#but it IS so important that CNN ran the story

[therushingriver]

Major pet peeve of mine- people on social media saying why is nobody talking about this/ the mainstream news isnt talking about this. Because 90% of the time a quick google search will tell you that yeah they fucking are.

The most egregious is a post I just saw that said this and then linked an article from npr and pbs newshour- two of our best mainstream media news outlets! And both funded by our tax dollars so they tend not to be influenced by corporations or trends.

I beg of you before you reblog posts like this to do a little research first. Because my worry is that this is a trend where people distrust reliable, great reporters and news organizations that have lawyers and experts fact checking everything they put in writing or on air. And instead they get their news from social media where misinformation is rampant and often times on purpose.

Ive honestly gotten to the point that I trust nothing important on social media - stop getting your news here!! Go to pbs and npr and read their articles. Find reporters and experts you trust and learn information directly from them. And stop putting down organizations as a whole like msnbc and cnn. I know they aren't perfect (especially with the owner of cnn seeming to be influencing them more) but they employ thousands of people to make sure they are being as accurate as possible and talking about what is important. You cannot get that level of fact checking and legal liability from any social media source.

And when you see any news from any source (including these) truly use your critical thinking. Of course there are times where Ive disagreed or questioned news. As I said Cnn has in the past few years made a few choices that I think are the result of their owner. My local news ran a story with a slightly off opinion and when I looked it up, the network posibly had some influence there.

But dont throw the baby out with the bathwater!!! Yes they arent perfect but nothing is and Id far rather get my news from organizations, institutions, and people who are legally liable for what they say and have huge teams of people working together to present accurate news to people. If people stop trusting all mainstream media news sources regardless, I think we are doomed to be misinformed and manipulated by people and bots.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Let's not ignore the man behind the curtain, Rupert Murdoch.  

* * * *

Josh Marshall: 

The evidence emerging from the Dominion lawsuit against Fox News has the quality of liberal fever dreams. What’s the worst you can possibly imagine about Fox? What’s the most cartoonish caricature, the worst it could possibly be? Well, in these emails and texts you basically have that. Only it’s real. It’s not anyone believing the worst and giving no benefit of the doubt. This is what Fox is. In a moment like this it’s worth stepping way, way back, not just to the beginning of Fox News in 1996 but to the beginning of the broader countermovement it was a part of and even a relatively late entry to. 

Back in the 1950s and 1960s there was something historians and critics of the time called the post-war liberal consensus. It was not liberal in ways we’d recognize today. Indeed, it wasn’t liberal in many ways actual liberals of the time recognized. But it did represent an important level of elite consensus about state intervention in the economy and openness to a more restrained version of the American state created by the reformist periods of the first half of the 20th century.

Though what was then sometimes called “the race question” was “complicated” and not something that could be resolved overnight, there was also in elite opinion a general assumption that the South’s system of legalized apartheid was a source of embarrassment and something from the past that the country had to outgrow, even if not any time soon. (Just as is the case today, what is actually more properly called cosmopolitanism was sometimes misportrayed as liberalism: a general belief in pluralism, values tied to cities and urban life.)

I mention all this because, in the early 1950s and 1960s, what we now recognize as the embryonic modern conservative movement could rightly sense that there were assumptions embedded in elite culture that viewed certain of their core values and aims as backward, retrograde, archaic. When the early founders of modern “movement” conservatism looked at America’s elite consensus, they saw a set of assumptions and beliefs embedded in many elite institutions that ran counter to their aims and values. And they were not totally wrong. Over the course of the 1960s and 1970s they set about trying to build a series of counter-institutions, ones that wouldn’t, in their mind, have their sails angled permanently toward the winds of liberalism. 

One key moment in this story was the founding of The Heritage Foundation in 1973. Heritage was founded to be the counter to the “liberal” Brookings Institution. But Heritage was never anything like Brookings, even though in the D.C. of the ’80s and ’90s they were routinely portrayed as counterpoints — one representing liberalism and the other conservatism. Brookings was mainstream, stodgy, quasi-academic. Heritage was thoroughly ideological and partisan. In practice it was usually little more than a propaganda mill for the right. This pattern was duplicated countless times. 

The “liberal” Washington Post was matched by The Washington Times. Fox News, which didn’t come along for another generation, was not so much the answer to CNN as to CBS News, the iconic broadcast news organization of the first decades of the Cold War. What we see today in Fox News is most of the story: a purported news organization that knowingly and repeatedly reports lies to its viewers, whose chief executive brazenly works with and assists one party’s candidates by sharing confidential information about the other. What has always been the tell about Fox News is the tagline and motto: fair and balanced. The operation’s very branding is an aggressive bit of trolling. An unabashedly partisan and ideological operation selling itself under the heading of “fair and balanced.” It’s less a lie than a knowing taunt.

Here we get to the nub of the issue. Because this is not the entirety of the story. One of the things that is clear from the very start of the conservative movement was a basic failure to quite understand the thing they rallied themselves against, the history that in Bill Buckley’s famous phrase he was standing athwart and yelling “Stop!” None of the organizations that the right took issue with — the think tanks, the news publications, the movie studios, the nonprofits, the book publishers — were ideological, let alone partisan, organizations. When the founders of modern conservatism looked at CBS News they saw the shock troops of liberalism and the Democratic Party. Same with Brookings and the Washington Post and all the rest. And when they went to build their own versions of these institutions they patterned them off their own cartoonish understandings of how these operations functioned. The idea that institutions like CBS News or The New York Times were, whatever their faults and unexamined biases, fundamentally rooted in an ethic of news gathering and reporting was really totally lost on them.

So how do we get from this elemental misunderstanding to the raw and casual lying of the Fox of today? Well, that’s the thing: we don’t. Both were there from the very start. It’s all but impossible to disentangle the culture clash, the inability and refusal to really grasp what these institutions were, and the more open culture of propaganda, lying and mendacity. They’re fused together so tightly that getting your head around the relationship between them is more a matter of meditative absorption than anything that can be processed or explained discursively.

[Taling Points Memo :: Josh Marshall]

[schooltrashers]

Innocent Until Proven Guilty: Why The Court Of Public Opinion Is Based On Emotion, Not Facts

So I was watching the Casey Anthony Documentary on Peacock and it got me thinking about the time I noticed how emotional people were about the case. They all assumed that Casey Anthony is guilty because of how the media was portraying her. Doesn't matter if it came from Fox News, CNN, or MSNBC, they don't look at all the facts, they will spoonfeed the people into believing whatever they want you to believe.

This documentary however points out facts that you may have missed, such as George Anthony contradicting himself by claiming his daughter's innocence in an interview, while testifying against Casey Anthony in court claiming she is guilty. I could never trust George Anthony with how manipulative he was. Which made me think that is possible that Casey Anthony is actually innocent. I think George knew more than what he led on and I'm also certain he did sexually abuse both Casey Anthony and Caylee Anthony.

This is exactly why it's important to see both sides of the story and do some research on things that people may have missed and why the jury would come to the conclusion that Casey Anthony is not guilty. Yes she lied to the cops, she owns up to the fact. But she would never take credit for the death of her own daughter, which is why she plead not guilty. She didn't care if she were to be found guilty and put on death row, she wasn't about to agree with a plea bargain and admit to a crime she swears she didn't commit. This is understandable because if I know I wasn't guilty of a crime I was accused of, I would plead not guilty.

Another fact that I noticed is that she was receiving death threats after the case. Which made me think that there are people who didn't pay closer attention to the case nor did they understand why the jury found her not guilty. It also made me realize that the people who think she's guilty, are most likely Atheists, Satanists, Commies, & Democrats due to their history of making death and rape threats. No Christian or Conservative would make those kinds of threats because of how bad that would look on them and how immoral it is.

Those are the emotions I was talking about, the type that causes people to make death threats. They did the same to Kyle Rittenhouse, it got to the point where Darrell Brooks ran over multiple innocent people at the Waukesha Parade. He did not like the verdict of Kyle Rittenhouse being found not guilty. Darrell Brooks's emotions turned him into a murderer, that's how dangerous it is to think emotionally and not rationally. When O.J. Simpson was found not guilty, you did not get the same reaction from white conservatives who thought he was guilty. Yes, they were upset, but they didn't go out of their way to kill people over this verdict.

However there were racist white liberals who decided to burn O.J. Simpson memorabilia, but that was the only legal extent as to how much they could get away with at the time because if this were the 1950's during the height of the KKK's popularity, they would get away with murdering innocent black Americans who supported O.J. Simpson. This reminds me, both Antifa and BLM murdered innocent people, rioted, looted, and burned down black-owned businesses, they got away with their crimes because they are DEMOCRAT. Which is the exact same reason the KKK got away with their crimes because they were DEMOCRAT.

Keep in mind that Oprah Winfrey went out of her way to try and paint Mark Fuhrman as a good guy to her audience because she herself is a Democrat and an Uncle Tom. She is the same woman who endorsed Barack Obama. She also promotes wokeism. So why in the fuck is she supporting a racist Nazi cop? Because she is an Uncle Tom!!!

By the way, there were plenty of facts to support the idea that O.J. Simpson did not murder Nicole Brown Simpson or Ron Goldman. Hence why the jury found him not guilty. I had to pay attention to both sides of the story to find out why the jury came to that conclusion and I think it's racist to assume that the jury voted emotionally because of their skin color.

Facts in a case matter. Not emotion. This reminds me, the Left tried to pressure the jury into giving Kyle Rittenhouse a guilty verdict. Despite evidence clearly showing that he defended himself against violent protesters. The Left still considers him a murderer not because they think he's guilty, but because he killed Antifa members and lived to tell about it. For example, if Kyle had killed two KKK members back in the 1950s, Democrats would be angry about that because he killed one of their own and lived to tell about it.

"But the parties switched." No, they didn't. The Democrats tell you that lie in order to sucker black people into voting for them. Democrats want to erase their own history. They want to steal credit for what the Republicans did (freeing the slaves) but they can't because history shows that Abraham Lincoln is a Republican and that the Democrats created the KKK. You can't erase history. Parties don't switch. 1 or 2 senators switching parties is not enough to switch an entire party. Robert Byrd is the grand wizard of the KKK and he died as a Democrat. Joe Biden has said many racist things in both his past and his present. Kamala Harris kept people in prison (heavily populated by blacks) beyond their sentence. So no, I don't trust the Democrats.

That's not to say that Republicans are trustworthy because there are still some Republicans I don't trust at all, mainly pro-establishment Republicans, especially the ones who are friendly with Democrats. Mitch McConnell, Mitt Romney, George W Bush, and Liz Cheney are prime examples of Republicans I don't trust. Anyways the point of this entire blog post is that you really have to dig deeper and look at both sides of the story in order to get a proper conclusion of what the truth really is, whether you agree with it or not is up to you. Don't blindly trust the mainstream media or politicians on the matter, they will not be unbias about it. You gotta do the research yourself and stop falling for the bullshit that both the media and politicians push on you. That is all.

[dumbestthingiveeverheard]

Dumbest Thing I've Ever Heard: 8/1/2023

Fifth Place: Asa Hutchinson

Despite being the only Republican running for President who I have any respect for, people need to face a rather important fact: Asa Hutchinson is not going to be President. Since the start of the 2024 race, it has been obvious that if Donald Trump entered he was going to be the nomination--and Trump has entered. This was demonstrated perfectly when Hutchinson was on CNN last night and we saw this graphic:

He couldn't even break half of one percent in any of the eight groups listed--seriously think about that.

Fourth Place: Laura Ingraham

Can we just admit that Fox News is a neo-Nazi network at this point? For fuck sake, last night brought us yet another example of a host pushing the horribly racist Great Replacement theory, with Ingraham saying:

Now, this is what Democrats have always wanted though, isn't it? An open border that would help usher in a new America. And this is what we're getting: Millions upon millions of illegals who fanned out across America with their free cell phones and dubious intentions.

I don't even know what to say about this outside of--well, this is the same thing Fox has been doing for years, and it seems like barley anybody, including the people whose job it is to monitor the right for things like this, barley notice it anymore. Media Matters barley took notice and from the looks of it no other media watchdog even mentioned it, it takes something especially offensive--like Greg's recent comments on the Holocaust--to even cause people to notice that Fox is engaging in the same rhetoric that actual fascists do.

Third Place: Steve Benen

MSNBC is easily the best out of the three cable news networks, but even they sometimes fall into the trap of not framing the story correctly. For example, Steve Benen's article on the website ran the headline "Dems slam Justice Alito’s latest claim as ‘stunningly wrong.’" However, this headline should make it a point to note that it's not merely the Democrats "slamming" Alito for saying Congress has no authority to regulate the Supreme Court, but it is them pointing out that what he said was, in fact, incorrect. This would be like claiming a teacher "slammed" a student who incorrectly answered a question on a test--except the student was also one of the nine most powerful people in the country.

Second Place: Michelle Goldberg

Her column "The Radicalization of the Young Right" falls into the typical liberal trap of having nostalgia for the terrible conservatives of the past because maybe they weren't as bad as those on the right today. The article sees her giving the benefit of the doubt to Nate Hochman, the DeSantis campaign staffer who was fired for putting fascist symbols into campaign ads, by writing:

Though the video’s imagery is clearly fascist — the sonnenrad, or sunwheel, is flanked by two rows of marching soldiers — Hochman has said that he didn’t know what the symbol meant. Given that he is Jewish, I’m inclined to believe that rather than being a covert Nazi, Hochman is simply a callow young man immersed in a milieu in which fascist idioms are so commonplace they can be picked up inadvertently. 

And honestly, who here hasn't accidentally put a fascist symbol into a video? (Or made their crossword puzzle look like a fascist symbol on the first day of a Jewish holiday?)

As Hochman clearly recognized, these days, young reactionaries find their inspiration not in the adolescent superman fantasies of Ayn Rand but in the nihilistic Joker energy of 4chan.

And how exactly are those two things different? Ayn Rand wrote stories about how everything was bad in mainstream society and those on the sidelines need to take over and get rid of all of those who disagree, and that's the motto of the modern right-wing. Of course, Ayn Rand was never a source of inspiration for reactionaries, who were primarily conservative, because Rand was not one--William Buckley, the person behind the post-World War Two conservative movement, even hated Ayn Rand and pushed her out of his new right.

Winner: John O'Connor

It's not everyday you see somebody attempt to defend Richard Nixon, but O'Connor did just that in his Townhall column "How Watergate Journalism Sowed the Seeds of Today’s Toxic Division." Even ignoring the silliness of the claim that Bob Woodward, a registered Republican, would do something like take down a sitting Republican President, and that The Washington Post would use Watergate as nothing more than an attempt to take down Nixon but wouldn't release most of the information on it until after the 1972 Presidential Election (George McGovern changing running mates was covered far more than Watergate during 1972) is nonsensical, but O'Connor is here to tell us what really happened:

But what was so patently false about the Washington Post Watergate journalism?  From the first days of the burglary arrests of June 17, 1972, the Post knew facts strongly showing that this had not been a White House campaign operation but, rather, was a small part of a widespread, long-lasting CIA program of surveilling prostitutes and their Johns.  Inveigling seeming White House approval from lower aides, the CIA hoped to gain a get out-of-jail-free card if later exposed.

And the fact that the organization which did this was called the Committee to Re-Elect the President is--what, a really bad coincidence? For those curious, O'Connor shows no evidence for this claim--instead he just spends the rest of the column insulting Mark Felt and modern journalism.

John O'Connor, you've said the dumbest thing I've ever heard.

[scuttling]

Paper Rings

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 10,191 Tags: SFW, Fluff, Literature, Friends to lovers, Everyone thinks they're dating, There was only one bed, Some angst with a happy ending, Confessing love in the rain, TW fire and blood/wound Summary: Some of my favorite tropes rolled into one cute fic inspired by Taylor Swift's Paper Rings. (lyrics and music) Link to A03 or read below! “Good morning, my friendly neighborhood crime fighters,” Penelope says as she enters the briefing room, wearing a dress that is bright bubblegum pink, with fingerless gloves and glasses to match. You, Derek, and Spencer groan your replies, because you just got home from a case last night, with less than seven hours between arriving at your apartment and returning to the office, and that is everyone’s least favorite thing.

You can’t deny that her typical sunny disposition makes you smile a little bit brighter, but you’re still exhausted, and even your usual extra large travel mug of breakfast blend is barely taking the edge off.

That’s probably why, when Aaron enters with trays of steaming espresso drinks from the cafe down the street, and a striped box of donuts, you act like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Oh my god, I love you. Thank you, I love you.” He got an array of basic drinks based on everyone’s usual orders, and you scan for one that has something with latte, but he takes one out and hands it to you, smiling when you take a sip and sigh—okay, he’s smiling with his eyes, but you are well versed in his body language and facial expressions, and he’s practically grinning at getting your order (triple one pump hazelnut extra hot latte) correct.

You are not the only one to notice.

“Get a room, you two; it’s just coffee,” Derek says, taking the white mocha from the tray and drinking half of it in one sip. “Now if you tell me there’s a bear claw in there, I’ll confess my undying love too.”

“I don’t know; I asked for an assortment,” he says, and it’s clear he did, but your cup has your name on it; you cover the ink with your hand and take another grateful sip. “I do know there’s a plain glazed in there, though,” he says a bit lower, just for you, and you smile, give his wrist a squeeze, and dive for it before Jennifer Jareau can get her hands on it.

That’s all the morning meeting consists of—bickering and bantering and caffeine and carb consumption—and when the group disperses, you follow Aaron to his office and sit down in the chair across from his.

“Thanks again for breakfast. You definitely raised the morale of the troops,” you say with a sip of your perfect latte, and he shares the hint of a smile.

“You’re welcome. It helps that you’re all so easy to appease.” He flips open his bag, pulls out a small, worn, paperback book, tosses it toward you. You pick it up, run your hand over the well-loved cover, and hum.

“The Call of the Wild—this made it into the Aaron Hotchner Nightstand Collection?” He arches a brow.

“It’s so overrated that it’s underrated; no one ever actually reads it, they just assume they know what it’s about. It’s a great book, if you’ll give it a chance.”

“Hey, you’ve read all of mine without complaint; of course I’ll give it a chance.” You take the last, sad sip of your latte and stand up, point out the door with your thumb. “Speaking of, mine’s still downstairs on my desk. I’ll be right back.”

Exchanging books started as an offhand comment one night, on a flight home from Georgia, when he’d mentioned that he never buys new books, only cycles through the same ten or twelve he’s been reading since college. He knows what he likes, finds something different in the text each time he reads, and you’d found something so profoundly beautiful about that that you’d asked for the list. You wanted to know more about the books that tug at his emotions enough that he’s read them day in and day out for over twenty years with no boredom in sight.

