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hxneyandespressx · 4 years

Text

if i were a man (i’d be the man)

summary: jj holds a press conference while on a high-profile case. she has to deal with the stupid male reporters. after the conference is done, jj goes to the nearest bathroom, away from the crowd, and screams and swears to her heart’s content

word count: 6.2k

content warnings: mentions of emotional and verbal abuse, guns, violence, blood, suicide

a/n: inspiration for this fic is from criminal minds season 4 episode 16 “pleasure is my business”

☆。*。☆。

It was a rough start to a Wednesday morning for a particular FBI agent. She almost twisted her ankle on her early morning jog, got stuck in traffic, and had to wait in a long line for her co-workers’ coffee orders. Soon enough, she started to wish that she took the metro instead. Media communications liaison Jennifer “JJ” Jareau woke up today and chose violence. She huffed in frustration at how her morning went.

Walking toward the bullpen with the coffee orders in her hands, JJ was greeted with “hellos” and “good mornings”. Not wanting to have her co-workers profile her, JJ bottled up her frustration and grumpiness and put a smile on her face. It was a rule amongst the group to never profile each other. With learning an assortment of profiling tactics, JJ knew how to form a realistic smile without genuine happiness. Creases around the eyes, smile lines contoured the mouth, sparkles in her baby blue eyes. The short blonde perfected the fake smile that could fool anyone, even expert profilers.

“Good morning, guys.” JJ said with a bright smile on her face. She held two cardboard trays filled with various coffee orders. She placed one of the trays on Emily’s desk, so she can pass out the orders to her co-workers. She called out the order name as she passed the cup to the person.

“One French vanilla latte for Ms. Garcia. Two black coffees for Emily and Derek. And finally, a coffee with extra cream and sugar for Spence.” Everyone said their thank you’s to the blonde. Then, there was one coffee cup left. A cappuccino.

“Happy Wednesday, my nerds.” Rossi said as he approached the group of tired agents. JJ smiled and handed the cappuccino to the elderly man.

“Grazie.” He thanked the media liaison for her efforts to bring his favorite morning beverage. The group spent some time chatting nonsense before the case briefing. Thirty minutes went by and all of them disbursed into their desks to finish up the paperwork. JJ headed down to her office to work on choosing the next case after the one that was currently ongoing.

After settling in her office chair, JJ took a look around her office. Messy stacks of pending files scattered her desk. Empty coffee cups and water bottles lined the file cabinet. JJ checked the time on her watch. 8:12 AM. About two hours to kill. The blonde put her hair up into a ponytail and took in a deep breath. She dove into the nearest pile of manila files, looking through all the documents and photographs to determine which case for the BAU team to take on after the current case.

As the clock ticked closer to 10 AM, JJ picked up today’s case files and head out of her office. Strutting through the bullpen, JJ entered the briefing room slightly out of breath.

“Sorry I’m late, everyone,” JJ said while passing the manila folders out to her co-workers. After handing out the necessary materials, she grabbed the remote from the center of the wooden table.

“Sam Winchester was found in Fulton Park, in the Stuyvesant Heights neighborhood of Brooklyn. Eighteen stab wounds to his chest and neck,” JJ explained as she clicked on the remote to switch between the crime scene photos. “He is one of the victims dumped at various locations of Brooklyn that was found last night.”

“Hold up. One of the victims?” Derek asked.

“Yeah. So far this killer built up a rep sheet of five kills.” JJ stated. Hotch raised one of his eyebrows at the new information.

“Seven? Why haven’t the NYPD notified us immediately after the first three kills?” Hotch asked the media liaison.

“Probably the department thought they could handle the crimes,” JJ explained. “That was the case until they realized that they needed help.”

The young blonde switched to the next slide, showing one of the other victims dumped in North Williamsburg.

“What’s interesting about the locations is that the first victim was drowned in the Hudson River. And as more victims appear, the disposal methods get more dramatic. Maybe it plays some role in the unsub’s pathology.” Spencer said as he looked at the screen, observing for any patterns.

“Like with one of the recent victims, the disposal site is in Cobble Hill. It’s typically occupied by those who are relatively wealthy.” Rossi said to continue Spencer’s thoughts. “This unsub is getting bolder with his disposal sites. I’m concerned with there being an end game to this.” Emily stated. Everyone at the round table shifted through the various crime scene photos and documents. Rossi took hold of one of the crime scene photographs: a reversed ten of cups tarot card. “It is also apparent that the unsub is leaving tarot cards at the scene of the crime.”

“Tarot cards? What’s the significance?” Derek asked.

“Maybe to tell of the inevitable fortune the victims faced?” Emily said.

“Well, each card has a different meaning when it is upright and reversed. And usually, when doing a reading, three to five cards are pulled to tell a fortune.” Penelope explained as she typed away on her work laptop. It had not surprised anyone that the technical analyst had an interest in tarot readings and astrology.

“You know, the first documented tarot packs were recorded between 1440 and 1450 AD in Milan, Ferrara, Florence, and Bologna when additional trump cards with allegorical illustrations were added to the common four-suit pack. These new decks were called carte da trionfi, triumph cards, and the additional cards are known simply as trionfi, which became "trumps" in English. The oldest surviving tarot cards are the 15 Visconti-Sforza tarot decks painted in the mid-15th century for the rulers of the Duchy of Milan. The Duke of Milan described a 60-card deck with 16 cards having images of the Roman gods and suits depicting four kinds of birds.” Spencer talked about the history of tarot cards, with hand gestures to accompany his little ramble. When he finished, everyone at the table stared at him. The young FBI agents sheepishly smiled as Emily poked his left cheek.

“Since when did you learn about tarot cards?” Emily asked.

“I learned about it when I took a college course on the Italian Renaissance.” Spencer sheepishly smiled.

“Well, whatever it is, it seems like there is a story to be told––or rather to be heard.” JJ said as she stared at the crime scene photos, her eyebrows knitted together in bewilderment.

“That’s what we need to find out. Wheels up in 20.” Hotch called out.

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The BAU members sat comfortably on the jet, each in their little world. That was until the unit chief called on everyone for a case discussion.

“Let’s go over victimology.” Hotch said to call on the group. Everyone moved closer to the unit chief to better discuss the case. Derek sat in an armchair, with Emily next to him. Across from them were Spencer and JJ. Hotch leaned against one of the seats, practically sitting on the adjustable arm of the plane seat. Rossi sat on the tan velvet couch, adjacent to JJ.

“Reid.” Hotch called on the genius of the group.

“White. Male. Between the ages of 45-55. Jobs ranging from a stockbroker to assets protection manager. All of them have cheated on their wives multiple times and some even had sexual harassment accusations.” The young curly-haired man said to start the discussion.

“Even if these men cheated on their wives and got those accusations, they still didn’t deserve the multiple stab wounds to meet their end.” Emily said.

JJ looked through the case file to see the reports on all five victims.

“The victims’ names are Igor Andreevich, Lucas Duncan, Hunter Mcevoy, Sam Winchester, Jared Kalinski.” JJ called the names out like it was a roll call.

“These are the five victims that this unsub killed so far?” Hotch asked. The blonde nodded her head and said “yes, sir” in response.

“As the victim count increased, the more stab wounds appeared on the body.” Rossi said to point out an observation.

“But the M.E. said that most of these stab wounds were created post mortem. Meaning that the initial stab was to get the job done efficiently and he went back in to fuel his rage and/or sexual needs.” Spencer

“Are we assuming his sexual orientation? Because there aren’t many homosexual serial killers, kid” Rossi said.

“It could be a possibility. We have to consider our options.” Hotch said.

Just then, the laptop turned on and showed the beautiful Penelope Garcia.

“How’s it going, my crime-fighting musketeers?” Penelope asked. Everyone, even Hotch, smiled at her cheery greeting.

“Garcia, start compiling files on each of our victims,” Hotch told the technical analyst. “Everything financial and personal. Bank statements, credit card bills, investments, wills, trust funds. Anything that will tell us more about the victim’s lives.”

“Faster than a Hotch rocket.” After that was said into the air, Penelope felt embarrassed while Hotch looked at her with his usual stone-cold face. Derek sighed and shook his head, taking a sip of his coffee to hide his second-hand embarrassment for his babygirl.

To break the silence, Rossi grunted and coughed into his fist.

“Based on the jobs these men had, we could safely assume that they were killed in the financial district of New York. Then, the unsub transported the bodies to a dumpsite.” Emily said as she read off from the case file in her hands.

“But why from Manhattan to Brooklyn? That is a lot of weight to carry.” Derek asked.

“Maybe Brooklyn holds a lot of significance to him. Something from his childhood and he can’t let go.” JJ said. Everyone nodded their heads in agreement as they all closed their files.

“Once we land, do you want me to get in contact with the media to inform the public?” The media liaison asked the unit chief.

“No. We need to hold back on it. Giving him the media’s attention is exactly what he wants. He wants his story to be heard and we will not give him that.” Hotch explained. JJ nodded in response and wrote down media concerns in her small blue notepad.

“Dave, You and Prentiss go to the crime scene,” Hotch instructed the group. “The rest of us will get up to speed at the precinct.” Everyone nodded in agreement with the unit chief.

After discussing the victimology and the nature of the case, everyone separated and occupied their own space on the jet. Derek on the couch, listening to music. Spencer by the window, reading the Hound of the Baskervilles. Rossi and Hotch in the back, conversing whatever two elderly men talk about.

The blonde media liaison stared out of the window until she felt a presence next to her. She looked away to find Emily standing in the aisle with a cup of coffee and a bag of Cheetos in her hands.

“Want some company?” Emily asked as she took the empty seat.

“I don’t mind at all.” JJ smiled at the brunette. The shorter woman felt special that Emily did this for her. She took the Cheetos and the coffee mug from her co-worker. As she grabbed them, their fingers brushed against each other. A little pink blush formed on JJ’s cheeks. Not wanting Emily to know about the silly crush the blonde had on her, JJ covered half her face with her beloved blue blanket. Emily chuckled at JJ’s actions and placed her hand on the blonde’s right shoulder, closing her eyes for a quick nap.

JJ carefully took some of her dark blue blanket and wrapped it around Emily’s right shoulder. She looked at the brunette who was sleeping on her shoulder and softly smiled.

The blonde took sips of the coffee as she stared out of the window. The sunlight bounced off the water particles in the clouds, creating a mini rainbow over the tops of the white clouds. The media liaison took in the silence as a treat, before landing into the chaos of New York.

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A government-mandated black SUV arrived at the 25th precinct. Everyone––sans Emily and Rossi––got out of the car and was greeted by a lively short woman.

“Detective Miller? We spoke on the phone.” JJ shook hands with the short woman.

“Please, call me Kennedy. Thanks for coming in.”

“No problem. These are agents Hotchner, Morgan, and Doctor Reid.” JJ introduced them while gesturing at the person, in respective order.

“Hey, why don't you go on inside and make yourself comfortable.” Kennedy said. The remaining BAU members nodded their heads and made their way inside the busy precinct. Police officers swarmed everywhere as the federal agents weaved their way to an empty conference room.

Everyone worked at a swift pace to get everything set up. JJ and Derek went with a police officer to get boxes filled with case files and other materials. Hotch talked with Detective Miller to get information on how her officers dealt with the unsub so far. While all this is happening, Spencer worked on the geographical profile, so the agents know where to look for the unsub.

“What do these tarot cards mean?” Hotch asked the group. Everyone shook their head “no”, signifying that they had no clue what each card meant.

“I’ll call Penelope and ask her about the meanings of the cards.” Derek said as he took out his flip phone to dial Penelope’s number.

“Live from Quantico, Virginia, it is the Divine Miss Penelope.” Penelope greeted the group.

“Hey, sugar mama. I need something from you.” Derek said.

“Talk to me.”

“I need you to interpret the meanings of the tarot cards that were left at the different crime scenes.”

“Ah- I’ll be your little witch today. Hit me with have you have.”

“Alright, I’m putting you on speaker.” Derek puts down the phone on the wooden table, so everyone could hear what the technical analyst has to say.

“Ten of Cups, Garcia.” Hotch said.

“When upright, the Ten of Cups embody happiness, joy, contentment, and emotional satisfaction in your family, relationship, or companion. It represents an idyllic state of comfort, harmony, peace, and love which makes you feel like you are in paradise. When reversed, it could mean shattered dreams, disharmony, or a broken family.” Penelope explained.

“Reversed Wheel of Fortune card.” Spencer called out.

“When the wheel is reversed, it means that luck has not been on your side and misfortunes have been following you. When it's associated with this card, you must understand that these are due to external influences that you cannot control.” Penelope said.

“Reversed Justice card.” Derek said next.

“A reversed Justice tarot card could indicate various things. One Justice reversal meaning is to show you are living in denial. You are not willing to accept the consequences of your actions or others. You are running from your guilt. You must, however, be aware that these are actions that are in the past. Other Justice reversal meanings could be injustice, retribution, dishonesty, corruption, dishonesty, unfairness, and avoiding accountability.” The technical analyst interpreted.

“Lastly, the reversed Emperor.” JJ said the final card they had.

“The Emperor reversed is a sign of abused authoritative power. In your social life, it can manifest in the overreach of power from a father figure or a possessive partner.” Penelope described the final tarot card.

With all the information in their heads, the BAU members felt puzzled about how to move forward.

“How are these cards related to the crime scenes?” Derek asked.

“It’s like a performance,” Penelope chimed in. Everyone turned their heads to listen to the cheery woman on the phone. “Like there is a story behind these killings. The cards are telling how the unsub is feeling. She wants us to know her story.” Everyone stood in shock when Penelope made a breakthrough in the case.

“Wait, Garcia. You said ‘she’. Why do you think it is a woman?” Hotch asked.

“Well, sir. The first victim was drowned, with no signs of sexual assault on his body. Doesn’t that usually indicate that the unsub is a woman?”

“Not necessarily but it is a quiet and efficient way of murdering someone.” Hotch explained.

“Female serial killers are a fascinating field. We don’t have much information on them. But what we do know involves throwing the riles completely out of the window,” Spencer started going on one of his rambles. “For example, female serial killers typically don’t leave a signature.”

“But this one leaves tarot cards at the scene.” Derek pointed out.

“Maybe it was what Garcia said: she’s telling us her story.” JJ said. “Alright. Let’s start from the beginning. What could be inferenced from her childhood?” Hotch asked.

“She could have had a domineering father who worked on Wall Street. And with that dynamic, he could have sexually and emotionally abused her, making her feeling like damaged goods.” Spencer explained the backstory of the unsub. “Also because the victims cheated on their wives, we could also conclude that the father also cheated on the mother, who always forgave her husband and tried to rationalize to stay for her daughter. And that made the unsub feel rage and being inferior. That she didn’t do anything to help her mother and herself.”

“But there is no indication of sexual gratification.” Hotch interjected.

“However, there’s a reason why there are so many lacerations on the later victims. It could be the rage from her abusive father that this unsub is using against the victims, who acted like surrogates.” Derek said.

“The stressor?” Hotch asked.

“To follow her father’s footsteps, she may have also worked in the financial field. As a stockbroker, a financial analyst, or even as a secretary for a company,” Spencer said. “And as she continued at her job, she had a bunch of little comments and slights against her”

“As for the trigger, maybe she got passed up for a promotion by a male co-worker who was less qualified than she was.” JJ explained.

“Any sane person would get miffed about it, but she’s built differently,” Derek said.

“So much so, she killed five men so far.” Hotch said.

“And she did it in an efficient manner where no one had any idea until now,” Derek said right after the unit chief. “But how did one woman kill five men in one borough and disposed of them in another?”

“She must know the area like the back of her hand. Brooklyn is what? Around 72 square miles?” JJ said in response to Derek.

“Uh, 69.5.” Spencer corrected JJ. The blonde sighed, not surprised that the boy genius would know the exact measurement.

“And the fact that no one has seen her either abduct or dispose of says she knows the city and its patterns well.” Derek said to continue what JJ had said before she was cut off by the boy genius. Just then, both Rossi and Emily had returned from the latest crime scene. In Emily’s hands were coffee cups on cardboard trays while Rossi had Chinese takeout. Everyone shared the food as they continued to work on the case. Being the little tease he was, Derek flung a wonton piece at Spencer, who was struggling to eat with the wooden chopsticks. The wonton piece gently hit Spencer’s forehead and the boy genius pouted, hiding his frustration at both the chopsticks and Derek.

“The M.E. said that the cuts were clean, no serrated edges. It would have to be a very sharp knife to be able to cut through human skin like nothing.” Emily said, to drive the discussion about the M.O.

“A knife like that could get the job done efficiently. Could be the work of a throwing knife. Take out the victim with a single throw to have them die quickly, then she stabs them to feel something.” Derek said.

“Throwing knives? What is she? A secret agent of the Dai Li?” Rossi joked sarcastically.

“From Avatar the Last Airbender?” Hotch retorted, remembering that his son Jack watches that show on Saturday mornings.

“What’s Avatar the Last Airbender?” Spencer asked. Nobody bothered to answer the young man’s question.

“But this one is different. It’s like the more she kills, the more anger builds up inside and it gets released on the victim when she goes back in.” JJ stated.

It became silent in the conference room, quite the opposite to the noise of the New York precinct in the evening rush hour. Tired from both traveling and working, Hotch could see that the rest of his team was also exhausted from the day. The unit chief called everyone to head to the hotel and rest, as they can always come back to the precinct tomorrow morning.

Slowly one by one, each of the agents packed their things and get out of the New York precinct, and hopped into the cars, praying the soft hotel beds would lull them into a deep slumber.

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Day Three at the New York precinct. All the BAU members were getting irritated that they hadn’t proceeded much on the case. Derek tossed a small basketball up and down to pass the time. Spencer twirled a pen as he stared at the geographical profile, the gears turning in his mind. Both Hotch and Rossi were discussing the case quietly while JJ and Emily doodled on each others’ arms. The blonde was innocently drawing hearts and flowers until Emily came up with an idea. Feeling a tad mischievous, Emily took her sharpie marker and started to outline something on the media liaison’s left forearm. JJ raised an eyebrow, questioning what her co-worker was doing. As the image came together, JJ gasped softly, however, not surprised that Emily drew a vagina.

Emily quietly laughed as JJ, annoyed by the brunette’s actions, took her sharpie marker and tried her best to transform the vagina drawing into a flower. Taking her time, and with only a sharpie, JJ showed off her artistic talent by creating a masterpiece: a carnation blooming out of a vagina.

Emily rolled her eyes when JJ stuck out her tongue at the brunette. Taking Emily’s right arm, the media liaison started to outline a grid for a game of tic tac toe. The brunette started the game by marking an “x” in a spot and JJ took her turn. The two women continued their game of tic tac toe and

Everyone was silent in their own world until Hotch’s phone rang. The unit chief picked it up and it was a number he couldn’t recognize. Hotch silently motioned Derek to call Penelope to start triangulating the call’s location.

“Hotchner.”

“Hello, Aaron.” A sultry voice talked. On the other side of the call was the unsub, Taylor Evans.

“Seems you know my name.” Hotch asked.

“I researched you in preparation for this phone call,” Evans said. Through the phone receiver, Hotch could hear the soft whooshes of pages turning.

“You reading a book? What’s the title?”

“Le monde comme il va by Voltaire,” Taylor closed her book. “Have you read his work?”

“No, I haven’t. You seem highly educated.” Hotch stated.

“You seem to know a lot about me.” Taylor retorted.

“But I don’t know you that well since the start of this phone call.” Hotch responded.

“What would you like to know?” Taylor asked.

“May I know your name, for starters?” Hotch asked. A cold laugh could be heard through the landline speaker.

“Evans. Taylor Evans.” the unsub replied.

“Nice name,” Hotch complimented her to bring her guard down.

“Now that we are acquainted, you can ask me questions.” the unsub’s content sigh could be heard on the landline.

“Has life been hard on you?” Taylor asked, wanting to jump the gun.

“I try my best.”

“Try my best,” Taylor said mockingly. “Is that the best you can do for your family?” A sarcastic tone filled Taylor’s voice, not liking what the unit chief said in response to her question.

“With what I’ve got.” Hotch said.

“You got any children?” Taylor said to divert the conversation.

“I have a son.”

“How often do you see him?”

“I try to see him every week.”

“Do you see him every week?” Taylor tried to put Hotch under pressure, to get him to crack.

“No, I don't get there as often as I want.” A pitiful sigh was heard on the phone.

“I believe you, but don’t compare yourself to the men I see and work with. You are nothing like them. You’re just another whore.” Taylor said with such disgust in her tone.

“How am I a whore?” Hotch asked.

“You come when called on short notice. Begging to be put to work. Saving your reputation. However, even though you’re a workaholic, you make the time to see your son. You care for your son. You want the best for him.” Taylor explained.

“You’re right. I do want the best for him” Hotch said. The unsub sighed, wishing that she had a good man, like Hotch, for a father.

“Enough about you. What do you have to say about me?” Taylor asked the unit chief.

“You've been betrayed so many times, You don't know who to trust, And that's why that first murder felt so good. But each one since has been less and less satisfying.” Hotch explained.

“Good deductive reasoning,” Taylor said. “But how do you know if what I find provides me less satisfaction each time?”

“It’s a part of your nature. Until you hit a psychotic break and start devolving.” Hotch said.

“Hm. Want to find out, Agent Hotchner?” She hung up on him after that last sentence. Everyone in the conference room stayed silent in awe. The unsub injecting herself into the investigation surprised all the agents in the room.

“She contacted us,” Spencer said in astonishment, breaking the silence.

“She’s getting impatient. Have Garcia look up everything on Taylor Evans. We need to find if she lines up with the preliminary profile.” Hotch instructed Derek. The olive brown-skinned man did exactly what the unit chief said: call Penelope and extract as much information as possible on the potential unsub.

“Her use of the word whore is interesting,” Spencer quipped. “It suggests she's trying to disassociate herself from her actions.”

“But she's become more personal with the murders,” Emily said. “This doesn’t make sense. She is contradicting herself.”

After gathering the information, and debilitating on the facts, everyone came to the same conclusion: Taylor Evans was their unsub.

