#this fucking display will probably last longer in this workplace than I will

[obstinatecondolement]

Lost my second game of yarn chicken in one evening. This is fine.

#it's the stupid fucking thing I am making for work #(and no it's not finished yet get off my fucking back) #I ran out of the cream first when I was 10 sc short of the first row of the border #and the shop is actually out of that shade and I know for a fact it hasn't been reordered #so I had to snip bits off my tails and get to the end one stitch at a fucking time #and now I have run out of the yellow yarn 28 crab stitches shy of the end of the round #which isn't as big if a deal because we still have the yellow at work #but ugh #annoying and not a great cap to a very upsetting day #my manager was like 'What happened to the crochet? Just bring in whatever you have done and finish it at work tomorrow' #just as I was leaving today #so I finished sewing the last seam this evening and got (most of) the horder done #the plan being that I was letting on that I just had to weave in ends #but I guess the new cover is that I ran out of yellow and forgot to book another ball out of stock #but y'know #whatever #this fucking display will probably last longer in this workplace than I will #I want to set it on fucking fire #not least because I have had to have it in my fucking lap for hours this evening #during a fucking heat wave #werq bitch

[bitchassbucky]

.exe

Word Count: 2.4k

Warning/s: stalkers, bucky being a creepo, reader being a creepo. dark!IT!bucky x dark!reader :-) female & male masturbation, voyeurism (i think), cyber crimes being committed.

A/N: this is my birthday gift to @babyboibucky <3 to my boo, I love you and you have a special place in my heart. this is gonna be a multi-part thing, it's too long to be considered as a one-shot, oops.

please enjoy! :D

follow the CTRL series:

i - .exe

ii - .avi

iii - .raw

iv - .png

v - .zip

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4:49 PM

Just 11 more minutes until he can pack his bags up for the weekend.

One new ticket - URGENT

Goddamn it.

Bucky pulled his earphones out in annoyance, just another office idiot who doesn’t know how to print A4 sheets. If the office were to be held hostage and printing out was the only thing that can save them, half of the floor would be dead.

The new name caught his eye, Y/N Y/L. A new hire, it seems like.

Subject: One new ticket - URGENT

Hi, this is Y/N, employee number 0008675309. I’m new here and was told to send a ticket for the equipment request.

Thank you and have a great weekend!

Oh, Bucky’s gonna have a great weekend indeed. Out of pure curiosity, he’s already pulled up your employee file. A cute smile to a cute name. His annoyance dispersing already, just by thinking of ways how he can spend time with you.

Hey, Y/N! Bucky types into the text field, Welcome to the company. I’m Bucky and I got assigned to help you get settled. Do you prefer having a desktop or a laptop? I’ve attached a form in this thread, send it to me once you’re done.

Have an awesome weekend too!

As much as he hates sending out chirpy emails, he can’t help but to smile when you immediately send a reply back.

Thanks, Bucky! So sorry for sending in the request super late. Got caught up with the onboarding. Is it okay if I use my laptop until we can get a unit to my place? PC or laptop is fine with me.

Best,

Y/N

Bucky fights off another smile, rubbing his hand over his stubbled cheek as he carefully types out a reply. Unlike other days, he doesn’t mind staying beyond 5 PM today. It’s not like he has other plans for his Friday night.

No worries, Y/N. He’s already loving your name. Happy to help!

Do you have your laptop with you? I can set it up before you go home for the weekend. I can probably send in the ticket to the guys so you can have your work equipment next week.

His deft fingers are dancing over his mechanical keyboard, clacking away while the clock ticks closer to the weekend.

A ping, another reply from you. You’re new, you’re still excited to make friends in the office. If you only knew how stupid they are, though.

Yeah! I have it on me right now. I actually work on the same floor, I can drop it off there right now.

Bucky glances around his office, looking for any reflective surface he can check himself on. He runs his hand through his hair, taming any stubborn locks that fell out of his low bun. His shirt hangs just right against his huge frame, his pants hugging his figure, accentuating his silhouette even more.

Just as the clock ticks 5:00, a soft knock raps against his door, “come in!”

You are cuter, prettier in person. Your perfume hits his nose and he’s floored—metaphorically.

“Mr. Barnes,” you say, your demeanor somewhat meek and shy. Well, of course, you are. Your frame is nothing against the hunk of the man who just stood up to greet you.

“Bucky.” He prompts, smiling. You reciprocated the smile, but you really weren’t sure what to expect. Maybe a scrawny little dude mousing away on a keyboard?

“Bucky, thank you so much for doing this. I know you’d rather get off of work since it’s Friday and all.”

He hums, taking your laptop in his hands. You notice the rings adorning his fingers—complementing his tanned skin tone and—it’s not appropriate to stare at a stranger’s hand.

Heat creeps up your face as he turns to look at the stickers stuck to your laptop, “you know, I like this band.” Bucky says, pointing to an old sticker, he carefully sets down your laptop on his workstation.

“They’re great,” you muse, taking a seat on a plastic chair by the door.

You take a gander around his small office. There was nothing out of the ordinary but the big black server blinking at the back, so why do you feel trapped?

“Sorry about the temp, we have to keep the room cold for the server in the back,” Bucky explains, noticing how your arms are crossed over your chest. The skirt you’re wearing isn’t doing you any better too.

You stammer out an it’s okay with a small smile.

Bucky worked on your computer quietly, using a USB stick to load all the applications you need to set up a temporary work account on your laptop. After a few minutes, he beckoned you to come here. You scoot over to his desk, rolling the chair forward and beside him. Not too close though.

“So, this note has all your generated passwords. Type those into the app when you first log in, then you can change it if you want to.” Bucky explains, the cursor idles on the screen. He tries not to get too close to you, to give you personal space. It’s a professional workplace after all.

“This app,” he drags a window, pulling up an application, “tracks your hours and your keystrokes. It’s company-mandated because managers want to micro-manage their people, I guess.” Bucky shrugs, his disdain showing through his voice. His tone shifting lower than what you’d expected.

“Sorry, I just hate their new protocol,” his face and voice softening as he looks at you, “it’s a total privacy breach if you ask me.”

You’d normally disagree but something tells you that maybe he’s got a point. Your breath hitched in your throat as he leans closer as if to whisper something, “this note right here? It’s a nifty thing, a little script so your computer doesn’t go to sleep when you’re away. It enables and disables your numlock pad so it counts as a keystroke.”

A smirk finds its place on your face, “well, that’s…something, isn’t it?”

Never in your life would you find yourself flirting with a co-worker but there’s something about Bucky that made you excited. Interested. Intrigued.

Bucky nods, rolling his chair away to fetch a pad of sticky notes. “Another thing from your friendly neighborhood IT guy,” he peels off a leaf and sticks it on your laptop’s built-in camera, “keep your cam covered.”

You give him a chuckle and a playful salute, “yes, sir.”

Bucky’s a modern man. He sees a pretty girl and he gets giddy. He talks to a pretty girl and he gets flustered. But you—you make him feel more than giddy and flustered. There was something familiar about you, and your eyes. Has he seen you before? Met you, even? No, that’s impossible—if he had met you before, he’d surely remember you.

It was 5:34 PM when he gave you your laptop back and sent in an urgent request for your equipment. While taking down the elevator to the lobby, Bucky gave you a few tips on how to ‘survive’ working in the office. According to him, as far as you go in on time and kept your head above the rumors, you’d do fine.

He asked about your first week and he told you about this joint near the building that serves the best burgers and fries.

You’ve got a good feeling that you just made your first friend.

—

The sun was already setting down when you pulled into your apartment’s parking lot. At the very last minute, you turned into a drive-through and got some food on the go. The side trip took out 10 minutes of your time but at least you dodged the awful traffic that was building up by the highway.

Along with your laptop bag and your food, you trudge up to your third-floor apartment. It wasn’t what you wanted—the windows faced the street, the screen door doesn’t lock all the way—but it’s the one you got. As long as it’s got four walls and a roof, right?

You slip out of your work clothes and into some comfy jammies after a rewarding shower; the sooner you can get your food heat up, the sooner you can eat, and drink and then go to sleep.

So while waiting for the microwave to beep, you pry open your laptop. You told Bucky not to shut it down after he worked on it as to not lose your work on another profile, which he understood.

The work account he set up greeted you, along with the bright pink sticky note he stuck to your webcam. That wasn’t real, was it? All those cautionary tales of hackers using webcams to peep on you. Maybe he’s just trying to scare you, like some kind of initiation. Without a second thought, you took off the sticky note. It was kinda annoying anyway.

Clicking the Log Out Work button, your personal account popped into the frame. Your opened apps and documents displaying themselves for you to use. You pulled up Spotify and clicked on the first playlist you saw—which happened to be your intimate playlist.

Sure, the Pavlov reaction is real because halfway through the first song, you already found yourself getting all hot and bothered. This one’s your favorite song too.

You groan in annoyance, your food’s no longer a priority.

Picking up the laptop from the table, you walk to your bedroom, not bothering to shut the door. You live alone, it’s fine. You put the laptop on its loudest setting, setting it on your desk and you plopped down on your bed, the pillows and the comforter pooling on one side.

Your room is illuminated by a streak of light from the street. Your curtains flowing softly with the breeze that just came in.

Glancing at your laptop, you remembered Bucky. How his office smelled when you first walked in. How he stood tall when he greeted you. How he smiled. Those goddamn rings of his.

Before you caught yourself thinking rationally, your fingers are already splayed even over your thighs, caressing the soft flesh of your legs.

Bucky’s smirk and his cologne finding purchase in your fogged brain. Thoughts of him pulling you aside into his office to fool around—voices above hushed whispers as your skin erupts in goosebumps, the chilled air of his office finding its way up to your spine.

Oh, fuck it.

You undress fast, flinging your shirt over your head, dropping it somewhere below the bed. The air in your room making your nipples hard and erect as you pinch them. You breathe out a sigh, the heat of the moment creeping up your torso.

The material of your panties dampening as you imagine yourself bent over his desk, your skirt bunched over your hips as he laps your sopping cunt. Bucky’s tongue exploring your folds up and over until your pussy’s a quivering mess of drool and spit.

Your fingers slip past the band of your underwear. Even you surprised yourself by how wet you are.

God, you met him once and he’s already inching his way into your mind.

But who could blame you? You’ve been all over his Facebook profile when you learned his name via the office’s organizational chart. The first time you saw him, walking around the office with a laptop in his hands, you already knew you wanted to at least formally meet him. A scroll on his page, you found a band that you could tolerate listening to. (They’re okay, just not your taste in music.)

A plan came to mind when your department head told the team that you can work from home from time to time—only if you agreed to use a work laptop, a company-owned one. Your manager advised you to put in the request as soon as you can, for you to secure a unit before the on-hand supplies dwindle.

Deliberately sending in the request late—way, way later—than what your manager told you just so you could pull up the ‘new hire’ card and act dumb.

And it looked like he bought it too.

The image of him fucking you quiet while he grabs you from behind played inside your mind like a memory—a vision. Of how his thick cock would fill you up until your pussy is clenching around him. Would he pinch your throbbing clit, making you squirm and cream around him?

Your fingers are compared nothing to his, that’s for sure. But it does the work for now.

A breathy moan comes out of your mouth as you play with your clit, your cunt dripping down wetness as you continue to fondle your tits.

His hands would make a great addition to your chokers.

Your toes curl and your breath quickens, the coil in the pit of your stomach tightening—white-hot heat creeping up your limbs.

Oh, fuck, Bucky!

—

His ears perked up as he heard you moaning his name.

Bucky was busy watching you enjoy yourself when he got caught in the moment and decided to enjoy himself too.

He was barely keeping himself behaved when you first walked into the floor wearing a button-up and slacks that accentuated your backside. Bucky wished he was the one who gave you the tour and know your name for the first time, but that was impossible—he was in the IT department.

So when he got the news that new hires will be given the chance to work from home, he hoped that he gets to be the one to help you set up.

He was losing hope by the time he got your request, he thought that you opt not to work at home but then there you were, sending him an apologetic email on a late Friday afternoon.

Of course, he happily obliged. He even set up himself a little virtual camp in the background of your computer just so he can continue spending time with you.

Just thinking about you is already making him hard again. Bucky already came in hot spurts of white as he watched you desperately undress earlier. What can he say—he was waiting for you to show your tits already. As such, he correctly guessed that you’d be annoyed with the glaringly bright sticky note he used to ‘cover’ your webcam with.

But seeing you fingerfuck yourself all alone just wasn’t enough for him, he has to have you all by yourself.

#bitchassbucky writes #dark!bucky x reader #dark!bucky x reader smut #dark!bucky x reader fluff #dark!bucky x reader angst #dark!bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader smut #dark!bucky barnes x reader fluff #dark!bucky barnes x reader angst #dark!bucky #dark!bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x reader smut #bucky x reader angst #bucky x reader fluff

[yuzukult]

—saccharine

pairing: seokjin x reader word count: 2,319 prompt: seokjin doesn’t believe in love at first sight. so... what’s this feeling that’s churning in the pit of his stomach when he meets you for the first time? warnings: none. minor cursing. fluff attack. a/n: to celebrate my follower milestone! thank you all for supporting and reading my fics, it means a lot to me!

Everyday is a continuous, recurring cycle. 

First, the alarm rings. Then, he slams the snooze button on his phone before resuming into a light sleep for another eight minutes. The annoying horn sings again, and a wash of regret hits from never changing it out of the default, so he finally accepts this by getting up and sliding his feet lazily into a pair of slippers by the side of his bed before making way into the bathroom.

His hair is a mess. But it’s a mess everyday. Life has gone to the point that even brushing his teeth has become a dreadful chore. Shuffling through his bin of hair products, he finds the mousse he consistently loses and finds on repeat and then slaps a boatload of it onto his head.

This is basically a day-in-the-life of Kim Seokjin. Except it’s everyday. It’s never ending. It feels like one of those time loop movies where when he ends his day, it starts back off exactly like it did yesterday. 

To be fair, he can’t complain. He’s got a roof over his head, an apartment all to himself (that means without a roommate), plus a well-paying full time job. It’s hard to whine and cry about how his life seems to have no excitement, other than the occasional meeting with his friends, but contrarily… there’s not much to look forward to.

It’s the same mundane activities. Opening the cabinet above his kitchen counter as he usually does at this time, he grabs his favorite Cheerios. Good starts with happy hearts, as their commercials say, but Seokjin isn’t entirely sure that’s true. 

He’s a “cereal first and milk last” kind of guy. Not that he judges those who do it backwards, but he thinks if anyone does the routine in the opposite order, they might actually be backwards. It’s a condition—he makes it seem, and it’s a rather controversial topic for the guy.

Nonetheless, he enjoys his bowl of breakfast goods. He reads the news on his phone, and when the reminder on his watch dings, Seokjin rushes to put his dishes into the sink and hauls himself down the hall, in direction to his walk-in-closet that evidently is just too big for it being only himself. It’s a constant indication that he’s alone. 

By the time it’s 8:30AM, he’s dressed in his suit and tie, hair slicked back, and has a satchel slung over his shoulder in preparation of yet another day at the office.

But maybe he’d stop by that new place this morning. Change of pace. Maybe it’ll liven up his day and give him something to look forward to. Maybe he’d like it.

The place is around the corner, less than a three minute walk the moment he leaves his apartment building, and if he timed himself, it probably takes longer to leave his home and out of the building. The shop is cute; decor stickers are laid out delicately along the windows, the walls are painted a pretty blush pink, and there’s smiles on all the workers’ faces as if they enjoyed being there.

There’s a smile on your face in particular that captures his attention.

Seokjin is a relatively kind guy, or so he thinks he is. He’s never pinned over girls like those shows he’s seen on TV, but he’s had his fair share of relationships. He’s not shy, but he’s also not outgoing. He has an abundance of friends but only a few are ones he trusts. 

And the girlfriends he had were great but… no one really appreciates his generosity as much as he’d like.

He thinks he’s crazy at this moment, quite frankly, because he doesn’t believe in love at first sight. It’s this theory and idea that writers of a romance genre film and story that people whipped up together to make it seem more appealing to their audiences. But he doesn’t actually think it’s true.

Or is it?

Hair up in a messy bun, there’s a swipe of flour that coats your one cheek, and a smile that dresses your face so beautifully. You’re in a simple outfit that’s a combination of a white tee and blue jeans with the shop’s apron on top, while running around to keep up with all the orders coming through. He has hearts brimming in his pupils and he can’t seem to stop the way his chest tightens the second he lays his eyes on you. Is this what love at first sight is?

Seokjin doesn’t only regret not changing the default ringtone of his alarm this morning. He also regrets not asking for your number.

When he reaches his office, he realizes he forgets to ask for cream and sugar at the bakery. The dark, warm liquid glides down his throat with some difficulty; the bitterness layering his tongue but the memory of you sparks sweetness from within. Who were you? He doesn’t even know you and you’re on his mind like crazy.

Now, Seokjin has seen How I Met Your Mother. He’s watched the nine seasons, totaling out to two-hundred and eight episodes, so needless to say, Seokjin knows what goes on in that show. And ironically, he hates Ted. The guy is a hopeless romantic that thinks every girl he has his eyes on is ‘the one.’ Seokjin refuses to become like Ted, and he would be caught dead replicating those same actions.

Then why the fuck is he caught up on a girl he’s seen once? 

The second time Seokjin comes by the bakery, it’s a hell of a lot less busy. In fact, it’s only three people that man the storefront, rather than the six that he saw the first time he stopped by. He has his fingers crossed behind his back as he waits in the queue patiently, hoping you’d be the one taking his order this time around.

Luck must be on his side because you’re greeting him with those pearly white teeth. “Good morning, nice to see you. What can I get for you today?”

Abort, abort! He can’t talk. He swears that his heart has found its way up into his throat, and he can’t get any words to come out.

You blink. Those gorgeous long lashes brush your cheeks so deftly, and it swells his heart that’s now lodged in the path of his airways. “Sir?”

Seokjin swallows. “Oh—yeah, sorry sorry. Uh, can I get a medium hot coffee? Cream and sugar, please. Forgot to mention that last time and I almost died from the bitterness.” Was that an appropriate comment to make? Did it make you laugh? Or were you offended that he just insulted your workplace’s coffee

He cheers in success on the inside when a soft chuckle escapes from your lips. “Aw, I’m sorry to hear. I guess we should have also done our part and asked if you wanted any. Did you want to order anything else?”

Ah. Was the conversation already ending? But it’s so soon! He barely held the dialogue for a couple seconds, and since he’s got your attention, he can’t let go now. Quickly, his eyes skim the menu and the display case full of baked goods. “Uh, what do you recommend?” He asks, gesturing to the sweets. 

You wave your hand for another coworker to take the next customer’s order. Walking over to the sweets, Seokjin trails over as well, observing your expression. You’ve got your brows furrowed, deep in thought with a quirk of the side of your lips, engrossed with the plentiful of options. “Do you like tarts?”

—

Seokjin is a regular now. 

Whenever the clock strikes 7:30AM, he’s already in his work attire, hair at its best, and has checked his face in the mirror for the fiftieth time. Then, he’s on route to the corner bakery.

He wants to look good before he meets you. Handsome guy for a pretty girl. It’s only right.

The bells at the front door of the shop ring loudly the moment he enters in, and immediately his ears are filled with that beautiful laugh of yours, but you’re not alone. It’s accompanied by someone else’s, a voice that doesn’t match any of your other coworkers and his jaw clenches at the thought. Who is this male that claims to be the purpose of your giggling with a mop he calls hair on the top of his head?

“Oh!” You beam, lifting up the cup of hot coffee in hand. “Seokjin! Come here, I have a new pastry for you to try, and your daily caffeinated beverage to pair it with. Plus, I want you to meet my friend.”

His name is Taehyung. The freaking guy looks like a model, strutting into the café like it’s his runway, and when his gaze meets Seokjin’s, it makes Seokjin feel small.

Seokjin likes you, if the amount of times he comes in a week is evidence for it. He doesn’t just do that either; he often stirs up a conversation, asks how your day is going so far, and even goes out of his way to remember small details so he can bring it up next time. But he can’t help but wonder—do you have a boyfriend? Are you being kind only because Seokjin is a customer? Or are you normally this sweet as those raspberry filled pastries you set him up with? 

And those questions are only emphasized when Taehyung smiles, extends his hands and offers Seokjin a firm shake. “I’m Taehyung.”

Seokjin’s entire work day has gone to shit. All he could think about was who Taehyung was and why you were so adamant about Seokjin meeting him. 

After taking the last bite of the delicious pastry you packed for him (free of charge, too), it hits him. 

If Seokjin liked you, he should just confess his feelings, no matter what the consequences. Instead of sitting here with his shoulders slouched, eating this treat you gave him with a pout upon his lips, he shouldn’t continue waiting around and feeling sorry for himself anymore. Why would he make himself suffer like this when there’s a way to end this vicious cycle? 

Seokjin concludes that he’s going to confess tonight. 

—

What Seokjin learns about you is that you are by far not close to his ideal dream girl. 

You’re the “milk first, cereal last” gal, and he believes you’re ass backwards. You like consistency, and your favorite ringtone is the sound of those stupid horns he has for alarms in the morning. You enjoy the first few hours of your day, basking in the routine that you’ve put together yourself, including the one that had recently involved seeing Seokjin’s face. 

And although you’re not his dream girl, you’ve become it.

“I like you,” He finally confesses, a bouquet of flowers in his hands that match the decor stickers plastered on the shop's windows. “Would you… go out with me?”

Seokjin isn’t here in the mornings like he normally is, opting that since this is definitely a change of pace, he might as well go all out. Maybe this will be different. Maybe he’ll be happier.

Stunned, your mouth drops open. You’re stuttering over your own words, practically malfunctioning like a machine. “Wha—Like—what? Like… you like me as in like… a woman? More than a friend? You want to take me out?”

“Uh,” Seokjin scratches behind his ear anxiously. Was his plan backfiring? “Yes? I… like you. As in, I come here in the mornings for coffee, yeah, but I mostly came to see you. I enjoy hearing your laugh, seeing your smiles, and listening to you talk about these pastries like they’re your world and I—“ He pauses, inhaling a sharp breath, “—then you introduced me to this really good looking guy named Taehyung and I didn’t know what my chances were with you anymore, so here I am. Confessing.”

You’re silent. Truthfully, Seokjin’s not feeling good about this. His palms are sweaty, his heart is racing, and you still haven’t said a word and he’s sure that over thirty seconds have already passed by.

“What—“ You start again, quickly stopping yourself with a shake of your head. “Thank god, really.”

The front of Seokjin’s brows dip in confusion. “I’m sorry?”

You laugh, combing your fingers through your loosened locks. “I’ve been trying to tell my coworkers that I had this stupid crush on you since you first came in. You’re such a great listener, you’re handsome, and fun to talk to. They think you’re too good to be true, so they thought you wanted to be my gay best friend. Hence… the Taehyung test.”

“The Taehyung test?” Seokjin reiterates. 

Chewing on your bottom lip, your eyes are swirls of apologies. “He’s cute, right? Either you’d get jealous that a guy like him has my attention and you like me, or you like him and you’re jealous that he’s making me laugh instead of you.”

Seokjin’s shoulders drop in relief. “So… does that mean you’ll go out with me?”

You smile softly. “Of course, Jin.”

He doesn’t think those mundane activities he identified before are boring anymore. No, not with you, they’re not. He doesn’t mind watching you pour milk instead of cereal first in the mornings because he’s glad he gets to be the one who pinches your side teasingly and call you a weirdo. He doesn’t hate the sound of the horns—okay, a lie, he hates it so much, but they’re bearable when you’re around since you don’t hesitate to shut it off the minute it rings, and immediately hop out the bed, without using the snooze button. Brushing his teeth is a delight, especially when he sees your toothbrush sitting in your own designated cup on your side of the sink.

Everyday is a continuous, recurring cycle. 

But Seokjin doesn’t mind those things if it’s done with you. 

#seokjin #seokjin x reader #bts #bts fanfic #jin x reader #jin fanfic #gyukultfics #jin

[ahopelessromantic]

31% ➳ S. Reid

Pairing: Spencer x neutral! Reader (if I missed something please tell me!)

Word count: 2,4k

Warnings: Suggestive content, Spencer and reader really have the hots for each other

The nature of your friendship with Reid has been flirtatious from the start. So flirtatious that the team thinks it’s all a joke... right? (A/N: Please don’t ask me what this is. I wrote this in one sitting while suffering from PMS, I don’t even know anymore.)

“Look at that walk.” Morgan chuckled to Emily for everyone but especially you to hear. You rolled your eyes, yet couldn’t help the smug grin on your face. Like girls in high school ready to hear the newest gossip your two colleagues and closest friends leaned over your desk. “You, sweetie, got laid.” You let out a happy sigh and leaned back in your chair. Last time you had been this relaxed had been… god, you couldn’t even remember it.

“What’s their name?” Emily grinned, stealing a sip of coffee from your mug. “And do they have a brother? Sister? Cousin?” You lifted your brow. “A respectable, decent human being like me doesn’t kiss and tell. But it’s a he. And he’s all mine.” Both Morgan and Emily lifted their eyebrows in surprise. “(Y/N)? Getting territorial? We love to see it.” Morgan teased. You squinted at him. “You know what? I loved flaunting my post-coital bliss in front of you, but quite frankly I’m starting to feel attacked now, so I’ll go hang out with Garcia.” Emily feigned a pout. “Come on! At least give us some details!” You just winked at her after getting up from your seat and disappeared down the hallway. On the way to Penelope’s office, you didn’t miss Spencer’s searing hot look on you, a hint of the same smug smile on his lips that had been on yours when you had entered the BAU this morning.

“(Y/N), this is bad. We’re breaking at least three policies just by being here together right now. Also, relationships between colleagues are rarely a good idea.” You chuckled and pressed another kiss to Spencer’s neck. “Then why does it feel so good, Spence? And, actually, workplace hookups are way more common thank you think. About 31% of them even end up in marriage.” “Are you using my own weapons against me right now? That’s hot.” He murmured and pulled you further into his lap. You looked down into his eyes, your gaze dropping to his lips momentarily before wandering back up again. There was just something about him that made you feel like you were on fire, as if an electric current ran between the two of you. You bit your lip and played with his tie. “You have to know how I feel whenever you’re spitting your facts at least once, too.” Your eyes met again, and then your lips were on his.