He’d done you one better, said he’d be happy to lend them to you, if you’d like, and that was an offer you couldn’t refuse. Seeing college-aged Aaron’s notes in the margins of battered paperback novels was a prospect too good to be true.

Of course, you couldn’t accept the gesture without returning one of your own, so you’d offered to share your favorite books with him too, only... you don’t exactly give him your favorite books. You purposefully buy the cheesiest romance novels you can get your hands on, pass them off to him while he hands you poignant, classic novels that have won literary awards and Nobel prizes.

Today’s is called Lord of Scoundrels, complete with a shirtless man on the cover, kissing a woman with dark, flowing hair and a light blue dress; you snicker the whole way to your desk and back up to his office—earning curious glances from the rest of the team—and when you drop it on the desk in front of Aaron, you watch closely for a reaction.

As usual, he doesn’t really give you one, just flips the book over, skims the summary on the back, and nods.

“Sounds interesting,” he says, and your heart does a little flip.

He could easily hand the book back, laugh in your face, refuse to read something so clearly out of his wheelhouse, but he thinks these novels are important to you, and he never fails to read them, offering his favorite parts the same way you do for his.

The world probably doesn’t deserve Aaron Hotchner; you definitely don’t.

“I think you’ll really like it. Sebastian and Jessica start out kind of indifferent toward each other, but the more they interact, the more they find they have in common. It’s very acquaintances to friends to lovers, if you’re into that.” He looks up with an expression you place as uncertainty, even if you’re not quite sure the reason for it. You smile softly. “I should get to work, but thanks for the book. I’ll see you at lunch?”

It’s been so nice lately that you started taking your lunch outside, sitting on a bench beneath a huge, shady oak tree, and Aaron had taken to doing the same; you both quickly realized it was stupid to sit outside together, apart, so you meet up in the bullpen now and walk out side by side, spend the hour talking about your books or the team or Jack or life in general. He shakes the uncertain expression, nods his head.

“Of course. Thank you,” he says with a wave of the book, and you head back downstairs to start your day.

You’ve become mostly accustomed to the feeling, but it still surprises you a little when all that gets you through the day is thinking about your next conversation with Aaron. A week later, you’re on a case in Pittsburgh, and you and Aaron are paired up to room together. That’s nothing unusual—it seems like you’ve been rooming together more often than not lately, which is fine by you; he’s tidy, quiet, always interested in a late night snack, pretty much the perfect roommate—but when he opens the door and you step inside, the single king size bed in the middle of the room takes you by surprise.

“Uh… do you think it’s a mistake? Or maybe they just ran out of doubles?” you suggest; he's kind of frozen in place, and while it’s not ideal, you know it’s not actually going to be a problem. You’ve shared a bed with JJ before, and Spencer, and even though you don’t feel the same way about them as you do about Aaron, you think you can manage a couple nights in close quarters.

“Probably just ran out of doubles,” he agrees after a moment; he doesn’t bring up calling the front desk to ask for another room, so you don’t either, just hang your clothes and head into the bathroom to change into your pajamas and do your nightly routine.

It’s a little awkward at first, and you don’t know why; over the last six months or so, he’s actually become your closest friend on the team, and conversation usually comes easily, but silence settles over the room uncomfortably as you slip between the sheets on your side of the bed.

He goes into the bathroom, does his own nightly routine, then comes out in his pajamas and turns on CNN.

You take out your book, pay no attention to Aaron, but the longer he sits on the edge of the bed, staring at the news ticker on the television screen but not actually watching it, the more you wish he’d just get over himself and come to bed. If he’s trying to wait for you to fall asleep, he’s going to be waiting a while.

“So you were right; I love Buck,” you say as a way to start some conversation, to bring some normalcy to this unusual situation. You hold up the book you’re reading, the one he let you borrow. “His struggle between remaining loyal to his owner and answering the call of the wild—I love dogs, but I never imagined a book about a dog could be so moving.”

He turns back with a soft smile, then switches off the tv and heads over to his side of the bed; he pulls back the comforter, slides between the sheets, meets you toward the middle of the bed.

“I told you you’d like it; what chapter are you on?” He leans over to look, so close it wouldn’t take much to lift a hand and brush it over his hair; it looks unfairly soft, and part of you wants to card your fingers through it, to tug on it and mess it up a little. He probably wouldn’t even mind if you did.

“Chapter 7—I only have a few pages left.” You snuggle more comfortably against your pillow, lean into his shoulder, and move the book so it’s more evenly between you. “Want to finish it with me?”

He does, and you read silently at a similar pace; he reaches up to turn the pages, and you think about how these hands have flipped through this book so many times before, what he might have been thinking, feeling, while reading. It’s a more intimate act than you’ve shared with anyone in a really long time.

When you finish the book, you sigh, let the feeling of reading a really great story envelope you; you turn to face Aaron, and he’s looking at you… and then there’s a knock at the door that startles you both.

He gets up, walks over and checks the peep hole, then opens the door.

“Are you sure?” you hear JJ ask, and he steps back so she can enter the room; when she sees you tucked snugly into the middle of the bed, she shoots you a soft smile and mouths you’re welcome, which makes absolutely no sense without context. You’ll have to bring it up to her later and ask what exactly you’re supposed to be thanking her for.

“So you said the detective called?” Aaron prompts her, and she looks away from you, nods.

“Yes, he wanted me to ask if we could have a few agents meet him at the second crime scene tomorrow instead of the precinct, figured it could save a little time.” Aaron looks confused, like he doesn’t see why this couldn’t have waited until tomorrow, but he ultimately agrees.

“Sure. You, Reid, and Prentiss can head straight there, if that’s what he wants. I’ll let them know in the morning.” JJ nods, and looks over at you, and then back at Aaron, who makes a kind but curious face. “Was there something else?”

“Huh? Oh, no, that’s it. I just didn’t want to forget. I’ll let you guys go—enjoy the rest of your night,” she says with a smile and a wave, and when he closes the door behind her, you both exchange a look.

She’s definitely acting a little weird, but it’s late, so you give her the benefit of the doubt.

You scoot over to your side, put the book on the nightstand and switch off your lamp; Aaron climbs back into bed and switches his off, too, and he turns to face the wall while you lay on your back and stare at the ceiling.

It takes about half an hour, but he falls asleep first; you turn to face him, watching his back, following the rise and fall as he softly breathes in sleep, and the peaceful rhythm lulls you into submission, and you drift off as well.

When you wake up a couple hours later, he is on his stomach with his face pressed into his pillow, and you are draped over his back with your cheek against his t-shirt. It’s soft, and warm, and smells like him, and you glance at the clock and realize it’s too early to do anything but get comfortable and fall back asleep, so that’s exactly what you do.

The next time you wake up, to light creeping in between the curtains, Aaron is no longer in bed, but you’re holding his pillow, still warm beneath your cheek. He doesn’t act weird when you get up and start moving around, just pops out of the bathroom with his toothbrush dangling from his mouth.

“Got you a latte,” he says around it, gesturing to the desk and the pair of paper cups that sit on it, and you grin.

“Seriously, you’re my favorite human,” you answer, and you grab your coffee and lean against the doorframe, sipping and sighing until you’re a little more clear-headed. “Sorry if I crushed you; guess I was restless last night. I usually don’t move around that much.”

He just shrugs, spits out a mouthful of foam into the sink.

“You didn’t crush me. I’m pretty solid, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“I’ve noticed,” you tease, looking at him over the lid as you take another sip. “Now hurry up and quit hogging the bathroom if you want to leave here at a decent hour.” He rinses, zips up his toiletry bag noisily for dramatic effect, and slips past you, rubbing a hand over your unruly bed head as he goes. The day passes quickly, with lots of interviewing witnesses, following dead-end leads, and bad police station coffee. When Aaron calls it and tells everyone to get some dinner, you all split off into smaller groups—Spencer and Derek go for Chinese, JJ and Emily opt for pizza, and you and Aaron end up at a retro diner with burgers and milkshakes and a plate of fries between you to share.

“I think we should be focusing more on the docks,” you say, dipping a fry in ketchup and taking a bite. “Even if that’s not where the bodies end up, it seems to be where the unsub is meeting with the victims. We could stake it out tonight, maybe. If you want.” You never want to step on his toes, because he is the boss, the leader, even if you’re friends too; you try to be careful how you phrase things, especially in front of other people, because you don’t want your comfort to look like disrespect, however unintentional.

“That’s a good idea. You and I can head down there after this; I’ll let the others know to patrol nearby, in case we need backup.”

He dusts off his fingers and pulls out his phone, types out a text, and you look around the restaurant—the place looks like it was ripped right out of the 50s, with a checkered floor and lots of red vinyl, a shiny jukebox in the corner. Out of place is a flatscreen tv behind the counter; during the day, when it’s busier, it might play news or sports, but you two are the only ones here at the moment, so the staff is hanging out beneath it watching a movie. It’s Titanic, you realize, when the iconic ‘Rose floating on a piece of debris’ scene plays, and you snort, take a long drag of your chocolate shake.

“I always hated this part. They could have found a way for him to survive, too. Unnecessary death for the heartache factor,” you say, and Aaron looks up from his phone to the screen, makes a sound of contemplation.

“I always thought it was kind of romantic. When you love someone, you’d do anything for them to be okay, even at your own expense. Even if it’s stupid.” You look over his face, study the features you know like the back of your hand, and you guess you can kind of see that, but you can’t say that, so you just sigh.

“I suppose you think Romeo and Juliet is romantic, too,” you tease, and he looks back at you, rolls his eyes.

“It’s very much of its time; it's a lot harder to suffer a miscommunication like that these days. And there is something to be said for star-crossed lovers—people who shouldn’t be together, for one reason or another, but can’t help but drift close anyway.” You swirl your straw in the metal cup, thinking briefly of how that happens to describe the two of you, and when you look up at him, you think you see a hint of that same thought on his face.

More likely, that’s just wishful thinking.

“I like the sword-fights,” you say to lighten the mood, and he laughs, and you both polish off the rest of your food and then head for the docks.

Two hours in and absolutely nothing has happened, but just when you’re ready to complain, or suggest playing I Spy or something, there’s movement from one of the shipping containers to your right. You nudge Aaron, point to the container, and you both creep closer, trying to make out the situation.

When you’re just around the corner, it’s clearly two men fighting, but you obviously don’t know if this is your unsub, two random guys having it out on the docks, or what, so you mutually agree to wait until you have some kind of sign that this is your guy. When one of them pulls out a hunting knife that looks vaguely similar to your murder weapon—as close as you can tell in the dark, anyway—you raise your guns and identify yourselves as FBI.

The unsub drops the knife, but fists his hands in the other guy’s jacket, manhandles him to the edge of the dock, and shoves him into the water, then jumps as well. You swear, and Aaron takes off his jacket, throws it on the ground, then his phone on top of it, and looks back at you.

“Stay here and call for backup,” he instructs, and then he jumps in too; you call the team from your comms, get a response from Emily, and then toss your phone onto Aaron’s jacket and follow him.

He, of course, went for the victim first, so you look for the unsub, who is not visible above the water. You completely submerge yourself, feeling for more than looking for him, because the water is cloudy on a good day and pitch black at ten o’clock at night; when you pop your head up for air, you see Aaron getting the victim up onto the dock, and the unsub bobbing a bit further out. You swim to him, limbs aching, and he seems to know it’s time to give up.

He’s winded, gasping for breath, so you keep him above the water to your own detriment, dragging him by his wet jacket instead of cuffing him, because you’re not trying to kill the guy or lug his unconscious body back to shore. You just barely keep your own head above water most of the time, coming up for big gulps of air when absolutely necessary.

You finally make it to the dock, and your team has arrived, so Derek pulls him out of the water, makes sure he’s alright, and puts some cuffs on him. Aaron’s hands are on you right after, getting you up on the dock, wrapping a towel around your shoulders.

Despite the warm spring breeze, the water was freezing, and you can feel your teeth chattering. He rubs your arms for warmth, crouches down to look you seriously in the eyes.

“Thought I told you to stay here,” he says with an arched brow, a scowl you can tell is more concerned than angry. You wet your frozen lips and try your best to smile.

“You jump, I jump, Jack.”

He looks at you like you’re an idiot, but fondly, if that’s possible, then hugs you so tightly, guides your face to press against his warm neck. How he’s not teetering on the edge of hypothermia is anyone’s guess.

“Your lips are practically blue. Stupid,” he murmurs, but his mouth dusts over your temple in what is unmistakably a kiss, and when you’re able to feel your lips again, you reciprocate, press them a little harder against his throat while you shiver in his arms.

It doesn’t mean anything except I’m happy we’re both alive. Probably.

That night in bed, he faces the wall, and you stare at the ceiling, but you wake up with your nose against the back of his neck. The way he’s breathing tells you he’s not asleep, and when you wrap your arms around him, he holds them tight. Things don’t change after Pittsburgh, and that’s okay. You are comfortable with the way things are, and you love what you have—lunches under the oak tree, the exchange of books, late night texts when you both can’t sleep, hands brushing when you walk to the parking garage, glances shared across the jet. All those things make it easy not to focus on what you don’t have, what you’re not even sure Aaron would want anyway.

You exchange books again on Friday at lunch: he hands you Beloved by Toni Morrison, a book you already know and adore, and you hand him Ravished by Amanda Quick.

“Dubbed the Beast of Blackthorne Hall for his scarred face and lecherous past, Gideon,” Aaron shoots you a glance—“that’s purely coincidental”—“was strong and fierce and notoriously menacing. Yet Harriet could not find it in her heart to fear him. For in his tawny gaze she sensed a savage pain she longed to soothe... and a searing passion she yearned to answer.”

You hold back a smile.

“It’s a modern retelling of a classic story—Beauty and the Beast,” you add, taking a bite of your sandwich. He looks you over like there’s something he wants to say, but he just tucks it under his arm and steals a piece of melon from your lunch.

“I have Jack this weekend, so I probably won’t get to read much, but it sounds intriguing.”

“Well I hope you like it when you read it. Tell him I said hi; it’s been too long since I saw him. I bet he’s looking more like you every day,” you say, popping a piece of melon into your mouth. He smiles softly.

“A little, but Haley says she sees her father in him, and I have to agree. We may have to wait a few years until he looks like me; he’s too cute for that now.” He doesn’t sound self-deprecating, just fond, but you can’t let a comment like that stand, regardless.

“You’re cute; the difference is that kids are cute all the time. You’re an adult, so sometimes you’re handsome, sometimes you’re cute, sometimes you’re hot… it can be hard to reconcile.” This time, he looks you over with something light and playful in his eyes, and it’s something you want to explore, but the timer on your phone goes off, indicating that lunch is over, so you just exhale softly and pack up your things.

You don’t talk much after that—his Fridays are usually busy with meetings, and he leaves in a hurry to pick up Jack, which is understandable.

Emily, JJ, and Penelope invite you out for drinks and dinner—“because we know Hotch is busy,” Penelope says, which has literally nothing to do with your weekend plans, but you don’t correct them—so you don’t linger either.

You go out for Italian, so you are sleepy and full of wine and pasta by the end of the evening, and you smile at your friends.

“Thanks for inviting me out tonight, guys. I had a really good time.”

“Of course,” Emily says, taking her last sip of Pinot Noir. “We barely see you anymore; it was long overdue.”

“Definitely,” you agree. “I should really try to drag my ass out of bed more often.” You can’t help it, though, that after a long day, your bed and a good book just call your name. You’ve always been introverted in that way. JJ laughs softly, chin in her palm, elbow on the table.

“Honeymoon phase. Give it another couple months and you’ll be past that.” You do have a new memory foam mattress that has made sinking into the pillows and blankets all that more indulgent, but you didn’t think JJ knew about that. And you’ve never heard of a honeymoon phase for a mattress before.

“Eh, I don’t think so. There’s literally nothing more satisfying on this earth.” The three of them exchange an amused look, but your phone vibrates, and that catches your attention; you smile when it’s Aaron, sending you a photo of Jack with a toothy grin and his hands covered in fingerpaint. You look up to the sound of chairs scraping against the floor.

“Alright, we’ve lost her. See you all Monday,” Emily says, pulling you in for a hug; when she steps back, she smiles. “And tell Hotch we said hi.”

“I will,” you promise as you hug the other two. You hang back a moment, type out a reply—Looks like you’re having lots of fun without me!—and get into your car to head home.

You change into comfy clothes, drink a glass of water, and climb into bed with Beloved, and at around 9:30 you receive a reply.

Having the most fun we can without you. Maybe next time Jack is over, we can tempt you with dinosaur chicken nuggets and fingerpaint?

You smile, the happiest you’ve been all night—and that’s saying something, because you really did have a great time—and send back, It’s a date. Come Monday, you’re feeling pretty good, well-rested and relaxed from probably too much time in bed, but Aaron looks upset when he walks into the morning meeting. He keeps it short and sweet, and everyone disperses quickly, giving you sympathetic looks as you hang back to try to have a word with him. He clears off the white board, tidies up the table that doesn’t need tidying, and you place a hand on his back, gentle and comforting. He sighs, and you can feel the tension leave him almost instantly.

“Hey. What’s bothering you?” you ask softly, leaning around to try to catch his expression; he looks tired, sad, and maybe a little conflicted, leans into your touch.

“Taking Jack back to Haley’s was rough last night; it always is, but yesterday was really bad.” You know a little about this from weekends past, how Jack always cries when Aaron has to leave, how he feels terrible about it for the rest of the evening, but it must have been extreme for him to still be so upset. “And Haley…” He sighs again, runs his hand through his hair. “It’s like it’s one step forward, two steps back with her sometimes.”

“Why don’t we go sit in your office and you can tell me more?” You want to continue discussing this—that’s what friends are for, and he’s clearly in a bad state emotionally, you think it could help—but he just shakes his head.

“No, I… it’s okay. I don’t want to weigh you down with my problems.” You take your hand off his back, lean a hip against the table and look up at him.

“I’m not just your friend when it’s all easy breezy, lunch in the sunshine, talking about our favorite books,” you say with a sad smile; he reciprocates a little, which is more than you expected. “I’m here when things are complicated, when you have bad days, too. The Monday blues especially.” One of his hands rests on the table, and you cover it with yours, lean in to press your forehead to his shoulder. “Let me be here, okay? Even if all you need me to do is listen.”

It takes a moment, and his eyes are wet when he finally responds; he inhales deeply, nods, and brushes his free hand over your head in something of a hug, murmurs a rough, “okay.”