“Reid, tell Detective Miller that it’s time to deliver the profile.” Rossi said.

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Every law enforcement officer occupied the main space of the precinct. All of the BAU members stood at one side, making it like a stage. JJ stood beside Emily, thinking to herself that she could have been this girl in a way. Both her and the unsub look eerily similar, maybe even mistaken for each other.

“We wanted to give out the profile as soon as possible. We’re looking for a white female, between the ages of 20 and 25,” Hotch said to start the profile. “Her name is Taylor Evans. Dirty blonde hair with grey eyes. She’s organized, methodical, and knows how to blend in with the crowd.”

“When this unsub kills, she does so mercilessly and without an ounce of pity. She also wants her victims to know they are going to die by her hand.” Rossi said.

“That’s why her preferred weapon of choice is throwing knives. They provide a clean cut. No mess required.” Emily said, slowly rocking on her heels.

“With her choice of weapon, she can be quick and efficient with her kills, as murder is her only goal,” Spencer paused to catch a breath. “But all the bottled-up rage gets released when she goes in for a second time, post mortem, and stabs the body multiple times.”

“It is a way for her to get sexual gratification. And revenge, from her years of being emotionally and sexually abused by her father,” Rossi said. “The victims fit the description of her father and they are surrogates for him.”

“She is also a textbook psychopath, exhibiting all of the classic traits: incapability of feeling any empathy towards others, neither guilt nor remorse, and claiming no responsibility for her actions. Like others of her type, she is highly intelligent, manipulative, and narcissistic.” Spencer explained the unsub’s pathology.

“Evans had received higher education. She graduated with a business degree, most likely a subconscious influence from her father. With the business acumen and the social skillset, this unsub can easily blend in with all the other business people and manipulate them.” Hotch explained, walked slowly around the large room.

“Based on her background, she came from a wealthy family. However, the family wasn’t perfect. Her father constantly cheated on his wife. The mother always forgave him. As a young girl, Evans most likely has experienced emotional and sexual abuse from her father. It was a way for him to control his daughter, and she had resented that for years.” Emily said about the unsub’s childhood.

“She mostly has experienced misogyny in her professional life. Had little comments and slights against her. Perhaps a less qualified male co-worker took a promotion that she deemed herself to be of a better fit,” Derek explained about the stressor. “Something in her work life triggered her to start killing the men who represented her father.”

“With this profile, we should search for Taylor Evans’ location and any potential victims. We suggest going public with the information as soon as possible… Thank you very much.” Hotch ended the profile with his parting words. Everyone at the precinct was disbursed from the room to get back to their work. The agents huddled together to prep themselves in case something big were to happen.

“JJ, I would like for you to conduct a press conference,” Hotch said.

“Why is that, sir?” The media liaison asked.

“I would like to draw her out. Have it known that we are after her.” The media liaison nodded her head in agreement and left the main room to work on getting a press conference together.

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Before entering the press room, JJ took a deep breath and exhaled to calm herself down. Thoughts were rushing in her mind. Don’t let them get to you, JJ. She neatly fixed her hair to seem presentable. Taking her golden heart necklace, the media liaison kissed it for good luck.

The media liaison walked into the conference room with great confidence and stood behind the mahogany podium. Standing tall, JJ was not willing to lose a fight with the media, especially with a high-profile case.

“Ok, can I have everyone's attention,” JJ said to gather the media’s attention to her. “Please, if you could just take your seats…”

“There have been a series of murders that appeared in random locations around Brooklyn. There is sufficient evidence that the victims were murdered on Wall Street then transported to their disposal sites.”

“We believe she may have experienced a psychotic break recently, causing the unsub to escalate to murder to regain a sense of control. You should increase your patrols in and around Wall Street… “

“Why would you focus your profile on the finance guys when the unsub has also contacted members of the FBI?” A male reporter interrupted the media liaison.

JJ stood at the podium in shock. How could he know about that? We kept that under wraps.

“I- How did you obtain that information?” JJ asked.

“I overheard one of the cops saying it.” The journalist said casually. The blonde’s right eyebrow lightly twitched in anger. What couldn’t those cops just shut their mouths, JJ thought.

“What you heard from these officers isn’t true,” JJ lied to keep confidential information private. “Now, do you have any questions about the case?” A new wave of hands came up. JJ took a few more questions to answer. After a while, it was time to end the press conference.

“If anyone works in or around Wall Street, and sees anything unusual, please do not hesitate to call the number on your screen. Thank you.” JJ said her final statement, ending the press conference. As she walked down the steps down the small stage, a reporter called out her name.

“Agent Jareau! I have something that may be of interest for you!” A different male reporter called out. JJ turned to face him, excepting the same male reporter from earlier. Trying to keep her anger inside, she greeted the news reporter with dignity.

The male reporter handed the media liaison a letter. JJ took a look at it and was surprised at what she saw: the signature of their unsub.

“How did you get this?” JJ asked the man.

“It was sent to me yesterday, directly to the New York Herald.” The man said. JJ called for one of the officers by the wall to collect the letter for evidence.

“We are going to take this in for evidence processing. One of the officers here will take you in for some questioning.” The man nodded as another officer whisked him away for interrogation.

JJ sighed and went to search for the officer that unknowingly leaked information. She saw him with another cop, talking, against the wall outside of the press conference room.

“That information was not for the public!” JJ said, angrily at an NYPD officer.

“Listen, lady. I don’t know how and where he got the information from,” The beat cop explained himself. “He could have been creeping around the crime scenes or the precinct.

“Keep your mouth shut, pal, as this case is private and under federal jurisdiction.” JJ huffed as Derek grabbed her shoulders and slowly tried to drag her away. The blonde complied with her co-worker, not throwing a fight as this was not her battle to fight in.

Once Derek loosened his grips, the media liaison dashed out of the conference room to find her own space to calm down.

JJ speed-walked once she was out of the hallway’s vicinity. She rushed into the nearest bathroom. Breathing heavily, the media liaison slowly walked into one of the stalls and locked the door. Taking a deep breath, JJ prepared herself for the biggest scream she would take in her life.

“Fuck. These little shits. Those bastards. Assholes. Son of a bitch. Fucking shit. Why can’t they keep their mouths fucking shut! Those cocksucking motherfucking god damned jackasses!” JJ yelled at the top of her lungs. Her chest fell hard as the blonde was taking deep breaths. She felt better after taking out her anger by screaming. Feeling a little tired, JJ sat on the closed toilet and placed her head between her knees to calm herself down. A few minutes went by, and someone knocked on the bathroom door.

“JJ… Are you okay?” Emily’s voice could be heard on the other side. JJ sighed while getting up. She opened the stall door and tried to make herself more presentable. Unlocking the silver lock, she opened the door slowly to reveal a relieved Emily Prentiss.

“Ah–,” Emily gently grabbed JJ and brought her in a warm embrace. They stood together in that position for a few minutes before heading back to the conference room, where the others were, preparing themselves to capture the unsub tonight.

Later that evening, the BAU team, along with SWAT, raided a luxury apartment building in Downtown Brooklyn. Upon entering the only penthouse, Derek broke the door with his strength. The group of agents entered the area and in the middle of the living room, was Taylor Evans. Black mascara ran down her cheeks as she held a gun in her left hand and the final tarot card in the other.

“Just in time for the show, agents.” Evans croaked. Her sad grey eyes filled with tears, her cheeks flushed from her mental breakdown.

“Taylor… Listen. You’re young. You don’t have to do this. If you come with us, you can get a lighter sentence and live your life.” Emily said to calm down the broken girl.

More time passed by as Emily and Spencer tried their best to negotiate with the unsub, but the end was already written. Taylor Evans planned to do an end game, one where she put herself out of misery.

“I’m sorry….” the blonde girl whispered. In a swift motion, Taylor pulled the trigger onto herself and shot herself underneath the jaw. Her body dropped quickly but Derek ran up to the body to catch it.

“Damn it,” Derek said. “She was young. Broken. Felt like she had to prove herself that she was something.”

“There was nothing we could have done to help, Morgan. She already had planned her end. She was long gone before anyone else could have noticed.” Hotch responded to Derek’s little monologue.

Right next to her body was the Emperor card. A beautiful deep purple with gold lining depicting an emperor. The gold detailing reflected against the tall mirrors in the room. The card was reversed, like if she purposefully did that to tell the end to her story.

taglist: @homosexualyearning / @ssajelle / @iconicc / @sunlightgalaxy / @jemilyology / @pumpkin-stars / @lgbtbau / @drinkingcroissants / @abbyprentiss / @pen3mily / @morcias / @hotchsbabygirl / @gravelyhumerus / @notsosmexy / @rxcklessly-bratty / @hqtchner / @girlbossjareau / @pagetsimp

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swiftgronmasterpost · 4 years

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Winter 2013 - The Beginning of the End and Dianna’s Private Tumblr

January 4, 2013 - Haylor Breakup

Taylor and Harry publicly split and leave us with this iconic picture:

January 10, 2013 - People’s Choice Awards

Haylor is done, Harry is back in the UK, but Taylor shows up with a hickey anyway. (Dianna is in LA at this time.)

Some time this month Taylor writes How You Get The Girl which is about obviously someone who comes back to get the girl. She references “standing in the rain” and “a long six months.” It’s hard to know if these details are more “fanfic” or actual autobiographical details.

This six months may actually refer to the end of bearding for a while (because it seems like Swiftgron did reunite in Paris in early October.) Exactly six months after Taylor started dating Conor Kennedy would be January 25th, 2013.

As for the rain...

It rained twice in LA this month according to weather reports on the 21st and on the 23rd:

Dianna is in LA at this point and has started a private Tumblr blog under the name whosirmesir (we verified it was hers over on @swiftgron-get-married - and you can click here for more on that if you’re curious and actually I did an entire podcast episode walking people through it if you’re like like to listen to an in depth breakdown of it click here for apple OR click here for spotify OR click here for google.

I also recommend searching the whosirmesir tag on @swiftgron-get-married because we’ve logged a lot of interesting moments and connections to Taylor (quotes, art, and other items that tie DIanna and Taylor together.)

On the private tumblr on January 25th Dianna reblogs this:

It reads “i think we’re just gonna have to be secretly in love with each other and leave it at that...”

This is also the time period it is rumored that Dianna proposed to Taylor. I’m not sure what to make of these rumors. I have not been able to get anywhere near confirming them. It’s entirely unsubstantiated - but I explored the rumor further in this blog post (click for link.) And also on the podcast (will link just a bit down in this post because it relates to something else we’re about to discuss.)

February 4, 2013 - Dianna recommends “Far Nearer” by Jaime on twitter:

The lyrics are essentially:

“I feel better when I, you feel better when I I feel better when I have you near me

You Me You I do, I do, I do“

repeated over and over again

February 9, 2013 - Neruda quote on Tumblr from Dianna

Dianna posts a quote to Tumblr. The translation is, “I love you as certain dark things are loved, secretly, between the shadow and the soul.”

It’s worth noting that Taylor namechecked Neruda in the Red album booklet.

February 10, 2013 - The Grammys

Dianna wants to make sure everyone is watching:

And Taylor posts:

“Look what happened! :)”

She won for Safe and Sound:

And she performs her circus themed rendition of WANEGBT (where she mocks Harry Styles on stage making fun of his accent when she sings the “so he calls me up on the phone” part of the song even though this song was written before she was even with him.)

The only other time Dianna tweeted about the Grammys was when Glee was involved the year before.

February 14, 2013 - Achele breakfast and The Inside Source at Glee Tweet

According to a Facebook user Cory, Dianna, and Lea have breakfast this morning (or around this time):

Later that day Taylor posts the infamous tweet:

The Glee Episode “I Do” airs and there is no Taylor song included. However Dianna and Naya’s characters hook up:

After the episode airs Taylor deletes her tweet.

As always I’m not entirely sure what to make of this but to me it boils down to three possibilities:

1. The fandom seems to think this proves that Dianna purposefully tricked Taylor into watching her “hook up” with Naya on screen. It’s completely possible that that’s the case but I think the next two options make a bit more sense.

2. It was a simple misunderstanding or a joke gone wrong. Taylor had a song earlier on that season of glee (Mine sung as a breakup song by Naya) and I have been told another song of Taylor’s was marketed for another glee episode later that spring. Perhaps someone got their wires crossed and misinformed Taylor.

3. Other nefarious parties:

a. It’s possible that Lea was behind this - she publicly had beef with Taylor at one point and she had been with Dianna that morning. Maybe she met up with DIanna, heard about Swiftgron being happy and back together and got a little jealous and decided to prank Taylor.

b. Ryan Murphy also seemed to despise both Dianna and Taylor around this time. He was also famous for stirring up drama with Gleeks on twitter and generally sewing discontent (particularly surrounding wlw ships and fans). Ryan seems to have a problem with women/lesbians in general. He treated Brittana as a couple horribly on Glee as well as their shippers.

He very publicly shaded Taylor in season one of Scream Queens and said in an interview that Dianna ruined Quinn for him because he said she made her sympathetic.

Not only that but in season 3 he destroyed her character - he made her have a mental breakdown - he had her try and steal a baby - he had her get hit by a car - and a huge plotline in season 3 was Quinn begging Rachel (Lea’s character so Dianna’s irl ex) not to marry Finn (played by Cory - literally the guy Lea chose Dianna over - this is like...emotionally abusive if you ask me.) After season 3 Dianna only appeared in 8 episodes of the remaining 55 after being in every episode and the top third billed of the cast in the first three seasons.

Furthermore in a show called The New Normal there was a bitchy actress character named Brynn who he wrote as high maintenance and unpleasant and then killed off.

So yeah...seems fair to at least consider that Ryan or Lea who publicly had problems with both Taylor and Dianna may have been trying to create problems for Swiftgron. One last note about Lea - there was not a single Achele interaction for the entire year of 2013. The most we got was Dianna liking a tweet about Lea’s album in December 2013 and when asked about one another in interviews they would vaguely say they were still friends. No tweets to one another, no birthday messages, no candids, no hang outs. Lea’s book was also written around this time and does not make a single mention of Dianna - her former roommate and “best friend” even though she spends plenty of time talking about others on the Glee cast.

I did a podcast episode on both the proposal rumors and the inside source at Glee tweet if you want more extensive takes on that!

While I’m not entirely sure Dianna had anything to do with this tweet Taylor references this date (2-14-13) by putting it on a dollar bill as a serial number in The Man music video:

At any rate Taylor deletes the tweet and replaces it with one about her dancers:

Dianna tweets 9 hearts that day (I don’t know if that’s significant but if they were together from March 2012 to July 2012 and then October 2012 to this point it would mean 9 months together...)

February 19, 2013 - Sad Charlie Brown Tumblr post from Dianna:

February 27, 2013 - Fitzgerald quote

Taylor listed this as a quote to live by in an interview with Marie Claire a few months later.

I’m not sure if it’s important but Dianna is very quiet this winter and spring in terms of showing up at events, parties, even being papped out on the street compared to other years around this time. She seems to disappear a bit.

February 27, 2013 - Taylor gives a bday shoutout to her Fiddle player Caitlin:

“Happy Birthday to my magical friend, fiddle extraordinaire @/caitlinbird”

March 12, 2013 - Weird tweets from Dianna “One of those days.”

March 13, 2013 - It’s the first day of the Red tour (is that why Dianna had questions?)

About the Red Tour - the last act of the tour seems to be circus themed which may have been inspired by Dianna’s 26th birthday the previous year and really interestingly Taylor has a white rabbit, which is a reference to Alice in Wonderland (Dianna’s favorite piece of media ever) follows Taylor around stage during the WANEGBT performance as she’s dressed up like a circus ringleader:

March 18, 2013 - Dianna goes on a Girls HBO rant (we know who also loved Girls the show and its creator Lena Dunham (Taylor))

End of March - Lena and Ashley show up at the Red Tour backstage

Conclusion - Swiftgron is on but completely underground. Dianna is blogging and tweeting romantic things about missing girls, Taylor’s interests, and secret love, all while watching Taylor perform at the Grammys and encouraging others to tune in. Something weird happened with the inside source at Glee tweet but who knows what. Dianna seems a bit restless and emo while Taylor leaves to go on tour.

Click here to keep reading!

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annakie · 3 years

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Patchy

A little under two years ago I made this post, a chronicle of Patchy, the outside feral, turned inside kitty who took ten years to learn to love being petted.

Today we got some bad news.

TW for pet illness under the cut.

Patchy’s always been a bit of a puker, usually oh, say, once a month or so she’d have a good puke for no reason. I’ve had other cats that are pukers so it’s not that surprising.

In the late winter/early spring I started to notice more frequent pukes.

I’d decided around that time that I needed to find healthier food for my cats, with Leela, the oldest turning 16, Fry turning 11, Pemily turning 7 and Patchy turning, I don’t know, 12 or 13. No way to really know. They already got decent food, but I did my research and had started looking at Blue Buffalo, American Journey and Dave’s canned food.

Patchy had been on a mostly canned food diet since she went to the vet back in early 2020 and had a bunch of teeth pulled. Also, as a note, Patchy’s brief flirtation with hanging out in the rest of the house ended after like a month. She and Fry fought too much, and eventually he claimed the rest of the house is his. He also still thinks the master bedroom should be his, but, Patchy defends that territory well if anyone else encroaches. (The door just stays closed most of the time.) I really wish they could have all gotten along, I loved having Patchy out, but both Fry and Patchy agreed it wasn’t going to work.

The food she’d been on was pretty junk-food-ish though, which she did love and eat. But I wanted everyone on more or less the same diet and the highest quality food I could readily get them. So I bought a lot of cans of different kinds of food, and kept a list of which ones seemed to be hits and misses. (I still have a dozen cans of the kind nobody liked -- Blue Buffalo Wilderness Salmon -- I’ve been meaning to take to the city shelter).

Around halfway into this experiment I noticed Patchy puking more, so I decided to try to stick with her favorite kinds, which, I thought was helping.

But once I was fully vaccinated this year, it was time to get all the pets to the vet. I noticed Patchy had still lost some weight, I thought it was due to switching around her food too much earlier, and tried to stick with the things I felt she really liked.

Then, of course, Leela got sick, spent two and a half days in the pet ER and almost died back in April, and then it was like... yeah we’re done being afraid of COVID, we’re done waiting. It’s time to get them all their checkups.

My regular vet was doing COVID restrictions so no pet owners inside the clinic back then, so they took Patchy (and the others) in without me. I thought Patchy had lost some weight, but Dr. B. sounded alarmed when he called me with how much lost she’d lost in the last year, about five pounds. He wanted to do some bloodwork for Patchy, and I said of course go for it.

He called back, sounding much calmer and was like “her bloodwork couldn’t be more perfect. Let’s try switching up her food, get her on some sensitive stomach food and let’s see how she’s doing in a couple weeks.”

So two weeks later it did seem like she was doing better, I called Dr. B back and he said to bring her back in a month.

It was my plan to take her back next week when I had some PTO coming. I admit, later than planned... my last couple of months have been mucn more focused on Leela... who, thankfully, continues to thrive. But feeling like my time with her is running out, she’s been my main area of concern.

The last few days though, Patchy has really not been eating well. Sometimes she does OK, sometimes nothing at all. And then puking every day. I swapped her back even to a few cans of the Junk Food (Whiskas) I still had laying around. She’d eat it... and then puke it up. And also she... stopped sleeping with me. I thought... well, it’s summer. It’s probably too hot to cuddle. But she stopped laying on the bed. She stopped coming up for pets when I come to bed and hang out for awhile specifically to spend time with her and pet her. She runs under the bed again when I come into the room. It’s like we regressed to three or four years ago... just two weeks after our two year anniversary of getting to pet her.

So this afternoon we went to the vet. Getting her into the carrier sucked. I tried nice methods, then I had to scare her into the closet by running the vacuum, and then pretty roughly grab her. I have scratches and a pretty deep bite on my thumb which either maybe hit a nerve or is infected, may have to go to the doctor for it tomorrow. (Yes, washed it thoroughly with soap as soon as I could.) I also hated betraying her trust that badly, but it’s for her own good. But it was rough.

Dr B. wasn’t working so I saw one of the other vets. I liked him. Also COVID restrictions are gone so I got to go inside. But after talking to him for a few minutes, going over her history and what changes I’ve made, he spent a long time rubbing her intestines (Patchy was perfectly behaved, at least.) Then he looked concerned. Then he said let’s do an ultrasound.

A few minutes he came back in and showed me her scans.

Lymphoma.

I was a bit stunned for a second so I missed a bit of the technical speak he said next, but it came down to the best thing we could do is give her some medicine that may buy her more time. It doesn’t sound like Chemo or Operating is even really an option. I’m going to call back tomorrow and see if Dr. B or the vet I talked to can talk me through it a little better now that I’ve had a chance to digest.

If I can get Patchy to take the medicine, and if she responds well to it... she may have 3 - 6 months left.

If she won’t take it, or if she doesn’t respond, it’s at this point, a matter of her comfort and quality of life. So... weeks. And I’m worried about getting her to take the medicine, especially since she won’t even come let me pet her and we just had a huge trust betrayal today. I don’t know if I could take her spending her last few weeks hating me, especially if the medicine doesn’t work.

The vet also told me that... I didn’t do anything wrong. And we did the right thing six or so weeks ago by changing her food and seeing if a few other things worked. Especially with how good her blookwork looked. He barely felt the cancer today, he said six weeks ago Dr. B wouldn’t have been able to feel it at all. And for this particular type of lymphoma... there’s not a lot to be done, anyway. That made me feel better, at least.

(As a really dumb side note, after I got her home, I sat down to eat dinner and watch an episode of Star Trek to take my mind off of all of this since I’d been crying since I found out, paid my bill, and drove home, stopping at a drive through so I didn’t have the mental load of cooking. And I’m in the middle of my rewatch of Enterprise. I bet any trekkies reading this can guess what episode was next in my rewatch because yep I’m in season two and A NIGHT IN SICKBAY started playing, of course, so obviously I NOPED THE FUCK OUT OF THAT EPISODE. For the non-Trekkies.... the Captain has a dog on board, an adorable beagle, Porthos. The dog gets sick and almost dies and spends his night in Sickbay. He does pull through. But the ONE episode centered around a beloved pet getting sick and almost dying... and that’s the episode that fate decreed I was supposed to watch tonight. I did not. I don’t know if I can watch it anytime soon.)