Spencer and you had gotten along like a house on fire from the day you had joined the BAU. Somehow the two of you had clicked right into place after just a short period of Spencer warming up to you. Before anyone could even tell what was happening you had become the team’s new dynamic duo. Your sharp wit matched his, and what he was too shy to say you spat right out. And that everlasting tension between you had been there from the beginning, too. It had almost cost you your sanity, the way the air in a room would change as soon as Spencer was in it, the way his mere presence made you want to either pounce on him or rip your lashes out. For a while, it had been enough to just bury that attraction where everyone could see it, in plain sight beneath heaps and heaps of slightly inappropriate flirting. Spencer would blurt out how your new heels gave you just the right height to make out with him, you would blurt out how you would like to see him in his glasses and nothing else. Everyone had taken your remarks as jokes, and you had always laughed with them. But there had never been anything funny about the shocks of electricity jolting through your fingers whenever your hands accidentally met or about the warmth seeping through you whenever you slept propped up against each other on the jet. All that tension had unloaded one day after an unusually hard case. Spencer and you had been taken hostage by an Unsub on a psychotic break, and it had only been due to luck and good timing that you had made it out alive. After debriefing, you had found yourself in an abandoned hallway of whatever precinct you had been in, and then your eyes had met. The look in them had been the same. Slightly frazzled, pupils still widened from the adrenaline pumping through your veins. You had both been so high on the incredibleness of still being alive that suddenly, you had decided to just fucking do what your body had been telling you to do for so long already. “I think I’m going to kiss you now.” You had breathed out, barely audible. Spencer had leaned against the wall behind him and lifted his chin as if he had been daring you to do it. “Okay.” He had whispered back. And then your lips had met in what you could swear had been the best kiss of your life. Your hands had tangled themselves in his hair as if they had been supposed to be there all along, and his hands had fit in the groove of your waist as if they had been made for it. Maybe you had both been made for each other.

“It looks like the unsub is citing the karma sutra.” JJ’s gaze wandered over the book excerpts up on the case board. “A sexual sadist maybe?” Spencer shook his head almost excitedly, a familiar gleam in his eyes which he got whenever a case was particularly interesting to him. “See, that’s the interesting part. 80% of the karma sutra is actually just love-related philosophy and how to sustain desire. There is no sexual component to his murders, so I think he might either be trying to throw us off or create some sort of bizarre scavenger hunt.” While chewing on one of the fries Emily had brought you all for dinner you let your eyes wander over the pictures of sex positions and quotations on the board, then to the copy of the book lying right in front of Spencer on the table. “Well, it’s definitely an interesting choice to make for a book. Spence, you’ll keep it memorised for later, right?” You spoke, mostly out of habit. Spencer winked at you in response and Morgan choked on his burger. “There’s people eating here!” He spluttered out, pointing at Hotch, who looked like he wanted to die, and Rossi, who was watching the scene unfold with an amused smile on his face. All he was missing was a bucket of popcorn to match the level of detachment he was displaying. Prentiss just laughed and turned her attention to you. “(Y/N), does your boyfriend know about your workplace flirting buddy?” She knew exactly what she was doing, a mischievous glint in her eyes. You felt your face fall for the split of a second but immediately regained your composure. “Nice try, honey. I’m still not telling you about him. Also, for what it’s worth, he’s not the jealous type. So he doesn’t mind.” You deliberately avoided Spencer’s gaze, praying to whichever deities out there that you weren’t blushing.

Later that evening, back in your apartment, you could tell that something was on Spencer’s mind. He had taken some paperwork home that, under normal circumstances, wouldn’t have taken him longer than an hour. But it had been two and a half hours already, and the subconscious mumbling he only did when he was extremely anxious set you off. “Spence, baby, are you okay?” You had been his roommate for long enough to know that he needed someone to be there in moments like these. The two of you sharing an apartment had been a decision for practicality’s sake more than anything. You had slept over at each other’s apartments half of the time before that anyway, and this way, you were even able to save up some more to hopefully soon buy the house of your dreams. The team probably didn’t even know about the two of you living together, and if they knew, they had probably just added it to the list of weird things Spencer and you did. Spencer hadn’t even heard, and it took you placing your hand on his shoulder for him to return to reality. He looked up at you with a conflicted look, his eyes horribly sad. “Are you alright?” You asked again, sitting down next to him. He nodded and closed the case file he had been working on with a sigh. “I’m okay. I just keep on thinking about what Prentiss said.” You frowned. Emily tended to say a lot of things in just one day. “Back in the conference room. The…” He trailed off to take a deep breath. “The boyfriend thing.” You were still looking at him in confusion. “Am I?” “What?” You asked stupidly. Apparently, your brain had suffered a sudden case of non-functionality. You could feel his frustration get even worse. “Am I your boyfriend, (Y/N)?”, Spencer finally explained for you to catch on. Suddenly, a laugh escaped your lips. “Well, I mean I hope so.” Now it was he who looked like his mind was failing him. “I mean, to be honest, I hadn’t really properly thought about it, but I definitely bragged about my hot, intelligent FBI boyfriend to my friends from high school. So, I guess it would be really nice if you actually were. I mean, I think I haven’t slept in my own bed in weeks.” A smile had spread across Spencer’s face, a light pink hue dusting his cheeks. “I uh… I described you as my partner in the letters to my mom, too. I didn’t know how else to describe it to her. Because I … I guess I was hoping that this wasn’t just us sleeping together from the start. I trust you, (Y/N), more than I’ve ever trusted anyone. And I like having you by my side.” Not able to stop yourself, you closed the distance between the two of you to press your lips to his. Keeping your relationship with Spencer undefined for any longer than that would have been a huge waste of potential.

Somehow, you had always expected that Spencer would one day expose the two of you by taking it too far with your flirting. He hadn’t been all too experienced with dating, sex and everything beyond that before you, that was something he had told you himself once after a few glasses of your favourite red wine. But what you really hadn’t expected was running into Emily in an IKEA, of all places. Ever since once and for all defining your relationship you had moved into his bedroom for good, which left room for creativity in your old room. The two of you had been walking around the furniture store hand in hand, Spencer with a potted plant already under his arm, when you’d suddenly heard Emily calling out your name. If it hadn’t been for Spencer’s hand firmly in yours you would have booked it down the aisle of Malm closets, but this way all you could do was turn around with a deliberately composed expression. “Hi, Em.” You smiled as if you hadn’t just run into your colleague slash best friend while holding the hand of your also colleague, slash boyfriend. Prentiss looked like she was trying to make sense of the situation, her eyes fleeting back and forth between you and Spencer. “Is this something you do now? Hold hands and buy plants together?” You had to suppress a laugh and almost pitied her for her confusion. Spencer was forcing himself not to smile as well, swaying your still intertwined hands back and forth. “It’s not a big deal Emily, we just need some things for our apartment.” Her eyes looked just about ready to pop out of her skull at that. “Your apartment?! (Y/N), what about your boyfriend- oh.” Her eyes widened even more if that was even possible. “OH!” She almost yelled, and now you couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your lips anymore. “No one will ever believe you.” You grinned, pressed a kiss to her cheek and pulled Spencer back to your shopping cart with you.

The next day, Emily sat at her desk with her head in her hands when Spencer and you entered the bullpen. She looked positively traumatised and now you were all the more glad that you had bought her a breakfast muffin on the way to work. “Hey, Em.” You greeted her hesitantly, you tone causing Morgan to look up from his screen. He always immediately knew when something was off. “So, Spencer, huh?” She mumbled instead of a greeting, mustering the two of you up and down. It wasn’t abnormal for the two of you to constantly be glued to each other’s sides, but now she was probably starting to see that from a whole new perspective. You could hear Morgan get up and trip over his chair in his haste to get to Emily’s desk, but your whole focus was on her at that moment. You smiled. “Yup. Don’t ask me how, or why, but I’m sure about him. He’s also just really fucking attractive.” At that, she laughed, and Spencer pouted playfully. “You only like me for my body, (Y/N).” You rolled your eyes and nudged him with your elbow. “I’m trying to make a point here, honey. But yeah, it’s Spence, and I’m happy it’s him.” “You know, I feel like I should probably be more surprised by this, but it’s not really much of a change from the way you behaved already. Kinda saw it coming.”, Morgan finally spoke up, and you couldn’t be more grateful to him for being so cool about the whole situation. “Aren’t you guys worried about the pressure of all of this? You know, workplace romances and everything?” Emily mused. Somehow, she had already switched back into concerned friend mode. But much to your surprise it was Spencer who spoke up and pulled you closer to his side with an arm around your waist. “Someone once told me that workplace romances are actually really common and that 31% of them even end in marriage.” You felt the biggest smile grow on your face and turned to look him in the eyes. “I don’t really know anything, about any of this. But I trust (Y/N), and I trust what we have. I’m just hoping that maybe we’ll be up in those 31%.” You couldn’t help it. You just had to press a kiss to his cheek for that. “I’m hoping for that, too.” You mumbled. Despite Morgan’s and Emily’s theatrical gagging at your public display of affection, you couldn’t help but feel like this was a significant moment. You were really doing this. And boy, were you serious about it.

#criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer x reader #mgg #mgg x reader #Matthew gray gubler #Matthew gray gubler x reader #BAU #BAU Team #BAU x Reader

[snusbandxknifewife]

Not me seeing this post:

And starting an entirely new Jurdan AU based on it lmao. Rated E for “Excessive Mentioning Of Sex Toys”

~~~

Dun dun.

Jude looks up as the front door of her father’s business, Lawn & Order, opens. The bell, added by her eldest sister in an effort to annoy their father, has been going off all day. Work is piling up on the receptionist desk and she curses to herself, knowing that more paperwork means less time outside.

A USPS delivery man walks in, hauling a hand truck nearly overflowing with boxes. Sweat drips down his face, pooling at his collar as Jude decides that maybe a little time in the AC isn’t too bad on a day as hot as this one.

“Sign here,” the obviously exhausted man says as he turns a clipboard towards her.

Funny, Madoc didn’t tell her they’d be getting a delivery today.

Still, she shrugs and absentmindedly signs the clipboard as the man unloads the hand truck with a dramatic groan. She should get up and help him, and, on any other day, she probably would. But today is for licking wounds and pouting.

The clock ticks quietly as Jude considers how she has to file papers and phone customers and clean the shop, just to go home for family dinner where her sister will undoubtedly be moaning about her cheating ass of an ex.

Not sure why she’s surprised, considering he cheated on JUDE with HER.

Taryn and Locke had been a thing officially for only three months, but they’d been sleeping together behind Jude’s back for much longer than that. The very idea makes her skin crawl and she would much rather spend her valuable time cutting someone’s lawn with nail clippers instead of playing nice with her poor heartbroken witch of a twin.

“Have a good one!” Jude clocks back into reality as the USPS man walks out the door, taking his hand truck with him and leaving her to the quiet of the AC unit and the court room tv playing in the corner.

Sighing, she gets up from her leather stool and walks around the counter to pick up the boxes. They look innocent enough, simple white USPS priority mail boxes that she expects to contain samples of seeds or maybe replacement weed whacking string trimmers. She could use some of those, the weed whacker she takes in her truck hasn’t been working as well as usual and Mrs. Mitsgunmins is kind of an asshole about precision.

She lets out a groan as she picks up the top two. The boxes are a lot heavier than she thought they’d be. Puzzled, she sets the two boxes on the counter, leaving behind the other two as she goes on a hunt for some scissors. Making it almost to her father’s office, she cusses audibly as she remembers the hunting knife she keeps in her boot.

It’s been a long fucking day.

Jude hums along to a commercial as she walks back to the counter, pulling out her knife along the way and slicing the tape of the top box. With a whistle, she opens the box and frowns at finding a bunch of little cardboard boxes stuffed inside. What the hell did Madoc order?

Her whistling stops in horror as she picks up one of the packages and spins it around, only to find bold neon print plastered along the front: XXX RECHARGEABLE NIPPLE CLAMPS

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Jude screeches at the top of her lungs as she drops the box and jumps back. Why the hell does her father need some hundred-or-so sets of rechargeable nipple clamps? Why do nipple clamps even need to be charged in the first place?

Taking a moment to steel herself, Jude moves towards the second box—staying as far away from the nipple clamps as possible—and reads the label for an explanation.

Ohhhh, these are for next door. The delivery man must’ve mixed up the addresses.

Letting out a sigh of relief, she pushes the nipple clamps back into their box and closes the lid, checking the other labels and seeing that all four boxes are meant for next door and thanking her lucky stars that Madoc didn’t suddenly decide to get his kink on.

Looking out across the driveway to the innocuous white building beside Lawn & Order, she rolls her eyes. The Sinful Serpent—complete with its shimmering golden apple sign—has been the bane of her father’s existence since it opened a year ago. Every day she has to hear about how he hates sharing space with some gross sex shop. While adult stores aren’t really Jude’s thing, she hasn’t cared too much because she hasn’t had to interact with the store or owner.

Until, she supposes, today.

She stacks the boxes back up and picks them all up with a grunt, thankful for the workout routine that her work provides as she curses the delivery man for taking his hand truck with him.

Only one car is in the parking lot of the sex shop and she celebrates the fact that nobody will see her going into the store. The last thing she needs is people recognizing her workplace on her shirt and bothering her or her dad. It’s already bad enough listening to old men ogle her when she goes to do landscaping work.

The front door is hooked up to an electronic bell that sounds like the twinkle of magic. As she pushes her way into the Sinful Serpent, she lets out a sound of surprise. Whatever she expected a sex shop to look like, this certainly isn’t it.

The entire store is decorated to look like a forest at twilight, with displays cut into bookshelves that look like giant trees and murals depicting faeries dancing through delicate nature landscapes wrapping around the walls. The lighting is low, except for where spotlights illuminate the wares. Over along one wall, by where the lingerie and exotic dancing costumes are, is a stage with a pole, the whole area bathed in blue light and covered in decor like coral. Between the entrance and exit door, the area for the registers resembles a castle.

“Give me a moment,” a voice calls out from within the castle. “I’ve got to check your ID.”

Jude panics, the very suggestion that she might be a customer in a store like this sending her brain into red alert. “I’m not here to shop!”

“The hell you here for then? Last I checked we didn’t have a gloryhole.”

She all but screams, short circuiting at being faced with a worse option than shopping at a store like this. As she tries to think of what to say, a young man pops up from behind the counter and surveys her, his kohl-lined eyes narrowed as he tries to figure out what her deal is.

He’s dressed in all black, his button up shirt undone halfway down his chest, exposing edges of tattoos that she doesn’t study enough to identify. His bottom lip and septum are pierced, as are his ears—which appear to have been elfed, because they end in sharp points. When he crosses his arms in front of his chest, his fingers are covered in glittering rings.

And he’s grinning at her.

“I uh, um,” she shakes her head, and then remembers the heavy boxes she’s hauled all the way over. “I work next door and, uh, the mailman,” she trails off again, her cheeks flaming as she lowers her voice and mutters, “I think he mixed up our addresses.”

His smile widens and his eyes look dangerous as he tilts his head. “And why would you think that?”

She glares at him and he chuckles lowly.

“We didn’t order these.”

“Can you be sure?” He asks, raising one painted nail to tap thoughtfully against his chin. “A landscaping company and adult entertainment store must have some overlap. Ropes and chains come to mind.”

“We don’t need rechargeable nipple clamps!”

“Everybody needs rechargeable nipple clamps,” he counters, his smirk replaced by reverent intensity.

She lets out a frustrated noise and slams the boxes on the counter, her back cracking in protest. “I don’t!”

“Woah! Stow the seriosity, Sunshine,” he lifts his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just playing with you.”

Grinding her teeth and digging her nails into her palms, she does her very best to keep from choking him out as he leans across the counter, his falling shirt collar exposing a necklace with a snake pendant hanging at his sternum.

She goes to spin on her heel and leave, but stops when a door—hidden behind a painting of a faun and nymph doing unspeakable things—opens, revealing a pretty young woman with blue hair pulled up into a messy bun.

“Cardan I can’t find the damn nipple clamps. I thought they were supposed to be delivered today?”

“Don’t worry, Nic,” the young man calls back with a smile. “Sunshine here brought them over.”

Jude, bristling at the title, misses how the woman momentarily blanches when she lays eyes on her. Quickly recovering and putting on a stony face, she walks over to the castle counter and inspects the opened box.

“You look familiar,” she observes and Jude zeroes in on her carefully cool tone. “Don’t you work at that coffee shop downtown? Bean There, Done That?”

“You’re thinking of my twin, Taryn.” Jude bites her tongue, doing her beat to avoid sounding annoyed at being confused with that backstabbing little—

“Sunshine here is our neighbor, Nicasia,” Cardan cheerfully announces. “She got our order and was kind enough to haul it over.”

“My name is Jude,” she grumbles.

He ignores her, leaning in conspiratorially and stage whispering in Nicasia’s ear. “She has insisted that she doesn’t need rechargeable nipple clamps, so surely they must belong to us.”

“Everyone needs rechargeable nipple clamps,” Nicasia whispers back.

“That’s what I said!”

Jude, rooted in place from the pure horror of listening to this conversation, watches as Cardan picks up a pair of scissors and opens a second box; pulling out a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs and grinning when he notices her watching him. Nicasia raises a perfectly groomed brow at the situation before grabbing the box of nipple clamps and heading to restock the shelves.

Once again, he leans forward, fingers spinning the handcuffs around as he smirks at her. “Now that the packages are handled, what can I do you for?”

Jude frowns, sure that he misspoke. It’s then that her phone goes off and she celebrates any excuse to get the fuck out.

Emergency situation at Dr. Wullworth’s. Need you to take over cutting at the Collethes. -Madoc

“I’m good, I’ve got a lawn to trim,” she says, turning off her phone and tucking it back into her pocket.

“Awe, Sunshine, you ain’t gotta clean up for me.”

She tilts her head in confusion before shrugging and turning to leave.

“Gotta go out the other door, Sunshine,” he sighs, almost like he’s disappointed. Weird.

Jude still tries the door, but it won’t open from this side, so she grabs ahold of her pride and walks around the castle counter, moving as quickly as she can and keeping her head down to avoid getting any further education.

“Bye,” she waves her hand awkwardly as she hits the exit door.

“Bye, Sunshine.”

~~~~~

Mostly setup for the AU. Yes all the last names are keysmashes. Yes I did go on early 2 bed’s website and choose random buttons until I found a sex toy that seemed a little odd. (The nipple clamps are rechargeable because they vibrate.) Big thanks to the discord server for helping me with ideas!

Tag list: @cardan-greenbriar-tcp @hizqueen4life @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @thewickedkings @aelin-queen-of-terrasen @cheekycheekycheeks @queen-of-glass @b00kworm @doingmyrainbow @andromeddea @jurdanhell @thesirenwashere @illyrianwitchling @courtofjurdan @clockworkgraystairs @st00pid231 @booksandlewks @fateandluminary

Let me know if you want to be tagged!

#jurdan #Jude Duarte #cardan greenbriar #tfota #tfota fanfic #sex shop/landscaping au #tyrannosaurus lex writes #literally just crack

[izukyu]

forevermore solace

word count: 1.0 k +

warnings: kinda angsty, but i promise it’s sweet in the end!

author’s note: husshshsusdhia my big brain told me to drop everything i was doing and write this. it’s really not that good, but There Was An Attempt. also yes this is a reupload cause tumblr literally hates my guts.

dt @burnedbyshoto​​​ cause her fics made me adore shouto.

It was your last year at U.A., and Shouto wants to make sure you both are clear on something.

It had been a quiet evening. Soft, dimming streetlights shone above you two, their light paling in comparison to the moon’s own brightness on that fateful night. It wasn’t the first time Shouto had suggested taking a stroll through the park to shake off the stress that came with hero studies and the looming holidays, in fact, this had probably been the third time you two had walked hand in hand through the same path during that week alone.

Yet somehow it felt so different from the last times. Maybe it had to do something with the way Shouto held your pinkie with his own, or the way his coat rested on your shoulders, his smell luring you into a temporary relaxed state of mind.

Or maybe it had to do with the small velvet box safely tucked away in his pocket which only Shouto knew about.

With graduation getting closer with each day that passed, it was hard for you to ignore the swirling thoughts bothering your boyfriend. He had voiced his concerns about working for his father once he graduated, yet he never bothered to check the countless other offers he had at the reach of his fingertips. There was something else that kept him from fully resolving the issue at hand, something he refused to share with you for now. He knew this only further corrode the communication between the two as of lately, howbeit, Shouto knew he couldn’t tell you just yet.

As a matter of fact, you weren’t doing so hot yourself either. Despite having interned with different agencies throughout your years at U.A., the final decision wasn’t so easy to make. Most of them were a good couple of hours away from your shared apartment with Shouto, and the rest had very demanding schedules.

(One of those agencies had been endeavor’s, which you were quick to dismiss as a workplace once you finished your studies; having to deal with your lover’s father’s conflicted glares at every given hour was not something you looked forward to as a hero).

You loved to bits all of the professionals who had mentored you, or at least most of them; nevertheless, your heart ached for the strain it would put on your relationship with Shouto to work in another city. Your mind was split between duty and love, and you gladly took up the offer to walk under the moonlight winter offered rather than drowning yourself in sorrow over some stupid dilemma you never asked for.

“Love, are you okay?” Shouto asked, his expression reflecting the concern that had sparked in his mind once he noticed you deep in thought.

“Yeah, I’m just-” you stopped, finger slipping away from Shouto’s as you walked ahead of him, heartbeat picking up as you thought of how to voice your internal conflict. The two of you loved and cared for each other, so why was it so difficult to tell him you were hurting badly over the idea of disrupting the relationship you two had?

“(Y/N), what’s wrong?” His worry was evident in his voice, it pained Shouto to see you in your current state. The box in his pocket was basically burning him at this point, but he was willing to endure the pain as long as he needed to in order to make sure you were okay.

“Sho- I don’t know what I’m doing.” You whispered, clutching his coat that shielded you from the biting cold as you spoke. “We have to submit our work applications soon, and fuck, I don’t know what to do. The last thing I want is to be away from you, but all of the agencies I’ve considered aren’t good enough for that.”

Shouto could only watch as you poured your heart out to him. He closed the distance between the two of you as your words faded away with the cold wind. For some odd reason, seeing you conflicted over your future put his own worries to rest—he just so happened to be mulling over the same problem, too. Part of him knew you two would never get a clear answer on how to overcome this specific mess, and another part of him cried in desperation, for the solution to mend your split hearts, at least for now, was stashed away in his trousers.

But for now, holding you tight in his arms would have to do. Neither of you knew how long the embrace lasted, but your erratic breathing had gone back to normal by the time Shouto pulled away.

Maybe the timing wasn’t exactly right, but Shouto knew he would implode if he held onto his plan any longer. He refrained from going down in one knee right then, because he wanted to save that for later in life, instead, he fished out the box from inside his pocket, presenting you the object before he spoke.

“I’m just as lost as you are. To be honest, I’m only really sure of one thing.” Shouto said as he opened the small container. Inside layed two identical rings, sleek and simplistic. “What I am sure of is us. I know with absolute certainty that I want to be by your side, forever and ever, and one day, call you my spouse.”

Shouto stared at you with glossy eyes and a tender smile, both of your hearts were racing; whether it was out of nervousness or pure love didn’t really matter. Nothing else really mattered at that moment, not the agencies, not his father, nothing else. Only the promise you two were about to seal, a promise to be by each other’s side, no matter how bad the odds went against you two.

“I love you, Shoto.”

“I love you too so much, (Y/N).”

Shouto carefully slipped one of the rings onto your finger, and he waited for you to do the same with him before he brought your hand to his lips, softly kissing it with his eyes staring into your own. With a blush on your cheeks, you closed the distance between your faces, nudging his nose with your own. Shouto laughed at the gesture, his hand—which now sported a rather gorgeous promise ring—cupping your cheek as he brought his lips to your own.

The kiss was tender and chaste, a pure display of love and affection. No words were spoken as he broke the kiss, only to connect your lips once again, this time with more fervor and passion. His free hand gripped your waist as he brought you impossibly closer to him, unfazed by the chilly atmosphere the night brought with its wind. By the time you two had made it back to your shared apartment, both of your lips were swollen, accompanied by messy hair and maybe a hickey or two.

No words were spoken between the two of you, there wasn’t any need for them.

Rings or not, the love you two shared would remain untouched until kingdom come, and Shouto would make sure of it.

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#might do something similar to this but with tamaki!! #unless tumblr decides to butcher my formatting again!! #bnha x reader #bnha #mha x reader #mha #shouto todoroki #shoto #shoto x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki x reader

[spaceskam]

I’m Not Afraid of Anything

Summary: 6 times Alex is strong and 1 time Michael has to be strong for him

warnings: violence, anxiety, homophobic language

ao3

.1.

Michael couldn’t help but smile as Alex moaned into his mouth.

He wasn’t used to this just yet, it still felt surreal. One day Alex was asking him to tutor him in biology, the next he was being kissed senseless against the wall in the shed behind his house. He’d never even kissed a human before Alex. Now he couldn’t get enough.

“What time did you tell your mom you’d be home?” Alex asked softly, his nose bumping Michael’s before he kissed his cheek and moved to his jaw.

“Um,” Michael whispered, his eyes fluttering closed to the feeling of Alex’s lips on his skin, “F-five, I think. Could probably, uh, um, push it to five-thirty.”

“Mmm, good,” Alex said, a lazy smirk on his face as he flipped them over so Michael was on top. Heat rose to his cheeks. Alex usually took the lead, usually stayed on top. But, when Alex’s hands pressed against his ass and pulled his hips impossibly close, he got the memo. 

It was so weird. His entire life he’d been told to be careful with humans. When the Antarians had fled their wartorn planet in the 40s, they’d landed on Earth to a different kind of chaos. Michael didn’t know too much about how it got to a safe-ish integration, but he’d seen enough 50s and 60s propaganda films on ‘How to Treat Our Antar Friends’. It was enough to know it wasn’t an entirely positive transition.