You sit in his office for an hour—which, again, is more than you expected—listening to him talk about his weekend with Jack, how heartbreaking it was to take him back to Haley’s, how he tried talking to her about taking him more often and she just wasn’t sure she could trust him to do what he says he’ll do. He understands where she’s coming from, knows he’s been unable to keep his word in the past, thinks he doesn’t deserve the benefit of the doubt; he hasn’t asked for advice, seems to just want to vent, so you just listen.

“Then I mentioned you, that you might come for dinner next time he’s over, and she was worried about that,” he says, exasperated, and you frown.

“Why would she worry about that? I’ve been around him lots of times.” It doesn't make sense, because Haley has always been nothing but sweet to you; Aaron looks up at your question, and it seems a little like maybe he hadn’t meant to say that part, though you can’t imagine why.

“It’s just different now… because he’s older,” he says after a brief moment of hesitation. “She doesn’t want him getting attached to someone who might not always be around, you know.” You sigh softly, because if that’s all it is…

You lean forward, take his hand, squeeze it tight.

“I’m always going to be around, Aaron. I can talk to her, if you want, tell her that.”

“No, it’s—you don’t have to do that.” He squeezes your hand back, closes his eyes for a beat. “Just hearing you say it, it makes things easier. I’ll talk to her again next time.”

You talk a little more, and he seems a lot better afterward, even if he is a bit less expressive during lunch; you figure any progress is good, but it makes you sad to see him so down, so naturally, you formulate a plan to help get him back to the Aaron you know and love.

At the end of the day, when he makes his way to the bullpen, you spin around in your chair, take him by the sleeve.

“You’re coming home with me tonight,” you say in no uncertain tone of voice. “For a few hours. I’ll bring you back for your car.” He agrees with a fond look, and you lose yourself in the expression for a moment, then stand up, grab your things, and walk with him out to the garage.

Rush hour traffic is what it is, and you leave Aaron in charge of the music, which means you get The Beatles and The Who, Rolling Stones and Neil Diamond, and you’re both singing along and so much happier by the time you pull into the parking lot of the bodega nearest your apartment.

“Just running in for provisions—be right back,” you say with a grin, and when you return with two paper bags of loot, he looks at you like you might be his favorite person in the world with an age in the double digits. It’s a look you love putting on his face.

“Do I get to see what provisions you’ve acquired?” he asks, teasing, but you shake your head and tell him he’ll see it when you get there.

With a pit stop in your apartment to grab a blanket and a few throw pillows, you take him up to the roof and get things ready for your makeshift picnic. There is white wine, still mostly chilled; cubed cheese, far from gourmet but no less delicious; crusty french bread that was fresh this morning but at this hour is a little extra crusty; blueberries, because they didn’t have grapes; dark chocolate, because you share a fondness for it; and paper cups for the wine.

Aaron takes a look at your bounty, spread over the blanket, and smiles the first real smile you’ve seen all day.

“Fancy,” he teases, and he takes off his jacket, gets on the ground with you. You pour each of you some wine, pop a blueberry in your mouth.

“No, but I thought a meal—and I do call it that loosely—under the stars might do you some good.” You lift your paper cup and tap it against his, brush your fingers over his hand. “To the best boss, best dad, best friend I could ask for.” You take a sip, but he doesn’t at first, watches you with something simmering behind his eyes.

“Do I get to make a toast?” he asks after a few beats, and you smile, nod, and hold up your cup. “To the only person stupid enough to jump into a freezing cold river after me. To the only person I would consider eating a bodega dinner with. To the only person who sees me the way you do.” You both take a sip, which is hard to swallow around the lump in your throat. He looks into your eyes, then breaks the dark chocolate into slivers and hands you a piece like he didn’t just say the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to you before.

You eat, and talk, and drink, and when you’re done with dinner you put everything back in the bags and lay back on the blanket, side by side, and stare up at the stars. The moon is high and full, shining while the stars twinkle around it, and you can’t think of a single time you’ve ever felt more at peace.

“This was really perfect,” Aaron says, almost a whisper, after about twenty minutes of companionable silence. “I can’t thank you enough for being there for me today.” You turn to face him, hands curled up under your chin, and he turns toward you as well. He’s so handsome in the moonlight your heart almost aches.

“You don’t have to thank me. I just wanted to see you happy.” You feel your eyes well up with tears, because he deserves to be happy; you sigh, blink them away, and he leans in and presses his lips to your forehead, rests them there for a long time. When he eventually pulls back, you bring a hand to his hair, brush it back at his temple, and then the creaking of the door makes you pull back, sit up.

It’s your neighbor from 422, who you’ve seen on the roof a handful of times, sneaking away from his wife to smoke a cigarette. He squints in the dark, recognizes you, and waves.

“Hey, 418! You’re not alone tonight.” Aaron sits up too, and you laugh softly.

“Nope, but we were just leaving. The roof is all yours.” Aaron stands, pulls you up, and you grab the blanket and pillows while he grabs the bags, and the two of you head back down to your place.

It’s after ten when you get the groceries put away, and you stand next to Aaron in your small kitchen, contemplating what you want to say next. Your mouth betrays your brain, says what you’ve been thinking but weren’t quite sure how to approach.

“It’s late; I know I said I’d take you back to your car, but you could stay here if you want. I have a spare toothbrush, and I know you have a spare suit at the office, and it’s not like it’s the first time we’ve shared a bed before.”

You’d completely understand if he’d rather go home—you hate when your plans are changed at the last minute, and you prefer to do your full nightly routine for your sanity’s sake—but he only nods, and you lead your way to the bedroom, show him the master bath.

You are in your pajamas, tucked into bed, when he comes out in his boxers and undershirt; he hangs up his suit in your closet where you’d left him some space, then climbs in beside you. He looks over at you, then past you, at your nightstand, which has a stack of books on it—none of them romance novels. You grin, busted after months of book exchanges, and he leans over you to look at the titles.

“Persuasion, To Kill A Mockingbird, One Hundred Years of Solitude—Beloved.” He looks from your copy of the novel to his, which you hold in your hands, and you shrug sheepishly.

“I like reading the notes you put in the margins,” you say meekly, hoping he’s not angry, but all he does is laugh.

“Let me guess: you don’t actually like romance novels.” He leans back against your pillow, and so do you, resting the book on your lap.

“I mean, I don’t not like them… but I’ve been buying those just for you.” The smile on his face is brilliant, and only makes you yearn for him more; things you have been purposefully not feeling are flooding your heart and mind and body now, with him so close, laughing over this stupid secret you’ve been hiding for so long. “And you, sweet man that you are, have been reading them, and discussing them.” You put your hand on his shoulder, and he ducks his head to laugh again.

“Since we’re being honest… I didn’t read all of them. I tried,” he says when you act offended, shoving the shoulder you’re resting against, “but some of them were so bad. I just flipped through, found something I thought could pass as my favorite part, and hoped to hell you didn't ask too many questions.”

You both laugh until you’re breathless—he is so different from how he was this morning it makes you want to cry—and when your laughter dies down you look at each other, sharing breath, two heads on one pillow; is it any wonder you bridge the distance, pull him close for a warm, gentle kiss?

When you break the kiss, you are instantly worried about what Aaron will do—you aren’t drunk, aren’t even tipsy, so you know he can’t be, so much bigger and more solid than you, but will he think it’s a mistake? He kissed back, you’re pretty sure, but maybe that was an accident, something done on autopilot—

He leans in for a second kiss, mouth deceptively soft, and you curl your arm around his back, press into it with lips desperate not to let this end now that it’s started. When you separate, you are both looking into each other’s eyes again, breathing a bit heavily, and you meet in the middle for a third kiss, the best kiss you’ve ever had in your life.

That kiss ends when you yawn in his face, and he chuckles softly, leans over and switches off your bedside lamp; you smile at the ceiling, and he wraps his arms around you, presses his lips to your shoulder, and tells you good night. The next day, the two of you arrive at work early so he can shower and change into his fresh clothes without anyone on the team noticing—not that you think they would really care, but they’re nosy, and a little annoying, so you both agree that’s probably for the best.

You don’t talk about the kisses, even though they’ve been the only thing running through your mind since they happened; you promise to discuss it at lunch, though, and that’s such a sweet, romantic prospect that you think you prefer it better that way anyway.

Only, you don’t ever get to lunch, because there’s an urgent case in Minneapolis, an all hands on deck situation, meaning even Penelope joins you on the jet. You debrief on the flight, hunker down in the conference room, and split up to cover more ground; you barely get to speak to Aaron the whole time you’re there except to be given instructions and to fill him on what, if anything, you’ve learned.

You don’t even make it to your hotel that night, working around the clock to catch the people responsible for terrorizing the city. It takes not one, but almost two full days, and when you board the jet on Wednesday evening, everyone is dead on their feet. You barely remember the flight or the trip home, and you fall onto your bed fully clothed and crash just like that.

Thursday is your birthday, which you almost forgot, and so you assumed everyone else would too. You should have known better, because even if your team can be annoying, they are still your friends, and they love you, so you are well and truly spoiled.

You are treated to a latte and bagels from Emily, purple cupcakes with silver sprinkles from Penelope, a piggy back ride from Derek, a book of poetry you’ve had your eye on from Spencer, and a card from JJ—really, it turns out, from all of them.

“Enjoy a romantic getaway on us?” There’s some kind of certificate in the card, and when you flip it over, you discover that it’s for a hotel and spa that offers couples massages, mud baths, intimate aromatherapy? You arch a brow. “Uh, thanks, guys. Are you trying to tell me something here?” JJ’s face falls a little and she points to the card.

“It’s a romantic getaway. For you and Hotch? Since things have been so hectic lately,” she says, but your ears are kind of ringing and your brain is stuck on the for you and Hotch part.

“Oh. Um. Sorry—it’s just kind of soon, I think? How do you guys even know about that?” you murmur. The two of you haven’t had time to discuss Monday yet, and you haven’t spoken a word to anyone; you wouldn’t have guessed Aaron would have either, but there is a gift certificate for a romantic getaway in your hands, and you’re kind of spiraling.

“Well come on, we haven’t exactly been pretending we don’t know,” Emily says, and you can feel the confusion in your features when you look up at her. “And you guys haven’t been exactly secretive. We’re happy for you, though.”

“I mean, we haven’t been secretive, but we haven’t really had a chance to talk about it yet. It’s only been three days.” You are met with looks similar to the one on your own face.

“What do you mean, three days?” Spencer asks with a frown. “You and Hotch have been dating for almost two months. Right?” he says, looking at the others, and they nod, but it’s tentative. Your first reaction is to flush, and you close the card, fan your face with it.

“You guys think… You guys thought…” You look at them, then up at Aaron’s office; there’s no way he can know that you’re having a moment, but he chooses then to come downstairs, coincidentally. He’s smiling at first, but it falls when he looks at your face.

“Hey. Is everything okay?” He presses a cool hand to your hot cheek, flicks his eyes over yours, and JJ makes a noise; when you glance over at her, she’s gesturing between the two of you.

“I’m sorry, we were wrong? What were we supposed to think?” Aaron frowns, not following, and you take a deep breath.

“They got me a gift certificate for my birthday. To a spa. For you and I to have a romantic getaway, because they were under the assumption we’ve been dating… for two months.” The way he pulls back quickly makes your stomach ache a little, but you say nothing. You should have known.

“You say I love you,” Derek begins like he’s listing evidence. “You have lunch together every day. You’re always smiling at each other.”

“Seriously, some of the softest, gooiest smiles I’ve ever seen,” Penelope adds.

“You eat together on cases, you’re texting all the time when you’re not together.”

“I’ve been pairing the two of you up in hotels since I first figured out you were dating,” JJ says, and the whole ‘you’re welcome’ thing suddenly makes some sense. “I booked you that room with just the one bed so you’d maybe feel more comfortable about us knowing, so you’d see that we don’t mind.”

“You’re always looking at each other, always touching,” Spencer says. “In Pittsburgh—that was the first time you really hugged or kissed each other in front of us. We were trying to pretend it wasn’t a big deal, but it was kind of a big deal.”

You look over at Aaron, try to gauge his reaction, but for the first time in a long time you can’t tell what he’s feeling. You can’t really tell what you’re feeling, either. Sadness. Worry. Loss? But what have you lost?

“We’re friends,” you say, even if it sounds weak to your own ears. “We’re… close.”

“We wouldn’t exactly make sense as a couple, would we?” Aaron asks rhetorically, and your heart clenches when he says that. He told you this morning that he’d made dinner plans for you, both for your birthday and to discuss the kisses, what they mean, where you go from here, but that doesn’t sound very promising anymore. “We’re just—”

“Star-crossed,” you say, but you feel like your eyes are vacant. You can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You’re stupid for kissing him, for letting yourself think he could feel the same way you feel, have felt for a while. Isn’t friendship enough? Don’t you already have this special bond so unlike what you have with anyone else in your life? Why press your luck? You know better than that. “We should get back to work.”

You don’t look at Aaron, so you don’t know whether or not he looks at you. JJ does, and you can tell she knows you’re upset, but she just nudges everyone on their way, and you take a seat at your desk—it’s covered in balloons and streamers, the Penelope special.

You’ve never felt less like celebrating.

At lunchtime, Aaron stops at your desk, and the two of you walk out to the bench, open your bags in silence. You’re almost halfway through the hour before he tries to speak.

“Uh. I. About earlier,” he finally gets out, looking down at his sandwich, and you shake your head even though he’s not watching you.

“It’s fine. We don’t have to.” You take a bite of your salad even though you don’t taste it. “You’re right, it doesn’t make sense. You are who you are,” smart, sweet, handsome, tender, caring, “and I am who I am.” Too quiet, too young, too impulsive, too silly, too emotional. He nods, looks at your face for the first time in a while, swallows.

“Right.” You’re due to exchange books back—his is on your lap, yours is on his—and he picks them both up. “I’m like this,” he says, holding up Beloved. “Faded cover, dog-eared pages, scribbles in the margins: middle-aged, divorced, a little broken, barely holding it together for the kid I don’t get to spend enough time with. You’re like this,” he says, holding up Ravished. “Fresh and glossy and shiny and new, with your whole life ahead of you, the whole world ahead of you. You could do anything, with anyone.”

You frown, because this is not what you meant, at all. How could he think that about himself, when the well-loved cover and the dog-eared pages and the scribbles in the margins are all the best parts of him?

“Aaron,” you say, but it sounds like pleading; you reach out to put your hands on his arms, but he pulls them back. His eyes are rimmed red, lips pressed together to hold back everything he’s not saying.

“I think lunch is almost over.” He packs up his things, leaves you with tears in your eyes and a wilted salad and a brand new romance novel you’re never going to read.

Later, he cancels dinner, says something came up, and you go home to your empty bed and watch Titanic and bawl your eyes out when Rose tells Jack she’ll never let go. Friday, you get another case. Weekend cases are no one’s favorite, but especially not yours, when you desperately needed that buffer of time away from Aaron to sort out your feelings and get back to some sense of normalcy. Instead, you’re flying to a small town outside of Nashville to catch a serial arsonist, and when you get to your hotel, you and Aaron are sharing a room.

At least there are two beds, this time.

You go with Emily and Spencer to a crime scene, walking around a house that was once picture perfect and is now all charred wood and ash, and you quickly tell yourself to get a grip and not look for metaphors for your own life while trying to solve a case. What kind of investigator are you? Pathetic, apparently.

You work until evening, and when it’s time to break for dinner, you buy a sad looking assortment of items from the police station vending machine and eat in the conference room by yourself.

It’s a good thing you do, because they get a call about the fire while everyone is still away, and you and a few locals are the first on the scene.

It doesn’t start out bad, mostly located in the back of the house, but you know how quickly these things can spread, and the fire department is working hard to put it out. One of the officers is talking to the family, and the mother is crying, so you come closer to figure out why.

“She said the daughter was supposed to be staying at a friend’s, but sometimes she changes her mind at the last minute and comes home. She can’t get ahold of her,” the officer says, and you nod, thinking.

“Where would she be? The front or the back?”

“Her room is in the front, second floor; if she’s here, that’s where she’d be,” the mother says, wiping her eyes with a tissue, and you tell the officer to stay with them, that you’ll take care of it. You talk to the firefighters—this town is so small there are only two that were able to respond, and they’re both busy trying to put out the fire, but they clear you to go in if you stick to the front of the building and get out of there as fast as you can.

Your team isn’t here yet either, too far out for comms to be effective, and you can’t get ahold of Aaron, so you make a judgement call and head inside.

The front of the house is so eerily normal it’s almost easy to calm your nerves and pretend the back isn’t in the process of being destroyed. You open the front door, run up the staircase, and call out for the girl; she answers, not from the front of the house, but the back—a bathroom maybe? Flames lick up the wall beside it, but you can get to the knob, and she comes rushing out, into your arms, terrified. You weren't expecting that, and you both fall back: your head hits off the floor, but she seems okay, so you tell her to run out the front door and find her mom.

You press a hand to the back of your head, and it comes back tacky with blood. There’s ringing in your ears for a couple of minutes, and then your favorite voice in the world comes through.

“Where are you? We’re here, where are you?” You’re getting hotter, and when you crane your neck up, you can see why: the fire is getting closer, creeping toward the staircase, creeping toward you. You inhale, cough, and press your walkie button.

“I’m upstairs in the hall; hit my head. It’s not safe.”

“I’m coming for you.” You groan. Stubborn man.

“It’s not safe, Aaron.” You hear the crackle of static, hope maybe he heard your warning and will wait until more firefighters arrive—but knowing him the way you do, that’s just wishful thinking. His voice rings out again, and despite the pain, you can’t help but smile.

“You jump, I jump, Jack. Just stay put; I’ll be right there.” You close your eyes, drift in and out of consciousness; when you see him, all you can think is how ridiculously in love with him you are, and that you really hope you’ll be around to tell him. You are, of course, fine. Your head is the worst of it, even the smoke inhalation was mild, and the fire didn’t touch you, so there are no burns. Aaron doesn’t leave your side the entire time you’re being checked over, looks serious and concerned, though he smiles when the mother comes over and squeezes you so tightly you wince a little. It starts to rain, making the firefighters' jobs a little easier, and it feels oddly cleansing, after the day you’ve had. Someone offers you an umbrella, but you decline.

The fire is successfully put out, and the half of your team that didn’t respond to the scene responded to a call for suspicious activity, which ends up being your unsub. You are all happy no one was killed this time, and since you’re staying the night again, the group decides to grab a drink to celebrate. You don’t have a concussion, but your head still aches, so you pass, and Aaron passes with you.

You head to the hotel, park in the lot, but you don’t even make it halfway across before you stop, a hand on his arm.