So now for the next few weeks I will spend my time being grateful that Leela is alive and thriving and pray she keeps doing so -- I will continue to give her extra love and care and attention, and also I will need to do the same for Patchy. I can’t even do it at the same time because Patchy will not come out here, and will not allow Leela in her room.

I am low-key freaking out that there’s the possibility of the nightmare scenario happening to me again. In winter 2016, after months of being sick, I woke up on Christmas morning and my 16-year-old cat Jim had died overnight. It was terrible, and traumatic, and I had to deal with everything all alone because anyone who could support me was... well, it was Christmas morning and my family was all out of town, too. Posting about it on Tumblr... actually really helped me, since it’s the only place I felt like I could talk about it.

That Christmas was on a Sunday.

Wednesday morning I woke up to hearing my dog, Cebu, moaning in pain. I rushed him to the vet, but whatever happened overnight, it was too late, maybe there wasn’t anything we ever could have done even if I’d been awake when the puking started. The vet said the kindest thing we could do was put him to sleep. And we did.

Also I just, JUST now realized that the vet who helped put Cebu to sleep was the same vet who I saw today about Patchy.

But I lost two of my pets within 3 days of each other. I was very lucky that my job let us have the week between Christmas and New Years off that year. I had a few days to pull myself together, and I needed it. It took months to recover totally, though. Every once in awhile I think about that week and I still cry, though. I miss them both so much and they both had deaths that were less than ideal.

I remember thinking then “I have like, five years of reprive. Leela will be sixteen in five years, and that’s when I have to start to worry again, when I have to be ready to say goodbye again.”

I thought then that even after that I’d have two or three years until Patchy would leave me, and two or three years past that until Fry. And then five more years with Pemily.

Right now I’m realizing that I will likely lose Patchy, very best case in six months, but possibly before July is over.

I need Leela to keep thriving. I don’t know how I would handle losing another two so close together again.

Patchy is... she’s the one who chose me. I chose my other cats. Fry and Pemily I plucked from the backyard when they were tiny kittens and brought them inside. They didn’t have a choice. Leela I adopted from a rescue, she didn’t have a choice. Patchy chose to stay. She chose to stick around when she realized I’d feed her. It took years but she learned to trust, she chose to come inside when it was cold, when it was hot, when it was storming, and when she was pregnant. She chose me to help raise the last litter of kittens she’d ever had. (My entire Rescue Kitties tag is full of adventures in finding, raising and usually adopting out strays. Lots and lots of posts about Patchy and her final litter. Been awhile since I’ve done it, though.)

I used to joke that Patchy was my roommate, not a pet. She ate, drank, did her business, and kept to herself for a long time. Don’t get me wrong, she was a very good, quiet, considerate roommate and I loved her. But it wasn’t until that wonderful day she let me pet her that I felt like she was my pet.

I loved having her just hanging out living in the house since 2014, but the last two years especially have brought me such joy. I’ve tried to never take Patchy’s trust in me for granted. It was EARNED. Every small step forward was a milestone to be celebrated. I worked for every bit of trust and love Patchy has given me, and have been rewarded. And it was worth it. Every minute. Every long, patient year.

Even now I’m telling myself... without me, she would have died years ago. Probably violently, or starved, maybe frozen to death. Getting to die of cancer brought on by older age is not something that most feral cats ever get to do. Getting to become an inside kitty where she’s loved, and comfortable for the second half of her life was something remarkable, brought on by her wiles and will to survive for so many years, bolstered by the food I left out for her. She’s had this much time, this much life, this much comfort and love that she would have never had otherwise, and that’s something to be happy about.

I’ve watched dozens of ferals come and go through my neighborhood throughout the years. I feed them, I work on seeing if I can get them to trust me enough to let me TNR them, but even those that I have, I don’t keep seeing for much longer. There’s one right now, I jokingly call him Patchy’s Boyfriend. He still won’t trust me and never has fallen for the trap when I’ve tried. But he’s there most nights when I feed him around 11. He’s getting terribly thin despite the quality food I leave out. I’ll miss him.

But none of them were Patchy. None of them became what she is to me. None of them survived long enough to adapt and decide to live another life.

Also? I wouldn’t have Pemily without her. Pemily is literally Patchy’s Granddaughter and that is one more thing I love Patchy for.

I feel guilty sometimes, both because I don’t spend nearly enough waking hours with her I feel, but I have three others who need me, as well. One who’s time is growing short, as well. And they don’t get to sleep with me, she does. What a joy it was all winter when I would wake up and she’d be sleeping on my chest. I’d get a bit annoyed when she’d sleep with her backside to my face and her tail would tickle my face and wake me up. I’m a side-sleeper half the night and she hated that it was harder to get comfortable on me that way. She still doesn’t want to have my hand just stay on her, she wants pets and skirtches, no long-form touching. That’s ok. I sleep better with her weight on me.

I don’t know what the next few weeks or months will hold, but at least pet-wise, it’s going to be rough. I’m going to wrap this up and give these three out here a good pet, then go hope Patchy comes and asks for love, too. Tomorrow is one more day with all four of them, and for that, I’ll be grateful, for every remaining day.

#personal post tag thingy #my pets #pet illness tw #pet death tw

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irishmacguirefucker · 4 years

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Meeting Tilly Jackson

A.N: (So originally this was going to be for my au but I realized that if I wanna write Tilly in my AU i need to properly understand her background. We don't have a lot of specific details in the game, so i wrote this. Essentially its how Dutch found Tilly and took her in. She’s 14 in this. I will probably have a part 2 soon. Its a little dialogue heavy)

(TW: Sexual Assault of a minor is mentioned but nothing happens, blood)

Wordcount: 3110

Tilly Jackson has a family. They may be a little odd, different than what everyone else might consider a family, but a family nonetheless. Dutch and Hosea her father figures, Susan Grimshaw a motherly presence. Sisters in Karen, Mary-Beth and the other women of the camp, brothers in Arthur and John and most of the other men. The titles don't matter so much as the feeling of safety and comfort and appreciation among them. She missed her late mother of course, but she hoped on some level her mother would be happy with how things turned out for the girl in the end. Being kidnapped at the age of 12 was nothing short of traumatizing, and for a long while, things only got worse. The Foreman gang was the opposite of a family. They were nothing to her but the people who stole her away from her mother claimed to own her. The ones who tried to take advantage of her. The night that Malcolm Foreman tried to make advances on her and she killed him was the night she would consider herself grown.

She's not sure exactly how long she was alone, it must have been under a year. She went to find her mother only to hear of her death, and with nowhere else to go she just kept running. The further she made it the less likely that Anthony Foreman would find her and pay her back for what she did to his cousin. She knows that it was early spring when she left. The snow had barely been off the ground, she supposed that no longer being wrapped in a ratty cloak and scarf was the reason that gang member thought to make his move.

Dutch found her just when it was beginning to get cold again.

Despite considering herself grown, her body disagreed. The shoes she ran away in were already ill-fitted, and by that autumn they were practically falling apart. Her toes stuck out the front. She had done her best to steal clothing off people’s clotheslines, but they rarely fit.

Dutch caught her doing just that. He had been watching the property of some well off folks, planning on casing it with Arthur later that week. He watched as a girl no older than 14, snuck out from the tree line in a torn-up blouse and a too-long skirt.

She was clearly not experienced in stealing as she tripped over her skirts up the property, but she made it to the side of the house mostly successfully. She quickly tore down a long dress and an undershirt and quickly started back to the tree line. She stared wistfully at the property's large orchard and nearly turned her course towards it before hearing the owner of the house open his front door and stealing away into the forest. Even from a distance, Dutch knew what that hesitation meant. She was hungry.

Dutch was hardly one to let a promising little thief like her starve in the forest, so with a passing glance at the house he stood from his hiding spot up the hill and mounted the Count.

Tracking was never one of Dutch’s strongest abilities but she made it rather easy, with footprints in the mud, a scrap of fabric where her clothing caught a branch, etc. Eventually, he reached a spot where she seemed to trip and fall, and then there were a few drops of blood here and there as he followed. He knew he was getting closer, the blood wasn’t dry. He dismounted his horse and began leading him forward when suddenly she jumped out from behind a tree wielding a large rusted hunting knife.

“Don’t come any closer! You can take your clothes back, here.” She kicked over the items he had just watched her steal. “Don’t tell the law, and I’ll disappear. I don’t have anything more to offer you.”

Dutch grinned, she was strong-willed. But he also observed that her cheeks were sunken in, and her skin was dull. She was visibly malnourished, and there was blood dripping from one of her small hands. He hoped it was a branch she cut herself on and not that dirty knife of hers.

He put his hands up in a friendly gesture.

“I’m not the man you robbed earlier, don’t you worry. I watched you steal that dress, you’re quite the little thief.”

She was doing a damn good job of hiding her fear, but Dutch was experienced in seeing past such facades. She didn’t seem scared of the weapon she was holding, as the young and inexperienced often were when they wielded such an item. She just seemed scared of him.

“Why did you follow me, it ain’t your things I stole. I have nothing to give you, so you best just leave me be.” She didn’t stutter, her high pitched voice remained unwavering and strong. Dutch tried his best to look unthreatening, something he didn’t find himself having to do often.

“Well, I myself was planning on robbing that house myself later with a few of my friends, perhaps I just wanted to see if you had any advice for me as a seasoned visitor of that property.”

She didn’t believe him and didn’t lower her knife, but she didn’t run either. Good. “Now if I reach for something in my saddle bag here are you gonna come at me with that big old knife?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

Dutch smiled. “Well if you and I are gonna talk business I thought that maybe I could pay you for your time, little lady.”

She finally lowered the knife a little, seeming less afraid but very suspicious. “You wanna pay me for information on that house?”

“I do. Information is worth a lot to us outlaws, you should know that well Darlin’” He slowly turned to the horse. Even if she did attempt to stab him, she wouldn’t get to him before he could turn around, so he wasn’t worried. As he was digging through the saddlebag she spoke up behind him.

“Don’t call me Darlin.”

He smiled at her bravado but kept looking through the bag. “Well, you’ve yet to give me something else to call you Miss. Ah! Here it is!” He turned back to her holding a small stack of cash and a wrapped parcel.

“Yeah, well neither have you!” There’s that reminder that he’s talking to a child. They’re always so petulant. John had been just the same, though a little more rabid. “Well, I’m Dutch, Dutch Van der Linde.”

He studied her face for any sign of recognition, but there was none. Good, less reason for her to be afraid of him. She didn’t give her name just yet.

“Are you with the Foreman brothers?” She asked boldly. “I won’t let you take me back, I’ll kill you before you get me back there.” That would explain her fear, she wasn’t just a thief. She was a runaway from another gang.

“Now I’ll tell you right now Miss, I’m not with Anthony Forman or his little gang. The only gang I’m with is the Van der Linde gang, and I promise me and mine won’t bring you any harm.”

“You...You lead a gang?” She was shaking, it was starting to get colder as the sun was setting.

“I am, but we aren’t like those bastards you knew. We’re just good people, looking to live free.”

Then he did something bold, a gesture to help her feel safer in the presence of a gang leader. Hopefully, she would be a little more at ease. “Do you mind if I sit down Miss-”

“Jackson. Tilly Jackson.”

He smiled. “Miss Jackson. Do you mind if I sit while we talk? Tracking you was quite a little adventure.”

“Go ahead, I guess.”

“Thank you, Tilly.” He sat down on a log just to the side, and she lowered her weapon fully but gripped it tight. “Now, go ahead and take this.” He took a couple of bills and tucked them into the string around the parcel. She stared at it suspiciously.

“I didn’t tell you nothing yet and I ain’t stupid mister Van der Linde, why are you giving me this.”

He smiled and leaned forward to place the parcel on the ground in front of him, between them.

“As I said, you’re quite the thief and I think you could help me out. Doesn't hurt to butter up the informant. There's some food in the package, I thought you looked a little hungry.”

She seemed to stare at the parcel longingly and something clenched in Dutch’s cold heart. The poor girl must be starving.

“I…I don’t have no info for you, Mister Van der Linde. I just needed the clothes.” She seemed disappointed to be saying it, but she didn't lie to him like he thought she might.

“Well...maybe you could just keep me company then Milady. Good company is hard to find among us outlaws, as I’m sure you know.”

In a flash, she was back two steps and her knife was raised once more.

“I ain’t that kind of girl. you can keep your fucking money and go pay a real whore for your damned “company’”

This was the opposite of the outcome he was looking for, and entirely at the fault of his own poor word choice. He should have known better, there are only a few things that can happen to a young girl in this country to put her on the run and make her fear good company.

“Now listen here, Miss Jackson. I am not that kind of man, I wouldn’t take advantage of you like I’m sure the bastards in Foreman’s gang tried. It’s like I said it, my gang is just good men looking for freedom and money. You can leave right now if you want and I won’t stop you, or you can stay and eat some, and I promise I won’t even look at you funny.”

She stood frozen, knife gripped tight. She seemed to be weighing her options. Dutch had yet to pose a threat to her, his weapons remained holstered. He hadn’t even tried to come close to her. She steeled her nerves and spoke again.

“Then...Give me one of your guns. If you really ain’t gonna try nothing then give me one of your pistols and if you try and do anything bad I’ll shoot you.”

In any other circumstance, he wouldn’t have even considered it. But this wasn’t some criminal who he was wringing for information. This was a terrified little girl who was too afraid of the man in front of her to even eat food when she was starving. He slowly reached for his left holster and pulled out the pistol. He made a big show of flipping it in his hand so that his finger stayed away from the trigger as not to scare her, and he placed it beside the parcel. Gently he pushed them both over with his foot and sat back on the log with his hands beside him.

She stared at him, and quick as lightning she grabbed the items from the ground. She backed up to her spot and slowly sat on the ground. The pistol was too big for her hand, and her other hand was getting blood on the side of the wrapped meat. Slowly she unwrapped the piece of dried venison, not breaking eye contact with the man sitting before her. “Why are you being so kind to me, I ain’t never heard of a ‘Good’ outlaw, we’re all just killers and thieves.”

He took note of the word ‘we’ before killers and thieves. Perhaps there was a reason she was so steady holding that knife. “I suppose no truer words have been spoken Miss Tilly, but I was never the type to watch a young lady suffer…You know, I found my son Arthur when he was about your age. The boy was just starving in the streets, stealing what he could. Quite like you are now.”

She didn’t respond, just stared at him a moment longer before taking a large bite of the meat. He hadn’t seen someone eat so ravenously since he fed John for the first time.

It took a lot of talking to get her to let her guard down. She didn’t reveal much about herself, other than that her mother died and she wasn’t part of the foreman gang, she was just there. Though the tension in her shoulders slowly sapped away as she filled her stomach and let herself calm down. They spoke for a few hours and he tried his best not to treat her like a child, god knows they hate when you do that. He couldn’t help but notice that she just seemed so sad. Once all that fear subsided and she spoke more freely, it was clear that she was lost. She mentioned her mother’s death with deep sorrow, her eyes going glassy before she seemed to catch herself and move on.

Eventually, her hand stopped bleeding, and he tried to catch a look at it as she gestured. The sun was nearly set and he would have to get back to camp before they went looking for him.

He told her as much and he watched that deep-set sadness seep back to her features.

“Oh… well. It was nice to meet you Dutch.” She used his first name for the first time. He stood up and she did as well, wincing as she used her injured hand to push off the ground.

“You know... you could come back with me and let our doctor take a look at that hand. Well...she ain’t exactly a doctor, but she can fix it. We wouldn’t want that getting infected, it’s far easier to be an outlaw with both hands.”

She wanted to go with him, he could see it in her eyes. Good friends are hard to come by when you’re a child with no home.

“And perhaps, you could stay awhile. Learn how to be a real outlaw instead of a dress thief.” She seemed offended at the comment, a funny little scowl crossing her features. She was thinking about the offer, and he hoped it sounded at least a little better than sleeping alone in the forest.

“If I come to your camp….nobody's gonna try and touch me?”

“Absolutely not my dear, if they try I’ll cut off their hand myself.” She seemed to giggle a little at the notion, a sound he would take pride in. She sobered up and asked;

“And I can leave whenever I want? I ain’t gonna let anyone try and say they own me ever again.”

“If you come to camp, Tilly Jackson will remain a free woman, but you’ll have a home to come back to if that’s what you would like.”

He watched her hesitate a little longer. Some coyotes barked in the distance and she shivered. “Maybe just for a little while. Just to try it.”

“And you can leave whenever you want.” he reassured.

“And I can leave whenever I want.” She repeated it back like she was convincing herself. He turned his back to adjust the Count’s saddle and give him a sugar cube, and he heard small footsteps come closer to him.

“Um. Can I give him one? He’s real pretty.” Dutch turned and she was at his side, staring at the large animal. She was even smaller up close, and he could see that her bones stood up against her dark skin.

“You know, I think he would like that. Now here, take just one of these and put it in your hand flat. Don’t worry, he won’t bite you.” She went to take it from his hand before realizing her hands were full with the knife and Dutch’s gun.

“Oh. Here you go, Mister Dutch.” She tried to hand him back the gun. Bravely he thought, to give up her best defense, but he didn’t take it.

“I’ll tell you what my lady, It’s gonna be a bit of a ride to get back to camp and I don’t want you feeling like you can’t hold your own. You hold on to that one just until we get back, alright? We can put your knife in the bag safe and sound.” She obliged, putting the hunting knife gently in the saddlebag and holding on to the pistol. Then Dutch gave her the sugar cube and she held it out to the horse gingerly. The Count had no such hesitation and stole the treat from her hand quickly, the softness of his nose near her fingers making her giggle.

“Now, I think we might just be ready to move! Can I help you up milady?” He said, with a ring clad hand extended like a butler. The gesture made her giggle more and Dutch was happy to see the sadness put aside for a little while. She took his hand in her much smaller one and let him lead her to the side of the saddle.

“Now, can I lift you or do you want to go stand on the log over there?” She could read the underlying notion. The hidden meaning of ‘Do you want me to touch you’, ‘is it okay if I lift you’, etc. He was being more considerate than anyone she had ever met. She took a deep breath and put a little trust in him.

“You can lift me if that’s okay.”

“It would be my honor milady.” He lifted her onto the horse’s rump and tried not to think about how light she was. How he could feel her bones through the layers of her shirt. Once she was settled, he climbed up himself. Before they got going he pulled out his canteen and an apple from the bag.

“Here. Dinner will be done by the time we get to camp and there’s no reason you should go hungry back there, that just wouldn’t befit such a distinguished young lady.” She accepted the food, and he set the Count into a walk to get them out of the underbrush. Once they were on the path he pushed into a more brisk pace, but he wouldn’t risk trotting with her back there, the count’s trot could be rather rough and she’s so thin she would just be thrown off.

It would be a long ride back to camp at this pace, but it just gave him more time to get to know her and tell her about camp.

#Tilly Jackson #Dutch Van Der Linde #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #writing #Red Dead Redemption #the van der linde gang #backstory

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nicole-lynne · 5 years

Text

Cold Houses Cause Confessions

Description: Lip’s defensive about reader wanting to put in money for the gas bill. Confessions and feelings are spilled. (Set in Season 1).

Warnings: Swearing

Pairing: Lip Gallagher x Reader

“Jesus, why is it so fuckin’ cold in here?” You exclaimed as you strolled into the Gallagher kitchen, wrapping your sweater around you tighter.

Fiona looked up at you and opened her mouth to answer when Carl leapt down the stairs.

“Turned it down so I could see your nipples, sweetcheeks.” He said as he blew you a kiss and a cheeky wink.

You wrinkled your nose at him. “Piss off, Carl. Fi?”

“Gas bill was late, ew Carl, don’t put that up your nose, anyways so now they won’t turn it back on unless we pay the whole thing.” Fiona said as she frantically cleaned up the kitchen table. She wiped some grime off her face and glanced over her shoulder with a ‘same fuckin’ shit’ look.

“Oh damn, that sucks.” You turned to dig through the laundry on the top of the washer. A small smile slipped as you found one of Lip’s hoodies and tugged it on. “How much is the bill?”

“Like 530 bucks. Debbie, go check the cushions. That should be good for at least 5 or 10 bucks. Has anyone seen Ian or Lip? Carl, please stop melting things in the microwave. ”

You watched the girl who was practically your sister as she ran around the kitchen, picking things up and setting them back down as she got distracted. She looked stressed to the max and you knew that this gas bill was just another card on a trembling tower.

“I’ve got $120 from winning a couple games of pool from some losers at the Alibi, let me put that in.”

Lip stomped down the stairs, his boots hitting the floor loudly, “no, keep it. We’ve got it covered.” He barely glanced in your direction as he crossed to the fridge and buried his head in it.

You scowled at his back and crossed your arms angrily, “You can’t tell me what to do, Lip. I may be your best friend but you’re not the boss of me. I’m here all the time so it’s only fair for me to pull my own weight.”

“I said, you’re not giving us any fuckin’ money.”

Lip slammed the fridge, he brow scrunched together with frustration. Automatically, you glanced down to watch his hands flex and curl together. He had a cigarette dangling between his lips and your heart sped up with desire. Finally, you cleared your throat and forced yourself to focus back on the current conversation.

“Are you even listening to me right now, Y/N?” He spat out.

“Lip, can you please stop? She’s the nicest girl that’s ever stepped foot in this house and she’s never gonna come back if you keep being mean.” Debbie whined from the living room.

You rolled your eyes with exasperation. “Debbie, I’m not gonna stop coming around just because Lip is an asshole.” Lip gave you a deep frown. “Besides, I like you and Fiona so much better than him.” Fiona flashed a grin at you from across the kitchen.

Lip opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by Steve slamming open the door. He waltzed in with a big goofy smile on his face and his eyes brightened as they landed on Fiona. You waved lightly at him before looking back at Lip. He was leaned against the counter, glaring out the window.

“Hey guys, we’re going out with V and Kev tonight. Think you can handle watching the kiddos?” Fiona asked, a begging smile sent in your direction.

