, Hank, you think.  Please protect me. Please do this for me. 

And, believe me, Hank Anderson would’ve done it had he been awake. But he hadn’t been, and so he didn’t answer the door. Instead, the door swings open, and inside you see an Android. 

A tall one, with soft facial features. He has long, dark eyelashes framing dark eyes, surrounded by dark hair. He’s clean and clear cut, very put together. It’s Connor, Hank’s pet that you’ve never been able to get the hang of knowing. And he’s as shocked as you are. 

Your drenched hair, shivering body, distant look in your eyes. Though, Connor’s unsure of how he would appear if he had to show up to anyone’s house at 2:34am. Probably unwell. Probably a little bit like you. 

“Doctor L/N,” he says, though it seems mostly to himself. His parched lips barely move, though you notice how pink they look in comparison to everything else right now. 

“Can I come in?”

Connor is still for a few seconds, obviously still processing your appearance. For what, you don’t know. Must’ve been one of the few things he’s simply unable to calculate. But then he moves himself to the side, and you carry yourself in. 

As soon as the door closes behind you, everything is so much warmer. You haven’t been to Hank’s place in months, but it still feels as homey as it did before. It’s cleaner than it was a year ago. There’s more pictures on the walls, more clutter lining the shelves. He’s starting to care about things again. That’s good. 

“What are you doing here?” you suddenly ask, turning around to face Connor. 

That’s right- what is he doing here? He and Hank couldn’t be living together, could they? Or is... or is it that Hank is pretending Connor is someone else, too?

Connor’s led goes yellow, then blue, then back to yellow. “Lieutenant Anderson has offered me a place to stay until I’m ready to go on myself,” he explains, though the way it looks at you makes it seem like Connor doesn’t want to tell you this. Like he feels the need to explain himself. 

“Are you alright, Y/N?”

You wipe your face, smearing your leftover makeup from your eye with the rain water. It burns, but you can’t feel it over the cold. “I uh- um... I’ve been having trouble- trouble sleeping.”

Connor’s lips close, and he looks at you in understanding as you stand there, now feeling your own pressure of having to explain yourself. 

“Just like... at my place I can’t- can’t sleep. Not a lot of it.”

Connor knows he shouldn’t, but it’s right there on the very tip of his tongue. It’s so close to just spilling out, until finally it does, all at once. He’s too curious to try and stop it. “Why?”

“I just- I can’t-”

You’re looking everywhere. The floor, the wall, covering your eyes with your arm or your hand, shifting back and forth between feet, making a soggy spot on the floor from your dripping clothes. 

“Can’t sleep.”

When you look up to Connor again, you feel better. Still panicked, but like you’re not in trouble. His eyes are so soft. They’re so human, and comforting. He looks at you like he understands, and like he’s not upset. You can see why Hank would pretend he is who he is now. But there’s no one for you to pretend who Connor is. He’s just Connor. And he’s better than you. 

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

Connor lets you wear one of his sets of identical clothes. It’s a grey t-shirt and blue pajama pants. Your hair is still wet, but Connor doesn’t say anything. He lets you sit on the couch and watch one of Hank’s basketball recordings while he goes to make tea. 

He brings it to you and sets it down on the coffee table in front, but like days ago, you can’t bring yourself to touch it. Connor’s made himself a cup too, but doesn’t drink it. It’s deadly silent, the only light coming from the faint glow of the tv, the only sound coming from the biases of those annoying sports commentators. 

“Connor?” you whisper hoarsely, turning your body to face him. 

He looks over at you, at full attention. Such a soft boy. 

“Do you think I’m afraid of anything?”

Connor’s led goes yellow. It flickers in circles until finally he says, “What do you mean, Y/N?”

You look down at your hands. “W-when I try to sleep, I see someone,” you say, not bearing to look at anyone from that gender for a moment. “He never leaves me alone. I feel like I- like I’m seeing this thing everywhere. I can’t avoid it. It won’t leave me alone.”

“What is it?” Connor prods gently, leaning in in that innocent, but curious way he does. 

You open your mouth like you’re going to answer, but then your mouth goes dry. Instead, you just shrug your shoulders in a weak attempt of lying. 

“Um... why are you still awake?” you ask instead. 

“Androids don’t need to sleep,” Connor explains to you. “We just power down to conserve energy, but I don’t need as much as others.”

A light puff of air escapes your nose in time with the flickering of the corners of your lips. “Sounds like you’re bragging,” you tease for a second. 

Then it goes quiet.

“I don’t think you’re scared of anything,” you hear Connor’s voice say clearly. “At least, not that I’ve seen. You’re very diligent in your work.”

You take the compliment. It warms your chest for a moment, but the pit inside you is not so easily gotten rid of.

Your nails scrape against each other, breaking while you pick at one of your index fingers. “I think I have like... this fear of men. Fear of something.”

Connor’s led goes yellow.

“Androphobia, also known as the fear of male presences, affects nearly one third of the current female population.”

Connor watches you continue to pick at your nails. The memory of you standing at the door step, shivering like a kitten, drowning in the rain water stays on his mind. “Is this what you think you have, Y/N?” he asks, though this time it’s far more soft.

It sounds like he really cares.

You look up to him, your eyes glossing over from stress and the incoming wave of tears you can feel in the back of your throat.

“I can assure you, Doctor L/N, you are safe here,” Connor continues, holding eye contact as he speaks. “I won’t let any kind of harm get to you.”

The tears in your eyes seem less violent now. Like they’re disappearing already. And that’s how the story ends, in fact. With you, looking up at Connor, seated on Hank’s couch with your hair dripping around you- him promising not to hurt you. It ends on the silence that follows, right between the stare the two of you share.

  * ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

This is the first thing I’ve proof read. Also one of the longest things I’ve written somehow? It was fun. I apologize for any mistakes as English is not my first language.

[storiesforallfandoms]

she ain’t a gold digger ~ machine gun kelly

word count: 2417

request?: yes!

“Hi, please write a MGK imagine where the reader joins him on tour and he loses his wallet and when they decide to go out to a club one night, she asks him to get something from her bag and he sees his wallet in there. He accuses her of stealing and they get into a fight and she storms off. One of the guys confesses that they found it in their suitcase by accident and just slipped it in her purse to keep it safe but forgot to tell him and he apologizes profusely to reader and after some persuasion she forgives him”

description: when his wallet goes missing and he finds it in her bag, he lets the tabloids bullshit get to him and causes a fight he regrets

pairing: machine gun kelly x female!reader

warnings: swearing, angst

masterlist (one, two)

The hotel room was basically overturned when (Y/N) walked in. Colson was tossing things from his suitcase, frantically searching for something.

“We’ve only been here like five minutes, is it really time to pull a full Motley Crue on this room?” she teased.

“I can’t find my wallet,” Colson said, running his hands through his hair in frustration.

“What?”

“It’s not in my suitcase, it’s not in any of my pants - the ones in my suitcase or the ones I’m wearing - it’s not in my carry on or my jacket.”

(Y/N) crossed the room to kneel next to Colson. She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. In a more calm manner, she looked through the things Colson had messily thrown about the floor. She helped him to look for the millionth time through everything, coming up empty yet again.

“Okay, don’t panic,” she said. “You had it at the airport because it was with your passport. We can call both this airport and the one we just departed from to see if it’s been turned in. In the meantime, we can lock your cards so no one can use them.”