“I need to say something,” you tell him, and he looks up at the dark sky like, right here? Right now?, even though you’re both already drenched. You nod, because if you don’t do this now you might never—almost dying always gives you an unhealthy amount of confidence, which you attribute to equal amounts of adrenaline and stupidity. “When we first met, I didn’t think we’d have a lot in common. We’re both quiet, but in wildly different ways, and I’m quick to trust and let people in while your guard is almost never down.”

He looks a little sad at that, and you realize you’re kind of doing what he did, putting the two of you into completely different categories, emphasizing the ways you don’t belong together. But that’s dumb, so you don’t give him time to focus on that for long.

“But being your friend, Aaron—the more time I spent with you, the more I came to feel like no one has ever understood me the way you do. No one has ever seen me the way you do.” Rain is pouring down all around you, beating against the pavement, flattening your hair against your head, but you don’t care. Regardless of his reaction, this is actually kind of perfect. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with you—that was an accident, I admit. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” You step closer to him, put your hands on his waist; he doesn’t pull away. “I don’t need shiny, glossy things; you're the one I want—faded cover, dog-eared pages, notes in the margins. I love you exactly as you are.”

He is gorgeous in the rain, water in his hair, dripping off his nose. His expression looks hopeful, and you pray to god that’s not wishful thinking.

“Say something, anything,” you beg, anticipation killing you, and he presses his hands to your cheeks and pulls you close for a deep, passionate, soulful kiss that says it all.

The words are nice to hear, though.

“I didn’t mean to fall in love with you either,” he breathes against your lips when the kiss breaks. “I told myself it was just a crush, because someone so young and beautiful was paying so much attention to me, treating me like more than just the guy giving orders. But the more time I spent with you, the more undeniable it became. You are everything good about the world—bright, optimistic, caring, funny, sweet. How could anyone not fall in love with you?”

You swallow hard, lean up to press your lips against his again.

“When you said we wouldn’t make sense as a couple…” He shakes his head.

“That was just me chickening out. After we kissed, I was all but ready to ask you to go steady,” he says, and you both smile, because he’s such an old fashioned dork, but god, do you love him. “And then we found out that the team thought we’d been together for months, and you looked freaked out, so I freaked out. I’m sorry. I should have made us talk about it sooner.”

“Classic pointless miscommunication,” you say with a laugh, and he chuckles too, kisses you again.

“Let’s go inside and get dried off; there’s a birthday gift in my bag I’ve been meaning to give you.” He takes your hand, and you head up, duck into the bathroom to change into dry clothes, squeeze the water out of your hair. There is a small, flat, wrapped present on your bed when you emerge, and you smile, sink down to open it.

It’s Romeo and Juliet, a brand new copy, but when you flip through it, there are blue inked notes in the margins. Aaron comes to sit beside you, touches your face like you’re something precious.

“The course of true love never did run smooth,” he murmurs, and you smack him on the arm with the book.

“That’s from A Midsummer Night's Dream, and I know you know that,” you say with a grin. He nods in admission, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, lean in for a warm, loving kiss. When you pull back, it’s with a soft smile. “Give me my sin again?”

“My pleasure,” he whispers, and you sink into his embrace and promise never to let go. The following week, you both leave work at noon on Friday so you can enjoy your romantic getaway. You drive to the spa, and Aaron reads over the brochure on his phone with a tone you find hilarious.

“Mud bath—I’m not bathing in mud. That’s counterintuitive.”

“It’s special mud; more like clay,” you say, but he snorts, scrolls.

“Seaweed wrap—nobody is wrapping me in seaweed. That sounds like a nightmare.” You laugh softly and take your exit.

“It’s supposed to be rejuvenating. JJ recommended it.”

“JJ weighs fifty pounds. It would take all the seaweed in the Atlantic to wrap me,” he says, and you roll your eyes, jab your finger into his ribs.

“But what if I get to unwrap you?” you ask, eyebrows raised; you briefly glance over and he makes a face of contemplation.

“Okay, that’s a maybe. Intimate aromatherapy—what does that even mean?”

“I think it means we do something that makes us smell good and then we go back to our room and kiss and stuff.”

“Now that doesn’t sound half bad,” he murmurs. “Foot massage? I’m not letting a stranger touch my feet, that’s weird.” You look over at him, squinting.

“You literally plugged someone’s bullet wound with your finger yesterday, but someone touching your feet is where you draw the line? Will you do anything on the list?” He scrolls down it, and his extended silence makes you laugh.

“Meditation. Couples massage,” he says, reaching over to rest a hand on your thigh. “There’s a sauna.” You think of him, sweat-drenched in a fluffy white towel, and take a deep, calming breath. “I bet the room is nice; did you bring a book?” You smile indulgently, reach out a hand to brush through his hair.

“Yep. It’s called A Duke’s Wild Kiss…” He gives you a mildly withering look, and you lightly tap the bridge of his nose. “Just kidding. I brought To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf.” His answering smile is brilliant.

“Are you serious?” You nod, and he gestures to the backseat, where your bags are. “That’s what I brought, too.”

You spend too much of your romantic getaway in your room, but it is really nice; you do the couples massage, though, and aromatherapy, and the sauna, and then you take turns giving each other a foot massage while the other reads To the Lighthouse out loud.

The world probably doesn’t deserve Aaron Hotchner; you definitely don’t, but somehow you get to keep him anyway. A/N: Though I snuck in a few parts of a few different lyrics, two lines in particular inspired this fic: 'Now I've read all of the books beside your bed' and 'I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this.' A lot of my fics lately have incorporated books... guess I better get reading!

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner

[canonicallysoulmates]

Last year, I did a post looking back at some of the j2 moments 2019 and the 2010’s decade had given us, this year with it being so shit and so many of us needing some cheering up I thought I’d do a 2020 version.

So before we say fuck off to 2020 here are some of the j2 moments this year has given us:

SM isn’t everything but it’s still cute when the boys interact with each other online and the year actually started with it, with both boys liking each other’s New Year’s pictures with their kiddos:

X

Those weren’t the only SM interactions, on a more recent example by which I mean December they had this cute little exchange under a pic Jared posted were he was sleeping:

XX

And Jensen liked this cute pic of his smiling boy:

XX

Of course nothing compares to the best SM moment of the year: Jared’s beautiful, emotional, touching, heartfelt birthday message for Jensen 🥺:

And Jensen’s reply ❤:

X

Before everything went under lockdown we got one convention, among the moments we got from it were:

- Jared talking about his birthday post to Jensen, calling Jensen his boy and saying that he has pictures of him and Jensen just hanging out on his phone

full gifset

- Fist bump

- And a hug

full gifset

To me one of the best j2 moments 2020 gave us was the release of this amazing EW photoshoot that I will forever be in love with (especially this cover I will never be over this cover) 😍

This photoshoot was the gift that kept on giving! Not only did we get beautiful new photos of the boys, but we also got some amazing content from the bts like

full gifset

Look at them! The way Jensen closes his eyes and leans into Jared, the way they look at each other this is what love looks like people! 🥰 Find someone who will look at you like how j2 look are looking at each other in that gif. 

And even the accompanying interview gave us a little something with Jared saying that he burrowed strength from Jensen when he was struggling with the job

Padalecki, 37, who’s been vocal about his struggle in the early seasons, says. “I borrowed strength from Jensen.” x

And this is barely the tip of the iceberg I’m just providing some examples of what that photoshoot gave us but it was a feast!

Summer seemed to be the never ending dry spell, many wondered ‘will we ever get j2 content again?’ and the answer was...yes!

Starting with a little interview the boys did with small moments such as

full gifset

And Jensen confirming he and Jared still live near one another.

When Jensen appeared for the second time on Rosenbaum’s podcast he spend a good part of it being fond over Jared and making them sound totally married sharing a story about Jared’s preferred breakfast burrito and how he and Jared have bickered over it and of course starting of the panel by making it clear covid or no covid him and Jared would be making out:

full gifset

The boys had a joint virtual Q&A panel filled with moments, they were joking around, they made each other laugh, and it all started with Jensen saying how handsome Jared looked.

When filming wrapped up Jared and Jensen had their own celebration with dinner and champagne at one of their favorite restaurants:

"Jared and I wrapped on Thursday, and Saturday night he and I went to one of our all-time favorite restaurants, just us, and toasted with some champagne," Ackles says. x

Those two can’t get enough of each other so they road tripped part of the way home together!

“He and I just drove together all of our stuff across the border. So, we drove up together for season 1 and we drove away together for season 15.” - Jensen in the Chelsea Davis interview

Jared mentioning their road trip during a TVLine interview & during a TVInsider interview 

With Supernatural coming to an end a lot of interviews took place and provided us with content:

The Talk interview gave us a married moment, when the boys were asked who had the messier dressing room Jensen replied Jared did to which Jared literally went no sir, no sir. 

The CNN interview had the boys admitting not working together will be an adjustment with Jensen saying “So, it will be different, and that’s probably when he and I will call each other and be like, ‘I miss you so much!’” as well as this moment  "Oh, I thought you meant we fell in love," Ackles quips."We fell in love, too," Padalecki jokes. When I add that plotline was only in fan fiction, Ackles retorts, "Or was it?" Padalecki erupts in laughter. "There it goes the internet."

In an interview with Chelsea Davis Jensen once again brought up that him and Jared will be contacting each other from their new shows

“Jared said it, he’s like I don’t think it’s really gonna set in until we walk unto the set of some other show. But that’s fine cause then we’ll just turn around and call each other and be like ‘what’s your show like?’”

Jared having a little fond moment over Jensen during one of the TVline segments

Jensen saying that 15yrs ago him and Jared got on a rollercoaster (Supernatural) and that he couldn’t have asked for a better partner:

full gifset

Jared comparing him and Jensen finishing the show to the time they ran the Seattle Marathon together (yes, the marathon they ran together and crossed the finish line holding hands) 😭❤: 

“There were a lot of tears all over but Ackles and I were looking at each other like, ‘Man’. It was kind of like finishing the Seattle Marathon. We did it. Dude, we did it, you know? We put in the work…I’ve been with you for 15 years, 15-½ years. I’ve seen you sweat. I’ve seen you bleed. I’ve seen you hurt. I’ve seen you going through stuff personally and put it aside for this show, for your character and I know I’ve done the same and it was bittersweet.”  x

Jensen talking about his and Jared’s Impala’s in the USA Today interview

Ackles says he was “floored” by the gift: “And it's cool, because now Jared and I can just drag-race around Austin.”

“If we get pulled over, it'd be like, ‘Don't worry. FBI Agent Robert Plant,’" Padalecki adds.

“We've got FBI badges in the glove box,” Ackles confirms.

The last virtual panel of the year was Jared’s and it was full of love for Jensen; Jared mentioned him often, unprompted he shared the story of when the twins were born and how hectic it was for him and Jensen to return to Austin in time for their birth honestly hearing him talk about it it’s clear how important that day was for him too and it’s just so sweet, he said him and Jensen will definitely work together again and he hopes it’ll be sooner rather than later, also said Jensen has a standing invitation to do whatever he wants on Walker, and implied he’s already looked at his schedule to see if he could make it up to Toronto where Jensen will be working in 2021. 

And these are just some moments; I know that with everything going on and time losing all meaning it might have seemed like we had a j2-less year but as you can see that’s not true cause not even a pandemic or this hellish year were able to stop or dim the beauty that is j2 and their relationship. 

This men make me so ridiculously happy, and with this being such a hard year for all of us, for some more than others, it makes me all that extra grateful for them and to them for bringing a smile to my face. I hope that with this post they will bring a smile to yours. I personally am looking forward to seeing what j2 goodies 2021 gives us, I’m hopeful there’ll be plenty, our boys have new projects coming out, God willing cons will be able to pick up again in a safe way, and there’ll be even more j2 content to enjoy. 

Until then, stay safe, take care of yourselves, and Happy New Years my fellow tinhats! ❤

[youreacowgirllikeme]

Serendipity

 

note: this story is inspired by how I, when I traveled to DC, picked up the wrong suitcase at the airport. I obviously didn’t meet Jake in the process, but it was still pretty memorable. (actually it was a fckn nightmare, but I can laugh about it now) anyway, here’s some nerdy Jake for you, enjoy :)

pairing: Jake Tapper x female Reader

words: 4.8 k

warnings: swearing, mild smut, questionable star wars references (blame my bf, those are his takes)

 

serendipity

/ˌsɛr(ə)nˈdɪpɪti/

noun

1. the occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way

 

“Cmon, open, you stupid thing.” You muttered, fumbling with the lock of your suitcase. You were supposed to be at the job interview in only three hours and you needed to get ready and change into professional attire soon. But said outfit was in your suitcase and the lock was obviously jammed.

Against your better judgement, you started rummaging through your small hotel room in search of something to break the lock with. The rational part of your brain knew that this wasn’t necessarily a good idea, but you were desperate. This job was the opportunity of a lifetime and you’d be damned if you turned up there looking anything but your best.

You finally found a small knife hidden in a drawer of the wardrobe. You didn’t even want to think about how it got there, but you couldn’t afford to be picky now. You tried sticking the blade between the two pieces of the lock, when you suddenly realized something. The luggage tag was dark green. This wasn’t your suitcase. Fuck.

You were on your feet in a second, taking your phone and calling the airport hotline. You needed this handled, fast. You described the situation in all its direness to a pretty unimpressed lady from the service hotline. She told you that there hasn’t been any luggage left behind that fit the description, which could only mean that whoever the owner of the suitcase in your hotel room was, they likely made the same mistake and took yours home with them. You mentally slapped yourself for buying that unremarkable black suitcase, thinking that should’ve gone for red or another flashy color instead.

“You still have to come back to the service terminal and hand over the luggage item you falsely took with you, ma’am.” The woman told you, still sounding terribly bored. Her job probably wasn’t the most exciting one.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

You quickly hung up, grabbing the suitcase in question as well as your purse before sprinting out of the door.  You hailed the first cab you saw in front of your downtown DC hotel.

“To the airport and make it fast please.” You told the driver the second you got into the backseat, dumping the suitcase between your legs.

Lucky for you, traffic was flowing and the trip to the airport didn’t take too long, but you still checked the time every two seconds, your fingers thrumming nervously against the cab window.

Finally at the airport, you threw the money at the cab driver before jumping out of the car and running into the terminal, your eyes scanning the giant hall for the luggage service desk. The second you spotted it; you made your way over. Getting closer, you couldn’t ignore a deep, aggressive voice sounding over the usual buzz of the arrival hall.

“No, ma’am, no you listen to me now. This suitcase is of tremendous importance, the documents in there are incredibly valuable. I want it to be taken care of right now.”

The voice belonged to a man standing in front of the service counter, and judging by the way he was gesticulating, he was pretty angry. But what really drew your attention to the guy was what was next to him. Your suitcase. You ran towards it, dragging its identical twin behind you.

“Sir, excuse me, I think we both have something the other person could be interested in.” you panted, slightly breathless from running.

The man whirled around to face you, and for a moment you were totally struck by how handsome he was. He appeared to be several years older than you, but his grey hair, tall stature and commanding presence made for a really attractive appearance. Also, you couldn’t shake off the feeling that you had seen him before, but you couldn’t place him for the life of you. He looked at you for a brief moment before his eyes shot to the piece of luggage next to you.

“Oh, thank god.” He exclaimed, and almost yanked the suitcase out of your hands. "Next time, watch out whose luggage you’re taking.” He snapped. That’s rich, you thought, as if he hadn’t picked up the wrong one as well.

"Hey, no need to be rude.” You muttered, but he didn’t hear you, he was already back to talking the woman behind the service counter,hopefully explaining that everything was solved now and saving you some time. Your own suitcase was still standing next to the stranger, so you decided to just take it.

“You both still need to fill out this form, Ma’am, Sir.” The woman said, and both of you groaned but complied. After hastily scribbling down your details, you bid the lady goodbye and ran back to the cab rank.

The clock was ticking, you still had to get back to the city to make it to your interview in time. A quick look onto your watch confirmed your fears, it already was too late to go back to the hotel, you had to change in a restroom somewhere. You contemplated and decided to take a ride back into the city first and find an opportunity to change there before the commuters would block the freeway.

A cab was pulling up and you already made your way over when suddenly, the man who took your suitcase cut you in line and opened the door of the car. You were not having that, raising your voice to call him out.

“Hey, Mister, that was my cab. You better get in line.”

 “I’m in a hurry, I have to be on air in an hour.” He snapped back, but you were unimpressed.

 “You could be needed in the damn White House in an hour for all I care, I have a job interview, and this is my cab, so step back.” You were usually a patient person, but this guy has been testing you too much already. He raised his hands in a mock defensive gesture before speaking up again.

“Maybe we could split the cab. Where do you need to go?”

 “CNN headquarters.” You replied reluctantly, it wasn’t like where you were headed was any of this mans concern.

 “Interesting, that just happens to be my destination as well.” The stranger mused, now grinning at you. “So, how does splitting the cab sound?”

You begrudgingly agreed and sat down next to him in the backseat. As the engine started going, so did the wheels in your head. He had said that he had to be on air, and he needed to get to CNN as well. Oh…

 “What did you say your name was again?” you asked, nervousness now fairly evident in your voice.

 “It’s Jake. Tapper.” He said, mockingly extending his hand.

Well Shit. That’s why his face has been so oddly familiar.

You quickly introduced yourself as well, awkwardly shaking the offered hand.
“Sorry, I didn’t recognize you with those glasses.” You added meekly, feeling like dying of mortification. As it happened to be, the position you were aiming for was with the politics department of CNN, and while Tapper wasn’t your potential boss, he definitely was a big shot, being the lead Washington Anchor and everything. Great first impression.

“So, you said you have a job interview at CNN?” he asked, a hint of smugness in his voice. He could clearly sense your embarrassment. “Which department?”

 You were definitely blushing now. “Politics.”

"Oh, well best of luck then, hopefully we’ll be colleagues soon.” He said, and you couldn’t make out if he was being serious or just messing with you.

The rest of the ride was spent in silence, you checked the notes you prepared for the interview one last time and if the man next to you was aware of what you were doing, he didn’t care, eyes glued to the screen of his phone. His presence did nothing to calm your fluttering nerves, your leg was twitching like crazy, and he noticed.

“Settle down.” He said quietly without looking up from his phone. His deep voice had a soothing effect, calming you for a brief moment.

When the cab pulled up in front of the CNN building, Jake got out first and held the door for you. Your nervousness came rushing back with a vengeance as you laid eyes on the big red sign over the entrance.

“When you get in, it’s the first elevator on the right, 5th floor.” Jake said, giving you a sharp nod before disappearing into the crowd filtering in and out of the huge glass doors. He could’ve at least said goodbye, you thought.