Lip sighed loudly and crossed his arms tightly over his chest but you jumped up to block him. “Yeah of course, Fi, I’ll watch em. No promises that Carl won’t blow a hole in the wall, but he’ll have all his limbs at the end of the night.”

Steve grimaced, “god, please don’t give him any ideas.”

You laughed at the look on his face as he imagined Carl laughing maniacally in the middle of a giant hole in the side of the house. Fiona yanked a tank top off the washer and threw it over her head, shaking out her wild hair. She giggled as she stumbled to put her heels on before grabbing Steve’s hand.

“Fucking hell...” Lip muttered under his breath.

“Y/N, are you sure you guys will be good? Liam should be out already and Debbie just needs to-”

“Fi,” you wrapped your arms around Debbie as the little girl padded into the room and placed your chin on her head, “can you just go have fun, please? I’ve handled these heathens before and I will handle them again.”

Fiona gave you a look of relief and Steve mouthed a ‘thank you’ from the door behind her. You shoo-ed them both out the door. Fiona hollered out goodnights to Debbie and the door slammed shut.

“Okay, kiddo, why don’t you go grab a few comforters and bundle up on the couch. I brought us some microwave popcorn and feature flick.” You winked at her and she squealed excitedly. You chuckled as she dashed into the living room. “Oh, and put on another sweatshirt!”

You whirled around to smile at Lip but immediately frowned when you found the kitchen empty. Your heart sank into your stomach. The sleeves on Lip’s hoodie dropped over your fingers and you rubbed the worn edge nervously.

Debbie yelled from living room that she was ready, so with a turn on your heel, you headed into the living room to snuggle with her.

“Carl! Get your ass down here, we’re watching The Hangover! And put on a couple pairs of socks, we can’t afford you losing a toe from frostbite.”