Colson nodded, but (Y/N) could see the panic in his eyes. She cupped his face and made him look up at her. “Hey, it’s okay. We’ll find it, and if we don’t we’ll replace it the best we can.”

~~~~~~

Despite the stress he was still feeling, Colson decided to join (Y/N) and his friends at the club that night. He was glued to his phone the entire ride there, and once they got to the club (Y/N) took it and shoved it into her purse.

“Relax,” she told him. “We’re here to have a good time.”

“But what if someone calls about my wallet?” he asked.

“Then they’ll leave a message. I highly doubt anyone is calling you at almost midnight, though.” (Y/N) laced her fingers through Colson’s and pressed her body against his. “Please baby? For me?”

Colson sighed but (Y/N) could see the smile on his face. “Fine, but you’re paying for my drinks tonight.”

He had to admit the night out was what he needed. Besides the panic over his wallet, Colson had also basically worked himself to death the past few months. Between recording and filming, and now the tour. He was just grateful that his manager allowed (Y/N) to join them on tour. He’d be out of his mind without her.

(Y/N) pushed through the crowd to where Colson and his friends were and passed Colson his drink. He smiled and pulled her down onto his lap. (Y/N) giggled as Colson pressed a kiss onto her neck.

“If you guys are gonna fuck, do us the curtesy of going to the bathroom,” Rook called over the music.

“Please, I’m more classy than that,” Colson responded. “I’d fuck her in the coat closet like a gentleman.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes and stood. “I’m gonna go dance. Enjoy your boy talk.”

Colson watched the beautiful curved figure of his girlfriend strut to the dancefloor. He finished his drink in one mouthful and went to follow her.

They danced together for so long that Colson had forgotten all of his worried for a brief period of time. He gazed lovingly into the face of the love of his life as she grinded her hips against his. She wrapped her arms around his neck and sheepishly smiled up at him.

“Wanna get out of here?” she whispered seductively in his ear.

“More than anything,” Colson responded. “I’ll get our things. Meet me at the front doors.”

(Y/N) smiled and winked at him as they went their separate ways. Colson pulled out the coat check tickets to get his jacket and (Y/N)’s purse, and passed it to the girl working there. As he shrugged on his jacket, he got the overwhelming urge to check his phone to see if anyone had called about his wallet.

He promised (Y/N) he’d have a good time, but she didn’t have to know he checked. He would just look and see if there were any missed calls then forget until morning.

However, when he opened (Y/N)’s purse to get her phone, he noticed something on the very top: his wallet.

Why does she have my wallet? he thought. And why wouldn’t she tell me that she had it? She knows how worried I’ve been about it.

He tried not to overthink anything before talking to (Y/N) first. He made his way to the front of the club where (Y/N) was waiting with a joint hanging partially out of her mouth. She looked over at him and smiled as a puff of smoke rolled from her lips.

“Are you ready to go?” she asked. When she noticed Colson’s serious look, her smile fell. “Babe, are you okay? Did something happen?”

He found his words stuck in his throat, so instead of speaking he just held his wallet up.

“Holy shit! Is that your wallet?” Colson nodded, still unable to talk. “Where did you find it?!”

“In your purse.”

(Y/N)’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What? How did it get in my purse?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

She looked up at him as she took another puff from the joint. “What does that mean?”

“It doesn’t mean anything, I’m just asking a question. This is your purse after all, the only people who touch it are you and me. Obviously I didn’t put the wallet in there so that leaves one person.”

(Y/N) crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at him. “Say it Colson. Fucking say it.”

“Did you take my wallet (Y/N)?”

“No! Of course I didn’t!”

“Then why is it in your purse?”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes and turned away from Colson. She started to walk away, but he followed her.

“If you took it, I just want to know why,” he said. “I’m not upset, I know there’s likely a good reason for taking it and not telling me.”

“I didn’t fucking take it!” (Y/N) snapped, spinning around to glare at Colson. “I know how this looks, I know it makes no sense, but I fucking swear to you I did not take your fucking wallet. I don’t know how it got in my purse, I don’t know why it’s there, but I did not take your goddamn wallet!”

“Then why the fuck is it in your purse?!”

(Y/N) let out a frustrated groan and buried her head in her hands. “Why can’t you just fucking believe me when I say I didn’t take it? I don’t know how it got in my purse, but I didn’t take it.”

“It just doesn’t make sense to me, (Y/N). How else would it have gotten there? You’re the only one who even touches your purse, none of the guys have had access to it. You knew when and where I had my wallet last, and now it’s showing up in your bag.”

“If I had taken it, why was I trying to help you find it? Why did I tell you to shut down your cards so no one could use them? Why was I helping you to call the airports and turn over the entire hotel room another two times looking for it? Why would I go to those lengths if I just had it instead of telling you just to replace it all?”

“I don’t know, (Y/N), maybe you were just making sure you could get whatever fucking money you could from me without me realizing.”

(Y/N)’s face fell and her eyes started to well with tears. After being together for a year, she thought he would know her better than that. She thought he wouldn’t believe the bullshit tabloid websites were publishing about her being a gold digger and just dating Colson for the money. She thought he would knew she loved him with her entire heart because of who he was, not because he was a famous rapper.

Apparently she was wrong.

Without another word, (Y/N) turned away from him and walked towards the line up of taxis that were waiting outside of the club. Colson watched her go, his anger starting to subside and be replaced by guilt. But he couldn’t go after her, he wouldn’t. He needed some time to think about all of this, to let her think about it as well. Neither one of them were going to get any answers if they kept fighting and hurting one another.

Colson entered the club again, order two more strong drinks and finding his way back to his boys. They all looked at him with confusion as he sat down where he had been before.

“Dude, I thought you left,” Baze said.

“I thought so, too, until I found my wallet in (Y/N)’s purse,” Colson muttered. “We got into a fight and she left.”

“Why were you fighting about that?” Rook asked, his eyebrows furrowing together.

Colson waved off the comment, not feeling in the mood to relay the entire fight back to his friends.

“Wait, did I not tell you I put the wallet there?” Slim asked.

Colson nearly choked on one of his drinks. He coughed and turned to look at his friend. “You fucking had it?”

“Yeah man, it somehow got in my carry on,” Slim responded. “I found it when we were waiting for our luggage. I put it in (Y/N)’s purse cause I knew it would be safe there. I could’ve swore I told you that, though.”

“You didn’t,” Colson said. “God fucking dammit, I’m an idiot.”

“What did you say to her, man?” Baze asked.

“I...I insinuated that she...she’s only with me for my money and she stole my wallet so she could get it.”

The guys chorused disapproving noises at the same time.

“Kells, (Y/N) is literally the realest person I’ve ever met,” Rook said. “She ain’t a gold digger, and you definitely shouldn’t think that she is.”

“I don’t,” Colson sighed. “I was just pissed. God, I’m a fucking idiot.”

“Bro,” Slim said, leaning forward to look at Colson, “go after your woman and apologize.”

Colson nodded and quickly stood from his seat. The cab ride back to the hotel felt incredibly slow. Of course, he had left his phone in (Y/N)’s purse so he couldn’t even call or text her. There was no guarantee that she was even at the hotel, and that thought had Colson’s anxiety so much higher.

He desperately searched his pockets for the hotel key as he approached the room. When he couldn’t find it, he realized it was likely he had left that in (Y/N)’s purse, too. He sighed and began knocking on the door.

“(Y/N)?” he said, his voice soft. “Baby, can you let me in? I think my key is in your purse.” When there was no movement, he added, “I’m so sorry, (Y/N). I should’ve listened to you. Slim admitted to putting my wallet in your bag, turns out he had it all along. I...I should never have thought it was you. I shouldn’t have said what I said. Can...can you let me in, please?”

There was silence. Not even signs of movement. Colson’s heart began to race as he realized the likeliness that (Y/N) had left. He had no idea where she could’ve gone, and now he didn’t even have any way of reaching her.

The door suddenly opened and (Y/N)’s tearstained face looked up at him. She didn’t say anything as she turned away and walked back into the hotel room. Colson followed in silence, unsure of what else to say. He just wanted to hold her and apologize forever, to do anything and everything she wanted to make things better.

(Y/N) got back into bed and laid with her back to Colson. He stood there in the dark, just looking at her.

“(Y/N), I’m sorry,” he said, his voice almost a whisper.

“You called me a gold digger,” (Y/N) responded, her voice equally as small. “After almost a year together, you called me a fucking gold digger.”

“I know - ”

“We’ve talked about how much those tabloid stories get to me, how upset they make me, and you really had the audacity to bring that up and not believe me when I said that I didn’t take your wallet.”

The fact that her voice wasn’t angry, but rather sad, made everything so much worse. Colson winced at her words, feeling a lump form in his throat.

“I know,” he repeated. “I don’t know why I said any of that. I didn’t mean it, I know you love me. I just...I have no excuses. I am a total fucking idiot and you have every right to be angry with me. I know I’m sorry won’t cut it, but for now that’s all I can say. I really am sorry.”

There was another prolonged silence. (Y/N) didn’t even move from her place on the bed. Colson had accepted the fact that she probably hated him and was preparing to go stay with one of the guys for the night, when he heard the bed shift and (Y/N)’s soft voice ask, “Did the guys give you shit?”

Colson smiled to himself. “Yeah, they did. They called me an idiot.”

“You are one.”

“I know.”

Through the darkness of the room, Colson could see (Y/N) lift the blankets and gesture for him to join her. He quickly kicked off his shoes and threw his jacket somewhere on the floor. The minute his body connected with hers, he felt relief wash over him. He hugged her tightly, never wanting to let her go.

“I love you,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head and repeating the sentiment over and over.

“And I love you, as in you - Colson Baker. Not Machine Gun Kelly, not the man with the money. I love the real you.”

“I know you do. I promise I’ll never doubt that again baby.”

(Y/N) relaxed into Colson’s arms, still a bit hurt from what he had said but happy to have him there with her. Finally, after some time, the two drifted off to sleep.

[ptergwen]

Could you write a fic where Tom is in an interview and talking about the reader as his current gf and also being his first love/childhood love?

woah i wrote kind of a lot like we got DETAILED here 😭 have fun

tom’s love life has been the topic of many conversations over the years. he’s gotten countless questions about who he’s dating and what he looks for in a partner. you’d think the hype would die down at some point, but no. even more rumors have begun to spiral as he promotes cherry.

thank the nosy interviewers for that. they’re taking all their chances to get up close and personal.

“so, let’s talk about love,” an interviewer prompts tom one afternoon. he sits up straighter in his chair, expression serious. “sure, let’s.” “what do you think about it?” she’s being vague so she’ll get the most clickable answers. “do you mean, like, in this film? or just in life?” tom wears a curious smirk now. he glances off to the side, where you’re sat watching.

you’ve been sitting in on his interviews as of late to keep him entertained. as much as the movie means to him, he gets bored of answering the same questions about it. having you there to snicker at his jokes or blow him kisses really livens things up. it’s been that way since you were little. you’re always cheering tom up even if he doesn’t realize he needs any.

“both,” the woman replies, mirroring his cheeky smile. “right, that’s what i thought.” tom clears his throat and raises an eyebrow. “so i’m not mistaken, love in my own life?” “anything you feel like sharing.” she beams into the camera while he nods to himself. you give tom a little smile of approval, which he catches from the corner of his eye. he chuckles at the gesture.