You quickly made your way inside, there was only half an hour remaining and you still had to find a spot to change, preferably one with a mirror because you certainly looked wild after all that running around. Luckily, there was a spacious restroom right next to the elevator and after you put on your work attire and a bit of makeup, you felt slightly better equipped for the task ahead of you.

+++

 The interview went incredibly well, so well that you did a little happy dance on your way back to the elevator, the relief and hope for getting the job putting a pep in your step.

You rode back down to the lobby, where you decided to treat yourself with a nice caramel Frappuccino from the coffee cart. You were just about to get your purse out to pay when a familiar voice called out from behind you.

“Here, let me get this. And a black coffee please.”

Jake Tapper stepped up beside you and put the required money on the counter. He looked like he had just come off air, there was still a smudge of studio makeup on the collar of his dress shirt, and his hair was meticulously styled.

Again, his presence was slightly unsettling to you, even more so with him being in his anchor attire. Before you could reply anything, he grabbed your cup, which was almost overflowing with whipped cream and syrup, from the barista and handed it to you with a slightly disgusted expression on his face. “I wanted to pay for this atrocity of a beverage to make up for my rude behavior earlier, but now I’m doubtful if I’m really doing you a favor.”

“To be quite honest, I pity you for drinking black coffee while I can enjoy this.” You replied, taking a deep sip of the drink, sighting as its delicious sweetness covered your tongue. “But thank you.” You added. “Everything is forgiven, you were just as stressed out as I was.”

Jake watched you with an unreadable expression for a moment before he opened his mouth again. “Still, my apologies. The documents in the suitcase were of a very delicate nature, a source gave them to me, they could’ve caused quite some trouble in the wrong hands.” He paused for a moment, as if he was thinking of how to continue.

“Anyway, how did the interview go?” he asked, his voice bare of any teasing now.

“It went pretty well, I’d say. They told me I’m going to hear from them in about a week, which is good, that way I’d still have another three weeks to pack up my life in Phoenix and move here should they offer me the position.”

“Phoenix, huh.” Jake remarked, taking a sip from his own coffee. “That’s a long way. What made you decide to apply for a job that would require you to move all across the country?”

 

“Phoenix is great, but its Phoenix, you know. Things are different down there, slow-paced, you always feel like you’ll never be on the frontline, especially when it comes to covering politics. And DC is where the magic happens, so it was the only logical choice for me.” You replied.

 “Well, I can’t argue with that. But make sure you’ll bring a coat with you should you get the job, compared to Phoenix, DC is artic.” Jake noted, the glint of humor making his eyes appear warm and open. He really looked handsome when he smiled, you noticed, there were little wrinkles around his eyes and his teeth were perfectly straight and white.

 “I’ll keep that in mind, but I’m sure I’ll find something to keep myself warm once I’m here.” You said, looking directly at him. Somehow, this man brought out your flirtatious side.

He chuckled again, a low and pleasant sound. It sounded downright sexy, and you could feel a small shiver going down your spine. He and reached into the pocket of his suit jacket, retrieving a pen. He scribbled something onto one of the paper napkins that had come with your coffee order and handed it to you.

 “If you get the job, just contact me and I’ll make sure you have every amenity you need to properly settle in.” he said, and by now he was blatantly flirting with you, something you did not mind at all.

 “I’ll be sure to stay in touch, Mr. Tapper.” You spoke. “But I have to run now. Thanks for the drink.”

 “Goodbye, Ms. Y/L/N. I’m looking forward to giving you the grand tour on your first day here. And it’s Jake, please.”

 +++

 You got the job. The next weeks were a blur of goodbyes, moving boxes and apartment hunting. You barely had a moment to breathe, and it was only when you packed your final stuff into your black suitcase that you remembered Jake Tapper, and that you were supposed to contact him. You had kept the napkin with his number in your purse, and when you fished it out and dialed, your heart sped up, fluttering like a bird inside your chest.

You hung up before even hearing the first ring. What you were trying to achieve with this call? He had been clearly flirting with you back in DC, and now you were about to start working for the network he basically was the face of. And yes, he was funny and attractive, but getting tangled up with the big star before you even got a foot in the door there didn’t sound like the best idea.

You decided to let it slide. Your career came first now, you had worked too hard to let a fling get in the way of that.

 +++

 The first day was a crazy whirlwind of impressions and faces, and when you finally settled into your little secluded work booth, you felt a tad overwhelmed by all the input. You were about to set up a little framed picture of your parents, when you felt someone approaching your desk. Before you could turn around, a coffee cup was placed in front of you, filled to the brim with whipped cream and all kinds of toppings and syrup.

“I didn’t remember your exact order, so I just requested the one that looked the most repugnant.” A deep voice said from behind you, and your heart started beating faster. It was Jake Tapper. “You didn’t call.” He stated. “I had to find out through the grapevine that you got the position.”

 “Thank you for the coffee, this actually looks perfect. And I’m really sorry for not calling, the last weeks have been crazy, I just forgot.” You lied, trying to look as apologetic as possible.

 He leaned onto the edge of your desk, his arm crossed in front of his chest. He looked really good, still in his casual clothes, his hair falling into his face. His dark eyes were fixed on you, and the look he was giving you was so intense that you felt your palms starting to get sweaty. You felt your resolve not to get involved with him crumble more with every minute in his presence.

 “No offense taken.” He said, and the timbre of his voice made goosebumps break out on your arms. “Unfortunately, it’s already too late for me to give you the office tour. But let me make it up to you. Drinks, tonight after work?”

You decided to have some of fun with him, he was acting a bit too self-assured for your liking. You stretched your arms out above your head and let out a yawn. “Today was so busy, I just need to go home and get some sleep. But how about you ask me later again that week, maybe I’ll be free then.”

 For a brief moment, Jakes eyes were transfixed on your thin blouse stretching over your chest, just like you intended. There was a voice in the back of your head, screaming at you to stop acting stupid and turn the man down. But you ignored it, he was too intriguing, too alluring to just send him away.

Jakes eyes snapped back to your face.

“I’m sure we can find another day. I’ll just visit you again.” He said, giving you another intense look.

“Sounds good for me. I have to finish unpacking everything now, but thanks again for the coffee.” You smiled cheekily, scooping up a dollop of whipped cream with your finger and sticking it into your mouth.

 There was just the smallest hitch in Jakes breath, but you noticed. Strike, you thought gleefully. “I’ll see you around then.” He said, his voice slightly stained, before he disappeared in a hurry.

 You leaned back into your chair with a smug grin, taking a deep sip of your hot beverage. That went surprisingly well. You pushed the nagging thought that getting into something with him was not a good idea aside. A couple of drinks wouldn’t hurt.

 +++

You felt a small sense of triumph when Jake already returned the next day.

“For a man who claimed to be so busy back at the airport, you certainly have a lot of free time to visit me.” You greeted him with a cheeky grin.

“I was on this floor, so I thought I’d stop by to say Hi.” Jake said. He was wearing his glasses today and it was doing crazy things to your body. You weren’t sure if you could reject another invitation, but still decided to play it cool.

 “Well, lucky me, I guess. Hi. No coffee today?” you asked, giving him a little fake pout.

 “I see, I already spoiled you.” Jake chuckled, but his eyes were affectionate.

 “You could make it up to me, though, maybe by buying me a drink tonight after work?” The smile that flashed over Jakes face made you forget any regret you might have felt about giving in so soon. Being the reason he smiled like that felt really good.

“It would be my pleasure. I’ll be on air until five, so I pick you up here at six?”

“So you’re just assuming that I’m going to work overtime?“

 “It’s your first week on the job, of course you work overtime.” Jake shot back, grinning.

He was right, of course, you still had to learn your way around the department, so you decided to stay an hour longer each day to get the hang on everything.

 “Just be here at six, smart arse.” You joked, and instantly regretted it, afraid you were being overly comfortable with Jake. But he just winked at you and walked away, a slight spring in his step.

 +++

 Jake was punctual, picking you up from your booth at six sharps. He was acting like a real gentleman, holding the door to the office, the cab and the bar he picked out, a cozy place in downtown DC, away from Capitol Hill and the possibility of running into someone familiar.

 The black suit he was wearing and the martini he had ordered gave Jake a very James-Bond-like look that you enjoyed immensely. You made a terrible “shaken, not stirred” joke that, miraculously, still made him laugh. Conversation was surprisingly easy, Jake could contribute something to basically any topic you broached. His vast knowledge of…well, everything was simultaneously sexy and intimidating, something that could be applied to his whole persona.

 It wasn’t like he was a completely different person than on his show, his sharp observations and cutting sarcasm were still very much there, making you a bit hesitant to voice all your opinions freely. But there also was a lighter side to him that didn’t appear on television. For example, he was a huge nerd. You just uttered “Star Wars” a single time and spent the next twenty minutes listening to his detailed ranking of the entire movie franchise. At first, you were just feigning interest, but he was so passionate about the topic that you couldn’t help but get interested. When you confessed that you had never seen a Star Wars movie before, Jake wasn’t having it.

“Ok, this can’t stand. Friday, my place, were watching Star Wars. I can’t let you run around that uneducated.” He replied, and your heart took up pace like a racehorse. Going to his place was a huge step after just one date and really knowing each other for only three days. But as much as you wanted to decline, you wanted nothing more than to spend some more time with this man, against all reservations you had.

 “I have a master’s degree from Brown, don’t call me uneducated.” you said, reaching out to playfully slap his arm. But he caught your wrist mid-air, making blood rush to your face because of the grip of his fingers against your skin.

 “Careful, Y/N.” he murmured. Why was his voice suddenly so deep and sensual? Your eyes met, and for a second, the air was buzzing between the two of you. Then Jake let go of your hand, and the moment was over. But you could still feel a lingering prickle at where his skin had touched yours.

 “So, what do you say?” He asked, his voice back to its normal tone. You had to decide quickly, not about watching Star Wars but about what kind of message to send to Jake. Coming over to his place was a risk, were you ready to take it?

He looked at you, waiting for you to say something, and his eyes were so damn hopeful.

“Sure, why not. But there better be snacks.” You replied. Here goes nothing.

  +++

It was Friday, and you stood in front of Jake Tappers apartment door, a bottle of wine clutched in your sweaty hand. You weren’t sure what one was supposed to bring for a Star Wars movie night, so you decided on a white wine you liked to buy for yourself.

 A moment after you rung the doorbell, Jake was already there, almost as if he had been waiting behind the door. You smiled at him, presenting the bottle.

“I hope you like white wine.” you said. Wow, what a lamer starter, you thought. But Jake graciously took the bottle and stepped aside to let you enter the apartment.

“I love white wine, thank you very much.” He said, sounding genuine.

 His flat was nice, clean and surprisingly void of clutter. You had never been to his office but back at the bar he had talked about collecting a lot of historical stuff back, he obviously kept all of that at work. There was a nice, comfortable looking sofa, but it was the table in front of you that made your eyes light up.

 “Oh my god, Jake, this is snack heaven! You really outdid yourself.” You exclaimed, beaming at him. There were chips, dips, popcorn, chocolate covered pretzels and even jellybeans.

 “You said you wanted snacks.” Jake said, matter-of-factly and you took a moment to really look at him. He was dressed casually today, wearing a grey jumper that looked incredibly soft, and jeans. Overall, he looked fantastic, and you could feel your heart starting to beat faster when you were thinking about sitting close to him on the sofa.

 “How about you make yourself comfortable, I’m going to pour us some wine and then we can get started.” Jake said, disappearing into the kitchen. You sat down on the sofa, it was really cozy. You had to keep yourself from snuggling back into the cushions, reminding yourself that you were not at home here and this was still very much Jake Tappers apartment. A moment later, the man himself came back, carrying two glasses of wine that he put down in front of you on a small spot of the table that wasn’t occupied by snacks.

He sat down next to you, keeping a respectful distance.

 “So, we are going to start with the fourth movie, which is actually the first movie that was filmed back in 1978, they made three prequels later but nobody that considers themself a true Star Wars fan would introduce someone to the franchise by watching part one.” Jake explained. Seeing him so passionate about this was really endearing, even if you weren’t a hundred percent sure what he was talking about.

“You have my complete and total trust in this matter, I am here to learn.” You joked, and Jakes responding chuckle made warmth bloom in your belly.

The movie was really good, you were intrigued by the characters and the storyline, but what was even better was watching the film with Jake. Some people were annoyed by others talking during a movie, but you enjoyed the occasional fun fact immensely, and Jake was a walking encyclopedia of Star Wars trivia.

“Did you know that the guy who did Darth Vader’s voice and the actor who played him never actually met?”

 “During the trash compactor scene, Mark Hamill held his breath for so long that a blood vessel in his face popped, that’s why they only took shots from one side, pay attention to it and you will notice.”

You quietly munched your popcorn while he was talking, watching him with keen interest bothering on fascination. Star Wars fan Jake was glorious in his nerdiness. How was this the same man that was ripping apart politicians every day on television and had snapped at you at the airport?

 “I’m sure someone told you this before, but you a such a nerd.” You grinned, playfully throwing a piece of popcorn at him.

 “I consider myself the nerd king.” He declared, voice so deadly serious that you couldn’t stop yourself from bursting out laughing. Jake turned around to look at you. Why was his face so mesmerizing? And why was he suddenly sitting so close to you?

“Your laugh is beautiful.” He said quietly. And then he was kissing you. Your brain tried to catch up and make sense of the sudden new development, but Jakes lips were too soft and his hand on your tight to warm and heavy for you to focus on anything else. You responded enthusiastically, tilting your head to deepen the kiss and wrapping your arms around his neck. His tongue slid across your bottom lip, teasing you until you opened your mouth.

 His hands were on your hips now, pulling you closer until you were sitting on his lap. He leaned into the back of the sofa and slid his palms down your sides until they settled on your ass. You started to softly grind your hips into his and your body went into overdrive as you felt the evidence of how much he was enjoying the kiss pressed against your core through your jeans.

“Jake.” You moaned against his mouth. “What about the movie?”

 “Fuck the movie.” He whispered, attacking your lips again, his hands squeezing your ass.

Breaking the kiss, you brought some distance between your faces to look at him with mock indignation.

“Don’t let your nerd friends hear that.”

 “My nerd friends would tell me to shut up about Star Wars when a woman like you is sitting on my lap.” Jake responded with a smirk, and you couldn’t argue with that.

He kissed you again, and needless to say, you didn’t finish the movie.

Jake took you to his bed instead, slowly undressing you, kissing and touching every inch of your skin he could reach in the process. He slid between your legs, entering you in one fluid motion and your hands stayed tangled in his hair as you moved against each other. His eyes never left yours, and from the way he looked at you, you knew that this was something real. When you hit your peak, your guttural cry of Jakes name was all it took for him to follow you over the edge.

Afterwards, you snuggled up against him and silently thanked the fates that you had picked up that wrong suitcase.

(about 6 months later)

 

“I can’t believe ours really are the last ones.” You groaned, leaning onto Jake while stifling a yawn. “I just want to go home.”

 “You slept the whole flight, Y/N, and I’m sure the luggage will be here any moment. Patience, love.” Jake replied, sounding rather tired himself.

You had just arrived from Barbados, your first holiday together. It had been amazing, nothing but eating, swimming and relaxing for two weeks. But it was the middle of the night now, and you had already been waiting at the baggage claim for thirty minutes.

 “Just stay here and let me lean on you and I’ll be fine. You have to watch me anyway, not that some grumpy, hot stranger mistakes my luggage for his and I meet him at the service desk and fall irrevocably in love with him because of that.” You said, letting out a soft chuckle.

Jake just wrapped his arm around you, pulling you tightly against his chest.

 “That’s why I got you that nice red suitcase for your birthday, can’t let that happen again.”

[myautumnflower]

Photos

With a new season of her hit show premiering and a new year on the horizon, the 52-year-old actress reflects on the past, while being hopeful for the future.

It is not in Gina Torres’ nature to be late. When the 52-year-old arrives to our Santa Monica shooting location, she’s a glowing, statuesque, running-early vision against the sound of the Wilshire Boulevard traffic and the scrambling crew.

When we speak a few days later, she’s slightly flustered, a bit unsettled and very apologetic because her shoot day for FOX’s 9-1-1 Lone Star, making its third season premiere today, ran long. “You are now seeing the immediate effect of how hard we work on this one!” she shares with a laugh over Zoom, while simultaneously figuring out how to turn off the Do Not Disturb switch on her pinging email.

“It is hard, it is exhausting. On my days off, I suffer from adrenaline withdrawal—it’s like I have an adrenaline hangover. The thing about filmmaking and television-making is that it is a marathon of sprints. There’s action, and you’re going from 0 to 100, on-and-off, for quite a few hours during the day.”

For someone who has been performing for pretty much her entire life (as the daughter of Cuban immigrants, Torres grew up in the Bronx and attended Fiorello H. LaGuardia High School, more commonly referred to as the “Fame” school) with a long resume to match, it comes across as an honest, not-so-glamorous glimpse into what it takes to be a working actor—even when your coworkers are names like Rob Lowe and Meghan Markle.

It feels good to be here, to be alive, to be viable and feel very much in my body.

“Baths help,” she shares. “Lavender, eucalyptus…there’s nothing better than a good Epsom salt bath at the end of the day to help with a little lactic acid buildup. Keeping it quiet or just listening to music helps. I love to cook; I love to hang out with my family. Just getting back to normal, getting to any kind of normalcy, and a human pace is what helps me.”

Can you give a glimpse into what viewers can look forward to in the new season?

“Well, the trailer says it all—the trailer is pretty amazing. We do have an ice storm that takes everybody by surprise, not unlike the ice storm that took everybody by surprise last year in Texas. Shooting this story arc was such an important reminder of how much we all need and depend on each other. We begin the season after they’ve taken away our firehouse. So we’re all spread out into these different stations, but find ourselves coming together in big and small ways. As first responders, we make it happen for the greater good. Lives need to be saved, people need to be taken out of harm’s way. That’s really the thrust of this season for me. That we’re there for each other—no matter what.”

A good message for the collective world.

“Yes! I’m almost afraid to say anything about the year 2022, because we came out of 2020 with a bang thinking things would be so much better. With all of us feeling like the world has gone sideways, my hope is we can find a larger sense of humanity and kindness within ourselves. How much worse does it have to get before we all finally realize and truly understand that we’re all in this together? Imagine what we could do then?”

You’ve had some very different roles over your career. Is there anything that really sticks out to you?

“There was no woman more glamorous than Jessica Pearson [in Suits], just from head-to-toe. I learned so much. I always loved fashion, but I learned so much about fashion and filmmaking from a wardrobe perspective—how that all plays into telling a complete story of a person being in a situation. The wardrobe is armor. She remains iconic to me, and she is just so much fun. I think, as an actor, you play dress up for a living a little bit, but she has stayed with me more than anyone.”