Carl thudded down the stairs and jumped over the back of the couch. You tucked the blankets around the three of you tightly, in a slight attempt to keep the chilly air out. You pecked a kiss on Debbie’s cheek, rolling your eyes when Carl puckered up for you, instead you leaned forward and clicked on the movie.

~~~

The credits started rolling and you shifted slightly just in time to catch the clock flipping to 12:30am. Softly, you tugged your arm out from under Carl to rub your tired eyes. You twisted and turned and slipped up from under the two little bodies, shifting them onto the couch better.

You kissed both the kids heads and whispered, “Goodnight kiddos, I’ll be right upstairs.”

Straightening up, you stared up the stairs and gulped. You hadn’t seen a glimpse of Lip for the whole night and your anxiety was growing more and more by the second. You pulled the hoodie over your nose and took a deep breath in.

There was a flutter in your heart at the smell of Lip and there was a tug at your being to be with him. The corners of your mouth fell again thinking of how angry he looked earlier tonight. You couldn’t figure out what you’d done or said to piss him off so much when you were just trying to help the people you considered family.

You released another large sigh and drug your feet up the stairs. It was as quiet as it could be in the Gallagher household but you always felt comfortable surrounded by these walls. You shimmied in between the crack of Lip’s door, glancing at Ian’s sleeping body.

For a moment, you considered passing out in Carl’s empty bed but the draw to Lip was overwhelming. Silently, you slipped your pants off, dug through Lip’s drawers to find a pair of sweats, and tugged them up.

Hestitanting for just a moment longer before the cold settled on your skin and you heaved yourself up the bunk bed. Lip was facing the wall but you watched him shift to give you room to crawl under the covers.

Quickly, you cuddled against his back trying to soak up any bit of warmth, noting how tense he was. You traced shapes on his shoulder blade with your fingers for a few minutes, trying to decide how long you should wait before you passed out.

“L? You still awake?”

He was quiet and you were positive that he truly was asleep. Just as you closed your eyes, he rolled onto his back. His eyes were wide open and he was staring at the ceiling.

You peaked your eye open to look at him and then closed it again, promptly deciding to ignore him. He rolled again and suddenly his arm was flung over your waist and his legs tangled with yours.

It was dead quiet between the two of you.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you tonight.”

You looked over at him. His icy blue eyes were filled with regret and you felt your heart soften just a little.

“I didn’t deserve that, Lip. And I’m not quite sure why you were so mad at me for wanting to help out.”

Lip lifted his hand and stroked his thumb against your soft cheek. “I know. I know that, Y/N.”

“Then why’d you do it, L?”

“Because you shouldn’t have to waste your money on us. You shouldn’t have to be to be brought down by the Gallaghers.”

Your mouth gaped open in shock. That hadn’t been what you were expecting. You had thought maybe he’d gotten screwed out of some money or Karen had been a bitch that day, but not some ridiculous thought like the family being a bother to you.

“Are you an idiot, Phillip Ronan Gallagher? This is my family and you are not some deadweight that’s bringing me down. Where would you even get such a shit idea?”

Lip’s eyes fell, “I’ve seen first hand the destruction that we can cause. I just don’t want to see you caught up in it all. You should be saving your money instead of spending it on our gas bill. That money could pay for your college.”

You twisted your hands into Lip’s shirt tightly. “Lip, I love yo-all you guys. I don’t give a shit what happens, I’m with you through it all. Even if that means having to beat a few more dickbeaters at pool to throw in some cash.”

“But what about-”

“No, L, not even then. Not after anything.” Lip started to relent and gave you a small smile. “Besides, I think I might have a future with Carl.”

Lip growled and smacked you in the face with a pillow. You erupted in a fit of giggles as you tried to escape his grip. Lip was laughing with you, tickling your sides, enjoying the sight of your smiling face.

“Can you two lovebirds shut the hell up, I’m tryin’ to sleep over here.” Ian’s voice rang out in the room.

You and Lip froze, wide eyes looking at each other before bursting out in laughter. Lip pulled you in a little closer and slipped his hands under your shirt. You squealed loudly as his ice cold fingers ghosted over your stomach.

“Fuckin’ christ, it’s colder than a witches tit in a brass bra.”

“God, you’re such a fuckin’ weirdo, L.” You giggled.

Lip pinched you lightly, “you’re the weirdo who stole my sweatshirt, babe.”

You stopped squirming and looked up at him, your cheeks red with embarrassment or cold, you couldn’t tell. “Um, I’m sorry. I was just freezing and it was the first thing I saw. I’ll give it back-”

“Y/N, stop, I don’t want you to give it back. It looks way better on you, you should keep it.” He paused, sitting up and resting on his elbow. You rested your head against his pillow and watched the curve of his neck, his bicep tightened, and the rise and fall of his chest.

“I really appreciate how much you do for us, Y/N. You...you help keep the house together when Fiona’s stressed, Debbie loves having another girl to hang out with, Ian thinks you’re the only funny one, and hell, you’re the only one that Carl doesn’t try to explode.” He paused. “I just want to protect you from bad things, and I know how bad the Gallaghers can be.”

Your set a hand over his forearm, “newsflash, L, you’re a Gallagher too. And you’re the best guy I’ve ever known. I love that you want to protect me, but you can’t protect me from your family because they’re my family too.”

Lip’s eyes were shining brightly, taking in everything about this moment.

“I love you, Y/N. Like I’m in love with you.”

You pinched your brows together and the breath was caught in your throat. You must be dreaming, this cannot be real life. The person you’d loved for years was saying the words you’d longed to hear for so long.

“Wh-what about Karen?” You stammered.

“Fuck Karen. She’s nothing to me, she hasn’t been for a long time. I’ve just been ignoring what was right in front of me for so long.”

You were hypersensitive to the feeling of Lip’s fingers on your skin, rubbing back and forth. It was hard to think of anything else then his body against yours. The sound of your heartbeat was pounding in your ear. You were positive that Lip could hear it too, maybe even Ian across the room.

“I-I don’t know what to say...”

“Tell me that you love me too. I know you do, Y/N, I can see it in your eyes. Every day, you look at me with your big beautiful eyes and I can feel how much you care about me.” Lip inched a little closer. “At first, it scared me. It really did. The thought of having someone, my best friend, who loved me after all this fucked up shit, that I could fuck up and lose the one person I relied on...”

“Lip-”

“No, let me finish.” He rested his forehead against yours.

You placed your hand on his cheek, encouraging him to continue.

“Y/N, you’re the person that I know I can count on every day. I wake up in the morning and my day, my life is chaos, but you always know exactly what to do to make things calm. I’m tired of pushing away my feelings. I’m tired of you not being mine...” He trailed off.

You paused to see if he was finished before taking the leap and smashing your lips against his. Your heart was singing at the feeling of Lip tightened his arms around your body and kissed you back hard. His tongue traced along your bottom lip, asking for permission. You opened your mouth and his tongue swept in against yours.

Lip rolled on top of you and slipped his leg in between yours, swallowing a moan that came from you. You ran your hands through his hair and pulled slightly, your legs wound around his waist. Your lungs were burning for air and you finally separated, both of you panting heavy.

“God, I’ve been wanting to do that for so long.” Lip mumbled.

You smiled at him lovingly. You could feel his heart beating against your chest and you had this urge to be even closer to him.

“I love you too, Lip. I’ve always loved you. I-I just never thought you could love me back, so I’ve never said anything. Every girl you’ve been with... None of them have ever deserved you.”

Lip pecked a big kiss on your lip. “Now I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you.”

“Stop saying that, L. You are amazing and I’m extremely lucky to be here with you.” You nuzzled against his chest.

Lip bent his head down and pressed his lips to yours again. This was a more gentle kiss than the first one. This was the one that felt more real, something that wasn’t only fueled by lust and passion. This kiss felt like it would be the beginning of a happy story for you two.

“I swear to god, you two better not fuck while I’m here. I’ll smother you both in your sleep.” Ian groaned loudly before shoving his pillow over his head.

You and Lip broke your kiss in shock before starting to laugh again. Lip tipped over to your side and tugged you in tight against him, smoothing your wild hair down.

“Get the hell over here and warm me up, babe.”

You grinned to yourself before shoving your face into the crook of his neck. “We are so paying that gas bill tomorrow, I can’t have you losing any important parts.”

#lip gallagher #lip gallagher x reader #lip x reader #shameless #phillip gallagher #shameless season 1 #fiona gallagher #ian gallagher #debbie gallagher #carl gallagher #reader insert #x reader #fanfiction

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xxmisty · 4 years

Text

My Big Humiliating Torchwood Confession - Part 1 :P

Warning: this will be a LONG post, and i’m sorry about that!

Lucy is sat opposite me asking me repeatedly if I’ve started typing yet because she knows how desperately i’m putting off making this post!!1

This is awful, this is.... probably the most embarrassingly intimate confession i’ll have made since the day I opened up about my fetish way back at the start of 2013. And on the surface of it it probably doesn’t seem like that big of a deal but IT IS TO ME! And a big chunk of the trauma i’m about to express is tongue in cheek but it’s genuinely been - and continues to be - a huge bundle of DISTRESS AND HUMILIATION AND UTTER RESENTMENT!!! Because this year has been.... one hell of a personal journey and i don’t even mean anything to do with the pandemic.

It all started on New Year’s Day. I was feeling horrendously ill; the miraculous medication that had started to give me my life back had run out and thanks to the festive postal delays my new lot hadn’t arrived yet. I was in agony, I had a horrible headache, I felt sick and I could hardly move. We spent the day watching a bunch of muppet stuff, and that night we watched the first ep of season 12 of Doctor Who and, y’know, it was a pretty damn good episode (plus thirteen in the suit.... fuuckkk)

So afterwards we started having a discussion about Chris Chibnall - we’ve long held criticisms about some of his writing (not all of it, but it’s a mixed bag) and Lucy told me I still hadn’t seen his worst writing because that was for Torchwood...

Which I had never seen. Which I had been desperately trying not to see, although I didn’t know why. I just always had this vibe like a big “NO ENTRY!” sign at the idea of ever watching it. It’s not as though I had a logical reason for it, it’s not like I’d read up about it and thought, ‘naahhhhhh, I don’t fancy watching that’. I just had a big WARNING sign in my head, telling me not to go there.

Several years ago Lucy made me watch the first episode (after i’d been avoiding her threats of showing it to me for like 2 years) and like... it wasn’t horrible? It wasn’t... great either... but it didn’t kill me. Then a couple of years ago she showed me Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang because we were having a big Runaways phase so she wanted to show me an episode with James Marsters in. Again, it didn’t kill me. It wasn’t horrible. But I still had those big NO ENTRY!!! signs up in my head. I was still trying desperately to avoid actually being shown Torchwood as a show.

And the the new year happened and I was too WEAK AND DEFENCELESS to know what was happening when Lucy and I cuddled up in bed that night. I was too sick to really comprehend what she was doing or to fight back when she announced she was going to show me the very worst of Chris Chibnall’s writing... and put on Day One followed by Cyberwoman.

Oh. My. God.

All day I had been in a state of physical agony. Suddenly my mental and emotional state was far, FAR worse!!! The sex gas alien was bad enough, then by the time she put on Cyberwoman my brain was trying to shut down. I used to suffer blackouts and, god, I kept blacking out all the way through it, and instead of being her usual loving, wonderful self she KEPT FORCING ME TO COME ROUND TO WATCH IT!!!

By this point it was gone midnight and I was in a state of utter distress!! This was the worst double helping of tv I had ever sat through in my life and I sat up and let forth a tirade of absolute distress! This, I decided, had to be the reason I’d been avoiding Torchwood. Because it was more like.... Torurewood :P

Yep, that had to be it. Couldn’t possibly be anything worse, could it?

At least now lucy had shown me those two terrible Chibnall eps I would NEVER EVER HAVE TO WATCH THEM AGAIN. Or ANY Torchwood episodes. Yes, my ordeal was over. Had to be.

Nope. We went back to bed and she put on Out if Time. And i’ll admit, the story was much stronger but goddddd I had issues with the endings! And my level of despair started to rise even higher. I HATED Torchwood! This was the most distressing night’s viewing ever and I just wanted to go to sleep and be done with it all! Lucy put one more episode on afterwards: They Keep Killing Suzie. And that was much better but halfway through we finally fell asleep - so surely my trauma was over with.

Nope.

I had horrible nightmares of a very thirsty Gwen coming onto me all night, over and over again and it was HORRIBLE!!! Like, you have no idea how distressed I was! And when I woke up I blamed lucy whole-heartedly and she very sympathetically laughed at my plight!

But yeah. My trauma was over. No more Torchwood. I’d suffered the night from hell. Now it was time to pick up the pieces of my shattered life and move on! My medication arrived that day, I started work on some new pet portraits and life went back to normal.

Until that night, when I saw the telltale sign of Lucy putting a video on and turning her iPad around and then there they were - the opening titles of Torchwood - and I wanted to jump out the boat and into the canal and swim as far away as possible!!!

But the episode she put on was Fragments. She said she wanted to show me Chris Chibnall’s finest episode. And y’know what? It was really pretty fucking good. And god, I was fURIOUS about that!!! When we went to bed she pulled a real double whammy though by putting on Adam - which became instantly one of my favourite episodes of ANYTHING, EVER. And I looked at my wife, shook my head, sighed and told her, ‘nice save, Lucy... nice save...’

Over the next couple of weeks we also had a major Doctor Who rewatch and revisited most of the New Who era, and - to my mixed feelings - she dotted various other episodes of Torchwood in around them. I was conflicted - after the Adam and Fragments double bill I was no longer in brain-screamy hatred territory. I did however keep having flashbacks to that godawful night. Plus i’d had several further nightmares about a thirsty Gwen and I did NOT like it! But by a couple of weeks into January I’d seen a fair bit of Torchwood. Some of them twice.

Around this same time I’d started back in testosterone after not being able to afford it for the last 3 years. And then I started to notice I was getting some..... urghhhhhh..... unusual... and very uncomfortable feelings... about certain.... things... and characters.

And I started falling headlong into a great big gay panic :P

And here’s where the whole story becomes a HELL of a lot more embarrassing so i’m going to put it under a read more :P

Did ya click on that read more? Wh-why? there’s nothing to see here... especially not a long tale of shame and distress :P ugggghhhhhhh ok, FINE;

Basically there were two things happening at the same time. One was that I started to feel something I hadn’t felt in two decades. When I was a kid/teen we didn’t have the phrase ‘hyperfixation’ so I just called them obsessions. I always had obsessions, at any given point there was always this ONE THING that was my entire life. i lived it, breathed it, became it. It was my whole world, my whole personality, my focus, my lifeline. 9 times out of 10 it would be a tv show. Between the ages of 12 and 15 I would generally change my obsession about once a month. There were several ‘usual suspects’ that would cycle around over and over - Red Dwarf, The Brittas Empire, Sonic the Hedgehog, Halfway Across the Galaxy, Parallel 9, Out of this World...

late in 1995 I became obsessed with The X Files and - bizarrely - that obsession just ran and ran. I was so used to my obsession changing around once every month that it was bizarre to still be absolutely hyperfixated on it almost 9 months later. And then, in June 1996, my longest ever obsession took its place, a little known uk fantasy show called Bugs.

That... was my longest running obsession. And oh my god, was I ever obsessed with it. I have no idea how that one obsession kept going for 3 years. i’m sorry this is particularly wordy but this is kind of personal and I want to explain this right.

If you’ve been following me for a while you’ll probably known that one of the most defining moments of my life happened in the summer of ‘98. My cousin’s husband sexually assaulted me and my life spiralled into total despair. While that night was bad enough, the slow breakdown I went through over the course of the year that followed was harder to recover from. And eventually I came out the other side to some degree but i’d lost my love of three things that made me the person I was: writing, drawing and being obsessed. All three were so closely entangled with that night and surviving afterwards that it changed something that had always been a fundamental part of me.

I was no longer able to feel obsession. To hyperfixate the way I previously had. It was like something was broken inside me. And that was like a loss unto itself. It was SUCH a big part of me. It had been the only way i’d survived years of depression when I was young. My obsessions were what kept me afloat.

In the last decade there are a few things that I called ‘obsessions’ and I thought were as close as I would ever get to the way I used to feel. I thought maybe it was because i’d ‘grown up’ (pah). That’s not to say that i wasn't thoroughly into Ashes to Ashes, FNAF and Homestuck, for example, because of course I was! I even called them obsessions, but there was something that just... wasn’t the same, no matter what I did.

And over time, I got back the other things I’d lost. I started writing my A2A fics in 2010 and Lucy helped me to start drawing again in 2018 and god, both times it was like finally having a piece of myself returned after so long! As for my ‘obsessions’, I just thought I wasn't able to feel the way I used to because I wasn’t a kid any more.

But then, I thought that about Christmas Eve too, and then lucy came into my life <3

Still, the last thing I was expecting was... for *those* feelings to start sneaking back in my life. Feelings I hadn’t been able to experience since the summer of 1998-9. And to my further distress I discovered that they were relating to a certain show that I’d had a traumatising introduction to on new year’s day...

Suddenly it was all I could think about; TORCHWOOD! TORCHWOOD! Aargghhhhh and yet I still hated it! It was still awful! And yet... at the same time... it was so goooooooood.... arghhhhh, every time we watched an episode there was a knife twisting in my guts, reminding me that I hadn’t even felt these feelings over things we’d been HUGELY into... the fandoms we’d met through, the fandoms we discovered together. Nope. It was Torchwood that brought back my ability to hyperfixate! And I have SO MANY ANGRY FEELINGS ABOUT THIS!!!! Grrrrrrrrr!!

And believe me, I kept thinking it was going to stop and go away BUT IT HASN’T! It’s only gotten worse! And as of yesterday Torchwood officially became my second longest obsession ever!!!

I. AM. FURIOUS!!!

It’s... urrghhhh I hate this fact but it’s almost like I have a crush on the *show*??!!! I... can’t explain it better than that??? It’s like, if I could throw Torchwood on the bed and make sweet, sweet love to it I would :P and yeah, i’m saying all of this tongue in cheek but i’ve had a fucking sky high libido ever since I went back on T (ohhhhh and believe me I am LOVING it!!! 💙💙💙) But it’s like... there are elements of Torchwood itself that are so fucking hot that I get.... reactions that I am SO FUCKING EMBARRASSED ABOUT for so many reasons deidjdhdggjhaaahhhhhhhhh

Lucy literally only has to say ‘Torchwood’ at me and I end up in a gibbering heap half the time - I am not even kidding!!!

This, however, is NOT the worst thing that happened as a result of Lucy making me watch this god damned show.

But honestly this post has gone on WAY too long already so i’m going to save that for part 2.

Oh god... my shame.... my total and utter shame....

To be continued :P

#torchwood #about me #me #obsessions #hyperfixation #moirspritmaterail blogging #Lucy is MEAN!!!#my posts

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ificanthaveu · 5 years

Text

Holiday Cups || Shawn Mendes

Description: Holiday working at a Starbucks could quite possibly be the worst thing to ever happen to you, especially when you’re tasked with decorating the store with the shift manager who couldn’t get enough of annoying you: Shawn.

Description per my notes (aka jumped, also this is my fave I love myself for this one): STARBUCKS HOLIDAY AU YES BABY YES

A/N: hi it’s me Dani your local former Starbucks barista aka the worst 3 months of my life aha anyway this idea came outta nowhere but I've never seen anyone do it and we all know I'm a hoe for Starbucks and holidays so enjoy :)

Word Count: 2.4k

12 Days of Ficmas

If you could describe your personal hell in one sentence, it’d be easy: working at Starbuck’s during the holiday season.

You loved your job, and it’s what got the bills paid while you went to school. So, for now, you’d deal with the 4:00 am opening shifts, people complaining about their drinks and cleaning until your hands burned (which, let’s be honest, they were probably burned from something you spilled earlier anyway).

It was a few weeks before Christmas and the biggest store change of the year. The typical green menu signs got switched to cheerful red ones, and the white cups were switched out for the ones adorned with red and green.

Out of the few years you worked here, you never had to work the closing shift of the day this all had to be changed.

Until now.

When your schedule was sent to you, you felt your heart drop to your feet. You had an 8:00 am class that next day, and you knew that you wouldn’t get out of work until well after midnight.

And to make it even worse, you were scheduled with the shift manager that seemed to want to make your life a living hell.

Shawn.

So, when you arrived that day, you plastered a smile on your face and dealt with it. It’d be over before you knew it.

“[Y/N], nice of you to finally show up. Go find the boxes we’ll need for tonight,” Shawn barked as he slid a croissant into the oven.

“Hello to you too, Shawn. I’m not late, in fact, I’m five minutes early,” you said with a sickeningly sweet voice.

You glared at you and was about to say something rude when his headset beeped. He swiveled the mouthpiece and turned on his charm as his retail voice came booming through the headset.

“Welcome to Starbucks, what can I get started for you on this beautiful day?” He said with a cheery tone and a frown still plastered on his face.

You shook your head as you walked past him to gather the multiple boxes full of decorations and supplies that they had sent over for the store change. You stacked them all neatly by the back door in order of what you had to get done first. You triple checked the list and tried not to groan out loud when you saw all the things you had to get done. This place had to look like a winter wonderland before 5:00 am tomorrow morning.

You took a deep breath and went to the sink to start working on dishes because the sooner those were done, the sooner you could close down the store and start the changes.

Shawn whisked in and out of the back, piling up more and more dishes. You breathed slowly and continued washing as quickly and thoroughly as you could. Eventually, the pile dwindled down, and the clock struck 10:00.

You dried your hands as you walked out to the front of the store while Shawn locked the front doors.

“Bring the boxes out. I’m going to close down the register,” he said quickly.

You nodded and walked back to start bringing the boxes into the lobby of the store while you heard the clinking of the change as Shawn counted it.

You set the last box down and leaned against the wall, waiting for Shawn to finish. He looked up at you for a moment before typing a few things in the register and shutting the drawer.

“Alright, I’ll change out the cups while you switch the signs,” Shawn said as he rounded the counter to look through the boxes. “What’s in what box?” He asked with a raised eyebrow, expecting you to not know.

“I labeled them all on top,” you said with a smile as you tapped a finger on top of the nearest box where you had written what was inside.

“Oh,” Shawn said as he looked at the writing on top, letting him know ornaments were in this one. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

“Never heard you say that before,” you said almost under your breath as you grabbed the tall box that contained the signs.

He turned around and watched you walk around the corner before you climbed onto the counter to pull out the old signs.

“I say thanks all the time,” he said defensively.

You scoffed, “Yeah, right.”

He crossed his arms across his chest with a displeased look written on his face.

You glanced back at him as you set the sign down.

“Are you just going sit there and stare at me or start actually doing something?” You said. “I don’t want to be here all night.”

He didn’t say another word as he hauled the box of cups onto the counter and started pulling out the old cups, throwing them in bags and putting in the new ones.

Silence settles between you two as all you could hear was the shuffling of cups and signs. You hopped off the counter, collected the old signs and put them in the box before bringing it in the back where all the other signs were kept. By the time you got back, Shawn was looking at the list and writing things in the margins.

“Ok, let’s get this place looking like a winter wonderland,” he grumbled as he opened up the box that contained the fake Christmas tree.

“Cheer up, Scrooge,” you said as you held the box down and Shawn tugged the tree out.

“No offense, but this is the last place I want to be right now,” Shawn said as he positioned the tree into its stand.

“That makes two of us,” you responded. “I have an 8:00 am class tomorrow.”

“I was supposed to be singing at that art thing they’re having downtown,” Shawn said quietly.

“You sing?” You asked as you handed him the lights to wrap the tree.

He nodded his head, “Yeah, but here I am. Living the dream at Starbucks.”

“Is that what you want to do?” You asked him.

“Work at Starbucks for the rest of my life? Hell no,” he responded quickly.

“I meant the singing,” you clarified with an eye roll.

“Oh, yeah, but it’s pretty unrealistic,” he said.

“But you were going to perform at that art thing? That’s pretty hard to get into.”

He shrugged his shoulder as a soft blush spread across his cheeks.

“What about you? Starbucks forever?” He turned the question back at you.

“Hell no,” you responded the same way he did as he smiled for the first time that night. “I’m actually finishing up my last year in pre-med, and then next year is medical school.”

“You’re pre-med? I had no idea,” Shawn paused and looked up at you from his spot on the ground.

“Well, you don’t really listen much,” you said slowly, not wanting to break the bond you were slowly building with him.

“Neither do you,” he said back.

“That’s not true.”

“Really? Do you even know my last name?” He asked with his eyebrows raised. “Because Greg only calls me by it, so everyone should know it.”

You stopped hanging ornaments for a second as you looked over at him, trying to figure out what it was.

“Does it start with a P?” You asked cautiously.

“Nope,” he said as he continued to wrap the lights.

“Can you give me a hint?”

“It’s Mendes,” he said as he shook his head.

“Well, you just gave it away,” you said defensively. “What’s my last name?” You tested.

“[Y/L/N], I help make the schedule,” he said with an eye roll.

“Ok, not fair,” you said with a slight laugh, and Shawn returned it.

Silence fell again as the two of you finished the tree. You both stood back and looked at it side by side.

“Not bad,” Shawn said.

“Looks good enough to me,” you said as you looked at the list. “So, we just have to hang the garlands and switch out the merchandise.”

“The merchandise is what’s going to suck,” Shawn groaned as he dragged two of the boxes to the shelf. “You can start hanging the garlands and wreaths while I start this.”

You grabbed miscellaneous decorations and started hanging them where the guide directed you to. You carefully hung a garland around the counter and around the menu, ending with a wreath on the front door.

You break down the boxes, put them away and wander over to Shawn as he fills the merchandise, only being halfway done.

You sit on the floor next to him and grab the sheet he’s working off of.

“This doesn’t seem right,” you said carefully as you looked at the sheet and back up at the shelves. “I think you did it backward.”

“No, I didn’t,” Shawn said without even looking at you.

“Yes, you did. The coffee is supposed to be closest to the door, and you put it the farthest away. You’re supposed to mirror what flip what this sheet shows based on our store design,” you said as you pointed at where it said that on the instructions.

Shawn leaned against the shelves and sighed as he stared down at the sheet.

“You sure you’ve never done this before? Because you’re doing a great job at proving me wrong,” he said with just the right amount of sass.

“I worked at other places before this one, and I was a supervisor. I know my way around floorset sheets. But it’s totally fine that you don’t get it yet,” you said with a sympathetic look.

He rolled his eyes at you, and you couldn’t miss the blush that crept up on his cheeks, which caused yours to do the same.

You helped him move the items in the correct positions before looking back down at the sheet and finding the new items among the boxes to put on the shelf.

Shawn moved to put one in the wrong spot again, but you slowly pushed his arm until it was in the right spot. He looked down at you with a small smile.

“I don’t know why they put me in charge of this,” he whispered.

“Neither do I,” you whispered back.

He bumped his shoulder into yours as he leaned down to grab more mugs.

“Why do you hate me?” You asked out of nowhere as you folded your arms across your chest.

Shawn turns around, mimicking your stance with a confused look on his face.

“I don’t hate you,” he said bluntly.

“You’ve never said one nice thing to me, and you’re always yelling at me for things I can’t control,” you said carefully.

Shawn paused for a moment, not meeting your gaze.

“I can’t risk losing this job,” he started. “It’s all I have right now, and I know you can handle it and that you’ll fix whatever the problem is. I can’t say that about anyone else here.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, watching him straighten a row of to-go mugs.