“easy enough. i’ll start with cherry, then,” he decides, getting back into the movie. the interviewer nods for him to go on. “you know, cherry’s always been kind of unlucky in the relationship department.” tom pauses for a moment to collect his thoughts. “until he meets emily, and things are still a bit complicated with her. i’d say it’s the same way for me.”

you jaw drops off camera, tom doing his best to stifle a laugh. he’s the biggest tease to walk this earth. “oh, that can’t be right,” tom’s interviewer insists with a mischievous grin. “you’re one of the most eligible bachelors out there.” “not exactly eligible, actually,” he mutters and twiddles his thumbs in his lap. a smile creeps onto his face.

she doesn’t miss that. “you do have a special someone after all?” tom squints at her through the screen. “after all? who’s been asking?” he jokes, the woman laughing like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard. “everyone has. the entire world.” you make wide eyes at tom. he’s never given many details about his dating life before, so this is a big step to take.

“well,” he starts, glancing over at you subtly. “yes, i’m a taken man.” “by who?” the interviewer blurts. she’s the first person to get anything out of him. “um,” tom breathes out an awkward laugh. you mouth it’s okay to him, ready to give the people what they’ve been craving.

you’ve had this conversation with tom a couple of times. he’s never wanted to put any pressure on you about going public, so it’s been your call if and when you do. now, you’ve made it.

“my, uh, my best friend. it’s not harrison, for those of you who know him.” tom bites back another smile. you sport one of your own, the tips of his ears turning red. “does this best friend have a name?” the woman questions. he looks to you again for your permission to say it. you think about it for a few seconds, then you give in.

“it’s y/n. you might recognize her,” tom explains, shifting in his chair. “she’s been on my instagram a few times, other stuff like that,” the interviewer makes a mental note to insert his posts of you in the video. “yes, yes. i think i do. you said she’s your best friend?” she clasps her hands. he’s fully blushing now, you giggling quietly at the sight.

“since secondary school, yeah. we met in one of our classes. english, i believe,” tom hums. “i was sitting alone, so she came and sat next to me.” he’s grinning at the fond memory. you feel your face starting to get hot. “how sweet. it seems like you became fast friends,” the woman suggests, throwing more questions out.

“what happened that turned your friendship to a relationship?”

it was when you were two wiser and more experienced adults that you and tom came to understand your connection. there was one moment specifically that turned you from friends to something more, though. tom will share that story with his interviewer, since it seems like she’s into the gossip.

“we didn’t seal the deal until a couple of years ago.” tom breathes out a laugh at what he’s about to say. you’re well aware of it, rolling your eyes playfully. “but, there was a moment when we were kids that i knew i really liked her.” “please, spill,” tom’s interviewer happily requests. he gladly obliges.

“y/n asked me to practice kissing with her because she liked some other bloke.” tom whispers to his camera, “which wasn’t true, by the way. we’ll get to that.” you silently groan and throw your head back on your chair. he shoots you a wink before continuing. “she wanted to go out with him, and said it was a best friend’s job to help her... prepare.”

you press a kiss to your middle finger and stick it up at tom. “precious,” he sarcastically mumbles in response. “what happened next?” the woman reels him back in. tom focuses on the screen again. “right. so, i did some research on how to kiss.” he shakes his head at his former self. “i really should’ve been studying for my A levels or something.”

“when i’m all ready, i invite y/n/n over so we can ‘practice’.” tom makes air quotes around the world, you murmuring, “i hate you,” only for him to hear. “i don’t know what website i used, but it was clearly awful.” he holds a hand up to pretend it’s your face. “i went in, and i just, like, stuck my tongue down her throat. like this.” he’s recreating the moment, you cringing at the vivid image you get.

“oh, no. what did she do?” the interviewer gives tom a pained look. “she nearly vomited, is what she did. ran home right after.” tom puffs air out of his cheeks. you press your lips together in satisfaction. “anyway, we’re reminiscing on it a few years later, and y/n/n tells me something very interesting.” leaning forward, the woman gestures for him to say it.

“i was the bloke she was gonna ask out, but my terrible kissing skills, or lack thereof, scared her off.” he exchanges a knowing look with you. his interviewer gasps. “i was like... are you fucking kidding me?” he only mouths the fucking part even though it’s getting bleeped. that makes you snort. “there’s a turning point, there’s a turning point,” tom reassures everyone.

“i told her i’ve gotten better since then, and we should try again if she wanted.” the interviewer puts a hand on her heart. “did you?” tom lets out a content sigh. “we did, and then we had a long talk about feelings and all that shit.” you make a heart with your fingers for him. he puckers his lips to mime kissing you, without tongue. “we’ve been together ever since.”

“what a lovely story. thank you for sharing that with me,” the woman butters him up more. she gets another idea. “now that you two are official, do we get to meet her?” “you kind of have,” tom retorts, but still checks with you. not expecting anything to come of this, you only shrug.

“i’ve noticed you looking off camera quite a lot. is y/n there?” his interviewer points out, much to both of your surprise. you’ve been at this for weeks, and she’s the only one to say something. “uh, she is,” tom finds himself admitting. he’s a terrible liar, so he almost had to. “tell her to come say hi!” the woman pushes. you look horrified when tom peeks over.

“no, no. i don’t wanna put her on the spot,” he brushes it off. “she’s a bit... camera shy.” “come on, just for a second!” she persists, waving you over like she can see you. this lady is starting to get on your nerves. “you just told me about that steamy kiss of yours. what’s the difference?” tom quirks an eyebrow. “i don’t know if-“

he stops mid sentence when you appear next to him. it’s to shut the interviewer up. although, you might as well reveal yourself before paparazzi do it.

“never mind,” tom grins a toothy grin up at you. “you wanna have a seat, darling?” “happy to,” you hum as he pats his knee. you take your spot on his thigh, an arm slinging around his neck. he wraps his around your middle. the interviewer is so stunned, she’s finally out of things to say. this could quite literally break the internet.

your voice a low whisper, you speak into his ear. “i can’t believe i’m doing this. you should’ve stopped me.” tom squeezes you closer and tilts his head to the side. “what if i didn’t want to?” “my god.” you plant a quick kiss on his cheek, leaving tom’s mouth hanging open.

“there’s your thumbnail.”

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Veritaserum Prompt Part 2

(Alrighty, friends! Here's part two of the Veritaserum prompt ficlet! I hope you enjoy.)

Harry had no idea what he was doing.

And to be fair, this was not an uncommon occurrence in his life. After everything that he'd done, everything that he'd been through, you'd think that he would be used to flying by the seat of his pants by now.

But this, Harry thought to himself as he stared at Draco Malfoy devouring a salad with chicken and fresh strawberries across from him at the island in the kitchen, was really not the plan.

The plan had been to find out where they were keeping Malfoy. The plan had been to find out how he was being treated and document it. The plan had been to put together a report demanding his release, demanding that Draco Malfoy be pardoned.

One look at him in that blasted cage and Harry's resolve to go through the correct channels was obliterated.

Hermione was going to kill him.

"I'm having trouble believing this is real," Malfoy confessed and frankly, Harry could sympathize. "I'm not sure if the way you're staring at me like you can't believe this is real either is helping or making it worse."

"This was not the plan," Harry finally said.

"Sorry?"

"I think I've made things worse," Harry confessed.

(Read more below the cut)

"Trust me, Potter, this is definitely not worse."

Harry winced, "In the short term, I agree with you," he said. "I agree completely. In the long term," he rubbed his hands over his face, "There was a plan. With lawyers and trials, with an actual fair trial, with you being tried as a minor because you were. A plan with a demand for your pardon and release."

"It wouldn't have made a difference," Malfoy said, glancing longingly at the salad bowl.

"Please have more if you're hungry," Harry said, nudging the bowl toward him and wasn't this all a bit surreal. "What do you mean it wouldn't have made a difference?"

Malfoy huffed as he scooped more salad onto his plate. "They never would have let me go."

"But Hermione says-"

"Yes," he interrupted, "Granger is brilliant, the brightest witch of our generation, but she also is on the side that won. You lot can have hope because what you wanted happened."

"So what you wanted didn't?"

Malfoy shook his head, "I mean obviously I wanted you to defeat Voldemort. What kind of idiot would I have to be to want him to stay in power? Even the people who followed him were miserable. But I was never under any delusions that my life would turn out fine."

"But we won," Harry said, "You shouldn't be punished unjustly."

"What do you think a just punishment would be?" Malfoy asked, popping a strawberry into his mouth.

"Community service," Harry replied readily, he'd thought this through already. "Maybe a few years of probation with wand monitoring."

"People died because of me, Potter," Malfoy said incredulously.

"You didn't kill them," he said.

"Semantics," Malfoy said, waving his hand.

"You didn't want anyone to get hurt. Dumbledore said-"

"Dumbledore was a fool!" he exploded. "Of course I didn't want to hurt anyone! Of course I didn't want to get the bloody dark mark! But I had to or he would have killed me and my mother. And I know you think the right choice would have been to sacrifice myself, to sacrifice my mother-"

"I didn't say that!" Harry protested.

Malfoy shook his head, "You don't have to because you lived it. You literally died, Potter."

"I mean, fine," Harry conceded. "If you're asking me to die myself, fine. It's literally what I was raised to do, it's literally the point of me. But if you'd asked me to sacrifice a single person I love," he shook his head. "I don't know what I would have done to save myself the pain of loss, to save my friends and family from the pain of that loss."

The other man stared at him for a long moment, "There is so much to unpack in that statement that I honestly don't know where to start." He shook his head, "Look, I'm grateful. Really. I didn't think I'd ever see the sun again, or taste fresh fruit, or drink clean water-"

Something clenched in Harry's stomach, "It's not fair."

Malfoy laughed, it wasn't mean or judgmental, but it was sad, "Potter, when has life ever been fair to you?"

Harry was a bit taken aback by that statement.

Before he could find the words to reply, "I'm just trying to say thank you for bringing me here. And to say I'll understand when you tell me I have to go back."

"It's not happening," Harry said fiercely.

"You've made yourself a criminal, Potter. You can't go back until you give me back to them."

"We'll clear your name," he said stubbornly.

Malfoy gave him a pitying glance, then seemingly decided to give it up. "Can I go outside?" he asked.

"Yeah," Harry said, "Of course. There's a ward set up around the property, but it's about half a mile in any direction. It won't let anyone in or out," he added.

"I won't go far," Malfoy promised.

"Oh, one more thing," Harry said, "One second." He ran back to his bedroom and fetched Malfoy's wand. "Here," he said, thrusting it out to the other man.

Malfoy stared at him, "You're giving me my wand?" he asked as though Harry was doing something inconceivable.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Yeah, of course I am."

"I could kill you in your sleep."

Harry cocked his head at him, "But why would you?"

"You're not very good at having enemies," Malfoy responded.

"You're not very good at being my enemy," Harry replied. "And honestly? I'm tired of having enemies, so if you want to off me just," he shrugged, "Do it."

Malfoy cautiously reached out and accepted his wand, tension draining from his shoulders the moment he touched it, "Circe, that feels good," he murmured. "I won't," he added, looking up at Harry then. "I won't hurt you."

"I know," Harry replied as he stepped back and headed over to start cleaning up the table.

"You're stranger than I remember."

Harry snorted, "Having an extra soul removed from your body will do that to you."

Malfoy was quiet for a long moment, probably trying to process that weird little tidbit that Harry didn't even always understand. "Do you want help cleaning up?" he finally asked.

"No," Harry said, shaking his head and glancing up at the other man, "Go outside. Enjoy the sun."

Malfoy stared at him for another moment like he couldn't believe this was actually happening before turning and heading out into the sand. Harry watched through the window as Malfoy spread his arms and tilted his head back to the sunlight, a smile on his face. It made him want to cry.