While there was no longer forced segregation, it still seemed to happen on its own. Michael’s neighborhood didn’t have a single human‒Alex’s didn’t have a single Antarian. Workplaces were hell. Antarians got paid less, they got passed on promotions, they had to fight their way to the top. Michael’s mother, as high as her position was being deputy city manager, had warned him of that. In the schools, most classes conveniently didn’t mix if they didn’t have to and most of the time they didn’t even communicate with their species. Well, unless it was to be rude. Michael understood that better than anyone.

It was virtually impossible to keep what species you were a secret. It was displayed on every legal document, including your license. Antarian children in elementary and middle school had “special time” where they would be taken for two hours a day and given what could only be described as group therapy. No matter how their powers manifested, no matter if they had never been violent a day in their life, they were still given group lectures about why they shouldn’t hurt people and how they should treat humans. Once they were in high school, that transformed into a required four years of Ability Training instead of normal electives in high school.

Michael was lucky. His mother started training him the minute his powers started to manifest as a baby. After she bitched at the school for unfair treatment, he was able to test out after freshman year, leaving him able to take actual electives like music.

Which is how he met Alex.

“Alex?” Michael whispered, melting into the feather-light kisses fluttering across his jaw and his neck and his shoulder. Alex’s hand mindlessly slipped between them and unbuttoned Michael’s jeans.

“Yeah, baby?” Alex asked, his hand dipping into Michael’s boxers. It may or may not have completely destroyed his train of thought, his head bowing against Alex’s collarbone.

Eventually, he got his thoughts back, though it took much more effort than he wanted to admit.

“Are you sure you don’t mind that I’m an alien?” he breathed out and Alex froze beneath him.  He very quickly pulled his head back to see Alex staring at him with nothing short of amusement.

“Michael.” His tone was so sweet and so soft that Michael almost missed how condescending it was. “My hand literally down your pants right now. Do you think it would be there if I had a problem?”

Michael felt his cheeks flush and he shifted a little bit which was genuinely a horrible idea due to the fact that Alex’s hand was still wrapped around him.

“I just don’t want you to get trouble,” he whispered. While it wasn’t illegal for aliens and humans to be together, it was relatively frowned upon and it also wasn’t exactly fun to be openly queer either. They’d have double targets on their backs. Alex didn’t deserve that.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” Alex said, completely ignoring his words as he went to kiss his neck. Michael reluctantly pulled away.

“But what about your dad?” Michael asked. He knew Alex’s dad was the worst. He was an outspoken advocate for Antarians not being allowed in the same school as humans or even on TV. He didn’t want his children to be exposed to them. Yet, Alex didn’t seem to share that sentiment.

Alex pulled away, looking at him with those penetrating eyes that made his stomach swoop and tie in a million knots. They were eyes that could kill, but eyes that made him feel more welcome and adored than anything else in the world.

“You’re worth the risk,” Alex said like it was easy. Michael let out a slow breath of air, taking in his words. His sweet, adoring words. You’re worth the risk.

Michael tried to move in for a kiss, but Alex’s hand grabbed his jaw and stopped him.

“Am I?” Alex demanded, his voice deep and hushed and making Michael’s head spin. The grip on his jaw got a little gentler, his calloused thumb rubbing across his cheek.

“Yes.”

He couldn’t say no if he wanted to.

.2.

“Is there a reason you’re hitting someone who is too nice to hit back?”

Michael had never been more thankful to see Alex than he was at that moment. Wyatt Long had him pinned to the locker, his forearm wedged beneath his chin. His lip was already split after the rude welcoming of a fist to the face the moment he, Max, and Isobel went their separate ways.

“What? And you are?” Wyatt asked, pulling away and letting Michael crumple to the ground. He watched up with a new kind of fear as Wyatt neared Alex. Though this happened relatively regularly and Alex had swooped in to save not only him but a handful of other Antarians from human assholes, it always made Michael nervous. He knew Alex didn’t care, but he had enough scars and bruises that doused his skin. He didn’t like seeing more.

“Oh, c’mon, you know I am. How many times do I have to send you to the nurse before you learn your lesson? It’s honestly pretty sad,” Alex said, smirking as his shoulders squared. Michael wanted to get to his feet, to stand up for himself, but he didn’t have it in him. Alex was brave and he wasn’t. The end.

“Are you gay or somethin’?” Wyatt accused. Alex licked his bottom lip as he took a step closer.

“Why, you interested?”

Michael watched in horror as Wyatt shoved Alex away and Alex responded by decking him in the face.  He scrambled to his feet and out of the way just in time for Alex to slam Wyatt into the lockers, a carbon copy of how Wyatt had just had him.

“Learn your fuckin’ place, Long,” Alex said in a sweet tone, shaking his head before he offered one last push and stepped away. Wyatt kept glaring but never tried anything as Alex picked up Michael’s bag off the ground and led the way.

“Alex, he could’ve hurt you,” Michael grumbled as he followed him to the music room. A few people gave them glances, but none stayed too long. The moment Alex glared their way, they’d look away. Michael had a lot of feelings about that.

“I’d like to see him try. I grew up with three brothers who regularly beat the shit out of me. I’m not gonna stop ‘til I win, especially when it’s that asshole. You should’ve heard what he said to Maria the other day. Like, he’s, like, a next-level racist and homophobe and xenophobe. Let me hit him a couple of times,” Alex insisted, closing the door to the music room after him.

“I just… I don’t want you doing that stuff because of me,” Michael said, crossing his arms over his chest. Alex smiled, nearing him and gently touching the cut on Michael’s lip.

“I know you don’t like it, but I don’t like seeing you hurt. I know you, I know you just take what he gives. And that’s so fucking strong of you to do, it’s ballsy, but… he deserves to get hit. You don’t,” Alex explained, moving to give him a kiss that stung a little but still felt nice. Alex’s kisses were always nice. “But, hey, look, if you want me to stop, then I will. Seriously. As much as I hate it, I will.”

“No, you don’t have to completely stop helping me. Just… just don’t instigate him more, please?” Michael asked, letting his hands rest against Alex’s chest. They’d be alone in the room for at least 5 more minutes, he could touch for just a second.

“Done,” Alex agreed, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek before pulling him into a hug. Michael melted into his grasp. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“You’re telekinetic. I’ve seen you in action. You could literally crush him. Why don’t you do anything?” Alex asked, twirling a curl around his finger. Michael breathed slowly, hugging him a little tighter.

“And give them a reason to hate me even more? No thanks,” he grumbled. Alex laughed and squeezed him.

In some ways, Alex felt a little like his idol. He was so strong and didn’t care about what anyone said. He didn’t have many friends, but Michael knew all the Antarians in the school liked him. He took everything in stride. He was amazing. He was a hero.

And somehow he wanted Michael.

.3.

“What’s wrong with you?” Isobel asked, swatting Michael’s hand away from his mouth so he’d stop chewing on his nails. He barely even looked at her.

Instead, his eyes were trained on Alex’s locker which had the words ‘alien fag’ written across it in bright red paint.

Alex hadn’t gotten to school yet, but Michael was dreading it. He couldn’t predict how he would react to it. Maybe he would laugh or maybe he’d be pissed. It was just something that a little too close to home. No one was supposed to know about them, but this…

“Oh, yeah, his locker. It’s so stupid how people think being nice is some big crime,” she scoffed, shaking her head. Michael curled into himself even more.

“But… but what if‒” Michael cut himself off, groaning as his head tilted back against the lockers. Isobel slammed hers closed, turning to him with a smirk.

“Why? You think that’s about you?” she laughed. Michael felt his cheeks flush and he was instantly reminded of the night before when Alex had snuck in through his window after his parents had gone to sleep. It was definitely about him even if they didn’t know it was about him. He didn’t know how he was supposed to continue keeping it a secret when everyone would be giving him glances. “No offense, Michael, but Alex wouldn’t go after someone like you. He’s, like, a badass. He would only go after badasses and, I love you, but you’re a baby.”

“Yeah, no, you’re right. Definitely. He-he definitely would never, ever hook up with me. Ever. Absolutely. And, and I would never even want to. I mean, he’s so, like, not my type?” Michael fumbled out, his cheeks burning hotter with each word. Isobel’s eyebrows pulled together, but then her lips parted slowly as her eyes widened.

”No,” she gasped, swatting at his arm all over again, “Oh my God! Michael!”

“He’s here,” Michael said once he spotted Alex, hoping to drop the conversation. Maybe she’d forget it. He hoped so.

Alex walked down the hall with Liz and Maria, the trio laughing until they weren’t. It died down when the locker came into view. Michael tried his best to become one with the lockers when Alex took a step closer, touching the paint. He couldn’t see his face and he was slightly more than terrified to see it.  Especially when his friends looked at each other with nervous eyes.

“Michael, come on, what the fuck have you been hiding?” Isobel urged, pulling on his sleeve like a toddler. His eyes were on Alex.

Alex who opened the locker and got his books like it wasn’t a big deal.

“Alex, are you okay?” Maria asked him, reaching out to touch his arm. He turned around with an amused smile on his face.

“I’m fine. They have no creativity, it’s honestly sad,” he said simply, linking arms with them and proudly making his way down the hall. He gave Michael a wink when he passed. Jesus Christ.

“Michael,” Isobel whined.

“I-I gotta go to class,” he said, slipping away from her. He couldn’t understand why Alex took it that easy. Shouldn’t he have been insulted? Or at least scared? What would happen if someone found out about them because of this? He seemed to not be taking it seriously.

Michael pulled out his phone and quickly sent a text his way.

M: are you actually okay? What if someone finds out?

A: I'm fine dont worry no ones gonna know. See you after school? ;) xx

.4.

Michael knew Alex well. They spent most of their time together and Michael had learned just how ballsy he could be. Alex was bold and unapologetically himself. He existed somewhere between “I don’t care what you think of me” and “well if you’re going to talk, I might as well give you something to talk about”. He was an instigator at his core. So Michael really shouldn’t have been surprised when, after a weekend of barely hearing from him, Alex strolled into school sporting t-shirt with alien fag written across it in the colors of the rainbow.

“Holy shit,” Isobel gasped and Michael instantly used her as a shield as the halls parted like the Red Sea to make way for Alex Manes. For the first time since Alex approached him the first time, Michael was scared of him.

Alex didn’t deserve the ostracization that came with being with him, but Michael didn’t deserve to be forced into it either. It was one thing if it was a mutual decision or if it was an accident. This was neither. This was Alex parading proudly what people already suspected when people knew how many times he’d come to Michael’s rescue. This was too close.

Panic built in his chest.

“Izzy, Izzy, get me out of here,” he begged, squeezing her shoulder desperately. She barely had to give him a second glance before she gripped his hand and swept him away.

It seemed to get harder and harder to breathe, even when they exited the building and fast-walked to make it to the back of the gym before he got too bad. The moment they made it there, he sat on the ground and put his hands on his head. Isobel sat in front of him, holding his knees as they breathed in and out in time together.

“I take it he did not consult you before doing that?” she asked quietly once he regulated his breathing again. Michael shook his head.

“No. I don’t know why he does stuff like that. I-I get that he doesn’t care and that’s cool and all, I like that about him, but that… that affects me. I’m not ready to tell anyone yet,” he murmured, pulling his knees close.

“So you admit that you’re banging Alex Manes?” Isobel teased. Michael glared her way. “Sorry, sorry. Maybe you should talk to him about it.”

“And say what? ‘Hey, you’re really confident and, while that makes me want to fuck you, when you’re overconfident about me, it makes me want to die in a hole’?” Michael scoffed, but from her lack of reaction, she expected him to say just that. “I can’t say that!”

“Why not? It’s honest.”

“Honesty is just gonna get me dumped,” he grumbled. Isobel gave him a sad little smile, squeezing his knee gently.

They were only able to get a few extra seconds of silence before Alex rounded the corner, smiling easily when he caught Michael’s eyes. He spared Isobel a hesitant look before nearing them with that confident swagger that was making Michael feel nauseous.

“There you are,” he grinned, sitting beside him. Michael closed his eyes and bowed his head. “Everything okay?”

“I’m gonna leave you two to talk,” Isobel said, patting his leg and kissing the top of his head before she stood and left. He stupidly wished she hadn’t.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Alex asked softly once Isobel was gone, wrapping his arm around Michael’s shoulders. What was he supposed to say? He wasn’t Alex, he wasn’t confident. How was he supposed to tell him that he wanted him to stop being so much of himself? “You… you don’t like the shirt, right? I’m sorry, I’ll change.”

How did he say that’s not all?

“Okay, thank you,” Michael whispered instead, still not lifting his head.

Alex waited a minute before grabbing his chin and forcing him to look at him. It made it that much harder. Alex was beautiful and had a demanding presence. How was he supposed to hurt his feelings when he looked like that?

“Alright, tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing.”

“Oh, so we’re lying now? I thought we were all about honesty,” Alex scoffed, narrowing his eyes at him.  Michael gulped, familiar tears welling up in his eyes. He was such a baby. Alex was so cool and he was… “Michael, talk to me, seriously.”

“I don’t like when you do stuff like that without talking to me. I-It’s gonna make people start finding out about us and I’m not ready for that. I’m not ready for people to know. At least not people who are going to make it their goal to hate me more. You-you scare me sometimes, when you do stuff like that. I like when you’re confident. I just… don’t like it when it puts me in a bad situation,” Michael grumbled, looking everywhere except for his face. Alex’s grip loosened before it dropped.

Michael hesitantly looked at him to see him looking almost confused. Go figure the one time he actually admits when something bothers him, it goes bad. It’ll always go bad, that’s how life works. Everything goes bad.

“I’m sorry I made you feel like that,” Alex said softly, mirroring Michael’s position against the wall. Again, his breathing started to pick up and his bottom lip quivered involuntarily.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, I just-”

“No, no, hey, I’m sorry. I’ll talk to you more before I do shit. That’s what a relationship is, right? Talking it out, talking before we do things. And I know that we aren’t public and we don’t plan to be widely open until, like, way later, so I shouldn’t have done this. It just pisses me off when people think it’s wrong to be anything other than what they are. I mean, I love you, Michael. You’re not an insult. I wanted to throw it in their face,” Alex explained.

Michael sniffled, “You love me?” Alex rolled his eyes, but gave a sweet smile.

“You’re getting off-topic. We’re gonna talk more, right?”

“Right,” Michael agreed, nodding and feeling a little bit lighter than he had when the day started. The two stared at each other for a moment before meeting halfway in a hug.

Alex gave great hugs and it was easy to melt into it. He considered asking to skip class for the day, but decided it against it. His mom would never let him live that down if she found out he skipped. So, instead, Michael hugged him tighter and then let him go so he could take his shirt off and replace it with the jacket tucked in his bag.

“I love you too, by the way,” Michael said as they stood up. Alex grinned and leaned in for a kiss.

“I’m glad.”

.5.

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

Michael looked over to Alex’s innocent little smile. He had his feet in Michael’s lap which usually wouldn’t be a problem, but he was doing a lot more than just innocently using him as a footrest.

“I have a biology test tomorrow and you are distracting me,” Michael said, watching Alex furrow his eyebrows in confusion even as he pressed his foot harder between Michael’s thighs. He worked hard to keep silent, dropping his book to move his hands to Alex’s foot. “Also, my parents are downstairs.”

“Sounds like a whole flight of stairs between them and us,” Alex said, moving his foot to pull the chair towards his place on the bed.

“Alex,” he breathed slowly, finding it harder and harder to resist. Why did he have to be so hot? “Seriously, I have a test. And so do you. We… you came over to study.” Michael tried, he really did, but the closer Alex came, the more his excuses seemed shitty in comparison to him.

“I mean,” Alex breathed, leaning forward and placing a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth, “I can leave. I just wanted to spend some… special time with my boyfriend.”

“Alex,” Michael whined, helplessly gravitating from the chair and to the bed. Alex wasted no time, pulling him into the little twin-sized bed and moving him so he was trapped between the wall and Alex’s body. He couldn’t say he could complain.

Alex’s kisses had quickly become some of Michael’s favorites. He’d had a few kisses here and there, one of them being with Isobel which was actually revolting, but he had never had anything like Alex. All of his were deep and slow and used tongue which was fun. Alex was the first person he’d ever really wanted to touch and be touched by‒and it always felt like a blessing when it actually happened.  He couldn’t think of a nicer, gentler, or prettier person to lose his virginity to.

“Did you lock the door?” Alex whispered, his leg hooking over Michael’s hip and his fingers sliding lower.

“Um, no,” Michael breathed, his whole body heating up as he chose to be confident for once and slid his hand down Alex’s jeans first. He immediately checked to make sure it was okay and saw Alex smirking, so he grabbed him.

“You should probably lock the door if you’re gonna do that, baby,” he said hotly, a shaky breath following immediately after. He was making a whole lot of eye contact and it was making Michael’s head spin.

“You want me to get up?”

“I was thinking my telekinetic boyfriend could, uh, lock the door with his mind,” Alex suggested. Michael smiled, giving him a slow kiss as he tilted his head to secure the lock.

Except it didn’t budge.

He tried it a couple more times and when it still seemed to be fighting him, he pulled away from Alex to look over at it. He used the hand that wasn’t in Alex’s jeans to give it a little more concentration to flip the lock and it did. But immediately unlocked again.

“What the‒”

“Here’s your clean clothes, Michael, and I told you to keep the door unlocked.”

Michael nearly pushed Alex off the bed when his mother, Mara, let herself into the room. She stood in the doorway, a far too motherly look on her face and her hand firmly on her hip. Michael sat up, trying to make himself look presentable while Alex mainly focused on catching his breath even though he was clearly about two seconds away from laughing. Michael thought about actually pushing him off the bed this time.

“Looks like a lot of studying going on here,” she said, gesturing between the two of them before the books that were on the floor floated neatly to his dresser.

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Guerin,” Alex said, lifting himself off the bed and walking over to her with his hand outstretched. Michael’s head hit the wall and he considered jumping out the window. “I’m Alex, Alex Manes.”

Mara blinked a few times before sharply turning her gaze to Michael. “Manes? As in Jesse Manes?” Michael sunk back to the bed with a groan.

“Uh, yes, ma’am.”

“And you’re dating my son? An Antarian?”

“Mom!” Michael begged, looking to her in desperation. Still, Alex was all smiles.

“Yes, ma’am. But, you know, I can assure you I don’t exactly subscribe to my father’s politics. Not even just with the ‘no alien’ rule, but, you know, the ‘no queer’ rule. He’s actually kind of the worst, so,” he laughed, turning his stupidly beautiful smile on Michael.

“Well, Alex, would you like to stay for dinner? That is, if my son can understand what an unlocked door means,” Mara said, giving him a tight smile. Alex had the audacity to laugh.

“I would love to stay for dinner, thank you. And we’ll even leave the door open instead, if you’d like,” he said and it took a lot not to pelt him with pillows. She smiled.

“I like you. I like this one, Michael,” Mara said, opening the door wide before walking out and leaving the boys alone. Michael immediately shoved his face into the pillow, groaning loudly. Not only did she ruin a really great moment, but Alex was just way too okay with it.

“Why are you freaking out? It’s not like we were naked. And I think we covered up what was happening pretty elegantly,” Alex teased, not-so-sweetly swatting him on the stomach. Michael moved the pillow to glare at him. “What?”

“Remember when I said sometimes your ballsy-ness is annoying? This is one of those times,” Michael grumbled, letting Alex laugh and pull his head into his lap.

“Michael, baby, have you looked at me?” Alex asked and he nodded slowly, “Your mother just came in on you not only making out with a guy, but one who has piercings and makeup and a lot of black. On top of the fact that I’m human. And I’m my father’s son. So it was either that or let your mother hate me for the rest of our relationship.”

“Why do you have to be right all the damn time?”

.6.

“Tell your mom thanks for lunch because holy shit.”

Michael watched with a smile as Alex shoveled his mother’s leftovers into his mouth as they sat behind the gym. He was a little too aware of Alex’s food situation. His father would get so much and it was first come first serve with five grown-ass men in the house. He’d gotten into a habit of food hoarding, but even then, sometimes he didn’t get enough. Ever since dinner where Michael had to begrudgingly explain to his parents that he was bisexual, he’d been asking his mother to make lunch for two.

“She will probably say you’re welcome.”

After the whole coming out scene, they told him that he didn’t have to, that they put it together which made it even more embarrassing. He was endlessly reassured that no one cared about that, but that they did care about his safety. Michael’s parents gave them both a long talk about being careful because they were dealing with a couple of different layers of stupidity. It was over an hour of discussing how they planned to handle it if people found out and, if the time came, how they planned to make it public. There was even a lot of reassuring that they cared about not only Michael’s safety but Alex’s as well. It was long and weird, but oddly cathartic and while Michael came out of it feeling a little flustered, Alex was very visibly in one of the best moods he’d ever seen. He had at least 30 texts of Alex gushing over how much he loved his parents. He came over nearly every day now.

“Did I tell you I got an interview?” Alex said, smiling even with a mouthful of food. “Get this, it’s at the UFO Emporium.” Michael snorted.

“Alex, that place is such bullshit. They’ve tried to get it shut down like seven times,” he chuckled. The place opened the year after the crash and started out as a place for humans to learn about Antar. However, it really wasn’t accurate and it became the subject of controversy from the moment Antarians started becoming a permanent fixture on Earth. That being said, it still hadn’t closed. Michael went there with Isobel and Max a few times purely for the laughs. “Why do you want to work there?”

“It’ll get my dad off my dick about getting a job. Might as well get a job at a place that literally has, like, no customers,” Alex shrugged, wiggling his eyebrows at Michael, “You can hang out all the time.”

“Alex!”

Both boys whipped their heads around to see Liz Ortecho headed their way with a smile. Michael could feel the panic in him rising at the sight of her. He knew she was nice and that Max had the world’s biggest crush on her, but he didn’t know what she knew about him and Alex. He still wasn’t ready for everyone in the world to know, but it would be fair for one of Alex’s friends to know since Isobel knew. It was a mess. He was a mess.

“Hey, Liz,” Alex said. She plopped down in front of them in a weirdly graceful way. Michael remembered Max mentioning she was a dancer. “You stalking me or something?”

She rolled her eyes dramatically. “No, but Maria isn’t here today and I didn’t want to eat lunch alone and I know you come back here to eat for some reason, so I came to find you,” Liz paused, eyeing Michael with intrigue, “Well, now I know the reason, but can I still stay?”

Alex turned to Michael and asked him silently if she could as if Michael could ever be rude enough to say no. Even if he wanted to say no, he wouldn’t have been able to.

“I don’t mind,” Michael said. She grinned so bright that it became exceptionally clear why Max was so infatuated with her.

“Yay! Hi, I’m Liz,” she introduced, holding her hand out to him. Michael hesitantly shook it. Alex snorted.

“Michael.”

“I know, Alex talks about you,” she said. Michael felt his face flush and turned to Alex who didn’t look embarrassed at all. Did he ever get embarrassed? Did he ever get scared?

“Nothing to worry about,” Alex chuckled, reaching out to wipe a crumb off the corner of Michael’s lips. Michael’s eyes widened. “Relax.”

When Michael looked back towards Liz, she was still smiling as she ate her food. She didn’t seem to think any of this was weird, but she didn’t seem to be curious either. She took it as if this was just a thing that happened.

“Max talks about you too,” Michael said softly. Her eyebrows raised at that and her cheeks got a little red.

Okay, maybe she wasn’t anything to be scared of.

.+1.

“I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Michael’s giggle rippled through the air as Alex smothered him in kisses. While Alex usually came over to his house now, it was basically impossible to do anything other than the most G-rated kisses because of his mother always being around. They wanted something more than that and their options had been either driving out to the desert or coming to the shed. They’d chosen the shed because they didn’t want to suffer the 30-minute drive.

Alex let his hand slide down the front of Michael’s bare chest, breathing heavily with the biggest smile against Michael’s neck. It was heavenly. Even when he pulled away and they had to get dressed so Michael wouldn’t miss curfew, they couldn’t stop smiling. They hadn’t properly hooked up in a few weeks and, fuck, it felt good to just feel Alex again. He was so ready for a lifetime of that.

Or maybe that wouldn’t happen.

The door flew open right after Michael buttoned up his jeans. He was still standing shirtless as Jesse Manes stood in the doorway. When he looked at Alex, he was frozen. There was fear in his eyes and all over his face. It was something Michael had never seen before and, honestly, it was the most terrifying thing in the world. Alex was always strong and calm. Alex wasn’t ever scared.

Except Alex was scared now and Michael didn’t know how to help him.

“I can’t believe this,” Mr. Manes said, taking a step into the shed, “Under my roof.”

Michael kept looking between Mr. Manes and Alex. He was waiting for Alex to say something, to argue, to fight back like he always did. Alex didn’t budge.

It happened fast. Mr. Manes had Alex pinned to the wall by his throat. Alex was crying and shaking his head and begging him to stop. Michael was overwhelmed with hearing Alex so upset, hearing Alex cry a ’Dad, please’ with no sign of it actually working. None of this made sense.

But Michael had a decision to make. He could either be the coward he always was and just let this happen, or he could finally be confident and strong. He’d seen Alex do it a million times when he needed him and now Alex needed him. Alex needed him to be strong.

So he would be.

“Don’t touch him!” Michael shouted, moving forward and pushing Mr. Manes off of Alex. Except, what could that do, really?

He grabbed Michael by the arm and, in one fell swoop, grabbed a hammer and swung it back. The claw end buried into Michael’s bones, pinning him to the table he was leaning against. His scream mixed with the sound of Alex’s, blurring into nothingness. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t hear, he just hurt.

“I don’t want to see this in my house again, do you understand me?” Mr. Manes said. Alex was sobbing.

“Yes, sir.”

Michael was trying to breathe, trying not to focus on the fact his entire left arm was going numb from pain. He needed acetone. No, he needed his mom.

“Oh my God,” Alex choked when he got closer. Michael was taking in shallow breaths as he lifted his head enough to get a look at his hand. The claw was buried in his hand, hooking just enough to the table beneath it. Holy fuck. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Michael, oh my God.”