“If I never call you guys out when something goes wrong, Katie’s eventually going to yell at me about it. But she loves you, and you do everything right. You do everything beyond what’s ‘right.’ And I’m sorry if I came off as anything else other than admiration. You’re amazing at your job,” he said, not looking at you.

“Really?” You said.

He simply nodded his head before reaching down to grab the sheet and check his work.

“If you wanted to work at Starbucks for the rest of your life, you totally could,” he said as he looked back at you with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes and plucked the sheet out of his hand.

“What a tough decision. Starbucks or medical school?” You questioned.

“I think it’s a clear choice. Starbucks,” Shawn teased.

You grabbed the last few items and put them into the last remaining places as Shawn grabbed a broom to sweep up scraps of cardboard and other paper.

After that, the two of you stood in the far corner of the store, scanning it carefully to make sure nothing was out of place. Katie would have your heads on a silver platter if it wasn’t perfect.

“I think it looks good,” you finally said after a minute of silence.

“Yeah, I agree,” Shawn paused. “You did good, [Y/L/N].”

“Wow, the first nice thing you’ve said to me. Thank you, Mendes,” you retaliated.

“And she remembered my last name,” he said out into the store a little louder than necessary.

“Alright, let’s get out of here,” you said as you walked away with a skip in your step to grab your bag.

Shawn followed behind you and grabbed his coat. You followed him towards the back door.

“What are you up to for the rest of the night?” Shawn asked as he opened the door and held it for you.

“Sleeping,” you said with a smile as you turned around to look at him.

“I may not have been able to sing at it, but there are fireworks at the art thing I was telling you about,” he paused and glanced at the time. “They don’t start for another thirty minutes.”

“Are you asking me on a date? Because I’m positive I’m not allowed to date a supervisor,” you said with a smirk.

He rolled his eyes at you. “Fine, then it’s not a date.”

“Ok, not a date. Am I driving or you?”

“You. If I drove, that would be too close to a date, and your car has remote start and is already warm,” he pointed out with a smile.

“Alright, Mendes. Let’s go to see some fireworks,” you said as you began walking him to your car.

“Can we get hot chocolate?” You asked as you started your car and Christmas music started playing softly through your speakers.

“Hot chocolate? That’s not Starbucks?” Shawn with his hand to his chest.

“Guess you’re going to have to fire me,” you said as you threw your hands up.

“Ok, you’re fired,” he said with a smirk.

You caught on to what he was doing.

“Fine, let’s go on a date then.”

REBLOG, REPLY, SEND ME A MESSAGE OR AN ASKKKKK

tag list: (message/ask me to be added for ficmas!)

@fallinallincurls @sunrise-shawn @shawnblrficawards @itrocksmysocks @mendesficsxbombay @particularnervous @adelaidestreets @rosebudmendes @shawnwyr @dancing-oceans @illuminatepotter

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cocastyle · 5 years

Text

The In-Between - Prologue

Stranger Things x It Crossover

with some Bill Denbrough x reader

Word Count - 3,967

Warning - cursing? (if people don’t like that kind of stuff), some Stranger Things Season 3 spoilers? (don’t know if they would still be spoilers or not)

A/N - this is officially the beginning of my The In-Between series! I’m so excited to get this thing started and wanted to have a prologue so you could see how Y/N meets the Losers’ Club and what her relationship with The Party is like.

reminder that this series will take place in 1987 where the kids are all 17. however, in this prologue, the year is 1985 which means they are all 15 and the events of Stranger Things season 3 just occurred (I switched some things up like I’m not having Hopper die that way Eleven and Will stay in Hawkins).

since the year is 1985, that means the events of It are going to have taken place the year before in 1984. to have Beverly in the group, I basically had her move back with her aunt in the earlier half of 1985 and her and Bill have decided to stay friends (this allows the Bill Denbrough x reader part of the series). anyways, I hope you all enjoy!

also, since Mike Hanlon is homeschooled, he will not be in this prologue. Y/N meets the Losers’ Club at school which is why he will not be mentioned at first. he will be in upcoming chapters though!

if you would like to be added to the tag list, let me know!

T H E I N - B E T W E E N

Intro The Losers’ Club The Party Prologue 1 2

3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Epilogue

August 1985

Hawkins, Indiana, the one place Y/N thought she would stay forever. Having been born and raised in the town, it was hard to imagine a life where she didn't live there. But then the events that had taken place during the summer of 1985 had occurred and the unimaginable suddenly became reality.

Fright was the main reason they were moving. Not that Y/N was scared or anything. It was her parents who were scared, scared that the unusual events that occurred in Hawkins would harm their family and ruin their lives.

After all, their daughter had barely been able to escape the forces of the Upside Down the previous couple of times, so when she came home with blood stained clothes and news of the death of Billy Hargrove, her parents were convinced that the only thing they could do was move away.

Y/N did not agree with her parents' decision in any way, shape, or form. Her life was in Hawkins. Her friends were in Hawkins.

Her family was in Hawkins.

However, her parents' minds were already made up and within two weeks their house was already sold and they were packing up their final things as they prepared for the journey to their new home in Derry, Maine.

The sky was filled with grey clouds on the day Y/N was supposed to leave Hawkins, a gloomy atmosphere falling over the town as if it could sense the girl was leaving and was genuinely upset about it. Y/N hardly noticed the weather seeing as her own gloominess was worse than that outside.

She almost didn't want to put the last of her things into the giant cardboard box that sat on the floor in front of her. Everything was already out of her room, leaving it so barren that she felt as if she were in a completely different place.

The only thing left had been her pictures that had decorated the walls with her memories throughout the years. It physically pained her when she had to take down the last picture—one of her with all of her friends where they were all laughing and looking at each other instead of the camera.

Now she held fast onto that picture, her hands shaking as she looked down at it with an almost longing expression on her face. Knowing it would only hurt more the longer she took, Y/N quickly looked away and set the picture in the box before closing it up. She only let out a shaky breath when the deed was done.

Y/N then picked up the box that held the last pieces of her life and began to make her way to her bedroom door. It was when she was about to grab onto the door handle that the door suddenly slammed shut, causing her to jump back in surprise. She hesitated for a second before going to open the door. However, it quickly slammed shut again before it was even half way opened.

This continued for a few more tries before Y/N let out a small sigh and turned to look behind her where her friends were all sitting on the floor looking upset. Her eyes flickered over the group that liked to call themselves 'The Party' and she stopped on Jane Hopper, otherwise known as Eleven, who had blood trickling from her nose.

The young girl wiped the blood away and stared at Y/N with wide eyes as she tried to act innocent. Y/N gave the girl a sad smile before looking around at her other friends who were all visibly upset. "I have to go," Y/N announced, the words earning a few head drops and shakes of heads.

Y/N kept her eyes on Eleven as she went to open the door again. "I have to go," she repeated as she began to pull the door open. However, Eleven wasn't having it and quickly shook her head and slammed the door shut again with her abilities.

Y/N let out a small sigh and dropped her head slightly. This was just as hard on her as it was on them. "El-" she began in a whisper, but before she could even get the words out, Eleven had jumped onto her feet and was throwing her arms around her.

The cardboard box fell from her grip and onto the floor and Y/N silently thanked herself for having only put pictures and posters in there. Her arms were quick to wrap around her friend while she dug her face into Eleven's shoulder, tears filling her eyes as she realized this was pretty much going to be their goodbye.

"Don't go," Eleven whimpered. "Please, don't go."

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut and tears rolled down her face as she hugged Eleven harder. Her body began to shake as she started to cry, but she hardly noticed it because Eleven had begun to cry as well. Arms began to wrap around the two and Y/N looked up slightly to see that her other friends—Mike Wheeler, Dustin Henderson, Lucas Sinclair, Will Byers, and Max Mayfield— had all joined in on the hug.

Y/N closed her eyes again and leaned into her friends' embraces, trying to enjoy this moment where she was with them. She didn't know when she was going to be able to see them next, but she knew she would never lose them. They had been through too much to allow that to happen.

It took a minute, but Y/N eventually got them all to let go so that she could look at them. They didn't mean to, but they had ended up forming a small circle and Y/N looked around at each of her friends before letting out a shaky laugh.

"I love you all, you know that, right?" she whispered. The Party was quick to nod their heads and Y/N smiled softly. "Good. Never forget it."

There was a silence before Y/N said, "You all stick together and take care of each other, okay? And if you all are ever in any sort of trouble, you get Dustin on his radio and have him contact me, okay? Cause you can bet your ass I'll be back here in a heartbeat."

"We don't doubt it for a minute," Max replied, the others all nodding their heads in agreement.

"I know you're going to Maine, but if anything happens and you need us, just know the same thing applies. We've got your back," the young Wheeler boy said.

"Got it, Wheeler," Y/N said with a small smile as she sniffled and wiped away her tears.

"Y/N! It's time to go!"

A look of dread washed on each of the kids' faces and Y/N reached down to pick up the box she had dropped before saying, "That's my cue."

The group was silent, but when Y/N opened the door that time, no one stopped her. Together, the Party all walked out of the girl's bedroom and made their way outside where Y/N's parents were waiting by their car.

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows in confusion when she saw someone talking to them, but her eyes instantly lit up once she recognized the person to be Steve Harrington. His parents and Y/N's parents had been close in college, so Steve and Y/N had practically grown up together despite the five year age gap between the two. He was like the older brother she never had and it was only in that moment that she realized saying goodbye to him was probably going to be the hardest goodbye she would have to face.

Trying not to dwell on the fact, Y/N smiled and called out, "Harrington, is that you?"

Steve instantly perked up at the sound of her voice and muttered something to her parents before looking over at the girl, taking his sunglasses off in the process. "Yeah, it's me. Don't cream your pants," Steve jokingly told her.

Y/N chuckled and walked over to where he stood by the car before quickly putting the box she was carrying in the back seat. She glanced over at her parents and gave them a sad smile before asking, "Can I have a moment to say goodbye?" Her parents nodded and began to get in the car, but not before her father nodded at Steve and her mother patted him on the shoulder.

Once the car doors had closed, Y/N hesitated for a moment before turning her head to look at Steve. He was already looking at her with an unreadable expression while his hands were placed on his hips. He stood there in silence before saying, "The day is finally here."

Y/N's smile disappeared and she looked down at her feet as she nodded. Steve titled his head slightly and watched her for a second before reaching out and placing a hand on her shoulder. "Listen, squirt. You're going to do great things, okay? Hawkins. . .all it's doing is holding you back," he told her.

"I'm moving to Maine," Y/N pointed out as she gave Steve a look that told him all he needed to know.

"You never know, maybe Maine is going to have just what you're looking for," Steve said as he gave her shoulder a light shake.

Y/N looked over her shoulder and at her friends who were all standing at the bottom of the staircase watching her with sad eyes. They gave her shaky smiles which she returned before looking back at Steve. She studied him in silence for a moment before lightly shaking her head as she stared at him fondly. "I don't think so," she told him, knowing that Maine would never be able to replace the people she loved so dearly.

Steve flinched slightly at her words and his face contorted in pain for a second as he looked as if he were about to cry. However, it quickly disappeared and he inhaled sharply as he tried to put on a brave face for the girl in front of him.

"Okay, L/N, serious talk right now, okay? I know this whole move is tough on you. Trust me when I say it's going to be tough on all of us. But you got to make the most of it, you hear? You go to Maine and you show those shit heads just who the hell moved to their town," Steve told her. He then reached out and poked her shoulder as he pointed at her. "Cause they have no idea how lucky they are to have you."

The tears that she had been trying to suppress since she walked outside began to fill her eyes and she couldn't stop herself from launching herself into Steve's arms as she started to cry. Her grip was tight and she balled her hand into fists around his shirt as she tucked her face into his neck.

Steve stumbled back slightly, but didn't hesitate to hug her back as he felt tears began to fill his eyes. He was going to miss her a hell of a lot more than he thought he would. She was practically his sister and one of his best friends. Age had never mattered to them, only the friendship they created had.

So the fact that he was going to have to go through a good chunk of his life without her? Yeah, it was going to be hell.

Y/N tucked Steve's shoulder under her chin as she hugged him and let her eyes flicker over to her friends who were all watching the two with tears in their eyes.

Max was leaning against Lucas who had an arm around her as both struggled to keep it together. Then there was Eleven who was holding hands with Wheeler as she hugged his arm with tears streaming down her face, Wheeler looking pretty much in the same state. Finally there was Dustin who had a hand on Will's shoulder as the two looked to each other for support seeing as the couples were busy comforting each other.

Steve eventually pulled away from the young girl, knowing that it would only be harder on both of them if they didn't end the hug now. He used his shirt to wipe his tears away before he gave Y/N a shaky smile and reached out to swiftly wipe her tears away with his thumbs.

"You'll be okay," Steve assured her. "You're going to be just fine."

Y/N gave the boy a smile, her lips quivering slightly as she forced herself to hold back a sob. "I love you, Harrington," she whispered as she stared at the boy in admiration.

Steve softened slightly at those words and leaned forward to kiss the top of her head. "I love you too, squirt," he told her.

Then, before either of them could start crying, Y/N went over to the car door and opened it up. She hesitated and turned to look back at all of her friends, her eyes scanning over each of them. It was in that moment that she realized just how much she was going to miss them.

She was going to miss Lucas who had been her first friend back in elementary school and the one who had introduced her to the other members of the Party. She would miss Wheeler and the times they would spend in the record shop looking for the right music to play at the karaoke nights they hosted for the group.

She would miss Dustin and being able to talk science with him as they worked on creating their high-range radio from scratch. She would miss Will and playing D&D together when no one else would play.

She would miss Eleven and how the two would have sleepovers and stay up all night giggling before making Eggo waffles in the morning. She would miss Max and the girls days they would have at the mall as they tried every flavor possible at Scoops Ahoy.

And she would miss Steve and the moments she knew would never get to happen. She would miss the times when they would have contests to see who could eat the most ice cream without puking and when they would team up and pull pranks on the others.

She would miss the arcade trips, the late night adventures they would have, and the times they spent together. She would miss each of them. She would miss their friendships. She would miss her family.

Y/N knew they were all thinking the same thing just from the tears that were in their eyes. Steve was the first to raise a hand and wave goodbye, everyone else quickly following suit. She let out a breathy laugh before waving back.

Then, with a heavy heart, Y/N stepped into the car and closed the door. She had just buckled up when the car began to pull away and she was quick to look out the back window at her house and her friends who were all walking out into the middle of the road to watch her go.

Her father glanced back at her in the rear view mirror, but she didn't notice, her attention on her friends who were getting further and further away. As for her mother, she grabbed ahold of her father's hand and kissed it lovingly before saying in an almost excited and slightly saddened voice, "Goodbye Hawkins, Indiana. Hello Derry, Maine."

Y/N didn't look away until her friends' figures had disappeared in the distance.

- - -

"I'm bored," Richie Tozier announced for what had to be the tenth time in the last five minutes. He looked between his friends who were all obviously ignoring him as they ate their lunch and tried to talk about other things. He momentarily saw Beverly Marsh glance his way, but she looked away and turned her attention back to Ben.

Richie had been surprised when Beverly moved back to Derry with her aunt only a year after moving away. But what had surprised him even more was that Bill and Beverly had decided they were better off as friends and Beverly had since grown closer to Ben of all people.

Richie shook away his thoughts and let out a loud sigh before he turned to Eddie Kaspbrak who was sitting beside him. "Eds," Richie whispered. When Eddie didn't respond, the boy poked him not so lightly in the arm. "Pssst. Eds, I'm bored," Richie whispered.

Eddie clenched his jaw and gave the boy a sharp look. "I know. I've heard you the other twenty times you've said it. And don't call me Eds," he said.

"Fine, Eddie Spaghetti," Richie told him with a small smirk. "But it's not my fault I'm bored. It's this shitty town! There is literally nothing to do around here!"

"Weren't you just complaining the other day about how you felt like you never had time to just do nothing?" Stanley Uris asked with a raised eyebrow as he looked at his friend.

"That was the other day, this is now!" Richie exclaimed. "And right now, I'm bored."

"S-s-shut up, Richie," Bill Denbrough muttered in annoyance as he stared blankly at the ham sandwich in his hands.

Richie rolled his eyes and let out a groan as he smacked his head against the table. "But I'm so-"

Before Richie could get that sentence out, the noise in the cafeteria virtually disappeared causing the boy to stop mid sentence. He furrowed his eyebrows and sat up before following everyone's gaze to where the cafeteria doors had just opened up. His mouth dropped open a little and the others all looked to their friend confused as to why he had actually shut up for once.

Seeing his shocked state, the group followed his gaze and their eyes landed on a girl around their age who had just walked into the cafeteria. Her eyes were wide due to the sudden attention and Bill could see the small blush creeping onto her cheeks as she nervously brushed a strand of h/c hair behind her ear.

Bill blinked in surprise as he stared at her, instantly stunned by her beauty just like all the other kids were. He could practically sense the jealously radiating off of all the girls except for Beverly and the boys were practically drooling at the sight of her.

The girl then began to walk forward and her shoes clicking against the ground seemed to echo throughout the whole cafeteria. It was only when she had taken a few steps that everyone seemed to snap out of their spell and go back to whatever they were doing. Well, everyone except for the Losers’ Club.

"Who is that?" Ben Hanscom asked, none of the boys taking their eyes off of the girl while Beverly just shook her head and laughed quietly to herself.

"She must be that new girl I heard Jane Greenwood talking about in math class," Eddie suggested.

"You knew there was a new girl and didn't tell me?" Richie asked as he looked at his friend in shock. "Come on, man. I could've been working my Richie charm on her already."

"Yeah, you won't be doing that," Beverly Marsh told him as she rolled her eyes at the boy. "Let the poor girl have a chance to breathe before you annoy her to death."

Richie made a face at Beverly which Bill barely noticed for he was too busy watching Y/N who was trying to find a seat. He watched as she attempted to sit down at a few tables, but each one either had girls that were too jealous of her to let her sit there or guys that were too stuck up to allow a girl to sit with them. It was only when he saw her passing their table without even trying that Bill called out to her.

"You can s-s-sit with us."

The Losers’ Club all froze and glanced over at Bill in surprise while the young girl paused in her tracks and turned to look at who had talked to her. Her eyes locked with Bill's and she gave him a breathtaking smile that had him blushing a little under her gaze.

"Thanks," she said as she walked over to the only empty seat that happened to be in between Bill and Richie. "Seriously, thank you. I was afraid I would have to sit by the trash cans. It's kind of hard trying to find a seat when you're new and know literally no one."

She was rambling a little, but Bill couldn't help but smile as she talked. "N-n-no problem. I-I-I'm Bill. B-B-Bill Denbrough," he introduced himself, stuttering a little more than usual due to the fact that a pretty girl was sitting next to him. He then gave the rest of the group looks that told them to introduce themselves as well.

"Beverly Marsh."

"Ben Hanscom."

"Eddie Kaspbrak."

"Stanley Uris, but people call me Stan."

"Richie Tozier, but you can call me the man of your dreams."

"Don't call him that," Beverly instantly said as she sent a small glare towards Richie. However, the girl had turned her gaze on Richie and was staring at him with wide eyes.

"Look guys. I'm so handsome she can't even speak," Richie smirked, but it disappeared when the girl poked his cheek and moved his face so she could look at him better.

"Incredible," she whispered. "You look exactly like one of my friends back home! You two could be twins!"

Richie frowned at that and muttered, "There is no one like me, but me!"

The girl just shook her head in amazement and stared at Richie for a moment longer before looking away with a blink of her eyes and looking to the rest of the group. "Sorry. I'm Y/N L/N," she introduced herself.

"Where did you move from?" Ben asked while Richie sat muttering something about he was unique and there was no one someone looked like him.

Y/N's smile made Bill's heart flutter a little and he mentally cursed himself for being affected by her smile when he had just met her. "Hawkins, Indiana," she replied.

"Hawkins?" Stan questioned as he scrunched up his nose. He then shrugged and looked down at his food before saying, "Never heard of it."

"Most people haven't," Y/N chuckled. "Which is probably a good thing now that I think about it."

"Why's t-t-that?" Bill asked, genuinely curious.

Y/N let out a nervous laugh as she almost seemed to be recalling some memory, "It can be a pretty weird place."

"Well you obviously haven't been in Derry long," Eddie muttered.

"Trust me. Nothing can be weirder than Hawkins," Y/N assured them. "It's like a shit show on steroids."

Richie rolled his eyes. "Trust me. Derry can and is," Richie argued.

Y/N raised an eyebrow as the corner of her lips turned up in a small smirk. "Want to bet?" she asked as if she knew something they didn't.

Richie glanced at his friends and Bill chuckled softly to himself knowing that nothing could beat what they had been through. It wouldn't be until after Y/N explained her whole story that he would realize he was wrong.

"You sure you want to do this, L/N?" Richie asked. "We wouldn't want to scare you away."

Y/N smirked and set her backpack on the ground and her lunchbox on the table.

"Try me, Tozier."

* * *

Tag List-

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let-it-raines · 5 years

Text

Catch Me If You Can (30/40)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

a/n: I am not a fan of the fact that there are only 10 chapters left. Like, not at all. Where did all of this time go? How are we at this point in the story? I feel like I was just writing it!

Anyway, it seems fitting that this chapter posts in a week where a lot of us have gone home to see family because Killian is going home with Emma to meet Ruth😘 Thanks to you all for being you and thanks to @resident-of-storybrooke for reading these words for me and checking my facts!

Found on AO3: beginning | current

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-/-

“Did you know that it’s Friday the thirteenth and a full moon?”

“Thank you, Alec Trebek.”

“No, seriously. That’s what it says on my phone.”

“Love, I know the date.”

“But did you know about the moon thing?”

“I did,” Killian sighs, picking his suitcase up off of the security belt and placing it on the ground while Emma grabs her sneakers. “I read about it the other day, and I am prepared for all of the haunted werewolves to come out to play.”

“Shut up,” Emma laughs before she plops herself down on a bench to tie her shoes.

It’s a little past four thirty in the morning, and JFK is nearly empty of anyone who isn’t traveling in some kind of suit. He and Emma are surrounded by people in black blazers and tailored trousers only traveling with a sleek black suitcase and their briefcase. He and Emma, meanwhile, are both in joggers with t-shirts on (Emma has on his Vandy sweatshirt over hers) and their hair tucked underneath baseball caps.

Emma got in from Detroit late last night, only taking five minutes to kiss him hello and take a quick shower before collapsing on his bed on top of the covers. The only flight they could get so last minute that wasn’t an exuberant amount of money is at the ungodly hour of six in the morning, so Killian insisted that she just stay at his place last night so that they could leave from the same place and save time. Considering they woke up ten minutes before their Uber arrived and could barely brush their teeth before they left, that didn’t exactly work in the whole saving time department.

It doesn’t help that Emma has pretty much been deadweight this entire morning until she started to wake up right before they went through security.

He, on the other hand, is wide awake. Nervous jitters run through his body, his stomach twisting in knots, and for someone who doesn’t get nervous for many things other than baseball, Killian is pretty much a wreck when it comes to meeting Emma’s family. Ruth is the last one, the final piece of the puzzle, and as intimidating as David was to meet, his mother might outrank her.

Killian both wants to spend the entire weekend sucking up to her and thanking her for taking Emma in and giving her the love she’s never had but has always deserved, but that could prove to be a bit much.

Then again, if Ruth hadn’t taken Emma in thirteen years ago, Emma would have never met David. If Emma hadn’t met David, David would have never taken her to the baseball game that truly allowed Emma to fall in love with sports. And if Emma hadn’t done that, he doubts she’d have ever gotten into broadcasting and found her passion there that makes her so damn happy.

The two of them also would never have met, and that thought sends a shiver down his spine.

It’s funny how such little things can change absolutely everything.

Everything.

So, yeah, Killian is most definitely a little nervous to meet Ruth.

“You want to go find some coffee, Swan?” Killian asks Emma as he props his foot up to tie his own sneaker. “I think the two of us are in some desperate need of caffeine.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t think we’ll be able to find a coffee shop in an airport. There are never any coffee places here.”

“I don’t appreciate all of this sarcasm so early this morning.”

She pokes his stomach. “You’re the one who woke me up.”

“We’re going home to meet your family.”

“I don’t see your point.”

“You should.”

“Well,” Emma huffs, standing up and pulling up her pants so that he sees a flash of tanned skin on her stomach, “you should. Onto coffee we go.”

They both grab onto their bags and start walking down the terminal, passing gate after gate and store after store, but everything is black with the lights turned off and bars pulled over the stores. Nothing is open, not even the convenience stores, and the moment Emma realizes this, she stops walking and buries her face in his shoulder.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“There are vending machines,” he soothes. “I think they have coffee.”

“But it’s gross coffee,” she wines before wrapping her arms around his stomach. At first, Killian thinks that she’s being affectionate, but then he realizes that she’s using him so that she doesn’t have to stand on her own. He’s not sure he minds either way. “I need real coffee, and I need it in an IV.”

“Okay, Lorelai Gilmore.”

Emma laughs into his shoulder, the vibrations working through his shoulder. “You’re learning. I’m so proud, babe.”

“I might have watched an episode or two.”

Emma’s head pops up then, the bill of her cap hitting him in the chin. “When?”

“While you were gone. It was on Netflix, and it just kind of happened.”

“Good choice, twenty-nine. Good choice.” Emma’s lips brush against the corner of his jaw, and he tugs her a little closer as his hand runs up and down her back while she presses up on her toes to make contact with his lips. “I need a diet coke or something, and then when the stores open, I’m buying the biggest damn cup of coffee in this entire airport.”

“Whatever your heart desires.”

-/-

The flight is only an hour and a half, Emma sleeps the entire time despite them getting her the biggest damn cup of coffee in the airport right before they boarded, and Killian spends his time answering emails before closing out the app so that he won’t see anything else work-related for this entire weekend. It’s a conscious decision, one he’s happy to make, and it’s almost refreshing to know that he doesn’t have anything to worry about for at least a few days.

Well, anything to worry about except for Ruth Nolan and making sure that he can impress her.

-/-

The taxi they get from the airport takes them directly to Ruth’s house, so Emma doesn’t get much time to show him around, only pointing out a few landmarks. They pass the minor league baseball stadium here, the Portland Sea Dogs, and Emma tells him that she’s never actually been despite having such easy access. She was too caught up in everything having to do with New York and getting there that she never really thought about it. He teases her and tells her they’ll have to go to a game, but Emma turns him down by saying that she needs a break from baseball.