After another moment, he turned and made his way to the writing desk to pen a letter to send to Hermione that she could deliver to Kingsley.

Dear Kingsley, The conditions in which I found Draco Malfoy were so appallingly unacceptable that I deemed it necessary to remove him immediately. I'm sending along my findings on his living conditions in an official report with this letter along with any of the records that I managed to obtain from the unspeakables regarding the illegal activities, bordering on torture, that were performed. I will not be returning him to the unspeakables under any circumstances. Draco Malfoy will remain in my custody until he is granted an official Ministry Pardon. His time served in inhumane living conditions ought to make up for any lack of official punishment. I will also be remaining off the grid until Draco Malfoy has been granted the Ministry's Pardon. We both know that fundraiser season is approaching, so I hope you are able to sort this out as soon as possible so I can return to my work. Helping charitable organizations to function and serve those still suffering is important to me. You may send any correspondence to me via Ron Weasley or Hermione Granger. I look forward to hearing from you soon. Sincerely, Harry Potter

Harry read through the letter once more, making sure he'd been clear enough. Then he attached the letter to the official reports he'd written up and attached it to Mel's leg. She was a lovely parrot and they assured him that she would do just as well as any owl could. "Off you go," he murmured. "Take these to Hermione but be sure to rest on the way, yes?"

She nibbled his finger and he gave her a treat before she flew off.

He glanced out the window at Malfoy who was laying in the sand, soaking up the sun, and hoped that Kingsley would get back to him with a pardon before Malfoy realized that he was just as much a prisoner here as he was in the Department of Mysteries.

---------

Veritaserum Part 1 | Veritaserum Part 3 | Veritaserum Part 4 | Veritaserum Part 5 |

Are you guys interested in reading another part of this fic? Drop me a comment or send me an ask, if you'd like to read more. (or if you'd like to be tagged in the next part.)

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[typical-simplelove]

Since We Were Three (J. Oleksiak)

Summary: What happens when you go work for the Dallas Stars and your childhood enemy plays for them, too?

A/n: Here is a fun enemies to lovers I wrote. This is the first time I've ever written for that trope, but I want to write more so buckle up! Enjoy this!!

Warnings: people doing things enemies do (sorry, that's really vague), mentions of sex, breaking/spraining ankles

Word Count: 12.1k

You didn’t expect to move to Dallas; it wasn’t even on your radar. All you really remember is sitting at your parents' house back home and you got an email from your Linkedin saying that there was a position open for something you were qualified for. You didn’t even bother to look at where it was; you opened the application, read the prerequisites, and filled it out. You were desperate to get a job, so it didn’t matter. Only after you emailed your application did you realize where it was - Dallas. It didn’t even register in your mind at the time that your former neighbor and lifelong enemy lives in Dallas or plays for the Dallas Stars, the organization you just sent an application for. They were looking for someone to work in their marketing department. If you knew that your former neighbor and lifetime enemy was working for the Dallas Stars, then you’d probably not have submitted the application. You decided, however, that the pros greatly outweighed the cons, and you doubted that you’d ever need to interact with the players unless they had a marketing issue. You doubt they would, right?

You got an email three days later asking for an interview. You emailed them back saying that you lived in Canada and weren’t sure if you could make it down for an interview. Thankfully, they said that they’d be willing to have a virtual interview; however, you’d have to be willing to move to Dallas for the job. You knew for a fact that you’d be more than willing to move to Dallas. That wasn’t the problem. So, you and the Dallas Stars’ representative set a time for your virtual meeting. You had the interview, and it seemed like they liked you. You got an email three days later that you got the job; you moved to Dallas three days after that and started four days later.

You completely forgot about the fact that your enemy slash former neighbor was in Dallas until your mother brought it up.

“Hey, yn, you know, you don’t not know anyone in Dallas.” You were confused. You literally moved to a country in which you knew no one.

“Mom, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Jamie, remember him? Jamie Oleksiak. You hated him growing up. Well, remember, he plays for the Dallas Stars. You should contact him.”

The normal warmth in your face immediately drained. Yeah, now you remember. The only reason you had the slightest inkling as to what Jamie was up to was because your mother and his mother were good friends. You don’t care for him at all.

You knew that you couldn’t just outright and tell your mother “no”, so you pivoted. “Maybe,” you said and your mother seemed to think that meant that you’d be reaching out to Jamie. You weren’t. You were going to do everything in your power to try to avoid him. There was no way that someone who worked in marketing would ever come in contact with any of the players, right? You didn’t work in media that was in constant contact with the team, and you didn’t work in anything to do with the contracts or paychecks. As long as you keep a quiet profile, you expect you should be fine, right?

This worked for your first season working with Stars. You were new and a few years out of college, so your more experienced colleagues made sure to observe what you were doing. You were happy with this. Before working in Dallas, you only worked for one small company and you were one of two people in the marketing department. The reason you were looking for a new job was that this company went bankrupt. Yeah, you were grateful for the oversight you received. You made it one year without seeing, hearing, talking to, or being around Jamie. The fact that the two of you were in the same city made your blood boil. You hated Jamie Oleksiak with your entire being, and you hoped to avoid him as much as possible.

You went into the second season thinking that you’d have the ability to remain anonymous to the team and stay in your lane. This, unfortunately, did not work. You went to work on the morning that training camp started. You sat at your desk and noticed that everyone was quite angsty. You turned to a friend and asked what was going on. She told you that someone from management was coming to find people to work for the GM, specifically, someone in marketing. You knew that you’d be the last one selected considering your lack of experience. You were wrong.

The minute the representative from the GM’s offices walked in and saw your application, you were swept up and taken to their offices. Happy with the new promotion, you didn’t realize that you’d be closer to Jamie.

The notion hit you nine days after you were promoted when Tyler Seguin walked into the office and walked over to you.

“Yn, right?” he says and you nod. “We need someone to fill in with media personnel and they asked for you.”

“Oh!” you say; you had experience in media but not that much to get a recommendation.

“Yeah, they said to be there at 1:30pm.”

“Thanks,” you tell Tyler; he smiles at you and waves.

So you were going to be getting closer to the team than you thought.

. . .

As you walked down the hall towards the locker room, you ran right into the wall. Except it wasn’t a wall.

“Oh, you’re not a wall,” you say mostly to yourself. It was a very hard and firm person.

“So, you’re telling me you would have walked into me also if I were a wall?” You look up and see none other than Jamie Oleksiak looking back at you.

His beautiful eyes made you want to throw up. There was no word to express how much you hated him. Literally just staring at him for a second made you want to run away and scream.

“I, no, I just thought I had more time before I had to turn the corner.”

“Sure,” he says in a voice that makes you want to punch him; however, looking at him, you know it wouldn’t hurt at all and do the damage you wanted. Since when did he get so big? “Hey, Yn. I heard you started working for the Stars organization. Welcome to Dallas.”

“Yeah, no, you’re not my welcome party. And I’ve been in Dallas for almost a year.” You immediately back up but trip over your feet. Jamie instantly reaches out and helps you balance. You feel your face suddenly grow warm. Why did Jamie’s enormously large hands have this effect on you?

“You always were quite clumsy growing up. Tripping and falling for me, I mean in front of me.” Jamie’s joke didn’t go past you. It infuriated you. He liked to think that you were in love with him. You weren’t.

“You know, the only reason I kept on falling was because you kept tripping me. It’s your fault.” You storm away angrily and head to where you need to be.

Jamie smiles after you. “That’s the feistiness that I remember.”

You turn around and glare at him. Yeah, this wasn’t going to be fun.

. . .

You’ve hated Jamie Oleksiak since he tripped you in daycare when you were three years old. The first three years of your life, you didn’t mind Jamie. Your mothers were best friends, and you were both neighbors. Your parents were both ER surgeons and sometimes they had to go in for emergency surgery. This was one of those days. Your father was already working and your mother was called in for emergency surgery, so Jamie’s mother was going to pick you up from preschool. You put on your small, sparkly light purple backpack and followed Jamie and his mother out the door. The minute you were about to cross the parking lot, Jamie stuck his foot out and you tripped and fell on your face. You didn’t immediately feel the pain until Jamie’s mother helped you up and mentioned that your face was bleeding. You touched your face and began to cry. Jamie tripped you purposefully and now your face was bleeding. From that day forward, you hated Jamie Oleksiak with your entire being. How could someone who was supposed to be your friend and care for you purposefully hurt you? Where was the logic in that? Why could Jamie purposefully hurt you unless he didn’t like you? He must hate you to want to hurt you.

It wasn’t just because he tripped you; Jamie began to make your life miserable. From taunting you on the playground to tripping you all the time. It continued into kindergarten and elementary school. Middle school was terrible. He taunted you and made fun of you. He always found ways to make anything you were enthusiastic about a reason to taunt you. He joined clubs because you were in them and so he could bring his stupid with him who would the experience unenjoyable for you. You remember your parents telling you to ignore him and Jamie probably had a crush on you. He didn’t. He just out of nowhere opted to make your life miserable.

It only got worse in high school. As his popularity grew in high school as a result of hockey, he only became more cocky and unbearable. He always found a way to make you miserable. Whenever you had any remote crush or boyfriend, Jamie always swept in and ruined it for you. By the time you graduated and went to college, you were ready to leave the horrors that Jamie brought on to you. You were quite proud of the fact that despite your mothers being friends, you had no idea about anything to do with Jamie’s life. You went to college and built a life that was the exact opposite of the misery that Jamie brought into your life.

. . .

You walk into the locker room and Carrie, one of the other media execs, greets you. “Yn, right?”

You nod. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“We need you to fill in for a few weeks with our media team because one of the media personnel had to leave for a family emergency. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, I mean, I’m not sure how good I’ll be at it, but I’m willing to give it a shot.”

Carrie laughs. “It’s not too hard. You just have to take photos and videos of the team during warmups, practices, and stuff like that. If you know how to use Instagram, then you should be great.”

“Well, then, I think I should be good.”

“We’re going to give you a separate phone to use that you can just keep at your desk in the GM’s offices.”

“Perfect, that sounds great.” You and Carrie continue to talk and work out the little details about your new temporary position. You walked back to your desk in the GM’s offices with a smile on your face. You were happy to have this new position. At first, I didn’t recall to you that you’d have to be in contact with the team. When you heard Jamie’s voice echoing through the halls, your blood began to boil. You definitely weren’t looking forward to having to have to work with him.

. . .