“Can you call my mom?” Michael whispered out, unable to take his eyes off his hand. How is that possible? How can one man have enough strength to break through all his bones and muscles? How could someone do that?

“I-I need to get you out of here first, your mom can’t come onto my dad’s property,” Alex sniffled, still crying so hard that it was hard to understand him. Michael wanted to be annoyed that he was the one keeping calm when he was pinned to a table, but he kept reminding himself that Alex had done it for him a ton of times. He could do it for Alex.

He could be strong for Alex.

“Okay,” Michael whispered out, closing his eyes and thought hard about his mom. He called to her, telling her that he needed her. It would take her 15 minutes to get to him, he just needed to get to the curb.

“Michael, I’m so sorry,” Alex cried. He wasn’t touching him, he was staying away. Michael tried to look at him.

“I’m okay,” he said and Alex let out a whine, covering his face. This was hard. How did Alex stay so strong all the time? Michael gulped, taking another heavy breath before he looked at his hand again.

Slowly, he worked the tip of the claw out of the table. It hurt like a bitch and he wanted to scream, but he figured that would just scare Alex and he didn’t want that. Once he got it out, he stood up with the hammer still buried in his hand. He brought it to his chest, hoping to minimize the blood and the pain.

“Alex,” he said calmly. It had to be the adrenaline. “Alex, c’mon, let’s go.”

When Alex moved his hands, his face was dotted with Michael’s blood. He focused on his breath and grabbed the back of Alex’s neck, pressing his forehead to his. Alex choked out another sob.

“C’mon. It’s gonna be okay. My mom’s coming.”

They went to the curb and waited. Michael managed to keep up his confidence for Alex until his mom arrived and the full force of the pain really hit. It suddenly made a little more sense of how Alex was able to keep his cool all the other times he’d seen him do it. He could handle anything that wasn’t his father.

So that just meant that Michael could handle that part for him.

#malex #malex fic #malex au #roswell new mexico #roswell new mexico fic #rnm #rnm fic #michael guerin #michael guerin fic #alex manes #alex manes fic #my fic #verse: on earth

[deathfrisbeeinthetardis]

The Sky Beast, New and Improved Chapter 2

Yay I wrote a second chapter for the fic!! One of the key plot points is inspired by @q-unsolved‘s amazing art :D

Summary:

Ryan Bergara is 100% human until they shoot the Mothman episode. They didn’t find anything but Ryan might have brought a piece of the investigation home with him. Or: A bit of Mothman attaches to Ryan and he gets pretty cool perks. Shane is a fan.

Chapter 2 Summary:

Ryan goes to work with his wings tucked away, and they go camping for the weekend. Hijinks ensue.

Find it on Ao3 here or read below!

They take a sick day.   

Partly to figure out how to best keep Ryan's transformation a secret from the rest of the world. Partly just because it is all new and exciting, and the two men want the chance to completely regress to boys for the occasion, you know, to celebrate. 

Case in point, Ryan is flapping around his apartment with Shane on his tail, his wings doing all the work to keep them and Ryan's body from crashing into the walls or the furniture. They had taken time before this to clear away everything of value from shelves or tables, of course, they were capable of behaving like adults for a few minutes longer before they totally lost it.

"How's your six-foot-fourness helping now huh?" Ryan shouts with glee, cackling breathlessly as his wings maneuver him deftly away from Shane's outstretched hands, settling him to perch on top of a cupboard. 

"Damn it, why aren’t you obeying the laws of physics?" Shane wheezed, supporting his hands on his bent knees before said cupboard with a giant grin on his face, which brightened even more, "You know what? Your mob name is going to be wings now if I am to be called legs! It's only fair." he declared, straightening with hands on his hips.

"Uh, no way. My wings are totally going to be my secret weapon! I can't go announcing that to all my enemies, also Night-Night is way cooler. You're just jealous." Ryan stuck out his tongue, relishing in the joy of this moment. The past two hours actually, they really haven't accomplished much.

It takes another half an hour before both of them are too exhausted and hungry to continue, and they collapse onto Ryan's couch with a carton of orange juice between them, chugging it down with the fervor of men after vigorous aerobic exercise and several cases of severe laughter-syndrome. 

"So," Shane says when his breaths finally start to even out, "We know you can fly outside the natural laws of this earth. Also, I think I saw you're eyes glint red when the light hit it a few minutes ago, you're not about to go rogue on me now are you?"

"Wait, really?" He really hadn't noticed, cause that's not how eyes work. It was probably too dark the last time he looked in the mirror that morning for him to see. Ryan sets the carton onto the coffee table and hops over it to get to the window where watery sunlight shines into the room. Using his phone as a makeshift mirror, he wiggles his head until the light catches his eyes at a certain angle and, "Oh wow, they really are red."

"That could be a problem with filming, especially when our cameras are all good enough to avoid red-eye." Shane pauses, then chuckles, "Oh boy, if the fans ever find out they are going to go crazy. All those theorists positing how I'm a demon are gonna come after you now!"

Ryan wrinkles his nose at his reflection, "You're being way too happy about this."

"Hey, you win some you lose some. At least your red eyes are normal-sized, not like goggles or something like in the myths."

"Goggles," Ryan frowns at that, something in his memory sparking an idea, "didn't you recently get those pair of broke-Tony Stark glasses? The yellow ones?" He eyes Shane without turning, "You think they sell red ones? I can always say the red is from the glasses' reflection."

The other man makes a considering noise and pulls out his phone, after a minute his brows climb high on his forehead, stretching out his hand to show the screen displaying an astounding collection of red-tinted sunglasses, "They're supposed to help with visibility apparently, like the yellow ones." He strokes his nonexistent goatee, "Hmm I wonder what character wears red glasses, I gotta get you back for that Tony Stark comment."

"Shut up, Shane," Ryan replies almost on instinct, squinting at the screen to pick out the least obnoxious design. There was an optician's a few blocks from his apartment and Shane volunteers to get Ryan a pair while he practices camouflaging into a normal human workplace.

It actually turns out to be pretty easy, just as long as he keeps the thought of the necessity of the invisibility in the back of his mind. Ryan also discovers to his delight and Shane's halfhearted dismay that tangibility does not seem to affect his flight ability much beyond some extra concentration. He'll be fine tomorrow at work. He'll just have to remember to take a break every few hours to stretch or something. 

The shoot on Monday though, that could be a problem. Now that he has gotten used to his wings through one day of intense usage, Ryan has absolutely no guarantees that if he gets spooked he won't just flap away on instinct. 

Shane sleeps over that night to 'observe the Mothman in his natural habitat', Ryan decides his newest favorite sleeping position right in the middle of a five-pillow nest and when he drifts off he dreams about the red-eyed Mothman from the stories.

On Friday, Ryan wears the biggest hoodie he owns to work, just in case his wings pop-out unplanned. Despite the confidence from the day before, paranoia of a different kind creeps up on him as he sits at his desk next to Shane. He almost never comes in this early, but it was better than walking through the office with everyone there. 

He stares bleary-eyed when his computer boots up, taking his new glasses out of the case and setting them on his nose. The color gives everything a mildly sinister tinge and makes him more self-conscious of his appearance than he has been in a long time, but they do their job. 

He's quite proud that he only jumps a little when Jen calls "Nice specs, Ryan!" from six desks away. He also manages to wait until lunch break before he has to race to the bathroom to let his wings out. One of the pros of working at Buzzfeed is that there are constantly so many weird things happening that his abnormal choice in eye-wear didn't draw any attention more than a few comments and even some compliments. 

All things considered, it's a good day. Ryan even manages to get a good chunk of editing done amidst his paranoia and routine banter with Shane, the latter has gradually started to become more and more moth specific. Seriously did the guy research all the moth puns through the night?

"What do you call a group of moths dancing around a light?" Shane leans over to say an hour before they can go home for the weekend, his eyes twinkling, "A moth pit." 

Ryan groans, choosing not to respond as the passive-aggressive way to protest against the excessive abuse of all things moth-related within the day. His shoulders feel stiff, and out of habit he folds his arms behind his head and leans back in a long slow stretch, and it is the most satisfying stretch in his life, as the strain of a whole afternoon of mostly sitting still with his head craned forward just vanishes. He hums a little in satisfaction. 

Simultaneously, the lights overhead go out. So does his computer. And everyone else's. 

"Oh no no no my computer just crashed!?"

"Is there a power outage? What's going on?"

"I didn't save..."

Ryan is frozen in his position as the cacophony of voices barrages his now slightly enhanced hearing, and it hits him a moment later. In a flash, he's hunching down in his seat, trying to seem as small as he can with his face in his hands, while his invisible wings come down to wrap around him from where they had just stretched too, unseen. Fuck. Wasn't there a thing about electrical malfunctions on the nights of Mothman sightings? Oh god, he hopes he didn't knock the whole of Los Angeles off the grid. He feels his face flush, the skin heating up against his palms. Great job Bergara. Fantastic managing of your powers. 

Shane, who had been in the process of returning to his own editing after snickering at his godawful joke, has his hands hovering over the keyboard and a bemused smile on his face as he tilts his head and sees Ryan with the hood of his hoodie pulled down over his face. 

"I'm sorry," Ryan mumbles faintly into his hands, "I didn't think that part would apply to me."

Shane looks at him for a moment, then he claps a hand on Ryan's shoulder and wiggles him a little in his seat as his smile splits into a grin, "Lucky for you, I save my work by the hour. Otherwise, you'd have to fly like hell cause I'll tackle you."

"You'd never catch me," Ryan says, lifting his head a little to shoot a grateful glance at the taller man, "remember yesterday?"

"Oh but I was unprepared!" Shane declares, rubbing his hands and widening his eyes until he resembled a crazed hunter, "Next time I'll have a bow and a ton of those suction-tipped arrows, and I'm bringing you down baby!"

"You're unbelievable." Ryan huffs with a laugh, glancing around the pandemonium that has descended onto the BuzzFeed office and what seems to be the street outside as well, "Ugh, wanna head back now? We're gonna have to walk, uber is definitely not going to work."

Shane nods, chuckling silently at the whole situation. On their way out, Ryan desperately avoids eye contact with anyone and stares at his red-tinted feet, only snapping out of his inner guilt tirade when Shane pokes him in the rib.

"Stop looking down and hunching your shoulders, makes you look more guilty." He chides, the stupid grin still on his face as he tugs Ryan's hood back as they walk onto the sunlit street. "They'll just blame it on PG&E. The whole thing will teach everyone a lesson to be on top of their job and not rely entirely on technology and big electrical companies to save their work."

"You're just smug that you didn't get affected as much." Ryan retorts, but the comment didn't have any actual heat behind it. 

"You bet I am. Come on, buck up buddy. We've got the entire weekend to have fun with this!" The taller man gestured to the general area on Ryan's back where his wings hung hidden, "Don't you want to go into the wild and see what happens?"

Ryan would never tell Shane this, but his wings stir and shudder a little at the words as if they were dying to show the extent of their abilities. Traitors. 

They end up in Monrovia Canyon Park after an hour-long drive that afternoon, since they figured most of LA's population would be out in the city doing fun Friday night things, so the chances of anyone seeing a figure flying through the trees of the park are greatly reduced. Fortunately, they arrive with around an hour of sunlight left to hike in and set up their camping gear. Unfortunately, the light gives Ryan the opportunity to read the sign at the trailhead. 

"Fuck no." Ryan yelps, pointing an accusing finger at the picture of a black bear with the words 'warning, you are entering bear territory' emblazoned in black under it. He's terrified of bears, those things are the apex predators of the land, and Shane knows that because they've argued about this multiple times, on camera. It's probably why he chose this damn park over the others. "I am not camping here with those things around."

The man shrugs and the tall backpack on his shoulders rise up at least half a foot with the motion. "It is the most heavily wooded park in the area, and I do have this bear mace here," He says innocently, though his brown eyes sparkling in the sunlight seem to issue a challenge that riles up something in Ryan into a frenzy. "And in case you forgot, you can fly, Ryan, no bears are gonna get you."

"I hate you," Ryan mutters darkly, shooting the other man a look that was something between affection and scorn. What Shane said makes sense, logically, and Ryan is beyond annoyed when stuff like this happens on the regular. Speaking of powers, he wonders if there are any more tricks up the Mothman's sleeve that he can use to give Shane a good getting back at. 

Ryan half stomps over and yanks the canister of anti-bear from the side pocket of the taller man's pack, scowling at his snicker and latches onto the cool metal with a death grip, finger crooked into the trigger. Shane is right on one account, no bears are going to get him on this trip, or he'll get a face of mace and whatever cool shit Mothman can do when it's spooked. 

They dump their bags in a patch of grass amidst the trees, far from any established trails or camping grounds just to be safe. With a sigh of relief, Ryan's wings materialize at his back, dark against the dimly lit forest around them, dwarfing Ryan with their span. It seems they hadn't been at their full size that day in his apartment. They now stretch twelve feet in total, drawing a sharp awed inhale from Shane as the powerful limbs flex and stretch in their freedom. The best part? Ryan didn't even have to take off his hoodie, the wings found their own way through the material without really altering it. 

Ryan rolls his neck and relishes the warmth that the cracks leave behind as the soreness melts away, and he grins at Shane. "What now?" he says, a little breathless already.

"Whatever feels natural, Ryan." Shane says with a wolfish grin of his own, "Just let go of all the stress and embrace mother nature." 

So Ryan lets his eyes flutter close and gives in to that wild part in him that has started stirring since their investigation in Virginia. When he opens his eyes again, their red glint sharpens his vision as his wings carry him straight up into the air. The wind whips at his face and he has his arms spread wide, laughter bubbling out of him as his previous fear of heights dissolves into the crisp rich air.

He rides the soft winds, weaving through the semi-dense woods around their campsite and listens to his new instincts as he twirled in the air performing moves that he had once seen professional divers do. He feels free in there, and even though the falls and dips in height still send his stomach clenching, it's more in anticipation of the thrill of control, of pulling back at the very last second to glide just a few feet off the ground, rather than fear. He flies and perches on various treetops and swoops again, all to the whooping and cheering of Shane from down bellow. 

"Hey Ryan! Look what I brought!" He shouted, and Ryan glides down to a lower branch to give the not-so-tall looking man a questioning glance, the man was smirking with mischief, holding out a hand to wiggle a bright camping lantern in his direction, "Since you're Mothman, d'you feel anything for this here light?"

Ryan was about to adjust his grip on the branch to only using a certain finger on both hands when suddenly Shane yelps and starts to do a twitchy dance with his upper body. For a second Ryan panics, but he was just close enough for his enhanced night vision to see that the strange behavior is, in fact, not caused by a demon possessing his friend. 

"Oh, fuck is that a wasp?" Ryan bursts out laughing at the way Shane's face contorts a little at the tiny insect buzzing uncomfortably close to his face and did not feel sorry at all for his friend. Nope. Ryan was almost squealing in delight as Shane batted at the wasp as best he could, flapping his long arms around with a panicked look on his face. 

"See what you get? This is what you get! Yes! Take that for--" Its a shame that his victory speech is cut short when a wasp materializes right in front of his own face, sending him tumbling backward off the branch with a high pitched screech. 

A part of his brain thinks that if people heard what he had just uttered, there are going to be reports of the first Mothman sighting in Los Angelas. 

For some life-fucking reason, the wasp--actually three of them now-- tormenting Shane decide to refocus their attention on the flying creature instead of the sasquatch. They obviously haven’t taken physics or learned about surface area.

Ryan threads his way through the trees with much less of his previous flare and joy, flying for his life as the few wasps quickly grow to a swarm, despite a small voice in his head encouraging him to stop, to take a stand. What the fuck did he ever do to them?? It's not like he kicked their nest or something. Frustration and exhaustion combining is never a good look on Ryan, and after what he estimates is four minutes of high-speed air chase, he dives to the ground. Landing softly, he lets instincts take over, whirling around to let out a snarl at the swarm that races for him, wings arched at his back and shaking slightly to make rustling sounds.

The wasp swarm halts before him with a jerk.

Ryan's teeth are bared, which is kind of dumb, cause he doesn't have fangs so that image must not be very scary to anyone. But the wasps hover before him, their formation shifting uncertainly, and Ryan can see the detail on each and every buzzing insect with crystal clarity. A deadly calm washes over him.

"Heel." He growls, and his own voice startles himself. With all the macho, gangster bits they've done on Unsolved, he has never heard his voice go this low and guttural. Ryan blinks, and the heavy blanket of calm is gone. 

The wasps hold still, their formation now in a fixed sphere as they buzzed quietly. Respectfully, a part of Ryan's mind supplies, they serve him now. What the hell just happened?

A crackle of a boot on dry leaves has Ryan whipping his head around to see Shane approaching him with a flashlight and bear mace in perfect Harries position, concern and something like dread tightening his face. "Ryan come here, get away from the wasps." 

"They're not a threat anymore Shane," he said, tone stiff and tired. "They obey me now." The taller man looks doubtful but after a few flashes of light at the swarm produced no change in the wasps' motion, he slowly lowered the mace can. 

"I-I didn't know what to do so I just grabbed this," he said, lifting the mace a bit and then letting his arms drop back to his side. "Ryan are you okay? Your hands are shaking."

"What?" Ryan says absently, and there are tremors running through his hands. He clenches them into fists and tucks them into his hoodie pocket. A flick of his head at the swarm has them dispersing, buzzing back to wherever the hell they popped out from. "We're losing light, we should set up the tent," he says as he turns to walk back to where they had dropped their bags.

Shane stands his ground and reaches out a hand to catch the smaller man's shoulder when Ryan tries to walk past him, and his eyes widen slightly as Ryan's wings bristle at the contact, but his grip is firm. "If there's something wrong, Ry, anything at all that feels off about this whole Mothman thing, you'd tell me, right?"

"Yeah. I'm fine, big guy." Ryan offers the taller man a small smile, though it might have wavered a little. He can tell that his friend would have liked answers to a great many questions about how he felt, about the mad chase and about that final showdown, but the man didn't push. He trusts Ryan to reach out if he needed it.

The problem is, Ryan has never been that good with emotions.

But at the moment he feels... okay. The excitement of the ordeal seems to have canceled out his energy. So he smiles some more, "I promise." At Shane's not at all satisfied expression, he nudges the taller man with the tip of a dark wing, "Come on, help me light a fire. I'm dying for some smores."

And so they did.

#fanfiction #inspired by awesome art #I love Mothman!Ryan so much #alex writes #Ghoul friends

[zendozebra]

All the Time in the World Chapter 7

He's gonna have to kick Yamada's ass next time he sees him. Sure, come in to Majima's office unannounced, that's fine. Talk non-stop for 30 minutes while Majima desperately tries to ignore him, that's alright. Spill your stupid iced coffee thing all over the notes Majima made for today's lecture, then run away before you can be forced to clean up your goddamn mess, that's fucked up. Now he has no notes, no plan, no lecture, and most of his students are staring at him, waiting for him to begin today's lesson. He doesn't even remember what today's lecture was supposed to be about. Now what is he supposed to do? Sure he could just use time stop to get a new set of notes together, that would be easy. It would be trivial. But Majima really doesn't want to. Should he just make it up as he goes along? Yeah, that sounds good. He could probably bullshit his way through just one lecture, or at the very least 45 minutes. Alright, let's get started. He stood at the front of the room, already in full costume. The cloak ended up being more of a poncho than a cloak, but the mask was right, so he gave it a pass. Wasn't wearing that part right now, though, it was laying on his desk. The boots Nezu recommended actually fit pretty well, so that's a plus.

"Okay, about 200 years ago, give or take a handful of decades, quirks happened. Alright? We got that, that's been covered in your other schools. Quirks have been a thing for…" Oh god, what year did quirks start? What year was it now? "… Quite some time now. The hero society was created out of a necessity to stop everyone with a quirk from going full asshole because someone forgot to put ketchup on their omurice." They were looking at him weird. This plan is falling apart faster than he'd thought it would. "Okay, I am obviously oversimplifying this. Basically, the laws that prevented the public use of quirks were implemented, but that clearly wouldn't stop anyone with even a lick of determination."

"So, what do you do? Obviously, ya got to fight fire with fire, so they created the original hero registration procedures. Only the brightest beacons were allowed to even take the tests, and even fewer passed them. Those that failed but still received a high enough score would eventually go on to become some of the first sidekicks. From there, they would follow in the footsteps of the hero they were assigned to, and would sooner or later become a hero themselves. Those heroes would then get sidekicks themselves, and would perpetuate the cycle."

"Back to the topic of villains, though. Early on, it was realized that there were three types of villains. Sure, these would often bleed over into each other, and you would rarely find a villain that would be a pure form of just one aspect, but I happen to have been a witness to a pure form of each. Now, all of the shit I'm about to tell you guys has been struck from the history books, and for a good reason. I don't expect you to understand that reason, but the fall of the non-quirked society was… Ugly. Riots, mobs, protests, both violent and non-violent. Fuck, there was even a small war over in the states."

"Alright. The three core principles of villainy are as follows: Trauma, Career, and Power. The three examples for these principles are The Echoed Mind, All or Nothing, and All for One. Uh, Midoriya, you doin' okay?" The hell is up with the kid, he jumped up in his seat at that last name. Sure, All for One wasn't the best name, but if ya knew what his quirk was, he was down right terrifying. He should probably not tell the students just what ol' All for One used to be capable of, regardless of the fact that the man's been dead for quite some time now.

"I'm fine, Majima-sensei. Just wasn't expecting hear names quite like those." Izuku explained, which made sense. Codenames back in the day could be weird. Hell, Majima's original codename wasn't all that great, he was just copying the naming convention that Akira and Jin were using. Did Aimi ever give herself a name before everything went tits up? He knew she eventually took Jin's name when everything was said and done, but he never kept any tabs on her after he ran.

"Alright then. Now, as I was saying, each of these villains were a rare example of the pure embodiment of one of these Echoed Mind was trauma. Their true name was Fujita Jin, and they-"

"Majima-sensei!" Holy shit, Ashido is actually raising her hand in his class to ask a question. He guessed that Izuku's study session with her yesterday did more for her confidence than he'd thought it would. Okay, act natural, just acknowledge her question.

"Yes, Ashido, do you have a question?" Nailed it.

"Is this the same Jin that you're always talking about?" Goddamnit, at least she's asking questions. And seeing how old he was, that's technically a legitimate question. Judging by the look on the faces of Kaminari and Ojiro, she wasn't the only one wondering about that.

"No, my old friend Jin and Fujita Jin were not the same person, but that was a good question regardless." Majima Kokiri, helping boost student morale. Didn't think that would ever be a thing in his life. "Either way, Fujita started as a young child with an immensely powerful telepathy quirk. When used, it would implant a single thought in the victims mind that would echo on an endless loop. This thought would grow more powerful as time would pass, until it would completely consume the victims entire thought process. It would drive them to madness, and depending on what the implanted thought was, they would become more frantic and aggressive in an attempt to remove the thought. Fujita would implant within his victims incredibly violent urges and hostile intentions, which would drive them to commit increasingly violent crimes as they tried to remove the horrors he would give to them."

"No one was able to connect these strings of random crimes and murders until Fujita was already an adult, but once they realized that it was a quirk user that was responsible, they started to do some digging. And boy, the shit they found was like something from the most terrifying Stephen King novel." Yep, damn this generation, not knowing all the good horror writers. Wait, Sero looks pretty excited. He knew about King? There's a few conversations to be had there, if that's the case. "When they looked through the registry, which was very limited at the time, they managed to narrow it down and they eventually got themselves some information, none of which looked good. In and out of orphanages and foster homes, reports that he had been abused both physically and sexually, multiple hospital visits. It was a mess. The boy had been broken, unmade, and the only thing left was a violent husk that lashed out and everyone around him. He was traumatized, and he acted without goal or reason, simply reacting to a world that was made too harsh for him. "

Some of the students were starting to look a bit pale, which was good. This was an important topic. The world is fucked up, and Aizawa could use some help in making sure these kids understand that. "The second classification is career, and back in the day, nobody had a better criminal career than All or Nothing. Hell, to this day, he remains at the top of whatever fucked up scoreboards that exist for this type of shit. A hitman for hire, All or Nothing had a very weak quirk that was put to a dangerous use. All he could do was nullify weak electrical fields. Couldn't make them, couldn't control them, he could only nullify them. Altogether, not that dangerous. Hell, it's actually almost completely harmless. That was until he found out that he could nullify the weak electrical force that held together atoms. No electrical field, the atoms fall apart, which means that the molecules fall apart, so on and so forth. He would touch his victims and disables this force, which would turn them into a pile of dust. All he had to do was touch them, anywhere. Walking down the street, alone in their house, in the halls of their workplace. He was quick, he was efficient, and he was the best there was."

"So, how did they catch him, Majima-sensei?" Wow, even invisa-girl was asking questions, wasn't today just swell. Then again, this was probably the most interesting lecture he's ever given. Wasn't he supposed to be talking about arms dealing today? Back to the subject at hand, he looked at Hagakure, or whatever.

"Whoever said he was caught?" Eyes went wide all around at that little tidbit. "Over a course of 37 years, All or Nothing killed an estimated 10,000 people, both innocent civilians, police officers, politicians, pro heroes, and even a fair number of villains. After the 37th year, there were no further reports of any homicides that matched his modus operandi. He disappeared, no longer took any jobs, and is believed to have enjoyed a quiet retirement before eventually dying of natural causes."

He gave the class a moment to let that sink in before he moved on. "The last classification is power. What I mean by this is the desire for power in its purest state. Not a desire to rule, not a desire to cause harm, or to destroy, but straightforward, untainted, simple power. Power, simply for the sake of having it. And no one in the last 200 years has ever displayed this desire so purely, than All for One." Again, Izuku seemed strangely interested about this one. There's no way he's heard about this guy, he's been dead for a long, long time. "I am not at liberty to tell you what his quirk was. Not only was it purposely scrubbed from the annals of history for a damn good reason, I truly don't think that most of you would be able to understand his quirk. I'm not insulting your intelligence." That last part was said as he held up a hand, as Iida, Yaoyorozu, and even Bakugou started to argue with him. "It has nothing to do with how smart you are, but about how you were raised. This society has taught all of you a few base rules that can never, ever be broken, no matter what. The power that All for One held spits in the face of just about every single one of these rules."