He does too.

So that’ll probably be knocked off the itinerary that Killian is sure Mary Margaret has made. Luckily, though, she and David won’t be here until early evening since they both had to be at work and school for half a day, so they’re pretty much free to do whatever they want with Ruth today.

He’s still slightly reeling from his injury and their fight and everything that came from that. He’s not angry or upset, but this is all still such an adjustment. He should be playing. He shouldn’t be here, but it’s his own damn fault that he is. He screwed up on so many levels, and owning up to it all has been a tough pill to swallow.

Hurting the people he loved nearly killed him, and he doesn’t want anyone to hurt because of him ever again.

In the blink of a bleary eye, they’re pulling up to a quaint two-story Victorian home with brown and white details and bright green bushes lining the brick-paved walkway to the front door. It’s a home, undoubtedly, one much the same as all of the ones in the city and yet entirely different in that he can see vibrant green grass and flushed trees that spread out all over the neighborhood. It reminds him of growing up in Ohio, even if they were not the ones to have the spaciously fenced-in backyard, and a little fluttering of his heart takes place as Killian takes it all in.

He’s always kind of wanted a place like this – away from everything.

“So, this is the place?”

“This is the place.”

“It’s nice.”

“Yeah, I’ve always thought so.” Emma hikes her bag up a little higher on her shoulder and turns to look at him, trepidation written across her face. “We can still turn around if you want to. There are hotels around here.”

“We’re going inside, love.” He leans down and quickly brushes his lips over hers. She tastes strongly of coffee just from the little taste that he got. He’d like to kiss her more, to have the privacy of the hotel so he can show her just how much he’s missed her the past few days of her being gone, but they’re not doing that. “Besides, I believe I just saw Ruth peeking her head through the window looking at us, so it’s too late to turn around now.”

“Yeah,” Emma sighs, “I guess it is.”

Emma steps forward and begins moving up the path, Killian following right behind her, and Emma barely gets a chance to knock on the door before it’s swinging open and Ruth is lunging forward to practically smother Emma with a hug.

Damn. Ruth Nolan is a force of nature.

Then again, she was already for being a single mom most of her life and still taking in foster children, especially one as stubborn as Emma. He can’t even begin to imagine.

He fully intends on finding out this weekend. There are a million questions running around in his mind.

“Oh,” Ruth coos, shaking Emma in her embrace. A dog escapes the front door and comes to sniff at Killian’s feet. This must be Wilby. “I have missed you so much. I think I’m going to have to move to New York so I can see you more often. Do you have room in that apartment of yours?”

“Only if the couch is comfortable for you.”

“I think it may kill my back.”

“No, it’ll definitely kill your back. I have no doubt. It kills my back. Killian’s couch is super comfortable, though.”

“Well, I hardly know the man. I don’t think it would be appropriate for me to sleep over in his apartment.”

“Who cares about proper, love?” Killian teases. “I would be remiss to not let a beautiful woman sleep over at my apartment.”

The words slip out of his mouth before he’s able to stop them, and he immediately regrets them. Ruth may not be Emma’s mom, the title something that Emma still struggles with no matter how much she loves Ruth, but she’s very much a mother figure. Yet here he is spewing words that pretty much scream in her face that he doesn’t care about proper and has been fucking Emma for months now. What a smooth start.

The pit in his stomach becomes a heavy, solid weight, one that’s going to have him breaking the wood of the wraparound front porch.

Shit.

But then Ruth is leaning her head back in laughter, her eyes shining brightly as her hair falls off of her shoulders, and that weight lessens a little bit.

“I’m not much of one for proper either,” Ruth says with laughter still on her lips. She releases Emma and steps toward him, wrapping him in a hug as well, even if this one isn’t quite as smothering. It likely helps that he’s larger than Emma. “Hello, sweetie. SoSo, you’re the infamous Killian Jones I’ve been hearing about?”

“From Emma?”

“No, my grandson. He loves you. I think he was probably more devastated about your arm than Emma was.”

“How did you know I was devastated?”

Ruth pulls back from him to look at Emma. “Intuition told me that you’d be upset over the fact that your boyfriend is injured. Mary Margaret gave me all of the other details.”

Emma’s eyes roll. “Of course she did.”

“You know she can’t keep a secret.”

Killian looks over to Emma to see what she’s got to say, thinking that this first meeting is going rather smoothly, but then Ruth’s eyes are snapping back to him and looking him up and down in a way that has him feeling rather naked under her scrutiny.

Obviously, it was wishful thinking for him to assume he was quite out of the woods.

“You’re much more handsome in person than on TV.”

“Thanks,” Killian laughs awkwardly as he reaches up to scratch behind his ear. “I, uh, appreciate that.”

Emma looks over to him with raised brows that are pinched together, probably wondering when he turned into a stumbling fool instead of someone who can charm anyone, and all he can do is shrug is shoulders at her. She shrugs back before squatting down on the porch to scratch behind the dog’s ears.

“Have you eaten breakfast yet, Ruth?” Emma asks, obviously trying to save him. “We’ve had coffee but not food, and we’d love to take you out to breakfast.”

Ruth waves her away. “Nonsense. I’ll cook breakfast for all of us.”

“You really don’t have to do that, Mrs. Nolan.”

She smiles at him. “It’s Ruth, and yes I do. I hear you’re quite the baker, so you can help.”

“Well, who told you that?”

“Mary Margaret. She’s where I get all of my information, don’t you know? Emma and David don’t give me nearly enough.”

“You know, Ruth,” Killian smiles, “I have heard a little bit about the two of them not sharing a lot of information. You practically have to drag it out of them. I would never do such a thing as keeping secrets.”

Emma scoffs but there’s that loving, playful smile. “Too soon, twenty-nine. Too soon.”

Ruth guides them inside and sends Emma off to take their bags to her old room. Killian raises his brow in question to make sure it’s okay for them to share a room, and Emma simply rolls her eyes before taking both of their bags up the stairs while Ruth ushers him into the living room.

It’s just as homey as the outside. Everything is covered in warm colors from the deep brown of the leather couch to the inviting green of the wall. Two windows sit on either side of the stone fireplace where the television is mounted, and that’s when Killian spots the myriad of picture frames on the mantel, as well as on the bookshelf in the corner of the room.

This is exactly what he’s been so excited about.

(Besides getting to spend a weekend away with Emma where she spent the last of her teenager years.)

There are a few photos of David as a child, ones of him alone and then ones of him with both of his parents. Most of them, however, everyone is a tad bit older. Killian knows that it’s so Emma can be included in all of the photos, and his heart swells a bit at the thought of Ruth being that thoughtful so that Emma doesn’t have to feel left out in any way.

A picture of David, Mary Margaret, and Emma sits in the middle of the mantle. David and Mary Margaret look much the same, if not younger than they look now, but with different hairstyles. Killian makes a mental note to tease David about his shoulder-length hair. Emma, though, is definitely a teenager here. Her face is rounder, far less angled, and he can see the tepidness of her smile as she leans into David in the picture.

“Are you looking at how cute I am?” Emma questions as she walks into the room.

Killian turns to look at her and at the shy smile on her face now, and he opens up his arm to let her walk into him so that her arm can wrap around his back while her head rests on his shoulder.

“How old are you here, love?”

“Um, that’s a question I don’t know the answer to.”

“Sixteen,” Ruth supplies, and Killian doesn’t miss the way she’s smiling at the two of them standing there. “That’s from Thanksgiving. Emma still wasn’t too sure about us.”

“I’m still not.”

Killian squeezes her hip. “Liar.”

“Nope, I’m serious. You’ve only just met Ruth, so I don’t think you can judge her character yet.”

“Oh no, darling, I can. She’s promised to tell me stories about you while we cook breakfast, and that’s good enough for me to love her forever.”

Emma groans and dips her head down. “Just let me sulk, and I’ll come to the kitchen when breakfast is ready.”

“Just like when you were a teenager,” Ruth teases.

The morning is mostly spent in the kitchen where they eat waffles and bacon, which is definitely not on his diet but he’s not playing right now anyways, and he gets to listen to Ruth tease Emma all about what she was like as a teenager. Emma’s cheeks are painted red, the embarrassment very clearly there, but she takes it like a champ and smiles and laughs along even when Ruth tells a story about Emma nearly breaking her arm while trying to sneak back into the house after meeting a guy who she wasn’t supposed to be meeting.

“Not my finest moment,” Emma admits as she bites into a piece of bacon. “And definitely not my finest boyfriend.”

The stories continue, and as the day passes on, Killian’s stomach hurts from all of the laughter. Everything about his time here just seems so…perfect. And he knows that there is no such thing as perfect, but the crisp breeze of the air with the sunshine filtering through the leaves of the trees tells him otherwise as the two of them help Ruth with some of her yardwork. Of course, he hasn’t done yardwork in over a decade, so he’s a little rusty. Ruth and Emma make sure to point that out to him every time he cuts a shrub in the wrong way or manages to screw up turning on the lawnmower.

It was complicated, okay?

And Killian definitely wasn’t aware that this is how they’d be spending the first part of their afternoon. It was not at all mentioned in Emma’s pitch of asking him to come here.

Not that he would have ever said no to helping. It’s good to feel useful when he’s been feeling a little useless lately no matter how well he thinks that he’s handling his injury layoff.

It’s decidedly different than the first time around. It likely helps that the injury isn’t as serious and that Killian knows that the end of it is in sight, even if there’s still bits of uncertainty that no one can answer and predict for him. Yet, it also has everything to do with the fact that the people closest to him know exactly what’s going on instead of him letting it all fester inside of him. Honesty is the better policy this time, even if his hand was the slightest bit forced.

Watching Emma easily guide him through Old Port with a beatific smile on her face may help as well.

No, it definitely helps.

She’s such a force of light in his life, even if she doesn’t like admitting that sometimes, but the fact almost seems reinforced after having been apart from her and facing the thoughts of what his life may be like without her in it outside of being someone who he works with.

Frankly, it would be kind of dim. She’s integrated herself so easily into every aspect of his daily routine, and while at first, he thought it really only had to do with her clothes in his closet and her shampoo bottles littering his shower, it’s more in the way that he’ll be sitting with Elsa and look over to see her texting Emma or the way that whenever he wakes up in the morning and she’s not in bed with him, his first thought is to check his phone for a text from her. It’s ridiculous and yet also…not.

She annoys him more than anything or anyone in the world, but he also loves her more than anything. It’s easy in a way that it’s never been before, and Killian wonders if this feeling of fluttering deep in his belly is what he was missing in the past.

They grab a late lunch at a quaint little seafood place, one he can tell is family-owned simply from the atmosphere, and instead of sitting inside, they settle down at one of the umbrella-covered tables outside so that they can have a view of the ocean with the salt-water breeze wafting over them.

He’s missed the water.

Of course, he’s been around it living in Manhattan and traveling to several places around the country that are surrounded by water. Hell, he’s even been back in it in the three years since the accident with Liam. But it’s been a long damn time since he’s sat and simply enjoyed getting to spend time near the water.

During the off-season, he and Emma are going somewhere that’s surrounded by water for at least a week, and they’re not going to let any outside distractions get to them. It’s making plans for the future, and that’s all that he wants right now.

(Some would call it baseball mating season, and while he doesn’t plan on them reproducing anytime soon, they can sure as hell practice.)

They get a call that David and Mary Margaret are nearly there when Emma is showing him some of the lighthouses while using a ridiculous voice that she calls her “tour guide” voice, so they quickly gather their things and start walking back to Ruth’s car since she absolutely cannot wait to see the rest of her family and refuses to have them be at her house before she can get back to her house.

David and Mary Margaret get there first because they are apparently the fastest drivers on the planet today.

And Leo practically tackles Ruth in all of his ten-year-old glory when he sees her.

That’s how Addy and Lucy are with Elsa’s parents too, and Killian imagines that being a grandparent is a hell of a lot of fun since you aren’t in charge of molding a little person into a functioning human being. You just have to give them candy and all of the things their parents don’t want them to have.

Or, at least, that’s what he thinks Ruth does.

(That’s what he does as an uncle and wishes his mom could have done as a grandmother.)

They all eat takeout dinner together from an Italian place that Emma and David swear by, and while it’s certainly not the best thing he’s ever had to eat, it’s pretty damn good. Then again, he’s had so much to eat today that his stomach very well may explode soon. He’ll have to get up and go for a jog in the morning.

But right now, it’s a little past ten at night, he’s been up for over eighteen hours, and all he really wants is to sleep. His body is dragging enough that he imagines he’ll have no trouble falling into a slumber as soon as his head hits the pillow.

He’s wrong.

Because then he sees Emma’s teenage bedroom and sees just how empty it is. It’s absolutely nothing like her apartment in New York full of throw pillows and blankets and every artificial plant known to man with a colorful paintings above her headboard. Everything here is rather…beige.

Emma walks out of the bathroom where she’s been getting ready for bed, and he watches as she rubs lotion up and down her hands and her forearms. “Why that glum look on your face? Are you still trying to figure out better ways to argue with David over soccer? Because that dinner conversation is long over. I thought Leo was going to climb on top of the table and start beating on his chest or something equally ridiculous.”

“Hm, no,” Killian chuckles, opening his knees so that Emma can step into them and his hands can find their spots on her waist, warm flesh against his fingertips.

“Then what?”

He blinks up at her, not entirely sure if now is the right time to ask, but then he sees the glint of his mom’s ring falling against Emma’s chest and is reassured in who he is to Emma. “I can’t help but notice that your room here is not quite as colorful as your room at home.”

Emma sighs, and he squeezes her hip in response so that she looks down at him and smile. “It’s kind of a stupid reason. You don’t want to hear about it.”

“I’d love to know more of your beginnings, Swan.”

“Haven’t you heard enough about them today?”

“There is never enough information, love.”

She smiles and reaches to push his hair back off of his head, her hands a magic touch as they move through the strands there. “I’m not a sentimental person. Or, I wasn’t.” Her right hand leaves his hair to find the chain around her neck. Killian’s heart stutters at that movement. “And I never trusted that I was going to stay in one place for very long, so if I had the chance to decorate my room, I didn’t. I kept everything I owned in a little box that was always ready to go.”

His heart may actually break for Emma in this moment, the sad reality of what she’s telling him something that’s hard for him to take in. He can’t imagine what it must be like for her to have lived that way.

“I think this place worked out for you, though.”

“Yeah, it did.” She smiles again, but Killian can see the twinge of sadness in the corners of her lips. “You sure you still want to know about these beginnings of mine when they’re a little bit sad?”

“Like I’ve said before, love, we make quite the team, sad backstories and all. I do, however, think that you need a little something on these walls of yours.”

“I think all of the home décor stores may be closed.”

Killian winks. “Well, I think I’ll just have to get a little creative then.”

His hand slides around her back to squeeze her ass before he’s pushing Emma back from him and getting up from the bed to walk out the door. Everything is darkened with the lights turned off, and since he doesn’t want to wake up everyone else in the house, he uses the flashlight on his phone and quietly walks down the stairs to find his way to the kitchen where he knows there were sheets of paper in the printer as well as a few pens in a cup right behind it. Emma is on his heels, questioning what the hell it is he’s doing, but he doesn’t tell her until he’s grabbing the paper and a thick blue marker.

“What are you doing?” Emma hisses.

“I’m making you some artwork for your wall.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s endearing.”

“You say that about every weird thing that you do.”

“Because the weird things are endearing,” he corrects, looking back at her and smiling. “What kind of drawing do you want? I’m pretty talented, if I do say so myself, but it’s been awhile since I’ve drawn anything.”

“Just…do whatever you want. I’m going to fix myself a hot chocolate. Do you want one?”

“Does Ruth have any tea?”

“I’m going to make you the hot chocolate. It’s better than tea.”

Killian rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t protest as he starts sketching out what he can remember of the view of the lighthouse today. It’s rough, definitely not his best work, but considering his original plan was simply going to be writing her name out, it’ll have to do for quick work.

Strange things happen when he’s far past tired.

“Milady,” Killian sighs, picking up the paper as well as a bit of tape before walking the few steps toward Emma as she sits on a barstool at the island with two cups of hot chocolate, her mug piled up with whipped cream and sprinkles of cinnamon, “I present to you your artwork for your wall.”

Emma’s eyes glance over it before glancing up at him with a slight smile on her face. “You’ve got to sign it.”

He taps the corner of the paper where he’s scribbled in his number. “Already done.”

“Ah,” Emma laughs, “how could I have missed that?”

“You were distracted by the beauty of the picture.”

“Exactly.” Emma presses up over the countertop and leans forward to quickly brush her lips over Killian’s, and while a part of him wants to deepen it, he doesn’t want to get carried awhile while here. “Thank you. That is very sweet of you to do.”

“Endearing, right?”

“Sure.” She shakes her head and slides his mug over to him so that he can have some of his hot chocolate. “I hope today hasn’t scarred you for life, especially since you still have to survive tomorrow.”

“It’s been fun, Swan. I’ve been…I think it’s gotten me majorly out of my own head. I needed that. And I liked getting to see you be so happy. My only complaint is that I’m under strict instructions not to make your bed squeak. I don’t like that rule.”

Emma reaches over to slap his shoulder, but he moves it out of the way quick enough that she doesn’t get it. It also causes a slight twinge in his shoulder that reminds him that he needs an ice pack for tonight. He hasn’t gotten to put ice on it all day. So, he turns toward the fridge and opens up the freezer, grabbing one of Ruth’s ice packs, and placing it on top of his shoulder before turning back to Emma whose fingers are tracing over the drawing.

Emotion lodges in his throat again, something that’s been happening quite a lot tonight, and it’s what propels him forward to step behind Emma’s back and wrap his arms around her stomach before resting his chin on top of her head.

“I’m not going anywhere, Emma,” he promises, meaning every word. “Not unless you tell me to go. So, you can plan on hanging paintings and making plans and keeping little trinkets in more places than a box. I love you more than I know how to tell you. That’s not going to change.”

Emma audibly sighs, something that he feels under the palms of his hands, before leaning back into Killian and simply staying in that spot so that he can breathe her in.

“I love you,” she breathes out as her head tilts up so that her lips can move across the underside of his jaw. “Let’s take the hot chocolate upstairs and go to bed.”

“And your picture?”

“Yeah, that too.”

-/-

Killian’s arm tingles, the feeling nearly gone, when he wakes up in the morning and finds Emma’s body pressed around it. This isn’t how they fell asleep, not even close, and he’ll probably never have use of his arm again. It doesn’t seem to matter, though, and he flexes his fingers a bit before nuzzling his nose into the back of Emma’s head in an attempt to get to go back to sleep.

They were up until maybe two in the morning talking, sleep never really coming to either of them no matter how much they both wanted it, and judging from the dim light coming through the blinds on the window, it’s still early yet.

He desperately needs coffee. He’s probably not going to be able to go back to sleep, and he desperately needs coffee.

Slowly, Killian begins to extract his arm from Emma’s grip, stopping when she flinches, and after several careful minutes, he’s able to quietly get off the bed and step out of the room, leaving her door cracked so as not to make any kind of noise. He walks down the hallway and uses the guest bathroom before walking down the stairs and wandering to the kitchen in search of coffee.

To his surprise, David is already there sitting at the kitchen table with his laptop open and a cup of coffee sitting next to him, the smell wafting toward Killian.

“Hey,” Killian greets. David nearly jumps out of his chair and knocks everything over, and Killian can’t help but laugh at the shock on his face. “Did you really not hear me coming down the stairs?”

“I, uh, I – ” David is stuttering, obviously at a loss for words, and Killian can’t quite figure out what’s going on. He doesn’t think Dave is usually this flustered in the mornings. “I wasn’t expecting you or Emma to be up this early.”

Killian shakes out his arm, still trying to wake it up. “Believe me. I wish I wasn’t up. Do you always work this early in the morning on a Saturday?”

“No, I don’t, but my phone wouldn’t stop buzzing with emails this morning, so I came downstairs to see so it wouldn’t wake Mary Margaret up.”

“Ah, I turned off my emails this weekend for that exact reason.”

��You probably shouldn’t have done that.”

“What’s that, mate?” David coughs in response, and Killian steps forward to the table and sits down across from David, confusion running through him as his stomach twists and turns. “Seriously. What?”

David can’t look at him, not really, and that doesn’t help calm any of Killian’s nerves as he tries to figure out what in the world is going on with him this morning.

“I didn’t know this was happening, I swear. I’d have stopped it if I got one whiff of it, but there’s been an article.”

“An article?”

David turns his computer around, and Killian reads a headline that he’s always expected to see and yet has always hoped to avoid.

The Truth Behind Killian Jones: A Story Told by His Father.

“Fucking hell,” he murmurs, his eyes taking in the picture of his father that’s plastered on the screen. Killian hasn’t seen him in years, actual years, and yet he looks exactly the same. “What kind of shit is this?”

“It gets worse.”

“How could it possibly get worse?”

“Look at the journalist.”

Killian’s eyes glance toward the screen again, his gaze finding more words he didn’t want to see.

Walsh Osborne.

As in Emma’s ex, Walsh Osborne who she still works with at ESPN. Though, this article is decidedly not on ESPN’s website.

Holy fucking shit.

Killian’s got to go back to bed. This isn’t real. This is all some kind of messed up nightmare that he’s experiencing, and soon, he’ll wake up and none of it will be real. And yet Killian keeps scrolling through the article, skipping the words to instead look at pictures of himself that Killian hasn’t seen in years. His father shouldn’t have these pictures. Liam should have all of them. And yet, somehow, he doesn’t.

Childhood pictures are nothing, though, at least for right now, when at the bottom of the article are pictures of Killian and Emma standing in the airport yesterday with Emma’s arms wrapped around his waist as well as a picture of them kissing in his car from who knows when. Then there’s one that he knows is from the hallways of Yankee stadium in what was supposed to be a private room.

“Everyone knows about you and Emma,” David tells him.

This is too much. It’s all too much, and he doesn’t know how to handle the reappearance of his father and the very public reveal of his private relationship.

Fuck.

#catch me if you can #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan fic #captain swan

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chucklestheechidona · 4 years

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Doctor Who: The Jodie Review

(Long post)

(Sorry)

Introduction

I decided, still being locked down, to watch some Doctor Who.

Hadn’t watched it in a while, told myself I’d always catch up when I had the time, and the universe decided to give me a lot of it.

I had stopped watching Matt quite some time ago, but caught up about 4 years ago to Capaldi’s first season. I had meant to carry on with it but slow-going times and I forgot and all the other jazz that fills in the space between not doing things.

But I thought I’d storm through them and get them over with. I had heard bad things going onwards, but hey, I’m one of those sad losers that LIKE Love and Monsters. It’s not great but I thought what it did well, it did great.

So, off I went to finally catch up on a show that formulated so much of my younger self, my love for time-travel, interesting sci-fi that ended up getting me into the genre, and a love for character interactions and lore.

I went through Capaldi, and his last two seasons, yeah, they had an odd episode here and there, Sleep No More is a disaster, but I carried on through. I’m a trooper, I got through Fear Her after all.

But I fell in love with the Doctor again. Heaven Sent is easily the best DW has offered so far, the character building with him and Clara and Bill and hell, Nardole, are superb. The stories were interesting, the Doctor was great and evolved, and the companions were the perfect fit for Capaldi.

And then, after a brilliant goodbye, he was gone.

“Be kind.“

And here we go, we’re with Jodie, she’s northern, she’s confused, and she’s in need of some pockets, falling through the sky, yeah, 200 degrees that’s why they call her missus fahrenheit-

Not Jodie, but Chibnall

I’m not going to drag this out too far, I ain’t gonna make you read this for ages just to see if I like it. If you don’t want to see me complain about two seasons, this is your point to head out.

I think these are the lowest series of Modern Doctor Who.

But like the title says, it’s not Jodie’s fault. She’s an amazing actress, and she plays the part well. Hell, so does Bradley, Tosin and Mandip. Each one of them is a good actor and when the scene calls for them, they pull it off well.

The issue here is the writing.

And I feel I should go through why I think that.

But first, I think I should point out the good.

The Good: On historical topics and representation

This is the most diverse Doctor Who has been in a while. It was pretty diverse before mind you, let’s not forget the Doctor seems a bit flexible, the companions have been a mix of sexualities, gender, age and race, and each one of them is loved by many. Hell, Jack Harkness was so popular he got his own tv show.

But Thirteenth has gone and made sure that there was more.

Characters just pointing out they’re gay and it’s just a matter of fact. It’s a statement, not an argument, not being out there or subvertive, it just is. People are more than fine with this.

I’m surprised Graham the bus driver is so accepting of everyone at the start, but it speaks testament to his character. He fell in love with Grace, he raised a son with a disability, he stands up for those that dare have a go at any of that. Graham didn’t have to grow to learn this in the Tardis, he was accepting from the get-go.

Well, there’s some conflict about Ryan blaming things on Dyspraxia in the first episode but it comes out of a place of fear of their lives. But any tensions between them are resolved quite well, to the point they can count on each other.

Either way, representation is important and Jodie’s season has it in spades.

As for historical topics, the Doctor tackles them quite well. Honestly, the episodes in the past are her strong suit. And as she’s a woman now, she has a new battle against her. History wasn’t always kind, and the gag of them addressing Graham each time is a genuinely good idea.

Also, Rosa had the opportunity to be butchered. It could have been written badly, it could have been handled with hardly any care, but it was the standout episode of the season. Each character gets some good lines, the gang has to face moral decisions and it’s a genuinely good look into a past that America would sometimes like to forget.

As an aside, I think Bill, even as one character, explored the sexuality thing more and the diversity she faced from it, I think thirteenth doesn’t do a bad job. I liked the astronauts as shown above quite a bit to be fair.

Graham

The standout star of the show.

This will be unfortunately brought up in my negatives for the show too, but this is the good side.

Graham’s lost his wife, he has to connect to her grandson, his cancer is a constant worry in his head and he comes with the Doctor in an attempt to escape/confront all three.

He is the one who evolves the most as a character in the first season, coming to terms with the death of Grace is something he battles with throughout, he still blames himself. For whatever reason, even in the Rosa Parks episode, he gets the most emotional writing. Ryan and Yaz do get good writing in the same episode mind you, (which is unfortunately one of the few times Yaz does) but it’s heartbreaking to see Graham realise what he has to do.

The Acting

I unfortunately have to put Ryan, Yaz and the Doctor here in one group category. and I hate to do that, but I feel it’d be a disservice not to mention them.

Their actors can act well. When the script calls for it, they do amazing work.

The scene where Jodie is angry and confused at the other Doctor, where Ryan is actually there to support his friend, when Yaz is comforting Ryan about America, where Jodie is fucking pissed at the Master, all good scenes.

But this is a perfect segway into -

The Bad: Asides the retcon

Holy shit where do I start.