The day after you got the word that you were filling in with the Media Department, you started right away. You were told to sit in the practice arena ready to take photos and videos of the team. As the practice was ending, Carrie asked you to head to the locker room and take one-minute interviews with the players. She gave you the list of players: Tyler Seguin, John Klingberg, Esa Lindell, Roope Hintz, and, much to your disappointment, Jamie Oleksiak. You sighed. You really didn’t want to have to talk to him, but you were going to be professional and try not to let him get to you.

You walk towards the locker room and Carrie tells you to wait a moment; the players aren’t ready. After fifteen minutes of small talk, you and Carrie walk into the locker room. The players that you and Carrie were going to interview were sitting on the bench waiting. You glance around the room and Jamie is looking at you with a curious eye.

“This is yn; she’s filling in for a few weeks as media personnel whilst Tristain is out with a family emergency,” Carrie explains. “Be nice to her please.”

Jamie meets your eye again and smirks. You roll your eyes and some of the players notice with confusion.

“Yn, why don’t you start with Tyler and I’ll start with John and we’ll work our way around?” Carrie explains.

You nod. You glance around the room and take note of who you’d be interviewing. You were going to be interviewing Jamie Oleksiak much to your disappointment. You get through the interview with Tyler, but he stops you before you can move on.

“What’s with you and Big Rig?” Tyler asks.

You smile at him trying to hide your disdain for your former friend. “Nothing, I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

Tyler laughs. “If you say so.”

You move on and interview Roope next. His interview made you giggle like a maniac behind the camera, and you didn’t notice the glares that Jamie gave his teammate and you.

You finish your interview with Roope and get ready to interview Jamie.

“Hi Jamie, ready for your interview?” you ask professionally.

“Yeah, I am,” he says in a tone that you can’t quite decipher but it’s already got your blood boiling. This wasn’t going to be fun.

“So, Jamie, tell me, what’s been the best part of the start of the new season?”

He puts a smirk on his face and you know exactly what he’s thinking - you’re not going to get an answer you like. “Uh, I’ve liked that I’ve been able to rekindle our companionship.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s not what this is, and you have to give me a different answer.”

Jamie’s answer didn’t go unnoticed by his teammates and they were begging, no yearning, to ask more.

“Fine,” Jamie pauses briefly to think of another question. “I would say just being back with the team and skating with everyone again is probably the best part about the start of the new season.”

You nod and glance down at your list of questions. “What do you hope to get out of this new season?”

“Hopefully a Stanley Cup?” he says and quirks his eyebrows in a way that sends warmth to your face but also infuriates you. You nod in a sign of acknowledgment and Jamie can’t pass up the opportunity to get a rise out of you. “Maybe you, too.”

You instantly drop your notepad and glare up at him. What was his problem? Why was he like this? Jamie should know you hate him, so why does he suddenly think that you two were going to fix the hatred that’s been building for years? Your reaction doesn’t go unnoticed by everyone in the room. “Can you please stop? Just so you know, I hate you, so whatever fantasy you’re playing out in your mind? It’s not happening, Jamie. Can you please stop making it harder for me to do my job?”

Jamie smirks. He knows he should stop, but he won’t. “I always liked watching you get frustrated at me.”

“Jamie! Just cut it out!”

“Is everything okay over here?” Carrie says, trying to calm the situation.

“Yeah, we’re fine. Jamie’s just rehashing things from our childhoods.” You explain.

“Wait, you two know each other?” John asks comically.

Jamie nods. “Know is not quite it, but yes.”

“What does that mean?” John asks

“That means that Yn hates me.”

“You hate me too, Jamie; don’t just put this on me. You’ve only ever made my life more difficult throughout every part of it.”

“Yn, why don’t you interview Esa, and I’ll finish with Jamie, that good?” Carrie suggests

“Yes, that works,” you walk over to Esa and breathe out a sigh of relief. Yeah, you knew that this was exactly what was going to happen.

You finished your interview with Esa, and you and Carrie walked out of the locker room to prep the videos to be posted.

“Dude, what did you do to make her so angry at you?” Esa asks. “It seems like your mere presence pisses her off.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure it does,” Jamie admits. “I can’t remember why; all I remember is that one day we started hating each other.”

“I’d hate to be in your shoes,” Tyler tells his teammate. “A pretty girl hates you, and you very obviously like her.”

Jamie pales. He didn’t think it was that obvious to anyone, ever. “What?”

Everyone laughs.

“It’s obvious,” Roope agrees. “You like her. Just the way you looked at her and acted around her. You’ve got it bad.”

“No, I don’t,” Jamie grumbles.

“Dude, you were staring at her the entire time she was interviewing Roope. All the giggling made you jealous, didn’t it?” Esa states.

“I’m not jealous, and I don’t care. There is nothing but hate between us.” Jamie tries to defend himself. It’s useless; Jamie knows for a fact that he was jealous that Roope got to be on the receiving end of your giggles.

“Whatever, this is going to be fun,” John says.

It truly will be.

. . .

When you got home from work that day, you immediately called your best friend, Lisa, to tell her all about your day with Jamie.

“You know?” you being. “He’s just as infuriating as when we were children. He had the audacity to believe that we could possibly be friends. I mean, come on, the antipathy and rancor between us can be felt for miles and miles. He drives me crazy so much.”

Lisa was glad that you weren’t doing a video call because the smile on her face was wide. Deep down, she knows that there are other feelings besides this hate between you and Jamie; she just wasn’t sure if it would ever come out. “Maybe he wants to be nice again.”

“No, that’s not what this is. If he wanted to be nice and try to be friends again, then he wouldn’t have done exactly what he knew would drive me insane. It’s probably like caffeine to him; driving me insane is the coffee that wakes him up in the morning. You know, now, probably, he wakes up and hatches a plan to try to drive me insane.”

Lisa laughs. “Aren’t you taking this a bit far?”

“Absolutely not, I think I’m acting appropriately. You didn’t see his smirk; I wanted to punch him in the face so badly. Obviously, it wouldn’t have done anything to hurt him as he’s huge now.”

“Oh? Down there too?”

Your face warms suddenly, and you’re glad Lisa can’t see your face. “That’s not what I meant. He’s giant and super muscular. I guess you could assume that he’s packing quite a bit.”

“You know, yn, maybe this is just pent-up sexual tension and frustration. Maybe you just need to get laid and get laid by someone in particular.”

“You’re telling me that when we were seven when Jamie broke my ankle, that was pent-up sexual frustration?”

Lisa laughs. “Okay, maybe not your entire relationship was pent-up sexual tension. Maybe just now and parts of high school? You have to admit, Jamie is quite hot, now, right? Maybe the past few years of hate has led to the dire need to just sleep with each other.”

“Thank you for your take, but these past few days is the first time I’ve spoken to Jamie in almost five years. I just don’t know what to do.”

“Just talk to him. Maybe tell him that you want this to be as professional as possible and try to move past the hate. Yn, before you argue, just think of what working for the Dallas Stars could do to your career. That’s a high-profile job. Maybe if you try to be professional and polite, then maybe he will too?”

You wanted to contradict everything Lisa said, but you knew she was right. For your job to go smoothly, it was important for you to keep a professional attitude and any hate you have for Jamie on the backburner. “You’re right; however, I’m not promising that it’s going to work. I’ll try my best to be professional, but if he starts to aggravate me, I’m not sure if I can keep up that facade.”

“That’s why you talk to him. Maybe set up a time to meet up or something and just discuss what you have to say.”

“That would require me to unblock him on literally everything, even Facebook.”

“Does he still even have that?”

“He does; it’s not even his real name. It’s an alias. He only made it to try to talk to me and bother me. I doubt he uses it and it may be deactivated now.”

“This is besides the point. Yn, Jamie is obviously not going to try to be professional with you, so it’s up to you to make that clear.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

The only lingering thought you had was whether or not this would work. Surely, Jamie could be a decent human being to you, right?

. . .

The next day, you went and sat in the practice arena ready to take the photos that your job required you to take. Today, you decided was going to be the day that you had that all too important conversation with Jamie. You really didn’t want to have that conversation, but you knew that it was important in having a not chaotic working environment for everyone, not just you and Jamie.

When practice was over, you waited outside the locker room for Jamie. He walked out on his own and smirked when he saw you waiting. He didn’t know for sure you were waiting for him; however, when he saw that your phone was off, he assumed you weren’t there for work.

“Hey, ynn,” Jamie says to you and your blood instantly begins to boil. Jamie knew that you never gave him the jurisdiction to call you that, yet he still used it. You wanted to call him out on it but thought better of it. You were here to try to be professional and rehashing this would contradict your objective.

“Hey, Jamie, can we talk? It’s about something important.”

Jamie’s smirk instantly left his face and worry washed over his face. You didn’t know that Jamie could be sympathetic towards anything you said. “Yeah, is everything okay?”

His response shocked you and it took you a moment to regroup. “Oh, yeah. I just want to talk about our relationship, well, lack thereof of one. I think that when we’re here at work, we should be professional. We should put any hate that we have for each other on the side while here so that we can have a better working environment.”

Jamie laughs. “This is what you wanted to talk about? This couldn’t have been a text? You had me so worried, yn.”

“It’s important to me, Jamie,” you protest. You didn’t want to get angry at him, so you calmed yourself down. “I think it’s better for both of us if we can just keep our history and past behind us while we are doing anything to do with the Dallas Stars.”

“If I were to take you out on a date, then we could hate each other as normal?”

“What?” you falter.

“You heard me, yn. You never had a hard time hearing what I had to say.”

“No, absolutely not. You will not be taking me out on a date, ever.”

“Come on, really?”

“Jamie, this is beside the point. I’m trying to move on from our pasts and you aren’t really making this any easier. Isn’t this what you said the other day? You were hoping for a rekindling? Well, this is the first part. Trying to put behind us any hate.” You were raising your voice now. “I’m trying to make my job easier, but you’re making it incredibly difficult. Jamie, all I want is to come to work and not have to worry about whether or not an outburst I make at you will cost me my job.”

Jamie doesn’t have anything to say. “Yn.”

“No, don’t do that. You know, the reason we hate each other is your fault, so you should be the one fixing things, not me.”

“What?”

“You tripped me purposefully when we were three and laughed at me.”

“Wait, this is what this is about?”

“No, that’s the first time you treated me terribly. It was the start of you belittling me and making me feel terrible. I hated going to school because I was always worried about you and your stupid antics.” Tears are forming at the corners of your eyes, and you try to will them away.

Jamie feels terrible now. “I’m sorry, ynn. I didn’t know.”

“Firstly, don’t call me ynn; you don’t get to do that. Secondly, seriously? You’re telling me that you didn’t know you were being a total ass to me? No, I don’t believe that because I know for a fact that your mother talked to you. Do you want to know how I know that? Because she apologized to me time and time again for what you did to me. Don’t you dare say that you had no idea.”

Jamie looks down at you and extends his left leg so it’s jutting out. “You’re right. I was a total ass.”

“Only took you twenty-plus years to finally admit that.”

“Come on, ynn,” Jamie says and you glare at him. “Yn, I’m trying here, and you’re not making it any easier.”

“Oh my goodness, Jamie. Literally, that’s what I’ve been trying to do! You not willing to accept my proposition is the whole reason we’re rehashing this stuff.”

“Yn, I’m sorry. What can I do?”

You look at him and are shocked to see that he has remorse in his eyes. “Nothing, just let me be.” You take a step to the right and begin to walk away. Unfortunately, because Jamie extended his leg, you tripped over it and went crashing to the floor hurting your ankle in the process. You screamed out in pain; you always had weak ankles after breaking them in elementary school. Your cry out in pain brought some people out of the locker room.