"His true name has been lost to time, hell I'm probably the only one who knows what it was, and that's only because I did a few jobs for him back before he came up with the name. All you need to know, is that All for One was probably the greatest villain to have ever existed. His mere presence brought even the mightiest heroes to their knees, his views on philosophy could topple even the best arguments crafted by the world's leading scholars, and the power he wielded granted him the unofficial title… Of the world's Symbol of Evil." There we go. His students looked much more than simply scared, the looked horrified. Scarred, even. "He possessed a desire for power that could rival even the most determined man, and he would plunge his soul into the blackest, vilest pits of the last and most horrific circles of hell in order to achieve his goals."

No one asked him. No one asked about the fate of such a monster. They were too scared to know the answer. They've been through enough today, so he'll cut them a break. "Midoriya," He nodded at the boy, catching his attention, "What do you think happened to All for One?"

"He… Got away, didn't he? Just like All or Nothing, didn't he?" The boy was shaking like a leaf, as was a fair number of his other students. Hell, even Bakugou seemed to be pretty freaked out. But of course, he can't tell them that Midoriya was right. If these kids knew that a monster like All for One might still be running around, then word might get out that he's still kicking, and it would cause a panic. He hates doing it, especially when he's talking about important stuff, but he's gotta lie. So, what should he tell them? Make something up? Tell a partial truth, and just withhold some of the really important stuff? He very obviously can't talk about his own involvement in that whole mess. He'd get more than fired, he'd probably get arrested. Alright, partial truth it was.

"Thankfully, no." The whole class looked at him confused. "The hero society, at the time, was still just an idea. The hero system that was in place at the time was just an experiment. It wasn't cemented until one hero, greater than any who had ever walked the Earth, would one day kill All for One. That heroes name has also been removed from history, at the request of his fiancee, as the hero himself had died in his effort to take down All for One. Just like with everything else, I'm gonna keep that hero's name a secret. But this time, I'm doing it out of respect for the sacrifice of that brave hero."

They were quiet. Every last one of them, as quiet as the dead. Majima sat at his desk, taking a look at his now dried notes. Oh hey, they were supposed to be talking about how seemingly useless quirks could be used for evil in the hands of villains. That would have been a good topic to talk about. Hell, Majima could have had fun with that topic. Damnit, if only Yamada hadn't fucked up his notes, then maybe he would have been able to teach these kids something useful today. The bell rang, and his class quietly shuffled out the door. He took a drink of his now cold coffee.

He was going to get chewed the fuck out by Nezu later, he could already tell.

#Ashido Mina/Izuku Midoriya #Midoriya Izuku #midoriya inko #mina ashido #all might #toshinori yagi #all for one #one for all #time stop #oc #slow burn #izumina

[tracklist-fic]

Tracklist Fic | 002 / Baggage

Title: Tracklist // 002 | An original, mature, Ed Sheeran fanfic CO-AUTHORED BY: @tea-and-toblerones and @sippin-on-red-wine​ Rating: No smuts in this chapter, sorry!

Ed……. I pulled into the studio’s car lot excited and ready to begin work. I had been enjoying my vacation immensely, so much I had skived off longer than I had originally planned. Now that I’ve sat down and discussed my vision I couldn’t wait to dive in. I had been up half the night writing notes and ideas down, too anxious to sleep. I was also looking forward to working with Jac. She had left a serious impression on me. She had such a magnetic personality. Strong, fierce and willing to take risks. She’s awfully fit too….no, Ed, she said this was a one off and she wanted to keep it professional from here on out. Her reputation is at stake here and I don’t want to sabotage it in any way.

When I turned my car off and was getting ready to get out I saw her standing on the pavement in front of the building completely obliterating some guy with an obnoxiously large bouquet of flowers. Her face red as she screamed at him. She threw them in his face, vigorously pointing away from the building before turning on her heel and marching into the building.

Uh oh…I don’t think she’s a fan of flowers….

Jac……. My morning had started off rough. I had gotten a poor night’s sleep due to a mix of Dylan’s lingering hands on my body and Ed’s scent in the sheets. Every toss and turn released a little burst of cinnamon sin in my nose. Just a reminder of the hot and wildly inappropriate night I had spent with him. Those bright whimsical flowers were sitting in my kitchen taunting me.

They’re not romantic Jac. They’re supermarket flowers for Chrissakes. Ed’s a known romantic. There’s no way he’d buy flowers from the grocer to express a romantic intent. Besides, daisies aren’t that romantic. They’re probably the most innocent flower you can give. You’re over-thinking it. You need to relax.

I was not prepared when my alarm sounded. Groaning, I turned it off, contemplating adding a mandatory nap break in today’s schedule. I unwillingly tossed the duvet aside and started my morning routine. I grabbed a to-go breakfast and filled my largest thermos with coffee, catching the flowers out of the corner of my eye. They’re so bright and colorful, just like him without clothing. That probably wasn’t the intention but…it’s right there. I grabbed my keys and headed out. I was determined to have a good day.

Today is not going to be a good day.

I knew this as soon as I pulled into the studio and saw Dylan sitting by the door. With flowers. Not just flowers: Roses. A stupid amount of roses. Oh hell no, he did NOT show up to give me these at work. He’s went too far. I slammed my car door closed and made my way to the entrance. He saw me, launched to his feet and rushed to meet me. His face broke out into a smile when he presented the stupid bouquet.  He had left off the snapback again, wearing a light blue button up shirt with his aviators hanging from it, khaki shorts and brown boat shoes, his skinny pale ankles on full display. 

“I thought I’d come give my girl some flowers at work. What girl doesn’t love that.” He beamed, so proud of himself and the gesture as he held them out for me.

I quickly knocked his hand aside, absolutely fuming. “For one, I’m not ‘your girl’ so you can get that out of your head right now. Second, where do you get off showing up here? I can’t stop you from showing up at the bar but I CAN put my foot down here. This is my workplace. Third, I don’t want you or your flowers. Go home Dylan, I don’t have time for you or your bullshit right now.”

His face quickly morphed into an angry look. “Last night you were all for us getting back together. Do you know how much these cost?” He shook the flowers angrily “Did you not remember me telling you I stopped taking my dad’s money? I did that for you, y’know.” He spat like it was a big deal.

“I’m supposed to be impressed by the fact that you’ve stopped living off your daddy’s money and are finally living like a fucking adult now?! Well congratu-fucking-lations Dylan!” I gave him a mock standing ovation.  "Welcome to the  real world! It’s about goddamn time!“ My voice echoing across the parking lot. I was beyond the point of caring.

He closed the distance between us, getting right up in my face as he screamed, spit landing on my face as I refused to back down from him. "Well you sure fucking seemed impressed last night. So much so you couldn’t wait to get me to your car so I could eat you out! Or do you just spread your legs for anyone now?! That how you plan on breaking on the scene? By fucking your way to the top? I bet you’re fucking whatever nobody you’re working with now in the off chance they become big when they find themselves someone who actually knows what the fuck they’re doing and not some wannabe producer like you!” His hands had been flying around and with his last remark his fingers had came across my jaw.  

I snagged the flowers out of his hand and began hitting him with them. Petals and leaves flying everywhere as they smashed against his face, arms and every inch of him I could hit as I screamed in rage. There was a loud buzzing in my ears as I continued to hit him.

“How fucking dare you, you asshole! I EARNED my job! I worked my ass off to get where I’m at now, I didn’t go 'Daddy, give me a job at your movie studio ’ like you did! So you can take your flowers and your accusations and shove them right up your bleached ass! Yeah, that’s right Dylan, I know.” I threw the mangled mess of flowers in his face and pointed to the road. “Now get the fuck out off my lot before I send for security.”

I turned and marched inside, trying my best not to slam the door behind me. I didn’t look back to see if he was still standing there or not. I was just happy the doors were mostly soundproof so they couldn’t hear what had transpired outside. I turned to Valerie, the receptionist who wore a look of confusion as I stormed through.

“Is everything okay Jac? That looked pretty volatile out there.”

“If he hasn’t left in 3 minutes, call security Val. He wants nothing but trouble.” I took a deep breath. “Thank you.”

I didn’t break my stride as I pushed the door open and went straight to the sound room. Of course he’d pull this today. Today’s a huge day for me, why would I ever expect anything less from him. I was just glad Ed hadn’t been around to hear what he had said. I threw myself in the chair as I rubbed my face. We already started on less than professional terms and that scene wouldn’t have helped my image any.

God, this is a fucking mess. What if he’s still out there when Ed comes in? I know Dylan wouldn’t think he was working with me but what if Ed recognises him from the bar and puts two and two together?

I was kneading my temples with my fingertips when I heard:

“So…um…do you not like flowers?”

I look up to see a very awkward looking Ed standing in the doorway. I felt like screaming in frustration.

“You saw that?” Great. Just great. It was nice working with you.

“I saw you walloping a bloke with roses. Which made me feel pretty uncertain about the flowers I left for you…” So he DID leave them there himself.

“Yours were fine. Unexpected, but thoughtful. They’re quirky, like you.”

He sighed in relief, fullying entering the room and sitting down in another chair. “I’m glad you liked them. I saw them and thought they’d look nice in your apartment. Plus I wanted to express my excitement with working with you.” You hear that Dylan? Ed Sheeran, three sold out shows and first solo act to play at Wembley Stadium, is excited to work with me. You can suck it. “What is he, a regular that won’t take no for an answer? I noticed him at the bar when we met.”

Sure let’s go with that. You don’t need the details.

“Yeah, something like that.

Ed graciously took the hint and dropped the subject.

“So, I was thinking I’d just play the whole album for you today. Everything I’ve got so far. You up for it?” He was strictly business all of a sudden.

I took a deep breath, letting all of my frustrations roll off my back. Time to switch into work mode.

“Absolutely. Let’s do it.”

Ed grabbed his guitar case and one of the barstools from the little break area in the mix room. I grabbed my notebook, a pen, and a couple bottles of water and settled in on the worn-in leather sofa.

He got cozy on the barstool, one sneaker-clad foot flat on the ground, the other casually resting on the bottom rung. He slid his guitar strap over his shoulder and just started playing. Some songs seemed pretty complete, others were just a chorus or a riff, a single line to build the rest of the song around. He must have played to me for nearly two hours straight, stopping between each song to explain the idea behind it, or what had been happening in his travels that inspired it. Occasionally he’d take his phone out and play some soundbits from there.

I scribbled notes furiously, sketching out each song on it’s own page – writing down lyrics that stuck out to me, noting the emotion that each one solicited, jotting down ideas. Ed was a machine, he sat perched up on that barstool playing song after song, his silky voice filling the room, surrounding me. He sang with his eyes closed, most of the time. He’d often stop and play something back again, trying a new sequence, or different wording. Some lines didn’t have lyrics yet and so he just sang syllables to fill in.

Near the end of his song bank, he explained that he had written most of this one before his last tour had ended. He’d been really homesick and nostalgic and this one just poured out of him. It struck me right from the first chorus:

“And I’m on my way, Driving at 90 down those country lanes, Dee be deeeee do deeeedee, And I miss the way you make me feel, it’s real, When we watched the sunset on the castle on the hill,”

I hadn’t grown up with any castles, or broken my leg, or did many of the things Ed was crooning about. But the song was giving ME major nostalgia vibes. It really hit me right in the heart; remembering when my friend got her license, the first of all of us. We’d drive around for hours, singing at the top of our lungs, no destination in mind.

The chorus came back around -

“And I’m on my way, – I had an idea. Driving at 90 down those country lanes, –”

“–Singing to Tiny Dancer,” I sang over top of his deee do daaah’s, offering up a suggestion for the lyric. Probably crass and totally inappropriate, this was such a deeply personal song, but it just felt right.

His eyes opened then, though he didn’t miss a beat, a grin spread over his face.

And I miss the way you make me feel, it’s real, When we watched the sunset on the castle on the hill,”

He went right back into the chorus, trying out my lyric. I sang along with him, both of us grinning like dang fools. We finished up the song, strumming dramatically before silencing the last notes from the guitar and standing up from the stool. “Wicked… I really like that, yeah.”

He sunk down on the couch next to me and crushed a full bottle of water, the very noticeable vein in his neck moving with each swallow. Look away, Jac, look away.

He wanted to look over my notes, and so I handed them over and we talked through every song. After we had went through all of them, he set the book down on the table.

“Right, okay, yeah, we’ve put in a fair bit of work. How ‘bout we go grab ourselves some lunch? I’m starving and we’ve earned ourselves a break.”  

It was such a trip to see him transition from work Ed to casual Ed. Everything about him changed. His focus was strong, his demeanor serious - all business. A force to be reckoned with. Someone who demands attention. Sure of himself, almost cocky. It was obvious he was more comfortable behind a guitar. Without it, he was awkward, borderline unsure of himself.

I heard my own stomach growl at the mention of lunch, my pathetic breakfast a memory long past. I did have slight pause at how he worded that. Did he mean we go get lunch together, and if he did, how did he mean it? Work lunch or a I-fancy-you lunch?

“How about we order in? Saves us the nightmare of lunch rush traffic.”

I could see him mulling it over as I prayed he said yes. I really didn’t want to have the whole boundaries conversation again. Nothing’s worse than having to repeatedly shoot down a guy. Especially when you have to continue to work with them.

“Yeah, I could go for some take away.” I could feel my muscles relax. I hadn’t realised I had tensed up. “What’s good around here?” He added, oblivious to the internal battle that was going on.

“Um, well, it depends on what you’re wanting. Actually, I have some menus in my car if you want to look over them.”

“Alright, yeah, that sounds good.” He was fidgeting with the pencil I had been taking notes with.

Okay, he seems way more awkward now than he did before. I’m glad I gave the choice of ordering in. I’m under the impression he’s got more than a friendly work lunch on his mind.

“I’ll be right back then.”

He just nodded as I walked out the door. I gave a couple quick hellos to my coworkers that were in the hallway. I didn’t feel like stopping to chat, even though a couple acted like they wanted to have a conversation. The phrase ‘Sorry, I gotta go grab something out of my car or I would stay and chat with you,’ coming out of my mouth frequently.

I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw my car. Anger quickly flaring back up. The word “Whore” was written on every one of my windows. I should have known that he’d react in some over-the-top frat boy manner. Luckily, it looked like he wrote it in window paint so it would come off fairly easily. Who knows how many people had already seen it though. No wonder everyone had been trying to stop me in the hallway.

Un-fucking-believable.

I turned right around and go right back inside, heading straight to Valerie. Part of me wanted to call the police, but I mainly just wanted to wash the words away before anyone else saw.

Oh Jesus Christ, what if Ed has a girlfriend. I never thought to ask…he’s known as a good guy but nobody knows what goes on behind closed doors. Especially since he went on break. We hadn’t exactly been discreet either…No, Jac, it was Dylan. He’s a fucking asshole and this is right up his alley.

“Hey, Val, you clean the windows in the lobby right?”  

“I do, why?” The curiosity rang through loudly, though it must have clicked in because she added, “You need a rag and window cleaner?”

“Yep.” I muttered darkly as she fished around under the counter.

She placed the bottle and rag in front of me. “I hope he didn’t cause too much damage and it comes off easy. I’m sorry Jac. Break ups aren’t easy.”

“Oh, I broke up with him a while ago. He just doesn’t handle rejection well.” I had managed to keep my voice at a somewhat level tone.

Really need to re-evaluate your taste in men, Jac.

I sprayed some of the cleaner on everything that was written, letting it work it’s magic. Fuming, I scrubbed the shit off my windshield. It looked like he had thrown coffee or soda on it too since my hood was sticky as I leaned on it. King of the assholes, ladies and gentlemen.

I panicked as I heard footfalls coming toward me. I had totally forgotten that I’d come out here to grab menus, Ed was probably wondering why I’d been gone so long. I scrubbed faster, not wanting him to see what had been written.

“I thought I’d make sure nothing happened… Who the fuck did this to your car?!” He looked positively furious, his voice reflecting that. “This wasn’t here when I got out of my car. I waited until that guy got in a Range Rover and left before I came in! I can’t believe he came back!” He did a three sixty around my car, looking at the damage. “Jesus, why would someone key your car?”

“Wait, WHAT?!” I hadn’t noticed anything other than the paint.

I scurried over to where he was standing and groaned. Sure enough, the word bitch had been scratched right under the handle. A substantial dent underneath it. I wonder what else he did that I can’t see. Was he actually insane enough to tamper with the gas or something?

“Jac.” He spoke softly. “It isn’t any of my business, but what’s your connection with this guy? This is fucking mental.”

I sighed. “He’s my ex. We’ve been apart for a while now… He was never a saint but I, I’d never have expected him to pull something like this. He’s off his rocker, it seems.”

“Let me help you. I’ll have someone come collect your car and take it into the shop… it might not be safe to drive, Jac. I’ll give you a lift home.”

“It’s nice of you to offer, Ed, but I can take care of it. I’ll just call a tow and take an Uber home, it’s fine, really.” As if it isn’t humiliating enough for you to be seeing this.

“Look, I get it. You’re independent. But it’s okay to accept help every now and again, innit? Here, take my keys,” He insisted, digging into his pocket and tossing the keychain my way. “Just grab anything you need out of your car and toss it in mine. Really - your flat is on my way back anyway. I’ll drop you off when we finish up here.”

“Erm… thanks, Ed. I appreciate it.”

“Okay.” He clapped his hands together. “We need food to turn this day around. You grab your stuff and I’ll order us some takeaway, okay? Anything tickle your fancy?”

“Uh, not really.” I didn’t want to tell him I had pretty much lost my appetite.

“Any diet restrictions? Are you on the vegan bandwagon? Not that… not that there’s anything wrong with that! More power to you, I’ll just know not to order anything with cheese or meat… there goes three fourths of my diet…”

It was hard to stifle my laughter at his obvious awkwardness.

“No, I’m not vegan. Just nothing with cucumbers. Though I can’t really see you eating a salad so I guess that’s moot.”

“Hey, I like salad. I just don’t like kale or tomatoes.” He feigned offense. “But you’re right, I wasn’t planning on ordering salad. That’s like going to the world’s best steak house and ordering…well, a salad…” He finished quite lamely.

“I’m sure a vegan’s done it.”  I said while digging the menus out of my glovebox.

He took them with a thanks. “Leave it to Teddy to satisfy your needs.” His eyes widening in horror as what he had just said washed over him. “YOUR FOOD NEEDS. I MEANT YOUR FOOD NEEDS.” His words tumbling out in a rush. This time I wasn’t able to hide the smirk that had ended up on my face.

“Just order some food before you embarrass yourself more.”

Oh you can satisfy other needs too. Quite well and I think you know that.

He just nodded and headed back inside. I could almost hear him telling himself to get his shit together. He definitely didn’t strike me as the type to be able to pull off a lie so the whole jealous girlfriend theory went out the window.

I didn’t have much that I would need, just my laptop case and a couple things out of my glovebox. I quickly found his car a couple rows down, a silver Audi SUV. The image of Soccer Mom Ed popped into my head, quickly replaced by the thought of how much room for extra curriculars he’d have. Jac, no. You’d never guess a famous person drove it, which was probably the point. He was still staying out of the public eye and no one would bat an eye at this. Especially out here where everyone drives expensive sports cars. I threw my laptop on the floorboard of the back seat before heading back inside.

I found him sprawled out on the leather couch, his notebook and pen in hand as he scribbled out what I assumed was lyrics, his hand flying across the page as he wrote with fervour. His brows coming together as he scribbled something out, writing something else down instead, nodding as he did so. I watched him lean over, snagging his guitar as he strummed a couple of chords.

“Hey, tell me how this sounds.”

I had lingered back, not wanting to interrupt him. I didn’t realise he had even noticed me hovering in the doorway until then.

Oh she is a sight to behold The way she moves when the lights are low It takes my breath away, everytime My heart is looking for a one way trip And she’s not like the women I know She’ll be the one to bring it back home. Daisies, placed upon your windowsill, Showing me where to roam Oh but darling, I’ve had my fill.

I sat there with my mouth slightly open. Is this about me? No….certainly not….he wouldn’t write a song about me…we’ve literally just met. Wow, I don’t think highly of myself do I?

“Why didn’t you sing this earlier when we were going over songs for the album?” I asked, my mind trying to come up with anything logical.

“Oh…. because I just wrote it …it’s still a work in progress, but I like to bounce ideas off of people and get their opinions.” He had tucked the pen behind his ear as he played. His hand went up, running through his unruly locks, knocking the pen from its resting place. He fumbled as he tried to catch it, the pen clattering to the floor.

“Oh, well, it has potential. I would finish it. That’s about all I can offer. I’m not much of a writer…”

“I dunno, you busted out that ‘singing to Tiny Dancer’ bit awfully quick.” he retorted, a smile playing out across his face.

“Only because that’s what my friends and I sang when we were cruising around.” I offered quickly, hoping to quash any thoughts of me being any help in that department. “You’re the lyrical genius here, not me.”

“I hold your opinion in high regard. You’ve got a good ear when it comes to music. If you think it’s worth continuing then I will.”

Shit, if this is about me, I’m just encouraging him to continue on. Giving him false hope… but it could be a beautiful song. We’ll see where he takes it before I do anything extreme.

Before I could respond there was a knock on the open studio door. Mark was standing there, a box of pizza in hand and his usual smile on his face.

“I’ve got a delivery for erm….Ben Sherman. I’m guessing that’s you.” He placed the box down, rubbing his hands together, “So, how’s it going in here?”

Ed opened the box, giving it a quick sniff before letting the box fall closed.

“It’s going really well. Jac actually helped me with a lyric problem I had been having. Here, have a listen.”

His guitar already in hand, never straying too far away from his reach. Mark had leaned against the door as Ed played, a smile coming across my face as he sang my offered lyric. I could see Mark’s work face coming out as he listened. Once Ed’s dramatic end came to a close, Mark took a moment to digest everything.

“It’s different. I don’t know how people are going to relate to growing up around castles though.”

“It made me nostalgic for my hometown.” I piped up quickly, defending the song, “Isn’t that the point of the song? A sort of hometown anthem, throwback to your roots, to a time when everything was less complicated. Everyone can relate to that.”

Ed was positively glowing with pride. “It’s gonna be my first single.”  We both stared at him blankly as he placed the guitar aside and dug into the pizza. His chewing stopped when he realised we were both looking at him. “Wot? Do you not think it’ll be a good one?”

“It’s not that… it’s just a surprise is all.”  I was just taken aback by the matter of fact tone in his voice.

“It’s a bit early to be thinking of singles, anyway.” Mark stepping in as the voice of reason. “You should focus on narrowing down your songs before thinking about that. I know you probably have loads of songs to sort through.”

My mind flashed to the hours of songs we went through earlier. Some of them were fully written, others were just snippets cobbled together. Mark was right, we really had our work cut out for us.

“Maybe. But it’s gonna be a single. I can feel it.” He had taken a giant bite of pizza so his words were pretty muffled, as he wiped his mouth with on of the napkins.

“Well I’m gonna let you get back to it then. I just wanted to check in on you guys, see what progress you’ve made.” He tapped on the door as he left, his trademark smile on his face.

I gave the pizza a look over. I was surprised by the amount of veggies on the pizza. There was was a variety of peppers, mozzarella cheese, two types of what looked like sausage and what is this green stuff? I picked off a leaf and gave it a sniff. No surprise the only thing I could smell was sauce and pesto. Was this because I said I couldn’t see him eating a salad?

“It’s Calabrese pizza. One of my favorites. It’s bangin’, you’ll love it.” He must have seen me giving the pizza a thorough look-over.

“I’m surprised about the veggies is all, not about the pizza.” I took a bite, the spiciness of the sausage blending well with the cheese.

The conversation had died down as we ate. I was still playing the song he had written in my mind. Daisies placed on your windowsill. Out of all the flowers he could have picked, he picked daisies. There’s no way that’s a coincidence.

Ed finally broke the silence. “Beautiful singing voice, you have.” he says, dropping the hard ‘t’ sound in ‘beautiful’.

“Oh….um, thanks.” My experience with singing was limited to showers, cars and drunken karaoke. I had no desire to ever sing in front of people.

“Did I embarrass you or make you uncomfortable? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” He seemed genuinely upset.

“No, you didn’t. It’s just…. you.” His confused and slightly hurt expression told me that came across the wrong way. “I meant, coming from someone of your caliber. Not that you make me uncomfortable.”

Well, that’s not entirely true.

Once the food was gone we had went back to going over our notes. The hours seemed to fly by and soon it was time to head home. As promised Ed had my car taken to a shop. When I walked out, he pulled up to the door. He popped his head out the window, his black cap turned backwards.

“Hi, I’m Ed and I’ll be your Uber driver.” A playful grin spread across his face.

I climbed into his backseat, much to his confusion. He spun around to face me, his cap knocking against his head rest, pushing it slightly off his head.

“Uh….what are you doing back there?”

“You don’t sit in the passenger seat in an uber, Ed.” I said, cocking an eyebrow at him, a whisper of a smirk on my face.

I heard him grumble something as he turned back around and pulled out of the lot. It sounded suspiciously like “...what I get for trying to be clever.” As we drove, we talked about things we liked to do in our downtime. I sighed, vaguely remembering what downtime actually was. I missed the beach something fierce. It had been ages since I had a beach day, I could definitely go for a relaxing day. Especially after the events of the last thirty six hours.

“Can you direct me? I’m not sure how to get there from here.” I could see his eyes looking at me in the rear view mirror.

“You can drop the act now, there’s no one around.”

“I’m not acting, I really don’t know how to get to your flat from the studio.”

“Oh.. okay what you want to do is…”

I directed him to my apartment, I could see the recognition of where he was at kick in when we got close. He pulled into a spot and turned back towards me.

“Do you work a shift at the Copperstill tonight? If you tell me a time, I can take you.”

“No, I’m off tonight. I’m just gonna have a nice quiet night in. Maybe relax with a glass of wine and have some well deserved me time.” I put a bit of emphasis on me time, hoping he’d take the hint that I wasn’t looking for any company.

He turned the car off. Guess he didn’t. “At least let me walk you to the door in case he’s been following you around and is waiting to ambush you.”