You did an interview with CNN last summer that was very honest with your thoughts on the hesitation of the industry to cast Afro-Latinos. Do you think that that’s gotten any better this year?

“It’s hard to gauge year-to-year…but a perfect example right now would be West Side Story. You have the original West Side Story, which was made more than 60 years ago, and you have to look at it as a timepiece. How it was cast, some of the lyrics, are all a product of its time. And its time was one of sanctioned racism and misogyny. I’m not attempting to be apologetic about the ignorance that was so prevalent in our industry, but that’s how and what it was. It was ignorance and commerce serving the status quo—which meant that people of color were negotiable at best, but most often inconsequential, if not entirely invisible. Even in stories about themselves. 

I still believe the original holds up, because the story—ironically, about the absurdity and danger of racism—still holds up, the music still holds up, it’s still a great way to spend two hours, and it gave us Rita Moreno! Now, flash-forward 60 years, and Steven Spielberg saw an opportunity to do better and right a wrong, because we have to do better. And I believe he did. Is it perfect? No. Is it enough? In the last 60 years, you would think, and you would hope, by now, that we would all have better representation, and so many more and different opportunities. 

One movie can’t do it all, but it’s another beautiful step in the right direction. 

In the ’60s and the ’70s, so much headway was made, so much progress was made in how we tell stories and who is at the center of the narrative. But we pretty much continue to take four steps forward, and then three steps back. That is what’s infuriating and frustrating for those of us—Black, POC, Indigenous, Asian, LGBTQIA—in this industry, and not just in this industry, but across the board. We want to see sustained progress. 

Can I tell you it’s a whole lot better this year, as opposed to it was last year? No, I can’t, but we continue to talk about it, and we’re having these conversations, and we can put some pressure on the thumbs that make the choices. We can open them up to all the possibilities that are out there. They can no longer use the excuse that the talent pool doesn’t exist, because it most definitely does. 

Ultimately, it is about commerce and changing the status quo, and the film industry just hasn’t been as willing to take a chance on an unknown person of color as they’re willing to take a chance on a completely unknown white person. They need to start taking chances on other parts of the population. That’s what it comes down to.”

It’s a big conversation in beauty as well. Do you think it’s gotten better there?

“Absolutely! The faces of the supermodels certainly changed as I was coming up. Naomi [Campbell] was a revelation! Alek [Wek] was a revelation! All of these incredible women! I get giddy when I see Viola Davis in her beauty campaigns; I get excited when I see Eva Longoria in her ads for L’Oréal. It’s happening—and it’s not just happening in terms of culture and colorism, but also ageism. That’s changing, too. Look at what Helen Mirren is doing with L’Oréal. It’s fantastic.”

There’s so much talk about women and ageism being discussed right now. Do you feel that professionally and personally?

“I do very much, and I’m grateful to feel that way. I’m super grateful for it. I’m not my mother’s 50, and I love it. The older I get, the more I get to check off the boxes. And there are so many great boxes to check off.

I feel sexy as hell sometimes, and I feel tired as hell sometimes.

It feels good to be here and be alive and be viable and feel very much in my body. I feel sexy as hell sometimes, and I feel tired as hell sometimes—because I’ve earned that, too. There are so many great things that aging brings, including wisdom and a better sense of humor about yourself. Most of all, I love the joy of not sweating the small stuff. I think that’s the gift.”

Do you have any advice you’d like to give to your younger self when you were starting out?

“I always answer this question a lot of different ways; I guess it depends on my mood! But it really does get better, it really does gets easier. And no one can be a better you than you.”

[nickgerlich]

Busted In Vancouver

(Note: The following is an encore performance of an essay I wrote for my students back in Canyon America on 28th November 2003. I was in Vancouver BC teaching in our Canada MBA program, and a unique opportunity presented itself. With Buy Nothing Day rapidly approaching (26th Nov 2021), I thought it apropos to pull this one from the archives. So without further ado, here is the 19th telling of this epic Thanksgiving season story, albeit with a pseudo-post-COVID twist. Also, it is the final blog of the Fall 2021 semester. Enjoy!)

I often make references to the Adbusters group in my courses. They are very much against commercialism, materialism, rampant consumption, free trade, and other hallmarks of a free society. The word “liberal” is almost too conservative to describe them.

In 1997 they started Buy Nothing Day, to be held on “Black Friday,” the day after American Thanksgiving. Black Friday is one of the biggest shopping days in the US (and erroneously referred to as the biggest day). The Adbusters group, known for their “culture jamming,” decreed that we should NOT buy anything on this very important shopping day.

This year, Black Friday is a game-on, full armor event, thanks to COVID-19. Never mind that retailers have already spread out their sales promotions for several weeks, mixing in-store and online and doing their best to avoid their store being a super-spreader event. The economy has roared back, and customers are likely to be fighting over scarce goods caused by disruptions in the supply chain.

Only a few masked faithful still shop in relative incognito. We as a society are soooo over COVID, and we just want to spend our money, even if inflation is at its highest levels in 30 years. But back to my story.

Adbusters has received a lot of free publicity through the years from their endeavors. That year (2003), CNN ran a story on Buy Nothing Day, which was on the 27th of November (American Thanksgiving).

Well, as fate would have it, I was in Vancouver BC Canada during our Thanksgiving holiday. I also happened to recall that Adbusters is headquartered in Vancouver.

Ah ha…and now you know where I’m going with this!

I thought it would be extremely appropriate for me to visit them on Black Friday, or BND, as they call it…to see if they would sell me something. Now, I realize that we actually were in Canada, and their Thanksgiving is in October, so maybe the whole BND thing did not apply there.

I also now realize they have split the “holiday” in two…one for the US, the next day for the rest of the world. And I also accept that while I was trying to bust them for selling me something on my BND, they could theoretically wave the “But We Weren’t Buying Anything” flag. Who is the devil to argue when it’s the sinners who get in trouble?

Having awakened to a downpour (nothing new in wintertime Vancouver!), I got my oldest daughter Becca ready, and dove into Vancouver a.m. traffic, headed for an address I had peeled off the Adbusters website and Mapquested.

(Remember them? Everyone uses Google Maps or Waze on their smartphone today. But I digress.)

I traveled westbound on West 7th Ave, and managed to go right past the place. I was confused, because I was in what appeared to be a residential district. I turned around, and headed east a little more slowly…and then saw the little sign on the north side of the street. The main entrance was a few steps down into a basement of a large, old house.

Stepping across the threshold, little Becca in my arms, I beheld the headquarters of the anti-marketer.

A couple of very casually dressed people said hello, one a woman, the other a man. Stylish Mac computers adorned several desks. Magazines were stacked everywhere in huge bundles. Buy Nothing Day posters hung on the wall, along with other evidence of their political leanings (like their opposition to the western hemisphere free trade talks in Miami earlier that month). Had I known then what I know now, they were probably holding planning sessions for the then-nascent idea of a Wall Street occupation, or helping the Bernie Sanders campaign across the border in the US. Great rainy day activities for ideas drowning in ridiculosity.

The two were very thin and had all the necessary traits of an Apple Store employee: tats, piercings, asymmetric haircut. Why did it strike me that they probably couldn’t get a job anywhere else? Even today, they’re probably still living in their parents’ basement.

I said hello in return, began thumbing through some magazines, and then picked up a 2004 Adbusters calendar.

I casually asked the woman, “Hey, are these for sale?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“How much?”

“They’re $15, but we’ll let you have it for $10 here in the office.”

“How about magazines?”

“Six dollars in the store, but $3 here.”

“Can I have one of each?”

“Sure!”

Man, I never thought it would be so easy to catch someone in the act of hypocrisy. Here it was, their self-proclaimed Buy Nothing Day, and they were tripping over themselves trying to sell me things.

I handed over a CAD$20, which they had difficulty handling. They returned with a handful of parking meter money.

Then I told them, “In real life, I’m a marketing professor. I’ve used your site for years to have my students see what the other side is saying.”

You should have seen their jaws drop, for they knew they had just been busted. Continuing to play with them, I seized the moment. Carpe diem, baby. “Yeah, I like to use the Fox News approach to teaching…you know, a ‘fair and balanced’ education.” Even though I don’t like Fox News, it was a convenient card to play.

“So, do you have any literature I could take back to the classroom with me?”

“Hmmm…we don’t actually have anything…but wait, we have some back issues here.”

I walked away with a year’s worth of magazines, my ill-gotten calendar and current issue, my daughter, and the satisfaction of knowing that even the most anti-capitalist of folk have a capitalistic gene in their DNA. The love of money may be the root of all evil, but try living without it. Milton Friedman argued that our capitalist system is predicated upon self-interest, and that self-interest is not a bad thing, for it drives us to produce and provide ever more. It’s how we create wealth, which is used to acquire private property.

I loaded my daughter and propaganda into the rental van, drove to Toys ‘R Us (they were still very much in business back then) to buy my kids a treat, and returned to the hotel to pick up the rest of my family. We then headed off to the magnificent MetroTown mall (more than 450 stores bedecked in all their greedy capitalist glory!), never in our wildest craziest nightmare ever thinking that we would merrily be rethinking the idea of Black Friday, thanks to Adbusters.

And we proceeded to spend unimpeded. This. That. One thing. Another. A turkey-fueled tryptophan-induced euphoria spent on the couch never felt so good.

So much for Buy Nothing Day. Cha-ching. You be busted!


Dr “Laughing All The Way” Gerlich

Audio Blog

[96thdayofrage]

Media Rediscover Afghan Women Only When US Leaves

Just as US corporate news media “discovered” Afghan women’s rights only when the US was angling for invasion, their since-forgotten interest returned with a vengeance as US troops exited the country.

After September 11, 2001, the public was subjected to widespread US news coverage of burqa-clad Afghan women in need of US liberation, and celebratory reports after the invasion. Time magazine (11/26/01), for instance, declared that “the greatest pageant of mass liberation since the fight for suffrage” was occurring, as “female faces, shy and bright, emerged from the dark cellars” to stomp on their old veils. In a piece by Nancy Gibbs headlined “Blood and Joy,” the magazine told readers this was “a holiday gift, a reminder of reasons the war was worth fighting beyond those of basic self-defense” (FAIR.org, 4/9/21).

The media interest was highly opportunistic. Between January 2000 and September 11, 2001, there were 15 US newspaper articles and 33 broadcast TV reports about women’s rights in Afghanistan. In the 16 weeks between September 12 and January 1, 2002, those numbers skyrocketed to 93 and 628, before plummeting once again (Media, Culture & Society, 9/1/05).

Suddenly remembering women

Now, as the US finally is withdrawing its last troops, many corporate media commentators put women and girls at the center of the analysis, as when Wolf Blitzer (CNN Situation Room, 8/16/21), after referring to “the horror awaiting women and girls in Afghanistan,” reported:

President Biden saying he stands, and I’m quoting him now, squarely, squarely behind this decision to withdraw US forces from Afghanistan, despite the shocking scene of chaos and desperation as the country fell in a matter of only a few hours under Taliban control, and the group’s extremist ideology has tremendous and extremely disturbing implications for everyone in Afghanistan, but especially the women and girls.

This type of framing teed up hawkish guests, who proliferate on TV guest lists, to use women as a political football to oppose withdrawal. Blitzer guest Rep. Adam Kinzinger (R.-Illinois), for instance, argued:

Look at the freedom that is being deprived from the Afghan people as the Taliban move into Afghan, or moving into parts of Afghanistan now, and you know how much freedom they had. Look at the number of women that are out there making careers, that are thought leaders, that are academics, that never would have happened under the Taliban leadership…. The devastation you are seeing today is why that small footprint of 2,500 US troops was so important.

Sen. Joni Ernst (R.-Iowa) gladly gave Jake Tapper (CNN Newsroom, 8/16/21) her take on the situation after CNN aired a report on the situation for women:

As you mentioned, for women and younger girls, this is also very devastating for them. The humiliation that they will endure at the hands of the Taliban all around this is just a horrible, horrible mar on the United States under President Joe Biden.

‘America rescued them’

Charity Wallace claimed in the Wall Street Journal (8/17/21) that Afghan “women and girls…made enormous progress over the past 20 years.”

Such analysis depends on the assumption that the US invasion and occupation “saved” Afghan women. In the Wall Street Journal (8/17/21), an op-ed by former George W. Bush staffer Charity Wallace ran under the headline : “The Nightmare Resumes for Afghan Women: America Rescued Them 20 Years Ago. How Can We Abandon Them to the Taliban Again?”

Two days later, a news article in the Journal (8/19/21) about the fate of women in Afghanistan explained: “Following the 2001 invasion, US and allied forces invested heavily to promote gender equality.”

The Associated Press (8/14/21), in a piece headlined, “Longest War: Were America’s Decades in Afghanistan Worth It?,” noted at the end that “some Afghans—asked that question before the Taliban’s stunning sweep last week—respond that it’s more than time for Americans to let Afghans handle their own affairs.” It continued, “But one 21-year-old woman, Shogufa, says American troops’ two decades on the ground meant all the difference for her.” After describing Shogufa’s experience for five paragraphs, the piece concludes with her “message to Americans”:

“Thank you for everything you have done in Afghanistan,” she said, in good but imperfect English. “The other thing was to request that they stay with us.”

Perhaps the most indignant media piece about Afghan women came from Caitlin Flanagan in the Atlantic (8/19/21), “The Week the Left Stopped Caring About Human Rights.” Flanagan argued:

Leave American troops idle long enough, and before you know it, they’re building schools and protecting women. We found an actual patriarchy in Afghanistan, and with nothing else to do, we started smashing it down. Contra the Nation, it’s hard to believe that Afghan women “won” gains in human rights, considering how quickly those gains are sure now to be revoked. The United States military made it possible for those women to experience a measure of freedom. Without us, that’s over.

Flanagan pointed to Afghan activist Malala Yousafzai, whom she accused “critics of the war” of forgetting, saying Yousafzai “appealed to the president to take ‘a bold step’ to stave off disaster.”

Next to last in women’s rights

Such coverage gives the impression that Afghan women desperately want the US occupation to continue, and that military occupation has always been the only way for the US to help them. But for two decades, women’s rights groups have been arguing that the US needed to support local women’s efforts and a local peace process. Instead, both Democrat and Republican administrations continued to funnel trillions of dollars into the war effort, propping up misogynist warlords and fueling violence and corruption.

Contra Flanagan’s insinuation, Yousafzai didn’t ask Biden to continue the occupation. In an op-ed for the New York Times (8/17/21) that most clearly laid out her appeal, she asked for humanitarian aid in Afghanistan and for refugees fleeing the country. In fact, her take on the US occupation’s role in women’s rights (BBC, 8/17/21) is much more critical than most voices in the US corporate media: “There had been very little interest in focusing on the humanitarian aid and the humanitarian work.”

As human rights expert Phyllis Bennis told FAIR’s radio program CounterSpin (2/17/21), Malalai Joya, a young member of parliament, told her in the midst of the 2009 troop surge that women in Afghanistan have three enemies: the Taliban, warlords supported by the US and the US occupation. “She said, ‘If you in the West could get the US occupation out, we’d only have two.’”

Things did get better for some women, mostly in the big cities, where new opportunities in education, work and political representation became possible with the Taliban removed from power. But as Shreya Chattopadhyay pointed out in the Nation (8/9/21), the US commitment to women was little more than window dressing on its war, devoting roughly 1,000 times more funding to military expenses than to women’s rights.

Passive consumers of US corporate news media might be surprised to learn that Afghanistan, in its 19th year under US occupation, ranked second-to-last in the world on women’s well-being and empowerment, according to the Women, Peace and Security Index (2019).

As the Index notes, Afghan women still suffer from discriminatory laws at a level roughly on par with Iraq, and an extraordinarily low 12.2% of women reported feeling safe walking alone at night in their community, more than 4 points lower than in any other country. And just one in three girls goes to school.

Wrong kind of ‘help’

In 2015, a 27-year-old Afghan woman named Farkhunda Malikzada was killed by an angry mob of men in Kabul after being falsely accused of burning a Quran; US-backed Afghan security forces watched silently (Guardian, 3/28/15). The shocking story spread around the world, but the only US TV network to mention it on air was PBS (7/2/15), which offered a brief report more than three months after the murder, when an Afghan appeals court overturned the death sentences given to some of the men involved.

FAIR turned up no evidence of Caitlin Flanagan ever writing about Malikzada, either—or about the plight of any Afghan woman before last week.

According to a Nexis search, TV news shows aired more segments that mentioned women’s rights in the same sentence as Afghanistan in the last seven days (42) than in the previous seven years (37).

The US did not “rescue” Afghan women with its military invasion in 2001, or its subsequent 20-year occupation. Afghan women need international help, but facile and opportunistic US media coverage pushes toward the same wrong kind of help that it’s been pushing for the last two decades: military “assistance,” rather than diplomacy and aid.

For more than 20 years, US corporate media could have listened seriously to Afghan women and their concerns, bringing attention to their own efforts to improve their situation. Instead, those media outlets are proving once again that Afghan women’s rights are only of interest to them when they can be used to prop up imperialism and the military industrial complex.

[arcticdementor]

My article “Why is Everything Liberal?” has gotten a great deal of attention. See in particular thoughtful commentary from Bryan Caplan and Robby Soave at Reason.

This post is a followup, with two main goals. First, I’ve discovered additional evidence that liberals care more about politics, which I will just add on to what already was an extremely strong case.

Second, some people criticized the piece for not addressing what has changed recently. I think I’ve found the answer to that too, which is that the mobilization gap increased precipitously in 2016. It is at that time that we see Democrats overtake Republicans in fundraising, liberals overtake conservatives in signing petitions, and the left’s already sizable lead in protesting become much larger. While it seems that liberals have always cared more about politics if we are looking at the tail end of the distribution–i.e., those who become activists, journalists, or academics–it is only in 2016 that we see more noticeable and significant gaps open up in the next level down in the pyramid.

Since 2016, liberals have achieved true mass mobilization in a way conservatives never have in the modern era.

…

In 2016, fewer than 1% of conservatives had been to a protest in the last year, compared to 15% of extreme liberals, 10% of regular liberals, and 5% of the slightly liberal. Even moderates, at 2.4%, protested more than conservatives. Remember, this was before the Women’s March and the peak of BLM! The estimates for protest size used in the original post were pretty crude, but it’s nice to see self-reported data match what we see in the real world. Petitions tell the same story, but the differences are not as extreme: 61% of very liberal individuals had signed one in the last year, compared to just 26% of the very conservative.