Jamie’s eyes go wide in fear. “Yn! Are you okay?”

“Does it look like I’m okay? Jamie, did you really have to trip me?”

“Really? I didn’t mean to! My leg was just there, and you tripped.”

“It doesn’t matter; let me just get up.” You put your hands flat on the ground to help yourself up. The minute your leg is stable enough to be stood up on, you get up but fall immediately. You cry out in pain again.

“You might have sprained your ankle,” Roope says. He was one of the people who rushed out of the locker room when you first fell.

“No, I don’t think so. I just have very weak ankles after Jamie broke, I mean, I broke my ankles in elementary school.” Your correction of Jamie breaking your ankles does not go unnoticed by him. He wants to ask why but feels it’s not the right moment.

“Here, let me help you,” Jamie reaches for your arms and you move them away. “Really, yn? Just let me help you.”

Jamie and Roope help you up and put you on the bench in the locker room, and Roope goes to find a trainer to check on your ankle.

“I’m sorry, yn, really,” Jamie says with a soft voice. You begin to put your foot on the ground but Jamie stops you gently. “Put it on the bench. It’s important to keep it elevated.”

“It’s cold, though,” you pout.

Jamie laughs. “Here, put it on my lap then, okay?”

You look at Jamie hesitantly.

“This isn’t a trick, yn. I think I’ve hurt you enough over the years. Just put your leg on my lap.”

You do as he says and Jamie rests his hands on top of your ankle. Your face grows warm at the touch and you suddenly don’t hate Jamie. “So, you’re finally admitting that you made me miserable?”

“I don’t think I made you miserable,” Jamie says and you scoff. “Wait, let me finish. I think I didn’t make your life any easier. I’m not relenting any more than that, babe.”

You flinch at the pet name, but your face grows warm. Do you address it?

Jamie makes the decision for you. “Yn, I have a question for you.”

You nod, signaling him to continue.

“You were saying something about how you have weak ankles and then said something about me. This isn’t me trying to be self-centered or whatever. I just genuinely want to know. I don’t remember what happened.”

“Well, we were in elementary school and you once, I’m pretty sure it was accidental, put your hand out and it hit me while I was walking down the stairs and I fell. I landed weirdly on my ankle and broke it.”

“So you blame me?”

“Yes, absolutely. Do you blame me? You had a way of hurting me and making it seem like an accident.”

Jamie laughs and you giggle along; he’s about to comment when a trainer walks in.

“Let’s see what’s the matter here,” he says. You are suddenly extremely aware that your leg is sitting on Jamie’s lap and his hands are on your lap. The trainer examines your ankle. “It’s nothing too terrible; just a small sprain. I think if you keep it elevated as much as possible then it should be healed in a few days. Can you try walking on it?”

You nod and put your foot on the ground gently. Jamie puts his hands on your waist as you try to stand, and your skin is burning beneath his touch. “I think I’m good to get back to work.”

“You sure?” Jamie asks, concerned.

You nod. “Yeah, I think so,” you walk away from Jamie’s embrace. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Just ice it and keep it elevated once you get home tonight,” the trainer tells you. You nod and walk out of the locker room.

“What did you do to her?” Roope asks Jamie.

“Too much damage to ever fix,” Jamie says with a sigh. There was no way that your relationship with Jamie would ever go past professional acquaintances after what you revealed to him today. If Jamie knew one thing about you it was that you were strong and steadfast with your opinions and rarely changed them, especially when it came to people. Jamie doubted that he’d be an exception considering all of the past history there.

. . .

The days that followed your fall, you avoided Jamie as much as possible. You could proudly say that you didn’t hate him anymore. That’s not true. You still hated Jamie; however, when you heard his name, you didn’t immediately roll your eyes and get angry. Sometimes, you’d smile and other times you’d have no reaction. This shocked everyone because they all knew about the hatred you had for the Dallas Stars hockey player.

Shortly after, you were taken off of the media job and went back to your marketing job. The night of the home opener, however, Carrie comes up to your office with a request. “Tristain can be back at work but not for games at the moment. Do you think that you could fill in tonight? We had her on the schedule and no one else can be there.”

You hesitate; the only thing holding you back was the fact that you’d be seeing Jamie again.

“Sure, of course!”

You sort out the details with Carrie and are set to be available as part of the media team tonight for the home opener.

Later that day, you’re standing outside of the locker room filming the boys get ready for warmups. Once the video was taken and posted, you put the phone in your pocket and begin to head to the place you were supposed to be. However, someone grabs onto your arm gently and stops you.

“How’s your ankle?” Jamie asks softly.

This should infuriate you; however, his concern has you touched. You don’t show it though. “Better. I think I’d be better, though, if I didn’t have to worry about my ankles but oh well.”

Jamie shakes his head; he wasn’t sure why he was expecting anything else from you.

“I have to go, good luck tonight, Jamie,” you tell him and walk away. You’ll admit, your comment was quite snarky and unneeded. You feel bad for what you said, and Jamie was only trying to be nice. You had to keep up familiarities, right? You hated Jamie Oleksiak for the majority of your life, so why did you suddenly feel bad for what you said to him?

. . .

“Are you coming out with us tonight, Yn?” Denis asks. The team won and wanted to go out and celebrate.

You shake your head. “No, thanks for the invite though.”

“Oh, come on, why not, Ynn?” Jamie asks. Why was he asking you that? Did he not remember that the two of you have hated each other since birth? “Don’t not go because of me.”

“Funny. You think that I care about what you do or think. I just have a few things I have to do.” you lied; you weren’t going to admit that Jamie was the reason you weren’t going out.

Jamie smirks. “Fine, if you say so, but I will continue to think in my head that the reason you’re not coming out with us is because of me and the animosity we have for each other.”

“Well, look at you. Did you finally begin to remember the vocabulary we learned in high school?”

Jamie’s face turns red. Yes, he asked his sister to send photos of his old stuff from high school to try to impress you. He wasn’t going to admit it, however. Ever since that heart to heart in the locker room, Jamie wanted nothing more than to impress you. You went back to bantering and driving each other crazy; however, this was a lighter teasing and driving each other crazy. Some would even call it flirting. Would Jamie say he was flirting with you? Yes, absolutely. Would Jamie say you were flirting back with him? No, absolutely not. You hated him, so Jamie knew that whatever he thought you felt was obviously in his head.

“No,” he grumbles and some of his teammates laugh at him. The one thing that was sticking out to Jamie was that you didn’t correct him when he called you by your nickname. You went along with it. Was there some progress being made? “Enjoy whatever you have to do tonight, yn.”

You smile at him softly that has Jamie’s heart beating fast and walk away.

“Dude, you’re in deep with her,” someone says as they clap Jamie on the back. He didn’t have the energy to determine who was talking to him or contradict what they were saying. They were right; Jamie was in deep and he had no idea what to do about it.

After taking the video you needed for the Stars Instagram of the boys playing soccer at the next home game, you wave goodbye and head to the media offices; you once again had to fill in for the media team. You take five steps and hear a loud “ow!” from the one voice you despised. You turn around to see Jamie rubbing his head and staring down at his teammates. You can’t help but smile.

“Stop staring at her, you idiot,” Roope calls out and this gets a laugh out of all the boys. “Just ask her out instead of staring,” someone else yells. A deep red blush overtakes Jamie’s face and you can’t help but smile. You walk away with a giant smile on your face. You immediately shake it off. Why was Jamie getting flustered making you smile? You hated Oleksiak, right?

. . .

When you got home from work after a long day, all you wanted to do was curl up in a ball and sleep. You had a minor sinus infection and the day was exhausting. You had a massive headache and felt nauseous all day. There was nothing more you wanted to do was take a hot shower, curl up in warm clothing, and call it a night. You weren’t expecting to come home and see a DoorDash bag sitting outside your door. You knew for a fact that you didn’t order anything. You picked up the bag and noticed there was a note attached.

Yn,

I heard that you were feeling sick, so I bought you some soup.

Enjoy,

Jamie

Jamie bought you soup? Jamie was asking about you? Where did this come from? Why would Jamie extend any kindness towards you? Isn’t he supposed to hate you? Isn’t Jamie supposed to be making your life miserable? You’ll admit, after the incident where you sprained your ankle slightly, you and Jamie have been cordial. Whenever you both talked to each other, mean words were being passed around. However, it was more of a teasing and flirting meanness. Does this mean that you and Jamie were friends now? No, right?

You walk into your apartment and open the bag - it was Italian Wedding Soup, your favorite. Your heart warmed at the fact that Jamie remembered your favorite soup. Growing up, your grandmother always made this for you when you were sick. Sometimes, she’d bring some over to the Oleksiak house if anyone was sick there, too. You grabbed a bowl and ladle and put some soup in a bowl. The minute you took the first bite, you sighed in content. It wasn’t quite like home, but it was close. You started to immediately feel better. How did Jamie know this was exactly what you needed? You wanted to text him to thank him; however, you didn’t have his phone number and didn’t feel comfortable sending him a text through Instagram quite yet. You opted to write him and note and were going to leave it in his stall the next morning.

You finished the soup and began to feel better. You were happy and thankful for the soup, but you had one lingering thought. Why would Jamie do something like this for you?

The next morning, when Jamie got to his stall, he noticed that there was a gift bag sitting on the bench. He looked around to see if maybe one of his teammates left it there. It wasn't his birthday and there was no big milestone coming up. What was the message behind it, then?

“It was here when I got here,” John tells Jamie.

“He wanted to open it, but we told him that it wouldn’t be nice,” Roope says.

“I didn’t want to open it; I wanted to see who it was from. There’s a difference.”

“Whatever, Jamie, just open it.”

Jamie grabs the bag and looks for a card or maybe a note. He removes a piece of tissue paper and sees a note. He smiles as he sees your familiar handwriting that always got Jamie’s heart racing back in high school.

Jamie,

Thank you so much for the soup last night. How did you know it was my favorite? I didn’t have your phone number, so I am leaving this for you. Enjoy a small treat from home! Again, thank you.

Yn

Jamie smiles and peers into the bag. Inside, Jamie finds a bag of snacks that are endemic to the Toronto area. Only, you would know what his favorites were. “It’s from Yn,” Jamie tells his curious teammates.

This gets a few raised eyebrows and snickers from the people that were currently in the locker room.

“Why did she leave you a gift?” Roope asks.

“I bought her some soup and had it delivered to her house yesterday because I heard she was sick. This is her thank you.” Jamie blushes with these words and can’t meet anyone’s eye.

“You got her soup?” John asks curiously. What did this mean? “Are you trying to date her?”

Jamie pales. “What? No. She just wasn’t feeling well, so I tried to make her feel better.”

John smirks. “How did you know exactly what she would want?”

Jamie, not realizing that his teammates were setting him up, answered obliviously. “It was always her favorite growing up.”

“And how do you know this?”

“Because I loved her, still do.”

This was not the answer that everyone was expecting. “What?” someone asks.

“What?” Jamie looks up from the note to see everyone staring at him.

“You love Yn? The girl who hates you? The girl who you treated like absolute shit your entire life?” Roope confirms.

“I, yeah, I loved her. In middle school and elementary school, I just messed with her because she was a girl and, you know when you have a crush on a girl that young, you tease her.”

“No, you don’t,” Miro says.

Jamie glares at his teammate. “Whatever, not the point. I thought I was being obvious, and then in high school, I realized I was in love with her.”

“You wanted to treat her right, but you knew she’d find it suspicious.”