Shit, I didn’t even think of that. If he is waiting up there, Ed is the last person I’d want to show up with.

“I’m sure it’s okay,” I said, dismissing his concern.

“Jac, please don’t take this lightly. I’d feel like shit if something happened to you when I could have stopped it. Just, please let me look out for you.” He was almost pleading.

“Okay, if it’ll put your mind at ease.”

I collected my belongings from his floorboard and climbed out, bumping the door closed with my hip as I pulled my keys out. I saw his eyes follow the movement of my hips. He held his arm out and for a brief moment I thought he expected me to take it.

“Ladies first.” That smile coming back, playful, almost mischievous

I lead the way, my nerves on edge, hoping Dylan wasn’t waiting for me. He’s not really that mental, is he? You’re worried for nothing.

We made it up to my landing, thankfully empty. I unlocked my door and turned back to Ed. His eyes snapped back to me, my guess was they had been scanning my apartment. If it was for an intruder or his flowers, I couldn’t be sure.

“Thanks for the ride. I appreciate it.” subtly dropping that I’d like to be alone now.

“Anytime. Happy to help.” He either didn’t get subtlety or he was just ignoring it. “What time would you like to go in tomorrow?”

“Same time’s good for me.”

“Okay. Well I’ll see you at 8 then.” He gave me a wink as he turned around and walked down the hallway.

“Wait, we went in at 9!” I called after him.

“I’m your ride, remember?” He didn’t turn back or break his stride but I could hear the smile in his voice as raised his hand in a wave, “I’ll see you in the morning Jac.”

Oh that sneaky little devil.

I spent the rest of my night drinking wine and binge watching Netflix. Everytime my tv went black I could see those technicolored daisies reflected back to me. I took one of them out, a bright blue one, dried it off and pressed it between one of my books. There. Now I’ll have a memento from my first real client. When I’m hugely successful I can have something to look back on. That blue daisy was the symbol of everything I worked so hard to achieve.

As promised, Ed was knocking on my door at 8 in the morning. A smile on his face, two coffees and a bag in hand.

“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got you a bear claw. I hope that’s okay.” He turned the coffee carrier towards me, his eyes flicking down to it with a nod telling me to take it.

I took it, muttering a quick thanks as I closed the door, locking it behind me. We head out to the lot where I expected to see his Audi, but was instead greeted by a sleek, charcoal grey Jaguar convertible. I looked at him in confusion as a giant grin spread across his face.

“Uh, what happened to your Audi? I quite liked that… it fit you.”

“Surprise! This is yours!” His smile threatening to engulf his entire face.

Ohyoudidnotbuymeacar.

“I…uh…come again? I’m sorry, what?!” I squeaked out.

“I felt bad since your car’s in the shop and while I don’t mind driving you places, we spend all day together and I’m told I can get annoying. So I thought I’d rent you one until yours is back. To give you a break from me.” His hands running through his hair again. He does that alot, it must be a nerves thing. “I saw it and I dunno I guess I could just see you behind the wheel so I picked it…it’s too much isn’t it?”

I had just stared at him with my mouth slightly open as he spoke. Now he was looking pretty unsure of himself. A worried crease came on his forehead.

“I just…I uh…you rented me a car? Thanks…You didn’t have to do that…I could have….I could have just ubered…where’s your car?” My mind scrambling to make some sort of sentences. It decided to make several and shove them all together.

“At the hotel.” he stated simply

“Do you see the flaw in your plan?”

“What flaw? Someone’s gonna bring my car around to the studio around lunch. No flaw.”

“No, no. I’ll take you home.” It’s the least I can do, it’s your car after all. “Seriously, I can’t believe you did this.” Shaking my head in disbelief, wandering around the car.

I hope he isn’t trying to buy my affections…

“Totally worth it to see the look on your face. Shall we?” He held the keys out for me to take, the smile back on his face.

The entire drive there felt like a dream. On the way, Ed smirked, pushing the button that brought the top down, cackling like a child as the wind blew our hair around. He cranked the radio and sang loudly along. Halfway there it hit me.

“Ed…where’s your guitar? Did you leave it at the studio or take it home?”

“Mmm? Oh, no, it’s at the studio. I’ve another back in my room.”

The day was a fairly easy one. Mostly us cutting down the song list. There was our fair share of arguing about what should stay and what should go.

“Cut it, it doesn’t fit.”

“What do you mean it doesn’t fit?! That’s the point of the album!”

“It’s too different sounding than the rest of them! Cut it. It doesn’t work. That’s like trying to make peanut butter, bologna, mayo and cheese work. Leave it off. You want a good sandwich, everything different, but complementary.”

“Fine. You win. We’ll leave it off.”

We ended up ordering sandwiches because the analogy really seemed to work so by lunch that’s all the two of us could think about. It seemed like he could practically unhinge his jaw by the way he inhaled it. Not in a gross, starving animal way but in a four bites and it was gone way.

I found out his hotel wasn’t too far from my second job. No wonder he picked my bar. It was the closest. We said our goodbyes and I drove off, grabbing a quick dinner and a change of clothes before going into work. It seemed like it was gonna be an uneventful night. Which suited me fine. I still made plenty of tips, even on slow nights.

I wasn’t surprised in the least when Ed strolled through the door, sitting down at the bar.

“Hey there, can I have a pint?”

“What happened to spending time apart?” I knew he was going to show up but I couldn’t miss a chance to give him a hard time.

“I’m not here for you.” He thanked me for the beer and I just stared at him as he sipped it. “I’m here to make sure the psycho doesn’t come in here and cause a scene. So it’s not a social visit. It’s a mission.”

“Ed, you really don’t have to do that. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time. I’m a grown up-” Okay Jac well that’s debatable, “- not some damsel in distress.”

The door swung open, clanging loudly against the wall, drawing everyone’s eyes to go to the door. I felt my stomach drop when Dylan strolled through the door like he owned the place. Snapback firmly planted on his head, tight black muscle shirt and jeans.

Oh this is going to be bad…

#ed sheeran #ed sheeran fanfic #ed sheeran fanfiction #ed sheeran smut #celebrity fanfic

[stargleeksil-blog]

Criminal Minds S07E05 “From Childhood’s Hour” review

Episode 05 – From Childhood’s Hour

Okey dokey, so I am officially scared because this title is giving me the creeps - I hate episodes revolving around abduction/torture/murder of children ... please tell me I’m wrong.

Let’s see what happens ... I think.

Oh my god, we’re meeting one of Rossi’s ex-wives! That is so fucking awesome! I’ve wanted to meet them for a while.

“Well, I’ve changed.”

He’s not eating fruit for the health of it, the last time I checked he’s a cigar-puffing, meat-loving Italian - just what the doctor ordered for this gal.

“Okay, the cantaloupe is for your benefit.”

“When we were married, you were always warning me about clogged arteries.”

“Nobody lives forever.”

“So how’s San Francisco?"

“You know, I’m really glad you called me.”

“It would be nice if we saw each other more than once every three or four years.”

“Well, there are all those serial killers. They’re pretty serious.”

“No, there isn’t.”

“How about you?”

“Damn it, I …”

“Look, how much longer are you gonna be in town?”

“Why don’t you come over to my place for dinner before you head back?”

“I still make a master cioppino.”

“Great.”

“Hey, I’m sorry I’m late. I got hung up on something.”

“What do we got?”

“A child abduction in St. Louis.”

“Yeah. Bobby Smith, nine years old, vanished 48 hours ago from a residential area, where his mother, Marlene Smith, claims to have dropped him off.”

“48 hours and we’re just learning about it now?”

“Yeah. That’s ‘cause mom didn’t know her son was gone.”

“She assumed that he was with the grandmother and just left him there.”

“So, she’s not exactly on the short list for mother of the year.”

Ooh, sarcastic JJ. We don’t get to see her that often.

“What about the father?”

“Uh, he was convicted of embezzling form his workplace two years ago. Currently cooling his heels in state prison.”

“If it’s a stranger abduction, the first 24 hours are critical. This kid’s already been missing twice that long.”

“Which is why we shouldn’t waste any more time. Let’s go.”

Edgar Allan Poe: “From childhood’s hour I have not been as others were, I have not seen as others saw.”

Okay, this dude is officially freaking me out. Edgar, baby, who hurt you?

“St. Louis.”

“Oh, probably a couple days.”

“I’ll let you know.”

“Can’t wait.”

“Bye.”

It’s so cute to see him so infatued with love.

“What?”

Busted.

“Nothing. Just somebody’s got a lot of extra pep in their step this morning, that’s all.”

“Probably doubled up on his vitamins.”

“Oh, he doubled up on something.”

Morgan, you little shit!

“Garcia, what have you got on the mother?”

“Oh, I have so much on the mother, and try as I might, none of it is good. Marlene Smith has a history of erratic behavior, seriously clinically depressed, two suicide attempts in the last five years.”

“Was she being treated for her depression?”

“Oh, my gosh, yes. Like more pill-popping than Elvis. Yes.”

“Depression is one of the few things that can overwhelm the maternal instinct.”

“What about the grandmother?”

“I don’t have anything on her yet, but don’t reach for your remote.”

“I’ll be ba-a-ck.”

She’s so cute.

“Two suicide attempts.”

“Why hasn’t child services intervened?”

“Probably talked her way out of it.”

“Most social service organizations are overworked and underfunded.”

“Things slip through the cracks.”

“If this boy’s mother tried to commit suicide and he’s from a chronically unhappy household, maybe this wasn’t an abduction at all.”

“What if Bobby simply ran away?”

“When nine-year-olds escape, they’re usually home for supper.”

Aww, he used the proper noun for the meal.

“JJ, you and I will talk to the mother.”

“Morgan and Reid, go to the boy’s house.”

“Prentiss, you and Dave assess the site where the mother claims to have dropped him off.”

“This is Agent Jareau.”

“How’s the mother doing?”

“I think you should talk to her alone.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll watch from here.”

“Mrs. Smith? I’m Agent Jareau. Jennifer. I’m with the FBI.”

“Our entire team is here and we’re the best at what we do.”

“We’re gonna need your help, okay?”

“I have a boy of my own. He’s almost three.”

“I can’t even imagine what you’re going through.”

“Can you tell me what happened the morning you dropped him off?”

“And what does one of your bad days look like?”

“Is that why you took him to his grandmother?”

“And you had done this in the past?”

“Cheerful.”

“Depression is a vicious cycle.”

“It frequently manifests itself in the degradation of one’s personal living environment, which is turn fuels the depression, which then worsens the living environment.”

“All right, I’ll take a look around in here.”

“Why don’t you check the kitchen?”

“Ah, the kitchen.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Frankly, I’m not too anxious to see the perishable food version of this room.”

Reid, you little sarcastic poodle! I love you so much!

“You didn’t call ahead before you dropped him off?”

“Please help me understand, Mrs. Smith. It takes ten seconds to leave a message.”

“Four pairs of shoes.”

“Why exactly is that relevant?”

“Come on, Reid, how many women you know only have four pairs of shoes in their closet?”

“My experience in and around women’s closets isn’t exactly extensive enough to really formulate an opinion.”

“The answer is none.”

“You can take my word for it.”

Oh my God, I am seriously starting to look forward to scenes with just the two of them. Oh my god, this is the best.

“Mom has serious financial issues, denies herself even the smallest luxury, and yet …”

“Splurges to take her son to an expensive theme park and then buys a pricey picture frame so he can remember the experience.”

“Based on our assessment, we need to reprioritize.”

“The concern for her son was genuine.”

“Her tone of voice, body language. She didn’t once ask if she was in trouble, under arrest, where’s my lawyer? None of that.”

“Home environment points the same direction.”

“The money’s tight, but mom did whatever she could to create a nice world for her son. Whatever cash she had she spent on him.”

“Only four pairs of shoes in her closet.”

Oh JJ’s look of ... what sort of woman has only four pair of shoes ... this one.

“And she taught her son to be self-sufficient.”

“The kitchen was scaled down to a nine-year-old’s level so he could microwave his own meals, get food and utensils from the pantry.”

“He even had his own little key ring so he could come and go as he pleased.”

“How it’d go?”

“It took a while, but grandma’s alibi checked out. She was with two lady friends in Seneca, other side of the state.”

“Acquaintances, relatives, teachers. So far they’ve all checked out.”

“This is starting to look more and more like a stranger abduction.”

“Yeah, except the area Bobby disappeared from has a decent amount of foot traffic.”

“If he’d put up a struggle, chances are someone would have noticed.”

“My guess is Bobby knew his abductor or trusted him.”

“The trip to grandma’s house was a spur-of-the-moment decision.”

“The unsub must have been staking out the mother’s house, saw them leaving, and followed.”

“Self-sufficient kids learnt to trust their own judgment.”

“How did the unsub get into Bobby’s life?”

“And what’s he trying to accomplish?”

“There’s something strange about the body.”

“She was slaughtered by someone completely out of control, yet on her wrists there are precise wounds on top of where she already cut herself, only deeper.”

“Like he was trying to replicate her suicide attempts but then lost control.”

“Maybe this was never about the kid at all, but about the mother.”

“Make her suffer for a few days by taking the child, then kill her?”

“It means he knew her personal history.”

“I’ll call Garcia.”

“Hey, baby girl, whatever you’re doing, drop it.”

“Oh, yes, and with pleasure.”

“Let me tell you something, sweetheart.”

“This is a Lamborghini you’re talking to.”

“You have to drive me.”

“You can’t just leave me parked in the garage collecting dust or I will wilt.”

“Please forgive my neglect.”

“I need you to rev up that fine-tuned Italian engine of yours, then.”

“Revving.”

“Our unsub had personal details about Marlene Smith, so I need you to figure out who might have been in her house recently.”

“Cable guy, plumber, people like that.”

“Yeah, I always wonder about plumbers.”

“You know they peek in your medicine cabinet.”

“You just know it.”

“Maybe try a phone repairman or babysitter.”

“Check computers in the house.”

“Maybe she used one of those techie fix-it type dweebs who make house calls.”

“Hey, watch it. Language.”

“You know I’m just playing with you, but come on, put a rush on it.’

“Clock’s ticking, okay?”

“Rush is the only speed a Lamborghini has.”

“Proud techie dweeb over and out. Beep beep ya.”

Another one.

Shit.

“Morgan and Reid, head over there.”

“Were you by yourself?”

“You told the police you live in McKinley Heights.”

“That’s almost an hour away.”

“You drove your son all the way out here to play?”

“Mrs. Tanner, please don’t take this the wrong way, but exactly what drug are you addicted to?”

“You’re displaying symptoms of withdrawal.”

“Ma’am, we saw two deals going down on the other side of the park when we arrived. You were here to buy, weren’t you?”

“That’s what had you distracted.”

“Your child is missing, Mrs. Tanner. Every minute, every half-minute counts.”

“You need to tell us the truth and you need to tell us now.”

“So we got one mom suicidal and the other addicted to drugs.”

“At least we got a pattern developing.”

“And if the unsub holds to pattern, he’s gonna circle back and try to kill her.”

“We’re looking for a male unsub in his mid- to late 20s, physically fit enough to subdue Marlene Smith and carry out a vicious and sustained attack.”

“We believe he sees himself as a rescuer, taking children away from unfit parents.”

“He may very well have abandonment issues from his own childhood.”

“The impulse nature of committing the murder out in the open suggests that he’s inexperienced.”

“The violence on Marlene Smith went from precision to frenzy, which points to someone with classic psychopathic traits, quick to rage and quick to recover.”

“He also appears to have insider knowledge of the families in these cases, so we need to look for someone who is privy to what went on behind those closed doors.”

“Emergency personnel were called to the Smith house after both suicide attempts and once to the Tanner house after the mother overdosed on prescription drugs."

“That means first responders, child service workers, ambulance personnel.”

“Both missing children apparently went without struggle or protest.”

“And we’ve taken the second mother into protective custody.”

“That’s why it’s critical we find these kids. If they’re alive, he may turn his violence against the children themselves.”

“We got lucky.”

“Whoever took him let him go.”

“Your son was checked out by a pediatrician. There was no sexual or physical abuse.”

“Did you see another little boy there?”

“Is he okay?”

“Good.”

“Were you in a dark place or did it have windows?”

“Okay.”

“So when he took you, did you drive in the car for a long time or a short time?”

“Can you tell us what the man looked like?”

“Timothy. When this man came to the park to get you, were you afraid?”

“Why not?”

“The phone. You talked to him on the telephone?”

“Can you show us?”

Fuck.

The fucking kids’ phone.

“Garcia, any progress with the 911 dispatcher?”

“I’m going as fast as I can, which is super fast.” 

“There are literally hundreds in the great St. Louis area. Can you help me narrow this down?”

“Refine your search to males between 25 and 30 years of age.”

“And our unsub probably has abandonment issues, so look for backgrounds to reflect that.”

“A history of foster care or someone who was farmed out to other relatives by own parents.”

“Can you trace individual 911 dispatchers based on calls they would have received?”

“Okay, look, let me make this clear. There are a quarter of a billion 911 calls annually.”

“That’s like ten calls every second of every day. And non-emergent calls are disposed of quickly.”

“Well, this operator would have been on duty when both calls came in from the Smith and Tanner families.”

“And he would have been off duty at the time of the two abductions and Marlene Smith’s murder.”

“Oh, my God. This brings needle in a haystack to a whole other dimension, but I will go to that dimension and I will cross-reference and I will call you back.”

“A mother who wants to kill herself. What does that say to a child?”

“That you’re not worth sticking around for?”

“A 911 operator would be why the kids trusted him.”

“The unsub must have gone back to the house to do some sort of follow-up on his own and they remembered his face.”

Hello?

“Rossi?”

“Did you hear me?”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Uh … Morgan and I were joking on the jet, but something is definitely up.”

“Is there anything you want to share?”

“It’s nothing that … I had breakfast with Carolyn the other morning.”

“Carolyn.’

“Oh!”

“Is that wife number four or five?”

“Look, let’s get our facts straight. I only had three wives.”

“I mean, that’s within the realm of reasonable.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. Which one was Carolyn?”

“Numero uno.”

“Use your words, Emily.”

“Uh … there’s always something about the first, in anything.”

“I don’t know, I might be way off here, but I think she’s putting some feelers out to see if that old spark is still there.”

“Is it?”

“I’m having her over to my house for dinner when I get back.”

“I’m crazy, right?”

“We don’t always get second chances in life, Rossi.”

“I say take the plunge, see where it goes.”

“Talk to me, mama.”

“First off, you are on restriction from my inner Lamborghini.”

“Garcia …”

She’s dead.

“I mean it. This high-performance engine may purr like a puma on the prowl, but this time, Derek, you have seriously overheated my engines and I will require some cool-down laps upon your return, if you know what I mean by that.”

“Baby girl, you’re on speaker.”

...

“I knew that.”

“I’m calling to tell you, sir, there are eleven 911 dispatchers in the greater St. Louis area that were on duty when the calls were placed but not working during the murder and abduction.”

“Of those eleven, there’s one that fist your profile …”

“George Kelling, age 27, 1181 Clay Street, apartment 8. Sending his picture right now.”

“You know where he is now?”

“He was scheduled to work today. His supervisor said he showed up for his shift, but then he left early.”

Duh.

“Can you get the log of all the calls he took tonight?”

“Yeah, of course. But there are a lot.”

“Skip to the last one.”

“Last one is a domestic disturbance at 788 4th Avenue, number C.”

“Attempted sexual assault of a young girl. Kelling dispatched the police and then he took off.”

“Let’s go.”

“Clear!”

“It’s clear!”

“The door’s open and the lights are on. The unsub beat us here.”

“What have you got?”

“Nothing. The place is empty.”

“If the unsub’s keeping the kids, he’s holding them someplace else.”

“What have you got, Garcia?”

Come on, baby girl.

“At ten years of age, George Kelling entered the foster care system and I don’t know why.”

“His father abandoned the family when he was a baby.”

“I can’t figure out what happened to mom yet.”

“All right, we need the address of the foster family he was placed with.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. He bounced around a lot. Give me a second, I’ll call you back.””

“Okay.”

“Okay, what I don’t understand is why would he keep Bobby but release Timothy?”

“If he wants to get rid of the parent, why not kill them first and then take the child. It’s so much riskier to wait.”

“Unless the children are a crucial part of his killing ritual.”

“How?”

“He needs something from them before he can murder the parents.”

“What could they possibly give him?”

“Their approval. That’s what he wants them to say. He’ll hurt her if she doesn’t, because that means she’s weak, too.”

“Déjà vu all over again.”

“So get this. George Kelling’s mom committed suicide when he was ten.”

“She jumped off a bridge.”

“Before that, she attempted to kill herself multiple times, cutting her wrists.”

“This sounds really familiar, huh?”

“Did you find the foster home address?”

“Those records are still sealed.’

“I got my crowbar out, I’m working on it.”

“The foster family lived on a farm ten miles northwest of the city on Parkhill Road. The rest of the team is gonna meet us there.”

“So what happened to the foster parents?”

“The father died years ago.”

Damn.

“The mother just died last month – heart attack.”

“That must have been the trigger. The last person who rescued the unsub was gone.”

“He assumed the mantel.”

“And now he suddenly has a house to take these kids to.”

“Wait. Garcia, you said the mother jumped off of a bridge, right?”

“Yeah. Why? What are you thinking?”

“Suicidology is an imperfect science, but it’s uncommon for women to kill themselves so violently.”

“For lack of a better word, they tend to choose more feminine ways to die.”

“Men shoot themselves, jump off buildings onto pavements.”

“Women are less messy. They take pills and drown themselves.”

“Reid and JJ and I will take the front.”

“The rest of you take the perimeter.”

“FBI. Put the gun down.”

“Drop the gun. Do it.”

“Like you were strong with your mother?”

“I don’t think so.”

Oh shit. He killed his mom? Damn.

“We need medical.”

Ernest Hemingway: “All things truly wicked start from an innocence.”

Jeez, Hemingway. What the fuck? Why you gotta be so glum?

“We got all the kids back safe. Think about it, Aaron. How often does that happen?”

“Not often enough.”

Word.

“How about ten pairs of shoes? I mean, that has to be enough, right? Ten?”

“Ah, Spence, it’s different with the ladies.”

“We need them to match our belts, our handbags, our skirts, and the fashions change with the seasons.”

“Yes. Boys are so boring.”

“Pants, shoes, out the door.”

I love you, Penelope!

“Although it’s not like men don’t have their things.”

“I dated a golfer once.”

“He had twelve putters in his closet.”

“But this conversation is reminding me I need new boots.”

“They’re having a sale at DeMille’s on those tall-shaft kitty heels. You like those. Do you want to go?”

“Yeah.”

“You getting all this, kid?”

“No.”

Oh my fucking god, he’s so cute!!!! And Reid, don’t feel bad. We, women, are complicated beings. You should never try to understand us.

Ooh, dinner in the  mansion with Rossi. Romantic.

“Done.”

“Sit down, relax.”

“You gotta love any dish that recommends the wearing of a bib.”

Really? Well, I guess it does mean you slurp like there’s no tomorrow and no one can judge you ... so I guess it makes perfect sense.

“You know, I don’t remember you as being a big wine drinker.”

She needs courage? For what?

“When did you ever need that with me?”

“You know, who would have thought that we’d find ourselves on a date again after all these years?”

He’s so fucking cute, taking Emily’s advice and being all hopeful and adorable.

“We joked we were the only couple that had both marriage and divorce vows.”

“Hey, what’s going on with you?”

“Carolyn …”

She has ALS. Fuck.

“Why didn’t you call me earlier? I could have …”

Oh my fucking god, poor Rossi.

So this episode was just the most awful fucking thing ever. How the fuck can you abduct children and then kill their mommies? And how the fuck can you kill your own? I would die before I had to do that. I am going to kill that motherfucker ... oh wait, he’s fictional. Shit.

At least he’s in fictional jail.

And then there’s the whole Carolyn sublot ... and here I was thinking this season was going to be a refresher one.

#Criminal Minds reviews #Criminal Minds #reviews #s07e05 #from childhood's hour #aaron hotchner #Shemar Moore #derek morgan #dr spencer reid #Matthew Gray Gubler #Penelope Garcia #Kirsten Vagnsness #Jennifer Jareau #jj #aj cook #emily prentiss #Paget Brewster #david rossi #joe mantegna #edgar allan poe #ernest hemingway #poodle #puppy #baby boy #god of chocolate thunder #chocolate adonis #baby gina #tech kitten #goddess #isabella hofmann

[lanadelreyspoetry]

Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness: A Conversation With Lana Del Rey

On the eve of her fourth album, the pagan pop star sounds more content than ever. How did she get there?

Famous artists are notoriously late, but when I arrive about 20 minutes early for an interview at Lana Del Rey’s Santa Monica studio, she is ready for me, offering a handshake and a smile. It is the week before her new album, Lust for Life, will be released, but she seems unhurried and relaxed; when I ask if she’s been busy in the leadup to such a big day, she says “no” with a laugh, as if she knows she probably should be. She is not dressed like the glammed-up mystic you see in music videos and photographs: her hair, long and brown, is tied functionally behind her neck, and she is in a white T-shirt and blue jeans, with cream canvas sneakers and white ankle socks on her feet. Right away, she invites me through a side door into the inner sanctum where her brooding songs are created.

For Lana acolytes, this is a mythic place. She has recorded here since 2012’s Born to Die, her major label debut. It is a beautiful room filled with sun coming in from a skylight and two windows, the opposite of the average dank music studio. It looks a bit like how you’d expect Lana Del Rey’s workplace to look: vaguely and warmly retro, with dark wood cabinets and a mid-century-looking painting with interlacing geometric shapes hanging on the back wall. In the center of the room is a scratched-up leather club chair with a Tammy Wynette album cover facing it. (“I always have Tammy there,” she says of the country singer best known for her ode to everlasting devotion, “Stand by Your Man.”) This chair, and not the actual booth in the front of the room, is where Lana sits to record her vocals. “I get red light fever in the booth,” she says. She likes that the studio is by the beach, where she’ll sometimes go to listen to mixes of songs on her iPhone.