…

Liberals already tended to protest more in the years leading up to 2012. But conservatives used to at least hold their own. This matches what we know from the real world, as this was the height of the Tea Party. Glenn Beck’s largely forgotten “Restoring Honor Rally” in summer 2010, for example, drew a lot of people, though nobody really knows how many. Wikipedia says “a scientific estimate placed the crowd size around 87,000, while media reports varied wildly from tens of thousands to 500,000.” This was also the time of Occupy Wall Street, so liberals weren’t exactly sitting on their hands, but conservatives at least made a showing. By 2016, conservative protesting had collapsed to practically nothing, while liberal protesting stayed at similar levels or, more likely, increased (hard to know for sure because of the time frame of the 2012 question being different).

…

In 2012, liberals were more likely to sign petitions than conservatives, but the gap was pretty small and there were many more conservatives in the country, which meant the right actually had more total people signing petitions. By 2016, more Americans than before were calling themselves liberals, and liberals were more mobilized, giving the left a substantial advantage.

Another thing we can do to see how relative mobilization has changed over time is to look at campaign donations. In the previous essay, I went all the way back to 2012, and showed that for every recent presidential election cycle Democrats brought in more money. I didn’t go back to 2008, as I was sure Obama outraised McCain, and I was of course right.

However, if you expand the analysis to midterm elections and all federal candidates, we see the Democrat advantage does not open up until 2016. Here are numbers I’ve gathered from Open Secrets for every election from 1990, as far back as data go.

…

In response to my piece, Ezra Klein argued that liberal domination of institutions was better explained by age and education polarization than liberals caring more. This is an argument I’ve seen him make elsewhere before (see also this and this from Josh Barro on Woke Capital).

…

Romney won college educated whites by somewhere between around 5% and 15%, while according to CNN’s 2020 exit polls, Biden won the same demographic by 12%. CNN actually has Trump barely winning college educated whites in 2016 (48%-45%). Education polarization is real, and the fact that college educated whites vote something like 15-30% more Democrat than they did in 2012 should be having some effects on board rooms and the larger mobilization gap. Yet educational differences do not seem nearly massive enough to explain the total liberal domination of institutions, as Republicans hold their own well enough with degree holders.

As far as the age gap, it can cut both ways. When I was growing up in the 1990s, the stereotype was that retirees had a lot of time on their hands and were therefore politically powerful, while young people were largely indifferent. Old people certainly have more money, and so you’d expect age polarization to actually give Republicans an advantage in donations. Yet since 2016 the trend has been the opposite. As parties have polarized more by age, Democrats have started winning the competition over fundraising. Maybe young people are inherently more likely to protest, but wouldn’t you expect old people to be just as capable of signing petitions? Thus, I’m pretty confident that age and education gaps are less important than the simple fact that liberals care more about politics.

…

The left has always had an advantage in committed activists. Yet, no matter whether you look at donations, protests, or signing petitions, the mobilization gap increased in 2016. Liberals had always protested more, but in 2016 the ratio was absolutely massive, being around 3.7x larger than it was around the time of the invasion of Iraq. This was before an upsurge of liberal protest activity that has included BLM, March for Our Lives, and most importantly, the Women’s March. Finally, the parties raised about an equal amount of money from 1990 until 2016, when Democrats took a lead that has now lasted three straight election cycles (2008 was an exception to the rule of parity in the pre-2016 era, when Democrats ran a fresh faced Barack Obama against John McCain, who seemed good at exciting Republican elites and MSNBC pro-war centrist types but not actual voters).

So what about “Woke Capital”? In many ways, business was the last domino to fall. Yes, liberals have always had more noisy activists, and corporations tended to bow to them on some issues when they got really agitated, like MLK day. But big business is more directly answerable to a wider swath of the population than are schools or non-profits, and so held out the longest. Coca-Cola and Walmart care more about what the median citizen thinks than does Harvard, The New York Times, or the ACLU. Yet after 2016, when the mobilization gap exploded, almost nothing in society could remain neutral, and pressure has come from both within and outside corporations for them to take a stand on almost all hot button issues.

Why was 2016 the year everything changed? Take a wild guess.

…

Just as the previous post raised further questions, this one does too. The most interesting thing to me is not simply protests and donations, but why one side has for over half a century now drawn more idealistic people who want to dedicate their lives to changing the world. The journalist-academic-activist complex is ultimately where power lies, and it has grown much stronger in the last 5 years because it has started to engage many more people at the intermediate level in the mobilization pyramid, among those who give money, sign petitions, and go to protests, and who find themselves between true elites on top and the mass of the largely indifferent voting public at the bottom.

If the rise of Trumpism explains the last five years, why did the left begin with such a strong built-in advantage? I hope to explore this question soon.

…

Moreover, right-wing protest culture has collapsed since the time of the Tea Party. It’s hard to know for sure, but other forms of conservative activism may have fallen off too. So even the degree to which Trump has actually mobilized the right must come with a caveat: he has turned out more Republican voters and gotten more people to donate small amounts of money, but few seem to want to make more substantial sacrifices, even compared to 2012.

Overall, the Trump era has provided mixed electoral results for Republicans. They won unified control of government in 2016, lost the House but kept the Senate in 2018, and came extremely close to winning again in 2020. Yet it has been an awful 4 years for conservatives who care about controlling institutions, or at least keeping them neutral, although even here it hasn’t been a complete loss. After all, the Trump era has given conservatives a comfortable majority on the Supreme Court, probably the most important single institution of all.

Federal court appointments last until death, while the widening of the mobilization gap is relatively new. Best case scenario for Republicans is that Amy Coney Barrett and Brett Kavanaugh live for a very long time, while the Trump era ends up being an anomaly in mobilizing the left to an unusual degree, with things going back to something resembling the pre-2016 historical norm. Worst case scenario is that things continue as they have for the last 4 years, with anti-Trump hysteria combining with the Great Awokening having created a class permanently mobilized for confronting racism and other evils, plus Republicans not even getting the mobilization on their own side that Trump gave them. A generation shaped by the experience of Trump and a party currently led by such uninspiring figures as Kevin McCarthy and Liz Cheney may end up giving conservatives the worst of all worlds.

[samuel-dean]

Options?

INVOLVED: Samuel Evans and Mercedes Jones. LOCATION: Evans’ Estate; Atlanta, Georgia. TIME FRAME: Thursday, April 9th, 2020. NOTES: Mercedes comes home to a monstrous Samuel.

Mercedes looked up from the article as she entered the mansion and sighed, folding the newspaper in half. Her frown deepened when her ears were assaulted by a cacophony of different voices blathering on at different points in the same story. All about one man. Samuel.  “Damn it.” She breathed, handing the paper over to the butler. “He must have every television on in the house. Turn them all off.” She breathed, unbuttoning her jacket. “Where’s Samuel?” She asked, instinctively looking to the office. The butler stood stark still looking down at Mercedes. He cleared his throat, then with a voice still shaky, he inclined his head towards the living area. “He is just in there, ma’am. But ma’am, I don’t think it would be wise to turn off the televisions.”  Mercedes was already moving away in the direction indicated. “Do it now!” She snapped without looking back. “It’s not helping anything.”

 Samuel ran his hand down the length of his beard as he paced back and forth against the living room flooring. He stopped short listening intensely now, they were calling him all kinds of things he was not. He was a good guy and he had all intentions of making things right when he reached the office. Patty hadn’t gotten back with him yet, which only infuriated him more. He shook his head as he began to pace once more this time with his large arms folded over his chest. “Bullshit” he replied back to the CNN anchor. They were going on and on about marine life and what this happened to be doing to our oceans. That was fine, he got the need for animal life to be made important, but this spill was screwing with far greater things, not to mention the fire was still not contained. And the money that was being lost, he couldn’t keep up with the numbers now. 

 Mercedes stopped in the archway of the living room and watched as Samuel paced back and forth. This was a part of his business she didn’t understand. How did you fix a natural disaster and save your company's reputation and your own reputation for that matter? She flinched as he shouted at the news anchor. Unfortunately, the CNN correspondence’s ridicule of Samuel’s character didn’t end with the man’s outburst. Twisting her fingers, she moved into the space, “Samuel?” she said quietly. Looking around for the remote. “I heard what happened...  What do we do?” She asked, taking the remote from the table she turned off the TV and looked up to him expectantly.  

 Samuel continued to pace back and forth with a shake of his head, and he stood standing in the middle of the floor. He heard Mercedes' voice, but he didn’t respond to her instead glared at the tv as his chest rose and hell rapidly. “Unbelievable” he said before she turned the tv off he turned around and looked at her, animalistic eyes glaring in her direction. He turned back around, continuing his pace around the room and he exhaled slowly before he roughly shoved some overly expensive decorative decor he’d hated to the ground “I don’t know” he said in a loud booming voice. “All the shit I’ve ever done for people has just been forgotten in a fucking instance over a mistake I didn’t make!” he yelled bitterly. “All the charities, all the orphanages” he listed. “A bastard who told Americans to grab women by their pussy” he said ragging “has the nerve to get on national fucking television and crucify ME” he said in a beastly appearance. 

 Mercedes swallowed a hard lump in her throat, and took an involuntary step away from Samuel as his murderous eyes took her in. She bit her lip, grimacing in abstract horror as $100,000 Tiffany vases were being slung about, to smash against the floor. Damn, damn, she thought biting her knuckle. She took in a deep breath, and held out her hands, "You're right." She breathed, gathering only enough courage to regain the step she'd lost. "He's using you to gain some brownie points. It's an election year." She reasoned, keeping her tone soft and low.  "Baby, have you spoken with your publicist and the lawyers?" she was kicking her own ass mentally. She'd been so wrapped up in her own business affairs, she had even attempted to help him find a new assistant. 

 Samuel looked away from her as she spoke and he moved over to the other side of the room, looking out the window and he gripped the window seal tightly. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, “fuck that damn election” he said lowly. At her question he said nothing for a very long time before he said “I need to get to Texas and fast” he responded. “I have to get to the headquarters,” he admitted easily. Every word he said came out in a bite. He sighed heavily before he turned back to her, eyes flashing, fire behind them. “The board wants me to speak publicly, hash this shit out and beg the fucking public to reprieve me” he said as balled his fist walking around the room slowly.  “That’s only fucking payback for what I did to my parents, I know those old bastards like the back of my fucking hand” he said. “Anyone else would’ve released a written statement” he told her. “Should’ve called my fucking father” he said gripping his forehead with his hand “fuck” he said he breathed to himself as he paced. 

 Mercedes did her best to read him. She needed to calm him down, at least a little anyway. But much like a hurricane, he needed to blow himself out. She rounded the couch, feet crunching on $1000 bits of glass, but still gave him space to process. His statement was comical, but there was no room to laugh and she knew it. Instead she shook her head, agreeing with the hulking man. "Texas?" she repeated, shaking her head. "Alright..." she answered, reaching into her pocket for her phone. "I should call the airfield and tell them to get the jet ready." She said making a mental list. "I'll start packing your things immediately."  She looked up from her phone, frowning. It was beyond reason they’d want some kind of public statement, “They would…” She said slowly, unfamiliar with the interworking of his company. “They haven’t released any kind of statement yet?” That was unsettling. They were leaving him out on the limb to roast in the fire of public opinion that was never a good thing. “If you feel like you need his advice Samuel. Call him.”

 Samuel’s phone buzzed and he looked at the coffee table, picking the phone up he read the message before tucking it away into his pocket. “The airline is covered”, he said quickly “my things?” he questioned with a raised brow. “You own the company they are expecting you too, Mrs. Fifty-Percent” he said as he rounded her again. “I can’t call my dad, since when did we associate with them?” he asked her, confused. He stopped in front of her for a moment before he pressed forward pacing again. “They are hanging me Mercedes, what part of that are you not understanding?” he asked her, still on edge. He moved before the tv, he needed to hear what else they were saying it was killing him not to. He finally knew exactly how he felt when his mother slandered her across the pages. The only thing is, he had no one to fight his battles for him. Lucky her, he thought as he looked over his shoulder, with a head shake he said, “I need a drink”. 

 "Good." Mercedes nodded, removing flight from her list and adjusting the notes she was typing out on her iPhone. Looked up, her hair flipping back wildly, "They expect me to...make a statement?" She sat down hard on the sofa and looked up at him blankly. She sighed dumbfounded and after a moment began rubbing her fingers over the growing headache that started in her temples. "You're right. I'm sorry.” The apology was soft in a mournful way. “You brought him up and I don't know. I thought you might want his counsel." She let his next statement hang in the air, then pushed up from the couch, and bit down on her lip to fight the urge to snap at the man. "Okay." She said, in a matter of fact tone. "So, our options are to come up with a fix, I expect your teams are already working on? And prepare a statement. Do we have a choice, can we just release a statement? Or must we go on live television? I heard what you said, but do we have any choice in the matter?” 

 “Of course, they don’t expect you to get up there and speak for the masses” Samuel said, is she nuts people didn’t like the idea of them being an item or her having the fifty percent, she did in the first place. “But they feel you being there shows that you have some care in all of this, after all the majority think you just ride on the coat tail of the Exxonmobil corporation name for money sake” he told her, he didn’t deny when they argued. She had done anything with her title since she got it. But she also didn’t ask for it. Hmph. He’d have to use that argument smugly when they brought it up again. “I do need counsel and here you are” he said looking at her again, this time he softened with his words. He sighed, drained now that all the adrenaline in his body dissipated and he dropped down beside her. “I’ve been ignoring phone calls all morning, I just want to hear what they are saying,” he said. “I do know they are investigating it,” he said to her. “I can’t afford this right now” he said desperately as he leaned back resting his head on the back of the couch. 

 "Mhm..." Mercedes said, fighting with all her might to keep her rising attitude at bay. When she raised the same argument about what people's perception of her were, he nearly took her head off at the mere thought of it. It seems he knew all too well what she'd been speaking about after all. She sighed, sitting again. "I'd have gone anyway. I don't want you up there alone, Samuel. I just misunderstood your meaning." She shook her head, “I don’t think I’m equipped to offer you anything but moral support. I know we have to answer the phone. I also know we need to get in front of the cameras, if that’s the only option. And I do mean immediately. They may be trying to screw you, but they are also screwing over the company. Every second delay is another stock gone.”  Mercedes turned to Samuel as he leaned back, she placed her hand on his thigh and began rubbing her hand back and forth. “I know…  I know... We don’t need their spin on the situation, we need the truth. I suppose we’ll get that in Texas.”  

 “You are a businesswoman” Samuel said to her factually, he sighed heavily as he shook his head at her. “You spend all that time with whatever you are doing with Titus and aren’t going to bounce anything off with me?” he asked her, gazing at her in disbelief. “Right...” he said as he dropped his head back down against the couch. “I cheated the system, I got you to sign those damn documents. I screwed my dad and my mother… people fight fire with fire” he said as he gazed at the ceiling. “Not to mention I had to double back and cut the payout of many people to be able to even ride that big ass lie I told into the sunset” he said again resting his hand on his forehead. He grabbed her hand as he ran up and down his thigh, he held it in his before he leaned up and looked at her. “I’m sorry for my temper” he told her “and for those” he pointed to the ground and broken pieces. “And for raising my voice, yelling at you. This is not your fault” he told her guilty as he leaned in and kissed her lips gently, calming down more. He pulled back and looked into her eyes. 

 Mercedes shook her head from side to side somberly. He was mad and it was starting to feel more and more like he wanted to start a fight with her. She looked down at her shoes, as her stomach began to churn with additional worries. “True Samuel… What? Do you think all this was intentional or opportunistic on their part? Even if your parents still had their stakes in the company, something like this could have happened. Yes, it’s worse because they are making you shoulder the weight of this alone. We should have known there would be consequences.” She sighed and went to tell the lie some many others would, it would be okay. But couldn’t form the words. His fingers took hers and he held them, stilling her motion. She turned towards him once again, hopefully successful in masking some of her own personal worry. She didn’t need to add anything to the stress he was currently under. Her fingers smoothed over his cheek as he kissed her. Head shaking, “I’m sorry this is happening Samuel. So sorry.” She uttered, before he kissed her again. Looking at him, she found true words, “Don’t worry about me. I told I don’t break…  I’m here Samuel... Whatever you need.” 

“I don’t know” Samuel replied back to Mercedes easily as she spoke sorting out her own thoughts in regard to the situation. She apologized to him though she had no reason to do so honestly, it wasn’t her fault, or anyone’s really it was an accident. At her words he smirked at her at her nodding his head and he said “I know” truthfully to her. “I should get some things packed, the airline is waiting” he told her as he moved to get up, dropping her hand as he did. He moved around the mess, two timid ladies moving into the space to clean up the mess he had made behind him knowingly.

[coreyferreyra]

What is media, and is it always correct?

(Free use image from Kaboompics)

My name is Corey Ferreyra. I’m a 20-year-old college student at Creighton University, and I’m currently taking a media literacy class. I’m taking it since it’s a requirement for my major, which is computer science. I have a bit of experience with coding, having taken a course in Python programming and a bit of HTML, and I’m currently going into Java programming. The aforementioned media literacy class is the reason I’ve created this blog, as there’s going to be multiple assignments I’ll need to use it for. 

I have quite a bit of experience with media in many forms, since… well, it’s impossible not to be nowadays! What have you been doing recently? Looking at a picture drawn by a friend? Listening to the new hit Ariana Grande song? Reading Terry Pratchett’s book Going Postal? Watching the Simpsons on Disney+? Well, if you’ve been doing any of that, you’ve been consuming media in some form or another! 

What the term “media” tends to refer to most in this day and age is either the news or the emerging use of social media. I tend to get a lot of my news from social media, but I also get it from an app on my phone, and sometimes I’ll hear a bit of it on NPR. (Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me is an especially entertaining news source of theirs.) The social media storm has made getting news really simple, especially if you’re on your phone or computer fairly often like most teenagers are. Unfortunately, there’s also the possibility of getting your news from more biased sources.

The biggest problem with news media today is the 24-hour news network. People love CNN, Fox News, and MSNBC, and the problem with them is that they aren’t dedicated to running the news. They’re more dedicated to getting popular, getting people to view them, than actual journalistic integrity. In the movie Anchorman 2, fictional anchorman Ron Burgundy witnesses satellite footage being filmed of a car chase that isn’t meant for broadcasting, and his first instinct is to tell the broadcasters to roll it. “We didn’t have a story, so he made one,” says one of the workers excitedly. This is a surprising reflection of how the media is today, more focused on telling America what they want to hear rather than what they need to hear.