“I forgot about my feelings when she went to college and my career picked up, but when I saw her that first time I, just,” Jamie stops talking because he isn’t sure how to continue.

“Realized your feelings.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Maybe just talk to her? Tell her how you feel?” John suggests.

“That probably won’t work. How do I tell her that I’ve been in love with her since we were three and I treated her terribly because I was scared of my feelings? Oh, and I ruined any possibility of her dating anyone in high school because I was a jealous idiot who couldn’t figure anything out.”

Jamie’s words get a few pitiful glances, “that sucks”, and pats on the shoulder. No one knows what to say or do. Jamie was in love with the one person who might never love him back.

. . .

Walking into the ballroom, you were trying to find your boss so that you could tell her that you were here. Tonight was the annual Casino Night and you were working behind the scenes to make sure the night went smoothly. This was the first time you were attending because last year, the marketing team didn’t need you to work it, and you also caught a cold right before.

“Oh, hey, yn’s here,” Carrie calls out and crosses your name off the list. “Perfect, you’re going to be sitting at the table in the front welcoming guests and stuff. You are going to ask for their name, ID, and ticket. Once you do that, you’ll tell them their table number and give them a gift bag. A few of the players will be serving as ushers tonight, so they’ll bring the guests to their tables.”

You nod. You want to ask who the players are, but you don’t want to sound eager.

“The organization assigned Roope Hintz, Denis Gurianov, and Jason Dickinson as ushers. They also put Jamie Oleksiak. I know the two of you have some hardcore animosity between you two, so if you don’t want him there, then we can get someone else.”

“Oh, don’t worry, we’ll be okay,” you tell Carrie. For the first time in your life, you were serious. Things between you and Jamie were cordial and professional. You still hated him like crazy but significantly less than when you were growing up. You weren’t even sure that you and Jamie would be at this point, but here you two both were.”

“Okay, great, why don’t I bring you to your station and show you how the software works,” Carrie says and leads you to the entrance of the ballroom. The next ten minutes pass, and you think you’ve got the software and system figured out pretty well that you should be okay. Carrie told you to organize the table in any way that’s fitting to your needs, so you begin to reorganize based on how you think you’ll be able to work more efficiently.

Walking to the front entrance from the back entrance are the ushers. Leading the pack is Jamie and Roope. They were walking and talking casually when Jamie suddenly stopped in his tracks.

“Keep walking,” Jason says and smacks Jamie over the head.

“What are you staring at - oh,” Roope follows Jamie’s eye line and spots you organizing the table.

“She’s so beautiful,” Jamie says with heart eyes. You were wearing a dark green dress that fell just above your knees and matching green stilettos. Your hair was done in the way that you knew looked best. Jamie recognized it as the same way you did your hair for Senior Prom and graduation.

“You know, maybe tonight you should tell her?” Denis suggests.

“I don’t think so,” Jamie says with reluctance. “I know she doesn’t feel the same.”

“Then try not to stare or gape too much, then.”

Jamie nods. “We should head to where we need to be, right?”

The four boys continue walking to where you were. “Hey, yn,” Roope greets you.

You look up and smile. “Hi, well, you guys clean up nicely.”

“As do you,” Jamie tells you, and the heat rushes to your face. So, Jamie was complimenting you now.

“Um, so, I’ll be greeting guests and taking their ticket information,” you explain. “Your job, which you've probably been briefed on, is to escort them to their table numbers.”

“‘Briefed on’?” Jason begins. “Are we in some kind of spy or FBI movie?”

“Very funny,” you say sarcastically. “Not the point, but that’s it basically. I think Ryan from marketing will be here to help me with the tickets. Carrie told me that two of you will be on my side of the table and two on Ryan’s side.”

Ryan suddenly appears and greets you with a hug. “You look nice, yn.”

“Thanks, Ryan, you clean up well, too,” you say back to him. You don’t catch the glare that Jamie was giving to Ryan. “I was just explaining what we’re going to be doing tonight to the boys. Two will be working with you and two with me.”

“Perfect, thanks for briefing them; you four can talk amongst yourselves as to who you’re going to be working with. I don’t care either way.”

“See?” you look pointedly at Jason. “Ryan used ‘brief’, too. Oh, I also don’t care. Actually, I’m going to head to the washroom quickly before people start to arrive.”

You get up and walk away, but you don’t notice Jamie watching you leave. He was incredibly captivated with you and wants nothing more than to sweep you up and kiss you. He wants to profess his love to you and love you forever. Sadly, you would never feel the same way as a result of how he treated you growing up. Jamie is drawn out of his thoughts by Jason smacking his arm.

“Dude, you have to stop staring,” Jason says.

“Oh, you like her?” Ryan asks. “She’s quite a catch.”

“Oh, no, I don’t,” Jamie denies. He gets stares from his teammates. Jamie isn’t sure why he denied having feelings for you. You weren’t even here to hear them anyways.

“Good, I like her, and I think I’m going to ask her out. I wasn’t going to say anything if you liked her, but since you don’t, I should be okay to do so.”

Jamie nods but locks his jaw. “Excuse me, I have to go to the washroom, too.” Jamie walks to the bathroom angrily. Of course, Ryan likes you, who wouldn’t? Why couldn’t Jamie just tell Ryan he likes you? That way, Ryan won’t be asking you out. Too entranced in his thoughts, he runs right into you, again.

“Oof, wow, hi Jamie,” you say to him giggly after regaining your composure. “I should stop doing this, you know, running into you. Are you okay?”

“Um, yeah, why?”

“You look really angry and pissed off.”

“Oh, well, I’m not, so, don’t worry,” Jamie says in a voice that doesn’t express what he just said.

You laugh softly.

“What?” Jamie asks.

“You say you’re not angry, but your tone says anything but,” you explain with an amused smile. You look up to meet Jamie’s eyes, and you see the fury going on in his head. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, don’t worry about it,” Jamie brushes you off and walks away toward the washroom.

You want to yell after him, but you don’t feel it’s your place to do so.

“Oh good, you’re back,” Ryan says to you. “Jamie and Jason are going to be your ushers and Roope and Denis will be mine.”

You nod and sit down. So, Jamie was going to be closer to you than you thought. “Perfect.”

When Jamie gets back from the washroom and sees you talking to Ryan in a much too friendly manner for his liking, Jamie sulks again. This was going to be a long night.

Somehow, despite his anger and frustration, Jamie was able to put that all aside as he was working as an usher for the Casino Night. Just being near you and around you was enough to calm him down. Watching you interact with the guests made Jamie’s heart warm. He always knew that you were incredibly caring to everyone you met; he just didn’t know that your actions would make him melt and fall more in love with you. After about an hour and a half of welcoming guests, Carrie walks over and says that one group can go and get something to eat. She walks away and the six of you talk amongst yourselves as to who should go. The decision is made for you when two guests walk up to you and begin pulling out their IDs. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch Ryan, Roope, and Denis head into the ballroom to have dinner. After welcoming them in, Denis ushers the guests to their table. You take a breath of releasing exhaustion and Jamie smiles at you.

“Tired?” he asks.

“Yeah, it’s a lot of people to talk to; when I took this job, I thought it would just be marketing, not the rest of this, too,” you tell him. “It’s a very versatile job.”

“Well, if it weren’t versatile, then we wouldn’t have ever come into contact with each other, right?”

“Yeah, I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing yet.”

Jamie looks you in the eye. “Well, I think it’s a good thing. A very good thing.”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “Oh yeah?” you say to Jamie, and he nods. “I’ll take that into consideration as I make my decision.”

Jamie chuckles deeply, and you feel the shivers go up your spine.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” you ask Jamie.

“Sure,” he tells you.

“Why were you, actually never mind,” you stop asking, seeing Denis walking back to the table.

Jamie was about to question why, but he sees Denis and another guest approaching. He takes this as the reason that you stopped talking. You put on a bright smile and begin talking to the guests and welcoming them. Jamie ushers them into the ballroom after you talk and gives you a wink. You feel the warmth reach your face; you see Denis shaking his head and you question him.

“Just give him a chance,” he replies to you.

“What?” you ask confused.

“I’m serious, just give him a chance.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You will, just give him a chance when you realize you know what I’m talking about.”

You nod. What in the world could he be talking about?

Three hours after the event starts, Carrie comes over to the six of you and tells her that you were all relieved of your duties and were free to enjoy the event. You weren’t sure what to do now.

“Where are you headed?” Jamie asks.

“I’m not sure, you?”

“What do you mean you’re not sure?”

“I’ve never been to one of these before, and most of my friends are working or have their own dates. I don’t have a table to sit at and don’t want to intrude.”

Jamie nods. He extends his arm for you, and you look at him skeptically.

“What?” you ask.

“Dance with me,” he tells you.

You want to tell him he’s crazy and that there was no way in hell that you were going to dance with him. However, you wanted to. You wanted to dance with Jamie, so you loop your arm through his and he leads you into the ballroom. The two of you find a spot on the dance floor and maneuver yourselves into a dancing position. Jamie rests his two hands on your waist and you reach up to wrap your arms around his neck. You giggle softly; your hands don’t reach because Jamie is too tall.

“What?” he asks.

“You’re too tall; I can’t get my arms to go around your neck,” you tell him.

“Oh,” Jamie says. His eyes suddenly light up. He removes one of his hands from your waist and takes your hand. “Now, you put one of your hands on my back. This work?”

You do as he says and nods. “Yeah, and now we dance!”

“That we do.”

You and Jamie begin swaying with the music. You remember that you had a question you wanted to ask Jamie, so you decide to prompt him with it now. “Hey, Jamie?”

“Yes, ynn?”

“Why were you so upset earlier?” you ask.

Jamie suddenly stiffens, and you begin tracing patterns on his back with your hand to try to calm him down. “No reason.”

“So, you mean to tell me that you just get angry for no apparent reason?”

“No, I did get angry for a certain reason.”

“Care to share? A penny for your thoughts?”

What about a kiss for my thoughts. “It’s stupid. Ryan just said something I didn’t like, so I got angry.”

“Oh, okay.”

Jamie smiles at you, and you both continue to dance to the song. When the song ends, you begin to release your grasp of Jamie, but he doesn’t do the same.

“Jamie, the song's over.”

“I know, one more?” he asks. You want to say yes, but you aren’t sure why you don’t want to. You aren’t sure what this shift in your relationship is, but you need some time to figure it out on your own.

“I’m sorry, my feet hurt, I think I’m going to head to the back with staff and just rest, okay?” you pivot.

Jamie nods and releases his hold on you. “I probably have to do some sucking up to the donors and stuff.”

“Oh yeah, probably,” you tease. “See you later?”

“Absolutely, yes,” Jamie says to you, and the two of you go your separate ways. You head to the back to find Carrie, and Jamie heads to his teammates.

“So, did you finally tell her?” Denis asks excitedly.

“No,” Jamie says glumly.

The team gathered at this certain location all shook their heads in annoyance. When will the two of you finally realize these things?

You’re sitting in the back kitchen with a piece of chocolate cake as the event wraps up. Carrie told you that you could just sit in the back if you didn’t want to go out. Yeah, that’s what you did. You didn’t want to see Jamie again because you didn’t know what the shift in your guys’ relationship was. You needed to talk to Lisa as soon as you could before you saw Jamie again. Sadly, the universe didn’t care that much about what you felt.

“Is this the pity party?” Jamie asks as he sits across from you. He grabs the fork in your hand and takes a bite out of your cake.

“Hey!” you jokingly scold. “And no, this isn’t a pity party. I just don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“You could have come and found me, you know.”

You open your mouth to say something but close it right away.

“What?” Jamie asks with his mouth full of cake.