The studio is owned and operated by Rick Nowels, her longtime producer. He has come down today to listen to the album with us, a pair of sunglasses firmly on his face. Nowels has more than 20 years on Lana, who is 32, and he inhabits something of an uncle role, making the songwriter a bit bashful when he sweetly refers to a ballad called “When the World Was at War We Kept Dancing” as a “masterpiece” for its lyrical message about the importance of finding ways to have fun, even in the Trump era. Gearing up to record what would become Born to Die, Lana had met with a number of producers who all tried to tell her what she should or should not sound like, with some encouraging her to ditch the breathy vocal style that would become her signature. When she finally met Nowels, he didn’t want to change a thing. “I went through a hundred and eleven producers just to find someone who says ‘yes’ all the time,” she says. “Everyone is so obsessed with saying ‘no’—they break you down to build you up.”

Lana is a studio junkie—Lust for Life is her fourth album in about five years. She says a day that she works is better than a day that she doesn’t. Nowels tells me that even though the new album isn’t out yet, she’s already making new music. “If I get a great melody in my head, I know it’s a gift,” she says. As we sit down to listen to Lust for Life, she is clearly at home: Like a good host, she offers me her comfy leather singing chair and instead curls up on a blue velvet couch nearby. She has a familial rapport with not just Nowels, but engineers Dean Reid and Kieron Menzies, who she credits again and again for making her work better, and the four of them ruminate on mastering, making jokes about Lana’s perfectionism when it comes to the final cuts of her songs.

The album, like all of her work, is fastidiously and emphatically Lana in its sound and atmosphere: a haze of lazy pacing and flowery melodies, conjuring a foreboding backdrop for lyrics about summer and antique celebrity icons and dangerous, dissatisfying relationships. Front and center in the mix is her voice, which has a crooner’s tone and an especially wide range, from deep and low to high and sharp. Most pop stars rely on reinvention to retain relevance, but her output is remarkably consistent. She says her main criteria is whether or not a song sounds like it will transport listeners to somewhere else in their minds. On each album, the skeleton remains more or less the same while she infuses her work with stylistic elements from different genres, from rap to rock to jazz. Lust for Life draws from folk and hip-hop, two genres that she says she loves because they both privilege real storytelling.

The new record is a departure in key ways, though. In the past, Lana has become famous for themes that are, at times, hopeless: toxic romance, violence, drug use, despair, aging, death. This isn’t to say every song she has ever recorded is a downer, or that she hasn’t displayed a knowing sense of humor about her reputation. But her relentless obsession with the dark arts is a reason why her fans love her with an almost religious fervor; she’s had issues with people breaking into her house. “They want to talk,” she says chillingly. Her menacing themes have also led to resistance at certain moments from larger audiences who, perhaps trained to think of pop music as a tool of empowerment and empathy, just can’t face her nihilism.

While Lust for Life certainly has its share of grim moments, it is not as much of an avalanche of gloom, and perhaps offers signposts to a happier future. At times, Lana even approaches uncomplicated joy, like on first single “Love.” The album also contains some of her first songs that deal with a universe larger than the tangled intensity of one-on-one relationships—there are tracks intended to be balms and battle cries for trying times, which, like many Americans, she found herself fretting over constantly during the 2016 election campaign. And for the first time on any Lana album, she’s also opening the door to a number of guest vocalists: A$AP Rocky, Playboi Carti, the Weeknd, Stevie Nicks, and Sean Ono Lennon on a Beatles-referencing song called “Tomorrow Never Came.” “I FaceTimed with Yoko, and she said it was her most favorite thing Sean’s ever done,” Lana says.

After listening to the album, Lana and I peel off to a small office on the other side of the studio for our interview. Before we begin, she pulls out her iPhone to record the conversation along with me, a defensive move she’s taken up after years of feeling manipulated and harangued by the media. When answering questions, she is at turns thoughtful and strident, seriously considering topics like her attempts at a brighter life and how Trump has affected her love of Americana, and also entirely unafraid to bat away questions she finds boring or irrelevant. At one point, she laughs so hard at a silly sidebar in our conversation that she has a coughing fit and has to take a break. She says she binge watches “The Bachelor,” and that while all of her friends now call her Lana—not Elizabeth Grant, her birth name—her parents are the two people who do not. She is wry about the new song “Groupie Love,” in which she writes herself not as the star but in the role of a worshipful devotee: “Old habits die hard—I still love a rock star.” When I ask her if she is bothered by TMZ dating rumors, which have recently speculated about her relationship with rapper G-Eazy, she gives an unexpectedly goading answer: “They’re usually true. Maybe where there’s smoke there’s fire.”

Which is to say: She’s kinda regular, not the hardened artist we’ve heard in her songs, but someone, it would seem, who likes to hang out and chat about life and music. Talking about good times brings up memories of rough ones, and when the conversation veers towards rocky terrain, she reveals an artist—and a person—at a pivotal moment.

Pitchfork: A few years ago you were singing lyrics like “I have nothing much to live for,” and now you’re smiling on the cover of Lust for Life. How’d you get to a happier place?

Lana Del Rey: I made personal commitments.

Commitments to what?

Well, they’re personal. [laughs] I had some people in my life that made me a worse person. I was not sure if I could step out of that box of familiarity, which was having a lot of people around me who had a lot of problems and feeling like that was home base. Because it’s all I know. I spent my whole life reasoning with crazy people. I felt like everyone deserved a chance, but they don’t. Sometimes you just have to step away without saying anything.

Your past albums often presented a claustrophobic universe made up of just you and one other person, but all of a sudden it’s like you’ve got your eyes wide open and you’re looking at the world around you.

Developmentally, I was in the same place for a very long time, and then it just took me longer than most people to be able to be more out there. Being more naturally shy, it’s taken stretching on my part to just continue to integrate into the local community, global community, to grow as a person. Also, getting really famous doesn’t help you grow with the community. It’s important to have your own life. It’s hard with how accessible things are. Hacking? Email is just a no for me. I do a lot to make sure I don’t feel trapped.

Your fans are famously obsessive. Do they ever cross the line?

They fucking have. Someone stole both my cars. All the scary shit. I’ve had people in my house for sure, and I didn’t know they were there while I was there. I fucking called the police. I locked the door. Obviously, that’s the one in one-hundred-thousand people who’s crazy. But I [had a hard time sleeping] for a minute.

Fame can be isolating, but you are making a real effort to not let it be.

It’s going to be isolating. Period. Unless you stretch past it. But it takes so much footwork. Getting over the uncomfortability of being the one person in the room who everyone recognizes. The last few years, I’m out all the time: clubs, bars, shows. For years I was more quietly in the mix, always through the back door, do not tell anyone I’m coming. And now I’ve relaxed into it where I’ll just show up. I don’t need a special ticket. I’ll just go sit wherever. It feels a little more like I’m myself again.

If you’re happier these days, what do you think when you hear an old lyric from an old record, like, “He hit me and it felt like a kiss,” from “Ultraviolence”?

I don’t like it. I don’t. I don’t sing it. I sing “Ultraviolence” but I don’t sing that line anymore. Having someone be aggressive in a relationship was the only relationship I knew. I’m not going to say that that [lyric] was 100 percent true, but I do feel comfortable saying what I was used to was a difficult, tumultuous relationship, and it wasn’t because of me. It didn’t come from my end.

Now you want to present a different face to the world on Lust for Life?

No. I don’t care. I would just say I am different. And even being a little bit different makes me not want to sing that line. To me, it just was what it was. I deal with what’s in my lyric—you’re not dealing with it. I was annoyed when people would ask me about that lyric. Like, who are you?

Do you think you romanticize danger in your music?

No. I don’t like it. It’s just the only thing [I’ve known]. So I’m trying to do a new thing. I never wrote better when I had a lot of turmoil going on. Born to Die was already done before any of the shit hit the fan. When things are good, the music is better. I’m trying to change from the way I thought things were gonna be to what I feel like they could be, which is maybe just brighter.  

But, even with some new perspectives, Lust for Life is still very melancholy at moments. If you make sad music, which you’ve done for so long, does it necessarily mean you’re sad?

Yeah. I think for most people, regardless of what they say, it’s probably a direct reflection of their inner world. With my first record, I didn’t feel upset. I felt very excited, and then I felt a little more confused.

After the release of Born to Die, you faced a lot of criticism, partly around the issue of whether you were or were not authentic. Do you think of yourself as authentic?

Of course. I’m always being myself. They don’t know what authentic is. If you think of all the music that came out until 2013, it was super straight and shiny. If that’s authentic to you, this is going to look like the opposite. I think that shit is stylized. Just because I do my hair big does not mean I’m a product. If anything, I’m doing my own hair, stuffing my own fucking stuffing in there if I have a beehive. Music was in a super weird place when I became known, and I didn’t really like any of it.

Did you ever feel like the criticism had a misogynistic bent?

No. Women hated me. I know why. It’s because there were things I was saying that either they just couldn’t connect to or were maybe worried that, if they were in the same situation, it would put them in a vulnerable place.

You weren’t singing empowering things.

No, I wasn’t. That wasn’t my angle. I didn’t really have an angle—that’s the thing.

Have you noticed that all songs on the radio are bummers now? That Lil Uzi Vert lyric—“All my friends are dead”—sounds almost like a Lana lyric.

There’s been a major sonic shift culturally. I think I had a lot to do with that. I do. I hear a lot of music that sounds like those early records. It would be weird to say that it didn’t. I remember seven years ago I was trying to get a record deal, and people were like, “Are you kidding? These tunes? There’s zero market for this.” There was just such a long time where people had to fit into that pop box.

With all the flak you’ve received over the years, particularly after Born to Die, some people would have thrown in the towel. But you doubled down and made an even more fucked up, almost hyper-Lana record with Ultraviolence.

I so double downed. [The early criticism] made me question myself—I didn’t know if it was always going to be that way. You can’t put out records if 90 percent of the reviews in places like the Times are going to be negative. That would be crazy. It would have made sense to step all the way back, but I was like, Let me put out three more records and see if I can just stand in the eye of the storm. Not shift too much. Let me just take some of the [production] off so you can hear things a little bit better; I thought people were maybe getting distracted. I did the same thing with Honeymoon. Everyone around here heard it and was like, “It’s a cool record, but you know it’s not going to be on the radio, right?” And I was like, “Yeah. I told [record executive] Jimmy [Iovine] when I signed, ‘If you want to sign me, this is all it’s ever going to be.’” I was just so committed to making music because I believe in what I do. All I had to do was not quit.

So that Ultraviolence woman who is so swept up in turmoil—is she still there on Lust for Life?

We’ll see. That’s been my experience up until now, but, like, I’m trying.

Some of the sparer, really heartfelt songs on Lust for Life reminded me of the Ultraviolence song “Black Beauty.”

That’s a sad song. In that song—[sings] I keep my lips red like cherries in the spring/Darling, you can’t let everything seem so dark blue—that’s a girl who is still seeing the blue sky and a putting on a pop of color just for herself. But this [other] person—it was all black for them. And my world became inky with those overtones. [At this, Lana begins to cry, and we pause for a moment.]

What made you cry just now?

In that moment, when I said “pop of color,” I was connected to that feeling of only being able to see a portion of the world in color. And when you feel that way, you can feel trapped.

Are you seeing the world in color now?

[sighs] I don’t really know how to describe my perspective at the moment.

But you’re trying, and that’s what Lust for Life is about?

It’s not. I don’t know what it’s about. I don’t know what it is.

Is the album a way of saying that you at least want to be happy?

No. It’s just that something is happening.

What makes you happy?

I’m really simple. I love nature. I like hikes. Being by the water—I don’t always get in. I love the elements. Playing an outdoor festival. Love that feeling.

What bums you out?

Feeling like going backwards.

Is there a storyline to the album?

Yeah.

What’s the story?

You have to figure it out.

Just a few years ago you were saying you didn’t care about feminism, and now you are writing protest songs and meditations on war and peace.

Because things have shifted culturally. It’s more appropriate now than under the Obama administration, where at least everyone I knew felt safe. It was a good time. We were on the up-and-up.

Women started to feel less safe under this administration instantly. What if they take away Planned Parenthood? What if we can’t get birth control? Now, when people ask me those questions, I feel a little differently. The reason why I asked Stevie Nicks to be on the record is because she changes when her environment changes, and I’m like that as well.

In “When the World Was at War We Kept Dancing,” I wrote, “Boys, don’t make too much noise/Don’t try to be funny/Other people may not be understanding.” Like, Can you tone down your over-boisterous rhetoric that isn’t working? “God Bless America - And All the Beautiful Women in It” is a little shoutout to the women and anyone else who doesn’t always feel safe walking down the street late at night. That’s what I was thinking of when I wrote, “Even when I’m alone I’m not lonely/I feel your arms around me.” It’s not always how I feel when I’m walking down the street, but sometimes in my music I try to write about a place that I’m going to get to.

Do you feel unsafe?

I feel less safe than I did when Obama was president. When you have a leader at the top of the pyramid who is casually being loud and funny about things like that, it’s brought up character defects in people who already have the propensity to be violent towards women. I saw it right away in L.A. Walking down the street, people would just say things to you that I had never heard.

When people asked me the feminist question before, I was like, “I’m not really experiencing personal discrimination as a woman. I feel like I’m doing well. I headline shows just like the Weeknd does. I got tons of women in my life, love women, support women.” I just felt like, Why don’t we talk about the music first? I can tell you that what I have done for women is tell my own story, and that’s all anyone can do.

Is it harder to be romantic about America when Trump is the nation’s biggest celebrity?

It’s certainly uncomfortable. I definitely changed my visuals on my tour videos. I’m not going to have the American flag waving while I’m singing “Born to Die.” It’s not going to happen. I’d rather have static. It’s a transitional period, and I’m super aware of that. I think it would be inappropriate to be in France with an American flag. It would feel weird to me now—it didn’t feel weird in 2013.

All the guys in the studio—we didn’t know we were going to start walking in every day and talking about what was going on. We hadn’t ever done that before, but everyday during the election, you’d wake up and some new horrible thing was happening. Korea, with missiles suddenly being pointed at the western coast. With “When the World Was at War We Kept Dancing,” I was posing a real question to myself: Could this be the end of an era? The fall of Rome?

Nostalgia can be really corny when it’s not done well, and you’re all about nostalgia. How do you try to get it right?

I know I walk the line sometimes. [laughs] I saw comments that people said about my little “Coachella - Woodstock in my Mind” song. I write that title and I’m like, OK, I know I went there. But I think it’s amazing. It’s on the nose. It’s so on the nose. But sometimes things just are what they are. I’m at Coachella for three days, and North Korea is pointing a missile at us, and I’m watching Father John Misty with my best friend, who’s his wife—that’s all I’m literally saying. It’s just like, Yeah, I’m a hipster. I know it. Got it.

You mentioned working with Stevie Nicks on this album, what was it like recording with her?

She came in straight off a plane from her last show of like 60 cities, which I was actually supposed to open for. She had asked me, and I was like, “Oh my god.” But I couldn’t because I don’t want to do a 60-show tour.

She flew through the door. Blond highlights, rose gold glasses, gold-tipped nails, rose gold lipstick, gold chains, gold rings, black on black on black. Very stylish. And meanwhile, I looked like a housewife of 15—flannel on flannel, because it was a cold night. And I was like, Why did I not dress up for Stevie Nicks?

At the end of the track, she sings, then I sing, then she sings. I was kinda embarrassed. I was like, “I sound so little compared to you.” And she was like, “That’s good, you’re my little echo.” And I was like, Stevie called me her little echo. It’s a stupid little thing, but she was very nurturing in that way, and not belittling of the fact that I had a more breathy voice. Which I wasn’t even aware of until I was shoulder-to-shoulder on a track with someone with less air in their voice. I felt a little more exposed in that moment. But she was like, “That’s you. You just be you.”

Speaking of musical icons, can you tell me about performing at Kim and Kanye’s wedding party?

It was a surprise for Kim. I hadn’t met her. I sang “Young and Beautiful,” “Summertime Sadness,” “Blue Jeans.” Kanye requested “Young and Beautiful.” The girls—the Kardashians—were so nice. There was only one front row, just them, right there. They were living for it. They started playing Kanye and Jay-Z records for the rest of the thing and it rained and everyone was just up dancing in the rain. I stayed for like 40 minutes and then I left.

People have made a big deal about that necklace you are selling that seems to have a coke spoon. Is it a coke spoon?

Yeah. It’s funny. I have a flask and a lighter as well. I don’t do coke.

You’ve said in the past that you weren’t drinking either, and yet it turns up in your music. Do you drink now?

No comment.  

You sing about drugs and alcohol a lot.

Not on this record. I well used to do a lot of drugs, but I actively don’t now.

What kind of drugs did you do?

No comment. [laughs] But I think the coke spoon is kinda funny. I’m just like, Whatever. I don’t think it’s going to make anyone do coke.

Are you conscious of when you walk right up to a taboo in your work?

Not really. That’s the one thing I don’t have my finger on. I am there, but there are times I don’t really know it. There’s certain stuff that I think is kinda dope that I know other people might be like, Okayyyyy.

Like singing about death?

That’s real life though. Super real life.

You got a lot of shit for saying “I wish I was dead” to a journalist a few years ago.

Fuck that guy, though. I didn’t think he would print it and make it the headline. I was having a really tough time. I had been on the road for a year. I was really struggling. I was just stupid, I was like, “I fucking want to die.” Maybe I meant it. I don’t really know.

Which of your albums is the most autobiographical?

All of them. The last record—I listen to a song like “Terrence Loves You,” and I just really feel for myself at the time. The person I’m singing about—[sings] You are what you are/I don’t matter to anyone—did I really just say I don’t matter to anyone? That’s fucking crazy.

Did you feel that way?

I guess so. I sang it.

What makes you feel proud?

My records. I love my records. I love them. I’m proud of the way I’ve put parts of my story into songs in ways that only I understand. In terms of my gauge of what’s good, it’s really just what I think. I have an internal framework that is the only thing I measure it by. My own opinion is really important to me. It starts and stops there.

http://pitchfork.com/features/interview/life-liberty-and-the-pursuit-of-happiness-a-conversation-with-lana-del-rey/

#lana del rey #interview

[chaiteakusuri]

It’s about Valen-time

(Obligatory Valentine’s day post. Where I live it’s only 11:40pm, so it’s still a Valentine’s day post!)

Ivan sat in his cubicle, enjoying the vestiges of his remaining lunch break for the day. Even though it was the day before Valentine's day, Ivan was still in high spirits. Although he personally was very alone and never had anyone to spend the approaching holiday with, Ivan still found ways to enjoy himself. He was especially ready for “Discount Chocolate Day”, the day immediately after Valentine’s day. Also, he liked all of the cute decorations and bright colors that came with the holiday around his normally drab workplace, so he simply came to terms with being alone.

Valentine's landed near the beginning of the workweek this year and (the only reason being that his boss was a hopeless, gushing romantic) everyone was given the 14th of February off. Because of this, that meant that everyone was doing the typical workplace ‘celebrating’ this Monday.

           Upon giving the workspace a quick look over, Ivan noticed at least three bouquets of flowers displayed around on various desks of his coworkers. There were an assortment of decorations about the office and even balloons; if Ivan didn’t know how eccentrically attached his boss was to Valentine's day, he might have been weirded out by the amount of dedication put into the decorations for such an unimportant holiday (Lord save him if his boss heard him say it was an unimportant holiday, however).            Ivan looked over his shoulder and to the right to where his chatty workplace friend’s cubicle was and was surprised to see that his cubicle had a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates on them, too. “Does Alfred have a date for Valentine's?” Ivan thought to himself while looking over the heart shaped box of chocolates that laid of his coworker’s desk. Ivan’s eyes shifted to the beautiful bouquet of sunflowers placed neatly beside the chocolates and thought for a long moment. Perhaps Alfred did have a Valentine's date this year? Lucas, in fact had said to Alfred that Alfred was going to go on a date with his hand this Valentine's day? Ivan thought again for a moment longer, attempting to mull over the phrase before admitting defeat; American’s have weird ways of saying things almost everything. Ivan turned to his office computer and began typing: “What does it meant to have a date with your hand” before abruptly stopping himself as his noticed someone walking in his direction and closed the window he had open, telling himself that if he remembered, he would have to look it up when he got home.

           When the coworker passed, offering a greeting, Ivan was surprised to see another of his coworkers, Lucas, emerge from the break room; not surprised by Lucas himself, but by the lavish bouquet of flowers and chocolate box that the man was toting. They were both so luxurious and expensive looking that Ivan couldn't help but stare; if Lucas was trying to leave a lasting impression on his Valentine, it would work, Ivan was sure. The box of chocolates was easily larger than the man’s face and the bouquet of flowers was only just small enough for Lucas to be able to hold the bouquet in one hand. It must have cost him at least 50 dollars Ivan mused.

           “Hey Ivaaaan.” Lucas said in a sing song voice as he approached, causing the Russian to quickly snap his gaze from presents to the man’s face.            “Uh... yes?” Ivan wondered

“I have something really really important to ask you on his special day, Mr. Braginskiiii~.” Lucas hummed, waving the bouquet of flowers gently with assumed purpose.

“Ask me...?” Ivan wondered aloud. He scanned the America’s face for any hint of what the question was before his eyes went wide. Was Lucas... was Lucas going to ask Ivan to be his Valentine?

           Ivan felt his heart stop in his chest; never in his whole life had anything even remotely similar to this happened to him. These gifts were for him? Someone was confessing to him the day before the most romantic holiday of the year? He felt his face preemptively begin to flush because of the sudden onslaught of lovey-dovey thoughts his brain was suddenly supplying to him all while ridiculously bubbly feelings welled up in the Russian’s chest. Now he would have someone to spend holidays with? He would have someone to do things with? Hold hands? Go on dates? Ivan felt as if he was going to cry he was so happy.

           By the time that Lucas had made it to Ivan’s desk, the Russian’s mouth had already dried itself to desert conditions and Ivan could hardly string a logical thought together in Russian let alone a logical sentence in English. Up close the flowers and candies looked even more extravagant than they had before and these were for him?

“Ivan,” The Russian heard Lucas begin, making the man snap his attentions back to the man’s face. Lucas gave him a smile once he had Ivan’s undivided attention, “Ivan will you beeeee--” Lucas added, seemingly with deliberate slowness to his question, but Ivan already knew the question and was more than happy to begin developing a reply.            “Yes please...” Ivan had began to form with his lips while slowly outstretching hands to hold the first romantically involved Valentine's day gift that he would ever receive.

“--So kind as to give these to you older sister?” Lucas asked, his grin never falling from his face. “See, I wanted to give these to her but she’s feeling sick today ain’t she?” he asked despite knowing the answer, taking Ivan’s outstretched hands as an invitation to plant the gifts into the Russian’s grasp.

Ivan let out a quiet gasp, jarred by the sudden derailing of what he thought was going to be one of the best moments of his life. Ivan was so jarred, in fact, that he missed the devilish smirk that played across Lucas’s lips upon noticing the Russian’s shocked state. “My... my sister?” Ivan muttered, barely audible, “These are...for my sister?”

Lucas let out a laugh, “What, did you think that they were for you?” Lucas let out another laugh, as if it was the most ludicrous idea that he’d ever heard.

Ivan’s breath caught in his throat, “I...” he began “Of.. of course they are for my sister...” he practically whispered. Ivan felt his heart sink in his chest and his cheeks blazed with mortified embarrassment. “...Because who else would they be for?” The crestfallen Russian asked, looking at the gifts with increasing scorn. Ivan stared at the flowers, wondering why on Earth he had gotten his hopes up so high in the first place. What was this? A Romance novel? People just don’t suddenly ask you out in such a sappy way.            How could he have even thought for a moment that these were going to be for him? Ivan knew no one thought that he was charming or entertaining; just hours ago Ivan had reminded himself that he was probably going to be alone for the rest of his life and what was the first thing he did when he saw that someone might love him? He fell head over heels almost instantly at the mere prospect of having someone that loves him. And what did that get him? It got him holding onto someone else’s gifts. Ivan felt like he was going to cry for an all too different reason.

While Ivan continued to berate himself, he neglected to hear the sudden, rushed stomping of footsteps nearing his cubicle. Ivan was only brought out of his spree of self deprecation when he heard he someone shout from right in front of him.

“Whaddaya think you’re doing, Lucas?!” Ivan heard Alfred yell. Ivan brought his eyes up from the chocolates and saw the American shove Lucas aggressively. Lucas began making a retort, but Alfred cut him off once he’d heard enough. “Don’t give me that crap, Lucas! I heard you say to your stupid buddies: ‘hey watch me go mess with the Russian guy’!” Alfred  pushed Lucas again, harder, “Fuck off, Lucas!”

Lucas sputtered, shocked at having obviously been caught by the other. But, despite the evidence that Alfred was holding against him, Lucas persisted in trying to maintain his innocence, claiming that he really had given them to him to give to his sister because they live together. This, however, was much to the extreme distaste of the blonde before him.

“You were clearly teasing and making from of him! His sister’d never even look at ya if she knew you were bullying him and trust me I would make it quite vocal.” Alfred scolded then huffed and continued as Lucas had nothing to say in response “What? Do I gotta put into poem format for you to get it on this Valentine's day holiday? Well, here ya go!” Alfred huffed angrily, before continuing.            “Ya got roses of red ‘n chocolates ta chew

The sugar is sweet, but definitely not you.

Your chocolate’s disgusting and your roses look dead.

The sugar bowl’s empty and so is your head!”

By the end of Alfred’s impromptu slam poem, the American was glaring daggers at the belligerent Lucas. Ivan looked up at the blonde American; he’d never seen him this angry before.

           “Get!” Alfred shouted after having scooped the flowers and chocolates from Ivan’s hand and shoving them into Lucas’s grasp once more, “And take you shitty gift with you!”

           Upon this, Lucas let out a hostile grunt, glared between the two of them, turned on his heel and stomped down the hall. Alfred nodded, assuring that justice had prevailed before turning towards the bullied Russian and adopting a frown.

           “Hey, man you okay?” he asked gently, looking over the poor man.

           Ivan blinked and looked to the blonde before him, “A-Ah, yes.” he replied, nodding quickly. Alfred smiled softly at him and was surprised to see that Ivan was returning his smile with a small one of his own. “Nice...” Ivan chortles softly “Nice poem you made up there.” he said softly.