We live in a technological revolution, but as things are right now, it can be incredibly easy for a story to change based on context, especially when social media is involved. Last year, popular Youtube user SaltyDKDan ran an experiment involving “cancel culture,” which is a buzzword thrown around quite often. When someone is “cancelled,” it means that a callout post against them has been made and gotten so popular that their entire online presence can vanish in days, even if no such thing happened. Salty’s experiment revolved around getting his following, which is over 200K members strong, to start making Twitter posts with a hashtag suggesting he was being cancelled. It worked a bit too well, as fans of Korean pop music (also known as “K-pop stans”) have a tendency to flock to such hashtags in order to promote their favorite groups and get people to see their fanmade recordings/edits, or “fancams.” These fancams drowned out a majority of the posts, prompting even more posts being made asking what was going on and thinking it was a legitimate cancel attempt, and in the end, approximately 10,000 posts were made, reaching the second spot on Twitter’s trending topic list. 

While worrying things like this can happen when anyone has the ability to make their thoughts known to the 330 million people who regularly use Twitter, there is also light to be found in this darkness. On a regular basis, people are saved from destitution, removed from abusive situations, and more. People have the opportunity to make new friends, join great communities, reconnect with old acquaintances, and go places they never would have otherwise. All you need is a device with a screen, and you’ll be able to join a collective of both like-minded thinkers and those who disagree with you. As long as you remember to keep an eye on the important stuff, I think you might just be fine in the massive sea of opinions that is the Internet.

[migleefulmoments]

Let me help you understand the “confusion” over CDAN’s Blind

Crazy Days and Nights mentioned Darren and Mia in a podcast and then wrote a blind on his website. The cc fandom is confused and I want to take a moment and explain it for those who are looking for the truth.

First the Podcast mention:  

mmack0621 @ajw720 I mentioned trouble in paradise, but this is what Enty said so no one can get mad at us & think we made it up. He said last night quote "Oooo...a little speculation, a little gossip that's probably gonna turn into a blind item tomorrow. But I think DC might be having some marriage issues. He has not been going out with his "wife" lately. He has been heading to events solo. So we'll have to see how that goes. " It was 36 minutes into about a 42 minute podcast. It caught my attention because D is one of the people that he rarely has gossip on. Who knows what's going on?! 🤷‍♀️

The Blind:

Now the MOST IMPORTANT PART: CDAN’s Disclaimer 

“CRAZY DAYS AND NIGHTS IS A GOSSIP SITE. THE SITE PUBLISHES RUMORS, CONJECTURE, AND FICTION. IN ADDITION TO ACCURATELY REPORTED INFORMATION, CERTAIN SITUATIONS, CHARACTERS AND EVENTS PORTRAYED IN THE BLOG ARE EITHER PRODUCTS OF THE AUTHOR’S IMAGINATION OR ARE USED FICTITIOUSLY. INFORMATION ON THIS SITE MAY CONTAIN ERRORS OR INACCURACIES; THE BLOG’S PROPRIETOR DOES NOT MAKE WARRANTY AS TO THE CORRECTNESS OR RELIABILITY OF THE SITE'S CONTENT. LINKS TO CONTENT ON AND QUOTATION OF MATERIAL FROM OTHER SITES ARE NOT THE RESPONSIBILITY OF CRAZY DAYS AND NIGHTS.”

CDAN admits it publishes fiction-LIES- and items which are “figments of the author's imagination”. That should tell you enough about the viability of the stories Enty publishes and yet, Abby and the cc fandom have a long history of accepting CDAN’s blinds as truth regardless of how illogical and irrational they are. Enty is claiming that Darren and Mia are having problems in their marriage and his only evidence is his suggestion that Darren is attending events without his wife. Missing an event hardly proves marital discord, but the claim isn’t even true! Mia has been by Darren’s side for the vast majority of the events he’s attended since the wedding. The only event she didn’t go to that I can think of in the last 2 months is the quick trip to NYC for the Barry’s event.  Maybe she missed another event but certainly not more than 1 or 2.  

The interesting thing is that the cc Anons KNOW this blind isn’t true and a few have brought it up to Abby. Instead of outright rejecting the blind as a lie, Abby is calling it “confusing” as if that is a position one can take when confronted with lies. 

CDAN fabricates gossip in order to drive traffic to it’s website and pod.  It’s PR 101-write salacious items and the gossip-hungry people will come running. Enty doesn’t care if it’s true, partially true or even a little true. He is relying on the fact that too many people in 2019 are willing to be conned, lied to and gaslighted if only it will prove their previously held beliefs are true. Enty doesn’t care that he’s hurting real people or that he’s lying. Lying and hurting people is what he does so it is up to the reader to be smarter than he is and protect oneself from his lies and keep oneself from being scammed. 

Here are some of the cc comments in reverse chronological order for context:. 

Hi nonnies! Seems to me she’s mostly everywhere. He did get the prior nyc trip on his own. Ofc he’s there now for her step brother’s wedding.

But the blind was confirmed to be him. I’m just reporting the news. I think collectively we are confused.

*********************************************

She is keeping her anons together by making this a “we” thing- “We are all in this together”.  Abby is saying  “Don’t think for yourself, I’ve done that already and I’ve determined that we are collectively confused”.   

Anonymous asked: One of the gossip web sites has recently posted about a closeted actor and his wife having marital problems. A couple of replies assumed it to be D/darren C. Who plants these items? Is the purpose just to get publicity?

ajw720 answered: According to @mmack0621 it’s absolutely d as he was also mentioned on the podcast. Why? We don’t know.

***************************************************

Here Abby gets it confused. She has an erroneous understanding about how PR works and how gossip sites get their information. A successful working actor does not want to be on CDAN. While all publicity is good publicity, being on a website that routinely publishes salacious lies is not the kind of publicity Darren wants or needs. Enty makes money by getting clicks on his website- he uses Google Ads and listeners to his podcast who listen to commercials from his “sponsors” (I presume, I’ve never listened to the pod nor will I ever, even for research. The other option would be, he charges subscribers a subscription fee). Darren gets nothing positive out of Enty posting blinds that say his marriage is in trouble or he’s gay. Celebs have enough trouble getting their truth out into this gossip-drive society, the ls thing they want is to do it through blinds on a site that admits it makes up stories for clicks. Abby likes to pretend that Darren or his team or Mia submit info to gossip sites and call paparazzi because it fits HER storyline.  LIke Enty, Abby, 

“Publishes rumors, conjecture, and fiction. in addition to accurately reported information. Nearly 100% of the situations, characters and events portrayed on Abby’s blog are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously”.      

Let me be clear, NOBODY on Darren’s team -including his wife- ever call the paparazzi or gossip websites. They all have much more effective and efficient methods of getting the information they make public.  Gossip sites exist solely to make money for their owners. Struggling D-list actors and reality stars have learned to manipulate tabloids in order to get their own names and images published but anyone of Darren’s caliber has better ways of doing that that allow him 100% of the control. When you call a tabloid or a pap, you lose control of the narrative. Celebs in 2019 have access to their own PR teams, Twitter, Instagram, TikTok, YouTube, and if they wanted to have a longer conversation, someone of Darren’s status would have access to much more traditional and reliable media organizations like TV networks, NYT, WaPO, even People Magazine which is on another level from CDAN.  l is calling Enty though I am sure that ccers are sending him “intel” they fabricated.   

klainecentric Now I'm interested in which article, I don't want my bubble to burst and my hope to dwindle, but this is good news. The last couple of RC events were very telling.

leka-1998 @klainecentric you can find it here.

ajw720 Apparently on the podcast he was mentioned by name and he said trouble in paradise. Not sure what paradise he’s referring to. M is anything but paradise and that fraud of a marriage is a nightmare. But if this is perhaps d&c hinting there’s trouble. I’m cool with it. But not getting my hopes up.

Taking what we know that CDAN lies and the fact that we have seen plenty of evidence that Darren and Mia have been attending events together, the rationale and logical conclusion is that Enty fabricated the story in order to get clicks on his website and listeners to his podcast. The logical conclusion is that it is a flat-out lie. It is not rational to conclude that something “confusing” is going on.

Why the cc fandom never learns from their mistakes. 

This is another concrete example of Abby taking everything as confirmation bias instead of accepting she is wrong and learning from that.  She has been pushing a narrative that Darren and Mia are going to get divorced sometime around their first anniversary and everything is simply confirmation bias for that narraitive.  This is a perfect example of how the rationale and intelligent resonse to CDAN’s comment is to Once again, the fandom is trying to shove a square peg into a round hole and it just doesn’t fit. 

Another important lesson needs to be addressed: It is true that sometimes a lot of tabloids will start pushing stories that someone has cheated. We can use the example of Justin Timberlake this week.  Justin was seen at a party holding hands with his costar. Lots of media sites ran the story because there were photos (X) and Justin Apologized to Jessica about his lapse in judgment.  Fox, CNN, Yahoo Entertainment, Fox Business, NBC 10, People, TMZ, US Weekly, and The Guardian-just to name a few-ran the story.  Compare that to CDAN’s claim that Darren’s marriage is in trouble-the ONLY site who ran the story is a site who admits on its front page that it “PUBLISHES RUMORS, CONJECTURE, AND FICTION. IN ADDITION TO ACCURATELY REPORTED INFORMATION, CERTAIN SITUATIONS, CHARACTERS AND EVENTS PORTRAYED IN THE BLOG ARE EITHER PRODUCTS OF THE AUTHOR’S IMAGINATION OR ARE USED FICTITIOUSLY”.    

[anexplanationofunfortunateevents]

the correlation between ‘lock her up’ chants and criminal behavior continues to strengthen

If you really can’t absorb any more of Trump’s Ukrainian caper, the broadest points to know about recent developments are probably: 

There were quite a few legally inadvisable connections between Trump and Ukraine before he tried to shake down President Zelensky. 

These contacts included several people who were just arrested on campaign finance violations, two of whom were supposedly part of Trump’s legal team. 

It’s looking more and more likely that former NYC mayor and current CNN comic relief character Rudy Giuliani is going down.

I’m not going to predict which aspects of these developments are going to be important in the next few weeks, but there are enough connections to the impeachment investigation that it’s probably worth being able to follow the basics.

The central non-American figure is a Ukrainian “legitimate businessman” named Dmitry Firtash. Imagine if Tony Soprano was a Koch brother in hock with the Kremlin. When Paul Manafort’s old boss Viktor Yanukovych was the president of Ukraine, Firtash used his position at a Russian gas company to funnel money to pro-Russian politicians like Yanukovych. After Yanukovych fell, Firtash fled Ukraine to Vienna. The US has been trying to have him sent here for the past few years because *waves hands* lots of crimes.

These guys who were arrested earlier this month are closely connected with Firtash and Giuliani. Two of them were arrested at an airport, where they had one-way tickets to Vienna. They were busted for running a cartoonishly sketchy super PAC which funneled inappropriate contributions to a number of Republican politicians. A lot of that money came from the American oligarchs you expect to see pumping money into conservative campaigns – but remember, Firtash’s specialty is laundering rubles for pro-Kremlin politicians outside of Russia. One of them helpfully shared photos of himself with many of these new contacts on social media. This might be a rich dude doing a dumb thing for the ‘gram, though it would also be a perfectly good method of communication if, say, your boss was overseas and he wanted to know who might be open to bribes, and you couldn’t report directly him because he was almost certainly under surveillance. For example. (“Dmitri, if you’re listening...”)

These guys, again, are doing this shady stuff with Firtash while they are also on Donald Trump’s legal team. This is a distinction they share with the former mayor of New York City, Rudy Giuliani. Giuliani is right in the middle of the Ukrainian shakedown that’s getting Individual-1 impeached, and had been under both criminal and counterintelligence investigations for months when he – totally coincidentally, I’m sure – made plans to join his buddies on that trip to Vienna. He was part of the cover-up of Trump’s payoffs to his exes. He’s also deep into the misconduct in the FBI’s New York field office during the 2016 election. There’s more, but you get the idea.

Giuliani acts like just another Trump-adjacent crook. If that’s how you think of him, he deserves it. Unlike most other Trump-adjacent crooks, though, it is at least explicable why a lot of people got the wrong idea about him. Before being cast as Donald Trump’s TV “lawyer,” he was a shady businessman and Republican candidate for president in his own right. Before that, he was the mayor of New York City. And before that, he was the United States attorney at SDNY (that’s the chief federal prosecutor in Manhattan). Before that … he was presumably still a racist, authoritarian asshole, but in ways that are less relevant to the issue at hand.

Whether or not he was substantively good at those jobs, he had a knack for convincing politically moderate white people he was good at them. He ran the SDNY when the feds were rolling up the Italian mafia, and he was savvy about using arrests for PR. He happened to be the mayor in the 1990s as violent crime rates were falling all over the US, so people really did experience the city getting a lot safer during his term. The EPA probably deserved more credit than Rudy, but like, when you notice there are a lot fewer murders in your neighborhood, it’s natural to feel good about that and not care too much about why it’s happening. And, although he reverted to form soon afterward, he really did reassure the public in the hours and days after the 9/11 attacks. Which, yes, was literally his job, but the impression a person makes during a traumatic event can be hard to shake.

This doesn’t excuse what he’s up to now. If anything, it makes him look worse, since a former US attorney doesn’t have Junior’s defense of being too stupid to be a criminal. And it’s not to depict him as a tragic hero, because fuck him. We get our news from people, many of them New Yorkers, who tend to have filters and biases, and acknowledging those filters can give us a clearer picture of the information they give us. A lot of them have been genuinely thrown by Giuliani’s behavior, and not just because of the unearned generic white man credibility they’ve projected onto the more conventional Vichy Republicans. 

Weirdly, Giuliani’s reputation might actually be part of why this story is sticking when so many haven’t. Trump being a crook is dog bites man. America’s Mayor turning out to be Saul Goodman? That’s entertainment.

It’s probably not totally irrelevant that Giuliani’s 2008 presidential campaign fell apart right around the time one of the Democratic contenders memorably savaged him for only ever wanting to say “a noun, a verb, and 9/11.” That was the senior senator from the great state of Delaware, a kindly-looking gentleman named Joe Biden. Biden’s anti-corruption work in Ukraine, unsurprisingly, messed things up for Firtash. That probably explains why Biden was the first of the 2020 Democrats to be targeted like this, but he won’t be the last. So next time you catch some jackass in your Facebook feed rambling on about “Kamala is a cop” or making fun of Elizabeth Warren’s Native American grandmother, just remember, that’s getting pushed by this band of geniuses. They don’t need your help.

[jerseydeanne]

What the hell did Dems achieve? The answer is NOTHING!

Why Democrats’ ‘Impeachment’ Is An Insult To Their Base

It was all calculated political theater, and almost certainly a play that will turn sour for her party while misfire after misfire confuses her base, incenses Republicans, and alienates the rest of us.

From San Francisco to Amherst, hungover activists greeted Thursday’s mid-afternoon sun, rolling out of their waterbeds in the warm belief that Donald J. Trump was no longer president of the United States.

Of course, he is still the president. Indeed, he might not even have been constitutionally impeached yet. That’s because every chapter of this story, from accusations to investigations, charges to impeachment, has been pure political theater.

“Very sadly now… I solemnly and sadly open the debate on the impeachment,” Pelosi announced before Wednesday’s vote. “He gave us no choice,” she concluded.

The speaker and her allies wore black, of course, because they were sad. They briefed their colleagues on the sadness so they toocould be sad.

“A Somber Pelosi Wields Her Impeachment Power In ‘Sadness’ — And With Ferocity,” one CNN headline reads. Dozens more papers across the country followed the speaker’s direction, although at least two of her colleagues missed the message, dancing down the halls and smiling all the way.

All these tears, we know, were the culmination of years of a deep-dive investigation of how voters would react if Democrats gave it a try.

“Throughout the 2018 midterm campaign,” New York magazine reports, “the operatives in charge of the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee (DCCC) included a question about support for impeachment in the private national poll they ran every month to inform their strategy.”

Democrat after Democrat decided he’d have a better chance at re-election (and avoiding a primary from his left) if they went for it. It was, they claimed, their duty to the Founding Fathers. They, the politicians assured, were just like the men who fought and died in the Battle of the Bulge.

It’s a strange thing to invoke the country’s founding and claim America’s honored dead while thinking instead about the next election. It’s stranger still to pretend you’re consulting the heavens when really you’re just getting updates from your pollsters.

“When we’re dancing with the angels, the question will be asked: In 2019, what did we do to make sure we kept our democracy intact?” Pelosi quoted the late Elijah Cummings. “We did all we could, Elijah. We passed two articles of impeachment. The president is impeached.”

But Elijah was a Democrat from Baltimore, not an Old Testament prophet, and it turns out the House might not have even impeached the president at all.

At a press conference just a day after saving American democracy and sealing her place in heaven, Pelosi said she didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Oh, and that she doesn’t know if or when she’ll be sending the House vote up to the Senate. This poses a problem for those left-wing activists who at least hoped the president would get an “impeached” asterisk on his Wikipedia page.

“If the House does not communicate its impeachment to the Senate, it hasn’t actually impeached the president,” Harvard prat Noah Feldman wrote in a Thursday Bloomberg op-ed. “If the articles are not transmitted, Trump could legitimately say that he wasn’t truly impeached at all.”

Feldman might sound familiar because he was one of the Democrats’ own witnesses, called before Jerry Nadler’s committee to tell them all how historic and constitutional they all are. He is also known to call for the president’s impeachment with a dramatic waft of self-importance every few months (including once for saying President Barack Obama spied on his campaign).

This whole process problem would be very awkward, except Pelosi was never actually on any mission from God or for the republic. It was all calculated political theater, and almost certainly a play that will turn sour for her party while misfire after misfire confuses her base, incenses Republicans, and alienates the rest of us.

“I have a spring in my step,” she told reporters after the impeachment vote, “because of the moral courage of our caucus.”

The official parts of the impeachment began with an investigation that excluded the minority and the accused from all important aspects of the process. From there, we were treated to charges that slid and shifted from high crimes and misdemeanors down to the dubious, gaseous claims of obstruction of Congress and abuse of power. With the final act a delay or refusal to send the vote for Senate trial, it is safe to say that every aspect of Democrats’ impeachment has failed to meet even the standards of justice set by previous presidential impeachments.

The day after the vote, a Washington news outlet asked her about criticism of her decision to not hold the articles of impeachment in the House.

“Oh pfft,” the speaker replied, “waving her hand dismissively.”

/Christopher Bedford /

It’s a joke, it’s a frigging joke! Pelosi did this to shut her base up and plans to do nothing with it. It was political theatre! 

Everybody has the right to mount a defense, and there are always two sides to the story. Nancy, you’re not above the law, you can’t spend our money this way. Give it up! 

Thank you anon, 🥰