“Stop eating my cake,” you tell him and take your fork out of his hand. “Should you really be eating this anyway?”

“It’s cake.”

“Yeah, and you’re a professional athlete.”

“I don’t follow.”

You sigh. “Aren’t you supposed to be eating only healthy things?”

“I guess, yeah.”

“But you’re eating cake.”

“Oh, now I get what you're saying,” Jamie says to you. “Just don’t tell the nutrition staff.”

“Then maybe you should wipe that chocolate icing off your face,” you joke.

“Oops, my bad,” Jamie begins wiping the icing off his face but misses.

“Here, let me,” you say and scoot your chair closer to him. You use your thumb and wipe the icing off your face. “Better.”

“Thank you,” Jamie says to you, and his face gets closer to yours so close that your foreheads are touching. “Yn, can I tell you something?”

“Of course,” you say to him, realizing how close your face is to his.

“You know how you asked me earlier today about why I was mad?” Jamie asks, and you nod. “Well, I wasn’t entirely telling you the truth. Yes, Ryan said something I didn’t like. When you walked to the washroom, I was staring at you because you were so beautiful. One of the guys told me to stop staring at you, and Ryan asked if I liked you. I don’t know why, but I told him no even though I’m so in love with you. Ryan then said that he was going to ask you out, and I got mad. I got mad because I want to be the one to love you, and I think Ryan might be the one to get that first.”

You pull back slightly, shocked. “What?”

“I’m in love with you; I always was.”

There’s no way you feel the same way. Where did that come from? “What? No, Jamie. You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’ve treated me like shit our entire life. There is no way you’re in love with me. No, you’re not. I’m sorry, I have to go.” You get up abruptly and walk out of the kitchen.

You walk to go find Carrie, so you could tell her you were going to head home. You were going to tell her you feel sick, which you do. You find Carrie and tell her you’re going to head home. She says it’s fine, and you head to the exit.

“Yn, wait, don’t leave because of me,” Jamie says to you as you’re about to leave. Somehow, he found you and was following you.

“No, Jamie, if you didn’t want me to leave, you shouldn’t have said those things to me. Why? Do you hate me that much that you want to mess with me so badly?”

“What? No, of course not. I don’t hate you, yn!”

“That’s rich; I’m leaving. Goodnight, Jamie.”

You don’t see the fallen look on Jamie’s face as you walk away, but his teammates do. Jamie goes back to his table but doesn’t say anything. Why did he think you’d ever feel the same way? Because he was nice for a few months? No, he should have known better. This was his fault, and he had to live what he did.

You held in your tears until you got to your car. The minute your door closed, you broke down. How dare he do this to you? How dare Jamie say something like that to mess with you? What was his problem? Why would he do that?

You and Jamie both went home miserable that night. Jamie went home heartbroken, and you went home angry and annoyed. What happens next?

. . .

You called in sick the Monday after Casino Night. You weren’t ready to face Jamie even though you knew that you’d probably not see him. You weren’t sure what to think. Jamie was always someone that you knew would be in your life. However, you always thought he’d be there as your lifelong enemy who you happened to still be in semi-contact with because your parents were friends. As of late, though, you’ve been seeing Jamie as a friend. You weren’t going to lie, you found Jamie ridiculously attractive, and ever since the accident you had where you and Jamie finally talked, you began to see him in a different light. Instead of your first thought being how much you hated him, you thought about the good things he had to himself. You saw how friendly he was to everyone, and he always asked how you were. He had a selflessness to himself that you were starting to love about him.

“Why are you telling me all this, yn?” Lisa asks you exasperated. “I always thought that the two of you were perfect for each other, even in high school. Don’t lie, you thought about it, too.”

You pause for a moment carefully thinking about what you were going to say. “I guess you’re right. I did have a small crush on him in high school because, for almost six months, he was mostly nice to me.”

“And what about now?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want to know what I think?”

“Yes, please, Lisa.”

“I think you’re in love with him, too. I think you always have been; I think he’s one of those people that is always going to be in your life whether or not you like it. At first, everyone thought you two were going to be the best of friends and take over the world. That all changed when he tripped you and the rest is history, but I think it’s different now. This time around, you both are mature adults who, I think, subconsciously realized that the way they dealt with the crushes they had on each other was by absolutely hating each other. You both didn’t know what to do, so you’re coping mechanism? Hate each other senselessly because you didn’t know what else. Now, Jamie realized how he feels and wants that with you. He said it first, right? Maybe he wants to show you he’s changed and truly loves you now.”

“I guess you’re kind of right,” you tell Lisa. “I just, I don’t know how I feel.”

“Do you find him attractive?”

“Yes, of course, he’s gorgeous.”

“Did you always think that?”

“Yes, because he’s always been gorgeous.”

“Was one of the reasons you hated him because he was so gorgeous?”

“Yeah, I’m not sure where you’re going with this, Lisa,” you tell your best friend skeptically.

“My point is that if you truly hated him, you wouldn’t have called him gorgeous so quickly. I think you would have just denied finding him attractive and that’s that. Now that you know what nice and kind Jamie is like, I think you want more. You want to have more with him because you’ve seen what a great person Jamie is. Because you’ve seen the goodness, you want more and all of it. Can you say that you currently hate Jamie Oleksiak with your entire being?”

“No, I cannot say that I hate Jamie Oleksiak with my entire being.”

“Your first reaction to him telling you how he feels was not to punch him or to hurt him, was it?”

“No, I guess it wasn’t,” you say calmly.

“What was it then, yn?”

“In my head, and I don’t know why I said it, but it was ‘there’s no way you feel the same way', and I was surprised those words even formed in my head.”

“Don’t you see, yn? You feel the same way! You just didn’t know it! Your head and heart have been trying to tell you how you feel by spreading warmth to your face, making you feel shy, or just wanting to be around him. Yn, you’re in love with Jamie Oleksiak.”

“Holy shit, I’m in love with Jamie Oleksiak.”

“You’re in love with Jamie Oleksiak, yn.”

“Oh dear goodness, what do I do now, Lisa?”

“Apologize and tell him.”

You take a deep breath. “Yeah, I can do that, right?”

“If you want to be with him, then yeah.”

“Okay, I can do that, it shouldn’t be too hard, right? What could possibly go wrong?”

. . .

Believe it or not, a lot. The next day, you were set to go back to work, but you woke up with a massive migraine, an aching cough, and a debilitating stomach ache. You couldn’t go to work feeling like this, so you called in sick for real this time. You finally had the courage to go see a doctor, and they told you it was just a bug. They gave you some antibiotics, and you were back to work in three days.

On the Saturday after Casino Night, Carrie asked if you could fill in for the media team, and you agreed enthusiastically. Maybe you’d finally be able to see Jamie and talk to him?

Unfortunately, that was not the case. You weren’t outright trying to talk to Jamie or get his attention, but you weren’t not doing that. You tried to act normal, but Jamie wouldn’t even acknowledge you. You were able to catch him alone after the game, but when you called out to him, he didn’t respond. You went home that night crying thinking you ruined something great without knowing you had something great at the tip of your fingers.

The following Monday, you were sitting in the GM’s offices when Jamie walked in looking for one of the team managers. You were the one of two sitting in the room, and Jamie walked to the other person who was on the far side of the room to ask if the manager was there. You’ll admit, that hurt.

You saw Jamie a few days later on your way to the locker room to give some paperwork to the coaching staff. You were about to turn the corner when your foot got stuck in a loose floorboard, and you went tumbling to the ground.

“Are you okay?” someone asks you as you try to get up.

“I mean, considering I just fell to the ground, no, but thanks for asking,” you answer and lookup. “Jamie.”

“Yn,” he replies back to you. “I’m going to go.”

“Jamie, wait, please.”

“What, yn? Are you going to reject me again because I don’t want to have that conversation with you, then.”

“When we both aren’t at work and in a public place, can we please talk?”

“Why should I agree to that, yn? Because, for your information, you’re breaking my heart. I can’t do this if you’re just going to make me feel terrible.”

You falter slightly when Jamie tells you that you’re breaking his heart. “I’m really sorry, can we just please pick a time and place to talk?”

“Sure, right here, right now.”

“Jamie, that’s not what I --”

“No, if you want to talk, then right here. I don’t want to have this conversation later if you’re going to reject me again.”

You’re getting kind of sick and tired of Jamie insisting that you’re going to reject him again because you’re not. “Jamie! I’m not going to reject you again! Do you think I’m some kind of heartless monster who loves to see you suffer? Guess what, I don’t! I hate that my words made you hurt and put you in a terrible mood. I apologize for that. You know you got to speak your mind, isn’t it time for me to be able to speak mine?”

Jamie is about to say something, but you stop him.

“No, I’m not going to break your heart, I promise. Just listen, okay?”

Jamie nods and takes one step towards you.

“Casino Night? You caught me off guard. My entire life, I hated you and that was all I knew. Wake up? Hate Jamie. Go to bed? Hate Jamie. You have to admit, though, you didn’t make it hard, but that’s beside the point. When I literally ran into you all those months ago, I picked up where we left off because that was all I knew. Then, come to find out, I didn’t like that. When I tripped over your foot and we talked? That was the shift inside of me. I didn’t know what I was feeling. The next few things I’m going to say I didn’t makeup on my own, Lisa helped me with it. She told me that I got to experience nice and kind Jamie, and I loved it. I did, I loved being on the receiving end of it. She was saying how I wanted more, all of the love and kindness you have to offer. She’s not wrong. I want everything you have to offer because I’m in love with you.”

“What?”

“Casino Night? I didn’t know what I was feeling. If you gave me a bit more time, on my own, then I think I would have realized it soon. I’m not sure if you know this, but in sophomore year of high school, I had a crush on you because, for once, you were quite nice to me. I like nice Jamie because he makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Jamie Oleksiak, I’m in love with you even though I spent almost twenty years hating you. And, that’s all I have to say, so I’m going to go now.”

You begin to turn around, but Jamie’s next words leave you stunned. “I’ve had a crush on you since we were three.”

“What?”

“When we were three years old, I realized I had a crush on you. I wouldn’t have called it a crush, but I always saw how in love my parents were and one day wanted that with you. You know how children get ‘married’? Well, I wanted to marry you. I didn’t know how to process how I felt so I treated you like shit and for that, I’m sorry. I realized I was in love with you in high school, but at that point, too much damage was created for me to go back and change things. When I saw you again a few months back, I realized that I never really got over you, and I wanted more with you.”

You take a step forward. “So.”

“So?”

“So, we’re two idiots who are in love with each other, then?”

“So we are,” Jamie says to you with a smile.

“Now what do we do?” you ask.

“Well, I’d like to take you out for dinner and maybe kiss you? Then, take you out for dinner again and call you my girlfriend. What do you think?”

“I think you should kiss me now and we can just jump to the ‘I’m your girlfriend’ part.”

“That’s a deal,” Jamie says and leans down to kiss you. He places a gentle kiss on your lips before leaning back to take a breath. He leans in again, and you both deepen the kiss he places on your lips. All of five seconds pass when you hear cheering behind you. “I guess this is why you wanted to talk in private, right?”

You laugh. “Yeah, it was. Maybe you should listen to me more often.”

“Well, now that you’re my girlfriend, I guess I have more of a reason to.”

“And why’s that?”

“So I get to keep you and love you forever?”

You smile and say, “that I can do.” You perch upon your tippy-toes and kiss Jamie again. Who knew that two childhood enemies could one day learn to love each other?

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