           “Hah, you think? That was an Alfred Jones original!” Alfred boasted, eliciting a soft chuckle from the Russian which bolstered the American’s confidence.

           “Thank you for coming...” Ivan murmured, looking down at his lap from the American. After a moment of not getting a reply from the other, Ivan began voicing his thanks again, but was stunned into a silence when he looked up and practically got a faceful of sunflowers.

           Alfred gasped, “Oh gosh, sorry!” Alfred apologized quickly, moving the bouquet out of the Russian’s face, giving the stunned man a sheepish smile and quickly moved along as if the incident hadn’t happened. “Heeere I am!” He said, giving Ivan a huge grin and gestured with the bouquet of sunflowers and box of chocolates “Now, what are your other two wishes?” He asked, his grin only growing wider by the second.

           Ivan looked at the other for a long, confused moment before bursting into a quiet giggle, “You’re a genie?”

           “Yep!” Alfred said quickly, “Here to... uh here..” Alfred looked down, his face scrunching up momentarily; it wasn’t very hard for Ivan to put together that Alfred had planned this out and was, currently, forgetting his ‘lines’. “Aaaw shoot,” Alfred said, looking up and giving Ivan an embarrassed smile, “I, I had this planned out better this mornin’.” Alfred sighed.

           Ivan smiled softly, “Those... those are for me? This isn’t some mean.. joke?” he asked, worry lacing his voice.

           Alfred blinked “No! They’re totally for you! See see see?” Alfred asked, shifting his grasp on the gifts and displaying a tag with Ivan’s name on it “Totally for you!” he added, giving a shining smile to the Russian. “I’ve been wanting to ask you out for sooooo crazy long!” Alfred began exasperatedly, “I seriously thought that you sister was your girlfriend so I was super sad that I couldn’t ask you out so I was really really excited when I found out that they was actually your sister so then I figured that I could ask you out and I thought of all that stuff and I reckoned that Valentine's day would be the easiest day to ask you out and-- Oh no, what’s wrong?” Alfred asked worriedly, cutting off his long run-on sentence as he noticed that tears were running down the Russian’s face.

           “N-No one has ever liked me before.” He whispered, wiping quickly at his eyes. “Y-You really are magic.” he blubbered slightly. At this, Alfred pulled him into a hug, the petals of the flowers brushing against Ivan’s neck.

           “Heey well I’ll like you every single day.” The blonde promised, squeezing the Russian in the continuing hug, “Soooo will you be my Valentine, Ivan? Iiiii got lots of more stuff planned.”

           “Y-Yes.” Ivan said immediately while wiping at his eyes as they ended their embrace.

“Oh yeah? That’s good. Cuz you know what’s on the menu for tomorrow? Me-‘n-u.” Alfred said, tapping his own chest before poking Ivan in the shoulder, eliciting another laugh from the Russian. “Mmm, you like those one liners?” Alfred hummed in amusement, “I gotta million of ‘em!” He announced, watching fondly as Ivan cradled the bouquet of flowers in his arms. “So I’ll pick you up tomorrow night, mmk?” He asked, “We’ll have a great time!” Alfred chirped, placing his hands triumphantly on his hips. Ivan nodded, anticipating the date he had with excitement he hadn’t felt in a long time.

The evening of their date came in the blink of an eye and their date seemed to fly by even faster. They stood at the doorstep to Ivan’s apartment, after Alfred had insisted on walking him home

“This was really great!” Alfred sand happily, “But, I have this problem with forgetting super awesome things real quick, soooo we gotta do this again real soon so I remember how great it was!” He added with a flourish, obviously proud of himself.

Ivan chuckled, shaking his head, “It’s been one after the other with those one liners all night, Alfred.”

“Cuz you love ‘em!” Alfred chimed happily, rocking on his heels, swinging their intertwined hands together. “And you know what else I love?” Alfred continued while Ivan shook his head

“What?”

“You~.” He said, causing a blush to erupt on the other man’s face.

“I-I,” Ivan sputtered. “Y-y-you’re, you’re a silly American.” he said, removing his hand from Alfred’s to open the door to his apartment.

Alfred hummed in amusement “Ooh okay; so that’s how you say I love you in Russian?” Alfred grinned and Ivan blushed darker.

“Y-You’re a silly American.” Ivan repeated after swooping in quick to peck Alfred on the lips and moved quickly into the safety of his apartment before closing the door, leaving the blonde to stand stunned and delighted at Ivan’s doorstep.

“I love you toooooo!” Alfred sang to Ivan through the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He added happily.

Ivan leaned against the front door on the inside of his apartment, face scalding red and hand clenched over his rapidly hammering heart. “I love you too,” Ivan whispered softly, a wide smile growing and spreading along his face, “I love you too.”

#RusAme #hetalia #APH America #APH Russia #alfred f jones #ivan braginski #holiday #My writing #Hetalia Fanfiction

[suiciderealestate]

Google

As I approached Google’s New York City headquarters in lower Manhattan, I felt I had arrived. I felt that all of the hardship I’d faced in New York over the last two months was preparing me for this singular moment, for this complete cosmic affirmation that I was loved and cared for by a mysterious force beyond my comprehension. The sky was overcast and the temperature was warm and muggy. As I watched people walk by, I imagined seeing their faces again, but next time as a Google employee. I saw a homeless man on the street, and for a moment I felt like I was escaping the persistent shadow of dread that one day I too will become homeless, escaping the part of my destiny that might one day deign to lump someone like me in with someone like him. But who is to say he and I are so very different? At the very least, we’re probably both alcoholics. So as I watched the Google employees milling about in front of the building wearing their blue Google shirts, I imagined myself wearing one too. The winds of fate had become a tailwind that would carry me forward. They were right on time. I was going to be somebody. I would be able to stay in New York after all.

In May I made the hasty decision to quit my job in Garden City, Kansas. I told myself I needed to move to a city with opportunities more suited to a person like me, someone cosmopolitan and queer with a taste for the finer things in life. I’m a creative, vivacious personality who can thrive in any environment, so long as opportunity exists, I told myself. So I tossed the only job I’ve ever had that made me feel like a real person, one where I worked as a reporter at a local newspaper and was able to make a real impact on a community, and all so I could move to New York City, the city of rejection. I miss seeing my name in print every single day. I am gripped by the constant wonder of whether or not I will ever see myself in another byline. I can only pray that I do, and that it means something to someone, most of all myself.

I hate rejection. I got an interview to work at the Apple store. I was rejected. I sent my resume to numerous companies just to work at the front desk and never heard back. I took a weekend job at a coffee shop in Brooklyn and was effectively fired within two days after I pulled the pastry display down and into the sink while trying to retrieve a cumbersomely sticky cinnamon roll for a customer. Every time I had a lead on a job, I stopped applying for jobs. Up until today, I hadn’t applied for a job in two weeks. Applying for jobs is like asking people out on a date over and over and over again under duress of death and starvation, only to be ignored or told no just as many times. My mom says sometimes in life we get the short end of the stick, but lately I feel like I’ve had the short end of the stick shoved up my ass.

When a recruiter from a company called Vaco reached out to me, I felt my prayers had been answered. He was working for a “major technology” company that turned out to be Google. They were hiring a content curator to, simply put, curate news gathering on Google. This is a job I can do, I told myself. So the recruiter interviewed me over the phone and sent me a writing test. Within a couple days I heard back. I’d done “very well” on the writing test and was invited to attend an interview.

It felt predestined. A friend in Nashville’s ex boyfriend had taken up a hobby as a medium since discovering the power of positivity, or at least the perks of faking it. An uptight perfectionist prick who viewed other people as an accessory to his image was now a New Age gypsy with a penchant for crystals, burning sage and positive thinking. He told me my uncle who died of a heart attack said New York would be good for me. He said I’d get a job after two months. He said I’d work for the New York Times. Since moving to New York I’ve learned that the Times tends to stick to candidates from the Yale graduate pool in their application process. Maybe it will happen after I work for Google, I told myself. If I’m going to make the two-month marker, then Google has to be it!

Moments before I found out I’d been chosen for an interview, I had been crying in the shower affirming to myself that I’m worthy, I’m abundant, I am a highly sought after employee. It felt powerful in the moment, like my mind could reshape the curvature of my reality through sheer force of will and affirmation. A friend told me about her own affirmation meditations, and I figured I’d give it a shot. With everything going so well, I assumed they were working.

I’m not going to tease the predictable end to this story any longer. I didn’t get the job. It was funny because the feeling of destiny was so palpable, so concrete, enshrined in a prescience and certitude that was almost oracular. Sitting in the lobby and waiting for the recruiter, I imagined passing the neon “Google” lighting display every day on my way to the office on the tenth floor. I imagined waving every night to the grumpy girl at the front desk. Hey, Deb! Have a good night! I would have been working the night shift, and I wondered what it would be like to head into work at 7 p.m. and leave at 4 a.m. Google serves dinner to its employees, so I wondered what kind of friends I would make during those 6 p.m. meals I wouldn’t have to pay for. I wondered what kind of cereal they keep in the stocked pantry, which is also full of food I wouldn’t have had to pay for.

When the recruiter came down to the lobby, he looked me in the face and walked right past me, as if he immediately knew I wasn’t the candidate he had scouted on LinkedIn and spoken with over the phone. But I have red hair, and I think I reasonably resemble my LinkedIn photo, which also depicts a long-faced man-child with red hair, and so I wondered at the confusion. He was wearing short sleeves and skinny jeans. I was wearing black slacks, red leather deck shoes and a chic patterned button-up. I felt overdressed, and when I stood to wait for the recruiter to head my way after his lap around the lobby, I couldn’t help but notice the awkward glance he diverted to the wall when he realized he had passed me after looking me dead in the face. His chagrin seemed to say Oh fuck, or Time to waste everyone’s time, or Does this guy even work out?

When we reached the tenth floor he mentioned the building’s excellent view of the Empire State Building. He bemoaned the declining state of the newspaper industry. He hesitated when I called journalism “an art form.” I wondered if I was being too extra. I wondered if I was overdressed. I wondered why his jeans were so tight. 

When I arrived at the “team’s” office, I was greeted by the interviewers, a boy and a girl about my age, if not younger. One was an Asian man in a sporty little baseball cap. The other was a mousy brunette girl who couldn’t have looked any less pleased to be where she was at that moment if you’d painted the excitement onto her eyeballs. She looked me up and down with what could have been a smile, but probably wasn’t. Her counterpart, the guy presumably in charge of the operation, was friendly and casual. They looked like college kids. It was alarming. I felt like I was being interviewed again for the college newspaper. Still, during a routine round of questioning, I couldn’t help but notice that my hand was visibly shaking as I waved it around in the air like a baton to garnish my theatrical explanations.

After awhile, my nerves were soothed by the innocuous aura of the Asian’s baseball cap, so I decided to look to the mousey brunette to see if she could offer the same solace, but every time my eyes met hers, she looked away. It was as if she had a secret she didn’t want me to know. It was as if she knew they were wasting their time with me, and I was wasting my time with them — like they’d already chosen their desired candidates, and my presence was only a formality to satisfy the requirements put upon the recruiter by the company. Sometimes you can read a lot in a person’s eyes,  even when they aren’t saying anything — and she wasn’t. In the moment I couldn’t let myself think that way, but like a drowning man gasping for breath, my dying logical faculties were gasping to tell me the truth: They don’t want you.

After I was told I didn’t get the job, it all started to make sense. Though I was interviewed on a Friday in the afternoon at the end of the cycle, I learned from the recruiter that “a couple” of people simply had “stronger backgrounds” than I did, as if the interview wouldn’t have counted at all. He said they liked the skills I brought to the table. He said I seemed “a bit nervous,” but it wasn’t counted against me. If “a couple” means two, which was the number of openings, then, once again, I just barely missed the boat. What began as a moment of optimistic pre-destiny quickly became what was probably only the tedious act of putting the cap on an interview quota that would otherwise go unmet. I was, after all, not some special flower coddled by the universe in isolation from the homeless people on the streets, but a hapless stooge caught up in the callous machinery of workplace protocol.

For the last few days I have cried, because crying is like emotional masturbation, and masturbation has a way of making things feel generally better. When I learned about this opportunity, I put everything on hold and focused my energy on that singular goal, bearing in mind the classic delusion that all of my positive thoughts and psychic attempts at manifestation could deliver me any victory, regardless of circumstance. But life isn’t like that, and in New York I’m just one more hungry, masticating mouth in a sea of eight million others. I came here because I thought I was special, but I am learning that I am actually not special at all, and even people who seem special here and are applauded as such are actually quite ordinary. We’re all just stressed out ghosts haunting our very own diseased meat pocket. That’s about the extent of the magic.  

[redlemonz]

Day #2

As humans we ruin everything we touch, even each other. That’s the first thing I read when turning on my phone this morning randomly (I use this word lightly as I confess I did have some subconscious intention of what themes I was going to look through probably) browsing. Don’t even ask what depressing shit I was looking at. But anyway that phrase - it does speak truths, doesn’t it? We, as the flawed creations we are, all carry our own similar and unique set of flaws that beautifully make us who we are as human beings, but also we disperse these flaws among everyone else in this world so helplessly - it’s kind of like an intangible disease really.

Day #2 - better, but never for long

Much like day #1, though not present in the ramblings of that day - due to focusing on more pressing matters of fucking up her day with flowers, chocolates & a crappy balloon (which she smacked the flowers with in a snap she sent me last night - it was cute & I obviously replayed it), I lay there in bed just after 5am for an hour, rolling around & trying to fix my irreparable, evil head. I quickly reminisced about her voice and the final events of last night, which temporarily filled me with glee & joy, until the reality of a new day without her struck me again. Failing to go back to sleep due to my worst enemy (as aforementioned, my head - me, more self hatred, woo), I once again curled up in a ball on the floor of the shower and let the tears flow freely, merging with the pelting water that struck me. Just to add insult to my own injury, I intentionally decided on making the shower extra hot after the tears flowed away, closed my eyes and imagined her there with me one more time. Not in a sexual way (mostly - though I don’t owe anyone an explanation, but I guess I always feel the need to explain myself because as mentioned on a number of occasions, I am a master at fucking up). She simply appreciated the scorching hot water, especially against her back - temperatures which I can’t usually handle. But I did this time - to feel as though she was with me, even though the fiction was clear.

Work work work - another day, another dolla & more holla.. as I like to say. Or at least I just came up with that. Am slightly in a chipper mood as the aircon in the office is currently nice and freezing - classic facilities management messing up our lives however they can. Why the positive mood though? Probably because subconsciously this chill still reminds me of my weekend - the snow. With her. Best moment ever. Definitely a highlight consisting of low temperature in my life. It brings a smile to my face as I think back to tackling her down into the snow playfully (I think - might not have realised my own strength), us laughing together whilst potentially my toes suffer the effects of what feels like frostbite, and the sweet warmth of her lips in that moment of what could only be described as simple, pure, happiness. An actual fairytale moment for the hopeless romantic when he least expected it. Back in the real world now, I sit there wondering how her day is going and what she’s currently working on. Nearly every fibre of me is pulsing towards sending her a simple smiley face via text message, or to wish her a nice day, but I can’t afford to keep butting into her life and bringing a constant reminder to her of my existence. I believe yesterday was probably more than enough for her in that regard. So I refrain from my actions, and just hope that she’s having a nice day as she always deserves to. Another humorous moment just occurred as I was seeking clarification regarding some common-sensical stuff within the work I’m doing, and my new team member laid down for me that, yes, it is in fact common sense. She then proceeded to apologise for being too honest, to which I just smiled & told her that I’m use to, and now quite desensitised from ‘brutal honesty’. I reflect even further now as a result, upon the fact that my relationship had helped me strengthen and grow, even in the littlest ways - which just brings another damn smile to my face in the strangest way. Boom, it’s after lunch time now and an ever so slight anxiety arises. ‘The three’ of us went into a gaming store during lunch that has the same initials as her (she once even joked about it being her store when seeing an old plastic bag in my car boot from the store, when we were on a date at a craft beer cafe. Ah craft beer - what finally brought us together to begin with. Jesus, I’m really linking up everything to a memory with her aren’t I. Oh, the beautiful insanity). Nevertheless, I sent a group snap, in which I included her, of some cool geeky stuff in the store. Why did I include her? Who knows - pretty sure she doesn’t actually give a crap. Probably goes back to earlier where I wanted to message her wishing her a nice day or just send a smiley face, and accordingly acted like it was an almost heroic gesture for not going through with it. This was a subtle way, again subconsciously to an extent as I don’t even realise / think about it at the time, to get her attention & insert myself in her life at a minuscule level I guess. There’s always the nerve-wracking insecurity that she’ll forget me sooner rather than later. Though who am I to interfere with that if it is the case also! I’ll tell you - I’m the past. Not the future. It’s been made clear. Hence here we are with the ever growing slight anxiety as I reflect upon all these moulding elements slowly coming together to form a longer and longer bridge between us. Confessions of a broken mind. More so, confessions of a broken heart. Halt! I’ve also figured out that I’ve come to feeling my heart thump against my chest as a result of remembering that I have my first indoor football game this evening. Where does she come into this as well? She was obviously part of the original team.. it’s where I actually started getting the growing opportunities of spending time with her (when she wasn’t busy being a dedicated student - which was most of the time, although she still made more time for me as time flew by - boom, another realisation way too late). It was after one of our games that I offered her a ride home, and she sat in my car for the first of many-to-come times, as I introduced her to some hardcore gangster rap music that I only got into due to joining the bandwagon of the “Straight Outta Compton” blockbuster movie fanclub. She surprised me that car ride as she was actually, unexpectedly into it..Though that’s my own pre-judgemental self that concluded otherwise to begin with - definitely learned my lesson there, as she continued to defy, well, anything.. which is what ultimately made her that dream come true. So football begins again tonight - just without her, which is truly tragic. She was definitely the ruthless and aggressive player who wasn’t afraid to get hurt in games - she was certainly the most enthusiastic. Her absence will definitely be felt - especially by the other half of our pack. Speaking of which, I’m afraid to even face the other half of the pack, and even more so, people in general. This isn’t exactly the time to be social, but I do require the exercise, the passing of time (as the quicker it goes, the quicker the wounds heal - right? Even though time is relative you dumbass), and just the distraction from wallowing in my pity party of one. The social interaction will ideally be limited, and hopefully I can continue to fake it till I make it. Goodness, the reminders just keep coming! I also have to prepare a monthly quiz consisting of 10 multi choice questions tonight, that are somewhat intriguing to a diverse range of people in my workplace. I usually spend way too much time than required - but the cool part is that she always was my test subject for the quizzes before I went live with them, and that she actually did quite well - better than the average of teams of 5-10 people anyway. That’s just her though. Though my workplace are full of idiots (including myself as aforementioned on various occasions), she nevertheless has always been, and displayed that combination of brains and beauty.

Indoor football! After having a break and watching game shows with the family, it was finally time to head to the first game of indoor in high spirits and be overly thrilled to see familiar faces on a voluntary basis. Don’t get me wrong, they’re wonderful faces.. it’s just that trying extra hard to feel socially accepted can really be exhausting (tragic that I’m using the word I absolutely hated hearing from her often). Anyhow we all have to do it. It’s a pretty common occurrence, more so than we care to admit to, but hey - welcome to humanity. So I tried, and vowed to myself not to say anything and just be.. okay. Whatever that means. Shockingly enough, things didn’t go as expected.. absolutely flabbergasted. After initially walking inside and catching up with, and seeing my cool, bald, and professional footballer of a team mate and friend after a year, a few of the first words out of one of my other close friends’ (¼ of the pack) mouth, without knowledge of current circumstances, in our small vicinity, were that of asking how things were with her. Then close friend progressed to explain to said cool bald friend that me and girl-who-all-of-this-is-essentially-about were now together (as he’s been out of the loop) and he was thrilled, and congratulated me. What a fantastic start to the evening as you can imagine. I controlled the emotion & managed to muffle my voice enough to get a hold of myself when speaking. Long story short, I continuously throughout this moment attempted to remain cool, calm and collected (I’m use to collecting a lot after all) as I revealed the unfortunate and sad truth. Being great friends they are, they also threw me a mini pity party but I assured them that I’m perfectly good, and it was not required. Anyway after the game against our cat obsessed opponents (we won 5-4, what a thriller), I decided to ask another close friend on the team about her current relationship background, as I knew she’d just gotten back & is taking it slow with the guy that she had previously broken up with. She was sweet to share. What amazed me about her story were that all her details were oddly similar and reflective of mine - when they began, the length, the breaks they took last year, the eventual long distance (which is currently still their case), the personifying characteristics of her significant other, and there was even a magical weekend involved (but not with sick day Monday). She was me in this scenario, and he was her. I felt some sort of outsider closure and comfort knowing I wasn’t alone - except I was. Why did I even ask? I could easily lie to myself & say I’m not sure, but it’s clear I was latching onto any potential chance of false hope that may exist. Though my weekend(+sick day monday) already decimated that possibility pretty fiercely and brutally, I was still determined to find out? Thankfully I came back to my senses to realise that I wasn’t ever going to be her. I’m not the luckiest guy in the world anymore, I’ve lost that privilege. I’ve had my share of chances, which were all ultimately missed goals in the end. Better off buying a lotto ticket. In the end, close friend #1 who made my reality publicly clear unintentionally at the start, was being her supportive self. So was the other friend (leader of the pack) - even though it’s not usually his style. Whilst he acted in his classic mannerisms and lost his keys for 30 minutes, close friend #1 kept checking on me. I kept up my guard stating I was fine.. and I think I may actually have been for once. I realised I don’t want or need any of this support, let alone deserve it. My heart and mind instantly crossed to her again - alone in a house in a different town, bottling up any feelings.. or so I imagine anyway. I can’t keep inserting myself into her life to check how she is - as much as I love and care about her - more than anything. She wants to be able to actually move on with my constant interference holding her back (as I ended up doing in our relationship enough as it is) surely.. so I let it be, and urged said friend to be her friend rather than mine at this time. Not that she needed the urging at all anyway - she’s always been caring & onto listening and being there for her friends. Hopefully she can get through.. after all, the strength of the wolf is the pack. Sadly have not heard from my.. ‘past’ today either at all which sucks, but is the new harsh reality I have to deal with.. I hope she had a nice day at work.

The drive back home. First song on the radio - Despacito. Enough said really if you knew her when that song comes on, especially over the last weekend. She makes you smile nonstop with her voice in song. I looked over to the empty seat next to me, where she’d be my singing buddy most often, and still managed my own smile at the memory. Usually she’d be there after a game, we’d get some takeaways and watch a movie at my place whilst eating, or just cuddle up together, and sometimes even just sleep blissfully enough. Other times I’d find some shitty reason to start a fight which I’d blame on my own insecurities - well that part is true. But nevertheless, looking back.. I don’t even remember or care about why I was fighting. I just want to take back all the unnecessary pain, stress and pressure I put her through, and once again see that beautiful smile. Queue last weekend (+ sick day monday) memory as a dream sequence on repeat. Relationship goals.. lived at end of relationship. Nevertheless, that time has well passed, and once again Its too late & any hope that once was present is now lost. I don’t fit in any longer. I deservingly suffer the consequences of my choices and actions, and eat my takeaway food alone tonight. The only problem is that she doesn’t deserve to suffer too. Self hatred slowly back on the rise.

_____

Day 2 - continued - oh woe is me.

My world almost turned upside down, and shook my mind all around. I messed up again and called her. The darker it gets, the more things just become tougher. I’ve learned this through my historical experience on several occasions now. So we spoke for about 40 minutes. Why? Because my overly attached self checked my instagram, specifically my followers, knowing full well what I was looking for, and as you would have it - the waves crashed down on me hard. She stopped following my page. That’s basically the equivalent of deleting someone. My heart started thumping against my chest again as I double, triple and even quadruple checked. It was real. Why am I making this a big deal though - Just one simple removal from a social media outlet I wouldn’t even be using anymore? Its rather more what the broader definition could be of these circumstances. The true beginning of the end all. These were shades reminiscent of last year where we completely stepped out of each other’s lives and it was absolute hell. We became strangers again. Sure you can argue I’m being overly dramatic about this, but it’s not just about this, as mentioned. My mind and heart are slowly now preparing themselves for further detrimental and unexpected havoc to occur as time goes by. Did she want me to stop snapping her once in a bit also as I had been doing? She wasn’t responding anyway so obviously I assume, when linking things up with this situation, that she doesn’t want to be bothered or annoyed by me. That she wants me completely out of her life, and that best weekend ever (+ sick day monday) is already fading away from her.. it’s starting to feel like it didn’t mean much to her. That I don’t. Well that’s fair I guess, that’s the goal after all to get over someone isn’t it? I suppose I just didn’t see it coming (I’m a professional at that now) and needed clarification as to if she wants me to just fuck off. Ironically here I am trying to seek that very clarification over the phone with her. She states that the unfollowing was more impulsive, yesterday after the flower incident. It’s easier that way. I agreed to just delete the whole thing - as they were beautiful photos of her after all, so technically her property. Though I stated it is fine and no big deal, in the end it was actually extremely tough to delete that part of my life which romanticised her publicly as my dream girl, but at the same time also quite easy to do, for her. So now the basis of it all is that she needs more space, even though she said she doesn’t mind receiving the odd snap. She told me she’d tell me before potentially removing me if it was too much for her (though she technically didn’t in this case where it happened, but I understand as it was also technically inactive now). However she also told me to take things as they come. Everything once again started falling apart in me to hear that ambiguity, but I always knew it was the reality waiting to happen. It’s time to take my leave of absence unless she wants to reach out to me.. which I don’t exactly see being the case. She’s a naturally reserved individual to begin with, who never reaches out.. and especially won’t to me. It’s all truly coming into perspective. I love her so much. I just want her to be okay and be there to make sure of it. But I can’t obviously, because I’m the bloody problem. None of this is fair. Fuck life. Ah well, just pray for the best for her no matter what it does to you. You always wanted her to be happy, now unconditionally love her as you promised, as it’s time to extend that bridge between you both after all. I’m going to miss that voice now..