I mean, we’ve got the good out of the way, so you know where I stand on the issues a bunch of people wrong accused the show of being. A female doctor is more than fine, the diverse cast is great, the topics of exploring the past is done good.

And I’m not going into the retcon just yet, I feel like going ITS BAD BECAUSE OF THIS ignores so much of the problems to be had

But let’s start with

The Doctor

This should have been her outfit just saying

I find the best way of describing most of this doctors run so far is...

Imagine, if you will, that you need to write a Doctor Who book. They’ve given you a plot to go with, but they haven’t told you which Doctor it’s for. But tight schedules and they still haven’t told you, so you write up a draft. A template. But you leave the Doctor’s text ambiguous. A template for a Doctor. With some work, you could make it the 12th, the 5th, the 1st, once you add mannerisms and how the doctor would react personally in a situation. So you write in this template Doctor and go to sleep. But you wake up and your assistant has only gone and submitted it.

The Doctor is kinder than any other iteration of her Doctor, but that’s it. I get why the natural progression from Capaldi, and Jodie sells a nice Doctor superbly, but ...

There’s nothing really there to distinguish her as her own Doctor. She’s nice, a bit confused, LOVES things and calls people fam.

But like, that’s it. Where the 9th had coldness, 10 had eccentric, 11 had old man and 12 was furious, Jodie has... nice. But a Doctor needs an edge.

She’s quiet about her home life and she doesn’t really talk much to her companions about it, but like, that’s understandable, she doesn’t really talk one on one to them or even much about their home lives.

She doesn’t get an arc until Spyfall, and even then it’s largely just turned into “She’s well moody”, and apparently well moody is just being kinda quiet. Jodie says it right when she shouts at them in one scene “You don’t know me!”

And she’s right, but then the companions trust her with everything and they’re part of a FAM and super close but they don’t really talk with each other. Jodie doesn’t have these quiet talks like the other Doctors would have with the companions, it’s just... not there.

And because it’s not there we’re supposed to believe they think of themselves as a tightly knit group but also very apart as characters. And the companions, to their credit, try and confront her on it, but the conflict is over so quick as to not be there at all.

Yaz and Ryan

This is the best scene of them in, and one of the rare times Yaz makes an impact on a story which isn’t just supporting the Doctor

What they did to these two actors is cruel.

Ryan at least gets to join in on Grahams arc, because it is Grahams arc, not Ryans, really. There’s a plot about his Dad that’s done quite well, so that’s why Ryan doesn’t suffer the same poor fate as Yaz does.

Yaz has absolutely no agency. She wants to be a successful Policewoman but it’s not really much addressed outside of the first episode and the dream episode (which admittedly, is a good episode and explores each character). She gets told by everyone she’s the heart of the team and super brave and like, she hasn’t got an arc, she pretty much blindly follows the Doctor, she has no reason to be there much other than her family’s a bit annoying.

Her actress plays the scenes well, and there’s some touching moments with her in Rosa and the dream episode about how she is the way she is, why she does the things she does. But 2 episodes out of 20 isn’t enough.

Ryan gets a couple of good episodes, a touching one especially comes with horrors of the future and not being there for his friends plaguing his mind, and he manages to get help for his depressed friend, which is touching.

But the two episodes? That’s kind of it.

Ryan gets a nice Dalek episode though.

Orphan 55

The worst episode in Doctor Who. Took any good faith from Spyfall and plonked S12 in bottom tier before we even got to the retcon.

If I talked about everything it did wrong here this would go on too long.

It was just the worst 45 minutes of DW

At least Sleep No More was just boring.

Character Arcs, What Are They

Graham’s arms give out in season 1 for carrying the team.

The Doctor against Tim Shaw is laughable, there’s no conflict past killing a couple of people, so Graham has to have that moral dilemma instead, Ryan manages to respect him and call him gramps, but that’s more Grahams arc than Ryans. Yaz has nothing, the Doctor learns nothing.

But series 2, the Doctor’s given an arc, which is something, considering that before this it was a throwaway line about Timeless Child from a piece of cloth.

Gallifrey is gone again, the insurance rates at this point are through the roof on this planet, she’s been told the Master did it for learning a terrible truth. But she of course doesn’t explore the ruins until she has to, but ah well, we can live with that, that’s fine in Doctor Who. I’m not even being sarcastic, the Doctor through all iterations isn’t very clever.

It gives her a bit of a mood that’s not really explored too much past that, but then we’re given Jo Martin as The Other Doctor

My opinions on throwing in Doctors from the past aside, (I love you John Hurt but damnit), Jo plays a competent Doctor, and her attitude clashes so well with Jodie that both actresses get to act well in good written scenes.

But then she’s just very confused until Gallifrey rolls around again.

We’ll ignore the retcon, again, but once she learns she gets super fucking pissed. And for good reason. Against the Master, against the Time Lords, against everyone, she’s shouting at everything, lost in her life.

But it’s sorted out very quickly by Jo intervention and then she’s much the same as ever.

Well, I say that, what I mean is “Willing to burn and kill all life on Gallifrey” with a button press. Yeah I know that the Time Lords are dead and the Master is about to kill everyone but you wouldn’t let a Spider be shot through mercy killing and you expect me to jump to “Would absolutely murder the Master and desecrate the bodies of the Time Lords”

It doesn’t matter anyway, for she has not the will to do so.

But she lets someone else do it

For fucks sa-

And at the end, what has she learned? That the thing she only knew half an hour ago shouldn’t affect her, so back to status quo

Wasted potential - Monsters

Imagine a super cool idea for a monster? Cool, add it into an episode.

And now get rid of it super quickly or butcher the premise.

REGENERATING CYBERMEN? Let’s have one shoot the other to show how bad it would be and then kill them immediately.

The Pting, capabale of disrupting a ships infrastructure an- Nah, just dick around with the lights.

A TIME TRAVELLING RACIST WHO KNOWS HOW TO FUCK UP THE TIMELINE

Let’s not even reference him 15 episodes later

Cyberman hybrid?

You get the idea.

The Master, or rather, the Missy Issue

The Master is putting on his best Simms Master homage, and like, I get it. It’s a good Master, and Sacha really puts his all into it.

I can only hope that this Master is before Yana. Missy’s exit was poetic, done well. Of course, just when she could feel ok joining the Doctor, the obstacle in her way was herself.

It’s not even the fact she died and why is he back now, it’s ... this Master has almost no nuance to him. He wants the Doctor to know the truth, which is at least some Master motives, but then its just wanton destruction for the sake of it. Like Simms but “what if we made him more crazy” The Master is more than this, can be more than this. It was nice seeing Jodie try and relate to him but this Master has thrown out three years of compelling evolution of the character. To throw it all out seems ... odd.

I can’t fault his performance though, he can be real damn quiet and sinister and really out there when he’s screaming at things.

The episodes themselves

Good cast, good side characters, good ideas, butchered in execution by not exploring the main cast, falling flat on the ideas and by the second season, losing the fun side characters.

Episodes I liked

Woman Who Fell To Earth

Rosa

Demons of the Punjab

WitchFinders

Takes You Away

Fugitive of the Judoon

Can you Hear me

Episodes I hated

Orphan 55

Arachnids

The Timeless Children

The Battle of Ranskoor Av Kolos (for cutting everything short)

Everything else was mostly unmemorable I fell asleep on Ascension of the Cybermen, had to rewind it.

The Retcon

You knew this was coming.

I put it last for I feel there’s a hundred and one issues here and it’d be cruel to just go for the obvious first. Maybe people would think I’d be against this one thing and that’s why I hate the rest. God no, I was so annoyed going into this episode, let alone for what it was about to deliver.

I don’t outright hate past Doctors. Hell, shove the brains of Morbius in there. It shits a bit on Hartnell and established lore a bit, but still.

“But the Brains of Morbius said-“

The eighth doctor said he was half-human, there are some bits of this canon we ignore.

But oh well, it’s not the main crux of the issue.

The Doctor, before this, was a Time Lord. He wasn’t much of a good one, by Time Lord standards at least. Ran from the schism, wasn’t as good as the Master in school, didn’t like the stuffy nature of his race, or their non-intervention policy. Ran off in a stolen ship with a knackered console and wanted to see the universe.

He flouted the rules. He stood up for people where Time Lords wouldn’t. Observe, don’t intervene. But the Doctor couldn’t, too curious, too inquisitive. He got a fondness for humans, god knows why.

But this Time Lord was against his own people, he was kinder than them, but alien to us. He wanted to learn, and left his planet to see if there was good in the universe. He was a rather shit Time Lord but helped where he could, making a difference in other people’s lives, trying to be the best he could be, learning.

This got him into trouble with the Time Lords of course, but, hey, it’s a funny old universe.

And we like that, as British folk. An underdog common person just trying to help out and be good.

What we’re not a fan of is saying the the Doctor isn’t just some Time Lord that likes helping out, but a chosen one who is the reason that Time Lords exist in the first place and is of another dimensional world and there were 50 of them and they knew kung fu in the super secret Time Lord service but they wiped her mind because it was super secret guys and she can live forever and is immortal and-

I was annoyed when the 50th made a slight mockery of the Time War. I get we don’t always have to stick so closely to canon, but holy shit the Timeless Child.

The fact it was exposition dumped on us and then wrapped up 10 minutes after with NEW ADVENTURES AT CHRISTMAS was just the icing on the cake.

If you wanted to pull this off, this should have been the Doctor’s struggle for the next season, coming to terms that her life is missing, that the Time Lords did this, that she didn’t even know what was right or not

But no, resolved. Felt not like adding to the lore but upending it on its head to say he could.

It’s why I don’t blame Jodie, who does an excellent job. Or the cast.

I blame Chibnall.

And it wouldn’t be as bad if the writing leading up to it helped serve the episode. But there was nothing there.

Conclusion

The writing is trash, the Doctor is underdeveloped, the cast outside of Graham aren’t explored, the setup for the finales are weak and uninspired, the retcons are going to cause major issues down the line and you’ve changed the very nature of the Doctor’s character and didn’t even have good writing behind it nor did much to explore it.

And I’m sorry it had to happen to such a good casting decision.

Here’s hoping you sign on to Big Finish and they give you some good storylines Jodie, you deserve it.

#Doctor Who #Thirteenth Doctor #chibnall #Jodie Whittaker #Graham #Ryan #Yaz #Peter Capaldi #Review #The Doctor

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excindrela · 5 years

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12 Days of Demon Ayno- Day 4

Supernatural AU

Pairing: demon! Ayno (Noh YoonHo) VAV x Female Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Implied sex

Word Count: 1739

AN: Welcome back to the 12 Days of Demon Ayno! It’s Day 4- only 8 more to go! As promised, more smut is coming (hint: Day 6) but since it’s the Holiday Season, this is Fluffy! I love feedback- so if there’s something you like, or something you want to see- tell me!! Thank you to everyone who has continued to read this, and especially to those who have re-blogged!

Demon Ayno: Summoned, Thanksgiving, 12 Days: Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 Day 6 | Day 7 | Day 8 | Day 9

On the 4th Day of Christmas: Ayno Gets His 1st Christmas Tree

Just like the song said, the weather outside was frightful- and had been for a couple days, but inside your apartment it was actually pretty delightful. Ambiance and heat were being provided by the electric fireplace, and you were stretched out on the couch across from your inhuman boyfriend. You were focused on your laptop, trying to get some work done before your office closed for the holidays, and Ayno was watching the “Christmas in Rockefeller Center” special on TV.

You would occasionally glance up at now skinny Al Roker (you liked him better fat) or respond to Ayno’s comments or questions. (Why do those girls have such long legs? How do they do that? I think it’s a requirement- they’re the Rockettes, they practice those kicks a lot. Are those the boys that sing and dance on the blonde lady’s show? Oh, yeah- I think so? They’re from Korea…BT something? Ellen loves them. Why is this lady surprised? She isn’t – she’s just had too much plastic surgery.) Finally, the big moment came, and they lit the tree at 30 Rock. You glanced up and smiled at Ayno’s “Awww” of awe- he was really loving all the Christmas lights.

“It’s pretty, huh?” you asked.

Ayno nodded profusely, and then hesitantly asked, “Could we get a tree and put lights on it?”

You smiled, “Yes! Of course!” You paused “...I was going to say we could go after work, but I have meetings and I’ll be late the next couple of days.”

He looked disappointed, and then brightened. “If you will allow me…This is my first Christmas tree- I would like to pick it out and decorate it. You don’t need to help- I will choose the tree and make it perfect.” He said excitedly.

Your Spidey sense tingled. You weren’t sure you should let Ayno do this without guidance, but he wanted so much to prove he was capable.

“Ok. If you buy from the Boy Scouts tree lot on 4th & Grand, they’ll deliver it for you.”

“I promise I will choose well and make it beautiful!” he declared.

Of that you had little doubt…it was the process that concerned you.

When you rolled in just after 6:15 the next evening you expected to see a tree in your living room and Ayno decorating it. But there was no tree, and Ayno was cooking dinner. “No tree??” you asked

“It is being delivered after six. I am waiting.” Ayno said taking the chicken parmigiana out of the oven.

You changed your clothes into something comfortable and went down to the building’s basement to retrieve the two boxes of Christmas decorations from storage while Ayno made noodles & poured you wine.

You had no sooner returned to the apartment and there was a knock on the door and what appeared to be an entire troop of Boy Scouts standing there.

“We have a tree delivery for…I-Know?” the leader asked hesitantly.

“A-Know”, you supplied.

“That is me!” Ayno said as he went sprinting for the door.

“Sign here”, the boy said. “Where do you want it?”

Ayno pointed to the living room and then stood aside.

You watched as the top of the tree came through the door... and then just kept coming…and coming…and coming. They marched into the living room, stood it in the spot Ayno pointed to, and then cut the twine holding it tight and it exploded out into all its bushy gloriousness.

It was huge. It was the Christmas tree that ate your living room.

You tapped one of the Boy Scouts on the shoulder “What is that??”

“It’s your Christmas tree ma’am”

“Yes I know that, but what kind of tree is that??”

“It’s a Grand Fir ma’am… Abies Grandis? It’s a soft wood conifer.”

“Uh-huh... how tall is that tree?”

“Oh that one is only 12 feet. Grand Firs can reach the height of almost 300 feet.”

“Ok. Wow. Here- thanks kid.” You said if you handed him a $20 bill.

Ayno clapped with joy. “Look! It is just like the one on TV!!”

Well it certainly looked as big as the one on TV. You weren’t sure exactly what Ayno had in mind, but you had a feeling it was about to get interesting. You grabbed your dinner from the kitchen and made yourself comfortable on the couch to watch the show.

Ayno immediately began digging through the boxes. He finally found a string of colored lights stuffed into the bottom of the second box, but it was a giant tangled mess. He happily sat down cross-legged on the floor and began un-tangling it while singing a little song to himself.

Once the lights were untangled, he stood before the tree holding them trying to decide exactly how to make this work. He walked around the tree looking at it from all sides and stuck his head into it between the branches. Finally, he turned to you with a quizzical look on his face. “How do they stay on?” He asked confused.

“How do the lights stay lit or how do they stay on the tree?” you clarified.

Ayno shot you a droll look. “I understand electricity. How do they stay where you put them on the tree??”

You shrugged “You have to kind-of wind them around and through the branches?”

This seemed to make sense to him, and he began- right in the center front. He sort-of wound them around the front section of the tree and got about 4 feet up when he suddenly ran out of lights. Looking a bit confused he went back over to the boxes and rummaged around looking for more lights, before sighing in frustration as he came up empty. “There are no more lights”.

“No… I think I only have the one string”.

“But there is more tree.”

“Yeah…I don’t think I’ve ever bought a tree bigger than 4ft. I had no idea you were going to buy a 12ft tree.”

He looked defeated. He said down next to you sighing heavily “I think I have failed in this task.” he said sadly.

“I don’t think so.”

He looked at you questioningly. “You want to try to blend in and be perceived as human right? Well, failing at things is part of being human -but so is resilience and finding solutions to problems. I don’t think you have failed- I think you have encountered a setback. The tree itself is lovely and it smells amazing! I think you chose well. ... and I am confident that you will figure out how to fix this- without my help…but If you want it, I’m here.” He nodded, still feeling bad.

You had come to realize that feeling like he was competent at existing in the human world was important to Ayno. He wanted so much to fit in so that you could tell people he was your boyfriend and not worry about him being odd or embarrassing. So, although the solution to this problem was simple, for the sake of his self-esteem, you wanted Ayno to get to it on his own.

You climbed over into his lap and straddled him, winding your arms around his back, your hands into his hair as you brought your mouth to his. You kissed him deeply, feeling him melt into you. You kissed along his jaw and down his neck, listening to him sigh as his hands gently stroked your back. “Let’s go to bed Ayno”, you whispered looking into his glowing eyes. “It is still rather early” he reminded you. You smiled, “I didn’t say anything about going to sleep.” He smiled back and carried you off to the bedroom, leaving his frustration behind, just as you hoped.

* * *

Thanks to co-workers who were incapable of reading their e-mails and insisted on asking the same stupid questions over and over, you didn’t get home from work until almost seven.

When you opened the door to the apartment it was pitch black – the only thing visible were Ayno’s eyes because they glowed in the dark. It still freaked you out. You made to flip on the lights, but he caught your hand. “No, no lights! I will take you to the bedroom so you can change.”

You were at least allowed to turn on the bedroom light while you changed, but then he led you through the darkened apartment to the living room. You had no idea what he was up to, but you were glad for his un-natural ability to see in the dark like a cat. He came to a stop and turned you, and then said, “Cover your eyes!”

“Ayno- what are you doing??”

“I have made a surprise! No peeking!”

“Ok, ok! They’re covered.” You could not see that he came over and checked to see that they were.

You could hear him rustling around, and then “Ok. You may look now.”

A breathy gasp escaped your lips as you uncovered your eyes. Ayno had solved his problem: he had purchased more lights- and his 12-foot tree now sparkled in hundreds of multicolor lights of every shape and size, some of them gently fading on and off making it twinkle. He’d bought silver tinsel “icicles” too, and lovingly draped them individually on the branches creating a beautiful waterfall effect.

“Oh Ayno- It’s beautiful!!” you gushed.

He flashed his giant smile, and then stood up on his tip-toes to flick the switch that turned on the star on top. The topper was a huge 3D cut star with a disco ball that hung in the middle and 4 tiny LEDs that shone on it. The ball slowly turned, casting the sequin like shadows around the room that they are known for.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“It’s gorgeous, Ayno. This is, without a doubt, the most beautiful tree I have ever had”, you said sincerely as you pulled his face down to kiss him.

“Succeed”, he said softly.

Then, he reached into his pocket for the sound system remote and pushed “play” as he led you to the middle of the room. As the music began, he pulled you into his arms and began to sway.

…Yeah, we've time to spare without a care We don't need nothin' new. Some mistletoe, a lover's glow And a table dressed for two. Oh, I'd rather have Christmas with you. Yes, I'd rather have Christmas with you…

#ayno #vav ayno #vav #noh yoonho #ayno fluff #vav fluff #vav fanfic #kpop fanfiction #holiday fluff

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philjacobsen-blog · 4 years

Text

Antarctica. How I learned to stop worrying and love the isolation.

I put on my gloves and face mask like I had done every day for the past six months. I wanted to protect myself, be safe and I wanted to be healthy. No, I wasn’t a prepper preparing for the end of the world and/or the coronavirus, I lived in Antarctica.

From 2002 to 2018, I spent over six years of my life working and living in Antarctica. Math might tell you that looks like “16 years,” but Antarctica works on a different schedule.

Scientists and contract laborers (like myself) have been limited to work a maximum of 14 months straight in Antarctica. Because, after 14 months of isolation, it has been said, “You might lose your mind.” Therefore, four weeks, six weeks, or eight weeks of coronavirus quarantine is like a walk on the frozen ocean.

Everyone loves Top 10 lists, but first, here is the background of life in Antarctica.

There are two different seasons in Antarctica: summer and Winter. For the laymen, that’s when it’s light 24 hours a day (summer) and then when it’s dark 24 hours a night (Winter). It’s not by accident that “Winter” is capitalized and “summer” is in lowercase. This is because you need to respect Winter.

I have spent four Winters in Antarctica. While there have been changes to the Winter schedule, when I Wintered in Antarctica at McMurdo Station, the largest of the three American bases on the 7th Continent, a plane with all of our friends, hopes, dreams and escape plans left in February. The next time we would see the lights of a plane in the sky would be in August.

In other words, shit got real when that last plane left. We had to trust we had enough food, talent and toilet paper to last us until the end of August. This is because, as the saying goes, “If we don’t have it, then you don’t need it. And, you don’t need it, because we don’t have it.”

If you run out of chicken, then you eat pork. When you run out of pork, you eat lamb, when you run out of lamb, you eat hamsters--hamsters are, what we called, microwavable breaded (or deep fried) ham and cheese Hot Pockets™®.

In other words, the grocery stores are open; quit panicking. When you’re outside, hoping your squirrel trap has been bountiful today, this is the time to panic. However, today, it’s not minus 45 degrees outside. Walmart will be restocked soon, put on your mask and gloves and purchase only what you need. Then go home.

And, if Walmart is out of toilet paper, hook a garden hose to your faucet and clean your ass, and be happy your water supply doesn’t give you frostbite.

It’s going to be fine.

In Antarctica, we were living like it was Gilligan’s Island, “No phone, no lights, no motorcar, not a single luxury.” The only difference was we had phones, lights and motorcars, but when we went outside it was minus 45 –degrees—not a luxury. Stay inside on your couch and be happy that when you do go outside to take out the trash, walk the dog or mow your lawn, you’re not getting third degree frostbite and having your toes cut off.

This little piggy went to the market. This little piggy watches Netflix. This little piggy stays home.

Speaking of movies and TV shows, my good God, we would have loved to have had Netflix, bootlegged versions of Game of Thrones, YouTube or Facebook in Antarctica. Instead, the entirety of McMurdo’s bandwidth is mostly for Science.

Rarely could I “LOL” with my friends on Facebook or “YOLO” with spring breakers at the beach. Nope, Science is the priority in Antarctica.

Science, I tell you. A bunch of people, who we called “Beakers,” is the entire reason McMurdo Station exists. These Scientist are in Antarctica to prove or disprove Global Warming and/or can penguins fly and/or are penguins cute. Generally, they proved it, but why listen to scientists?

Scientists went to school and studied stuff, but have they ever studied the “economy” or “Facebook?” Can you imagine an entire community who listens to scientists? Oh wait, you can? Possibly because we’re in a global pandemic? Yeah, listen to scientists?

During my Winters in Antarctica, I could go days and only see the one person who I worked with, and guess what? I hated him.

In the community, we called him “Skin Suit.” This was his nickname because, even though he passed his battery of psychological examinations, which are required in order to Winter-Over in Antarctica, he said to Suzy—a la “Silence of the Lambs.”

“I wish I could wear your skin, so I could touch you all day.”

So, there I was, working at the bottom of the world, with Jame “Buffalo Bill” Gume as my coworker for six months, in total darkness, and do you want to know how I got along with him (aside from the one time I threw hot coffee in his face)? I complimented his outfits. I tried to look for the positive in the people who surround me.

My first job in Antarctica, I was a dishwasher. I left my home, friends and a girlfriend to seek this adventure. I’m still happy with two out of three of those decisions.

The first year I spent in Antarctica there was a “Dishwasher Emergency” at the South Pole (850 miles from the sea level solitude of McMurdo). Just like we need grocery store employees, drive through food and universal health care, the South Pole needed a dishwasher—and they chose me.

The South Pole is located at 9,301 feet above sea level. That’s not very high. When I live my life in my hometown of Salt Lake City, I live at 4,327 feet above sea level. I have climbed high mountains in Utah, like Mt. Timpanogos that is 11,752 feet and Mt. Nebo that is 11,928 ft. I’m not healthy, but I’m also not fat.

When I was asked to work at the “high altitude” of 9,301 feet of the South Pole, I said, “Okay. I’ve done that.”

However, what I didn’t know, was that because the South Pole is at “The South Fucking Pole” it’s not just about the altitude. The South Pole has a variance of altitude because of the Earth’s centrifugal force which makes the South Pole seem much higher than the actual 9,301 feet. At times it can feel, because of lack of oxygen, as though you are over 12 or 13 thousand feet.

Before going to the South Pole, the doctors and scientists said I should take “prophylactic acetazolamide” to combat the feelings of high altitude sickness. However, my friend Donald said, “You’ll be ‘okay.’” He said that since he was from Colorado and I was from Utah, that I would be fine, because I was “use to the high altitude.”

I was at the South Pole for eight days. I quit taking prophylactic acetazolamide on day four, because I was feeling great. I listened to Donald.

On day eight, I nearly died. This wasn’t Utah. Because I’d lived at sea level for four months at McMurdo Station, and Donald didn’t know shit, my pulse oximeter (the amount of oxygen which should be in my blood and close to 100) was 52. I was failing breathing.

Pulmonary edema cut the oxygen supply to my brain making me think 3 + 7 = Cat. The South Pole doctor said, “Phil, you are two to four hours from death.”

All flights to the South Pole were canceled on this day, due to weather, but, due to “2 to 4 hours of death,” a C130 National Guard Airplane risked their lives and flew from McMurdo Station to rescue me at the South Pole. If not for universal Antarctica Health Care, I could be dead.

On this day, I learned I needed to listen to the scientists, and not to Donald.

This story ended up being too long. I’m sorry. I’ve lived through isolation, listened to friends, instead of the medical community, and somehow I’m still alive. How did Antarctica prepare me for the isolation of the coronavirus?

1: Do something today better than you did yesterday. Did you go to bed sooner? Wake up earlier? Brush your cat?

2: Exercise. In Antarctica my exercise routine was called, “Brushing the Dust Off of David.” There is no reason to take a hammer and chisel to David. All you need to do is to take a wet cloth and brush off the dust. Do 10 sit ups, pushups, or jog in place. Be happy with who you are, and barely maintain. If you set higher expectations, you might fail. Simply, brush the dust off of your personal David.

3: Do something better today than you did yesterday. There were many times in Antarctica I got more drunk on Friday than I did on Thursday. I’m not advocating alcoholism, but lower your expectations. Don’t look for perfection when a glass of wine might do.

4: Did you make your bed after you woke up? Some days you will go to bed and your biggest accomplishment will be, “I made that bed today.” Congratulations.

5: Groundhog Day. Every day may seem like yesterday, but, how did you make it different? In Antarctica, after six months of Winter the trash shelves are lined with “Learn ‘This Language’ in 30 Days” DVDs. Nobody accomplishes a lot during the isolation of Winter. But, if we do little, then that is a lot.

6: Communication. Does your phone work? In Antarctica, no one can call us, so we have to call out. Instead of waiting for ‘that phone call.’ Make it.

7: Don’t go outside. It’s too cold. In the Covid-19 case, it’s too dangerous. My dad goes to dialysis three times a week; please don’t kill him. Don’t go outside.

8: Appreciate your pets. In Antarctica we are not allowed to have pets. I started the “Antarctica Cat Club.” All we did was share photos of our cats from home that we wished to be with. Now, we get to live a cat’s life. Nap. Eat. Shit. Nap. Clean. Nap. Eat. Repeat.

Love your pets you lucky sons of bitches.

9: Art. Be creative. Rather you’re by yourself or preferably, with only yourself. Do something artistic. For instance, today, I chose to write this Manifesto. In Antarctica a group of us recreated the (drunk) history of the race to South Pole by Roald Amundsen and Robert Scott (https://vimeo.com/35084075). What will you or your isolated group create?

10: Know that it ends. A plane will come and take you away or scientists will tell you it’s safe to go outside. And then, it’s over. You take off your mask and gloves. You shop at a grocery store, you go to a movie, you hug your parents or, you love being able to hold those who you love.

Stay warm. Stay isolated. And, stay indoors.

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