#i shit-talked this guy in my thesis and i stand by the shit-talking

[sroloc--elbisivni]

fucking. academic humble pie of realizing that someone whose research you normally hate actually has exactly the evidence you need to make your point.

[pantestudines]

Anyone else have beef with random historical figures for no good reason. Had to make a presentation about Augustine of Hippo once for a shitty college class but I hated the book we were learning from (see tags) so I associated the two together and now everytime I see his name I furrow my eyebrows and say "Augustine..." like he's my nemesis

[roosterbruiser]

𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐀 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄 — 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟑

—𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐏𝐎𝐏 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒. 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐀𝐓 𝐀 𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐘, 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐃𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐒 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆. 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘-𝐃𝐈𝐆𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐉𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐂 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐈𝐒 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆. —𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 𝟗.𝟓𝐊 —𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃

𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐀 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄 𝐎𝐅𝐅-𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐔𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟑

The first time Jake Seresin sees you, it’s across a small and crowded room. Under the Bridge by The Red Hot Chili Peppers is thumping over the bulky speakers that are haphazardly strung all around the room with extension cords and duct tape. He hates this song. He doesn’t know it yet, but so do you. 

You’d caught his eye because he spotted a familiar brick-colored button up. And, yes, as he’s looking at you now, he realizes he’s right. The breezy cargo shorts, the brown belt, the faded blue tank top--you’re dressed up as Dr. Ellie Sattler. He happens to be dressed up as Dr. Alan Grant, which means that the two of you--complete and utter strangers--are two halves of one whole costume. 

But suddenly, as Jake looks at you, he doesn’t hear Anthony Keidis or hollow balls bouncing off plastic tables or booming laughter or sloshing liquid. He doesn’t hear anything. His ears are just ringing empty silence. 

Bizarre, he thinks. His brain is never this quiet. He’s always thinking about drills or Intro to Anthropology or girls or Robert Zemeckis or home or dinner or something. Right now, it’s just you he’s thinking about.  

You’re standing by yourself at one of the few punch bowls stationed around the house, each one a different highly unnatural color with seemingly random items skimming the surface. You’re pretty sure you saw flowers floating around one of them. Curiously, you’re looking down at this particular crystal bowl and the sad orange slices floating aimlessly in the peculiarly crimson punch. Half of the stuff is gone--Jake doesn’t know how anyone is stomaching it--and you are silently and unknowingly echoing his sentiment. 

Bradley, who dragged Jake to this party in the first place--not that anyone ever has to drag Jake to a party--is standing beside him and is waiting his turn to play Beer Pong with an unruly group of men wearing togas. 

“--The trick is to just, like, fake it ‘til you make it,” Bradley’s saying, casually leaning up against the dingy clapboard walls and sipping something vaguely Everclear-ish from his solo cup. “And what I mean by that is talk as much shit as you can. Nothing is off limits. Mothers, sisters, fathers--shit, especially fathers. People are so touchy these days. Like, I once told this guy that I got his sister preg--well, anyway. That’s besides the point. Just go into the game like you’re gonna win and you’re gonna win. You know? It’s simple science, really. I was thinking of writing my thesis on it.” 

Jake, who is only half-listening as the silence fades out, hums. He doesn’t tear his eyes from your form. You’re cautiously ladling some of the punch into a chipped glass for your friend, who appeared suddenly beside you in an ill-fitting Red Riding Hood costume with glassy eyes and a broad grin, rubbing up against you like a hungry stray. 

“Right,” Jake says absently. He can hardly hear anything over the music, especially Bradley’s incessant Beer Pong codes of conduct. He’s not gonna strain himself to hear what he’s already heard at a thousand frat parties before--and he’s certainly not going to turn his face away from you. “True.” 

Bradley swallows all the sugary saliva coating his tongue and squints at the stained folding table holding the tense game beside them, wondering if the legs are gonna give. The center is already bowing. Whatever. Not his house--not his issue. He turns to Jake, who’s not looking at him or listening to him. Bradley’s known him long enough to know that by now. Jake not listening to Bradley rarely ever stops him from continuing a conversation, though. 

“And what’s really interesting about all of this is that I can say whatever I want to you right now because you’re staring at…” Bradley makes a show of following Jake’s gaze across the crowded house, eyes flitting across a few forms before he finds yours. And, yes, he knows you’re definitely the one Jake is looking at. Dr. Ellie Sattler. “Oh. Looky there. It’s your better half. Your favorite part of your favorite movie! Isn’t that cute?”

“It’s not my favorite movie,” Jake snorts indignantly--like that means anything.

He’s still watching you--your friend teetered off and you’re against the wall again, alone and looking down at your hiking boots. They look used--there’s dirt on the heels and scuffs on the toes.

He wonders if you’re judging the cobwebs in the corners of the low ceilings and the bowing door frames like he is. You look like you are--your brows pinched, your nose slightly scrunched, your eyes shadowed by the soft curl of your lashes. You look like you don’t come to many parties like this. Parties with too many people, parties with no snacks, parties with boys from the baseball team, parties with kegs, parties with sticky floors. Neither does he.    

“You dragged me to that movie, like, twenty times whenever it came out,” Bradley says, eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean it isn’t your favorite movie?” 

“What I mean is that Jurassic Park is a great movie, but it isn’t my favorite,” Jake says, mildly exasperated. He absently takes a sip of his drink and immediately wishes he hadn’t, face screwing up in disgust as the bright yellow punch oozes down his throat. He coughs softly and Bradley grins. “My favorite movie is Blue Velvet. Duh.”  

Now Bradley is screwing his face up in disgust, pretending to gag. 

“You’re so pretentious. It’s like you can’t even help it. I feel bad for you, man. Oh, look at me! I’m a film major and I just love movies that make no sense! I wanna make sweet love to Kyle MacLachlan! Notice me, David Lynch!”

“Oh, fuck off,” Jake says, smiling softly. “I’m not pretentious!”

“My favorite movie is Basic Instinct,” Bradley says proudly. And just as Jake is groaning, finally giving Bradley his full attention so Bradley can feel every ounce of Jake’s judgment, Bradley holds his hands up in defense. “Hey! Not for that scene--well, yeah for that scene--but mainly because of the gore. It’s gnarly. Plus it’s, like, very easy to understand. Digestible.” 

“You’re a simpleton,” Jake says. “Is pussy all you think about?” 

“Through and through, brother!” Bradley confirms with a grin. 

Bradley throws an arm around Jake’s shoulders, the cheap polyester of his striped Beetlejuice costume stretched to its absolute limit by his shapely biceps, and sighs happily. He looks out across the crowded room and finds your form--Jake follows his gaze. 

For a moment, the both of them just look at you. You’re bored--that much they can tell. Eyes downcast, hangnail under the wrath of your picking fingertips, mouth a flat plane. You’re way too pretty to be this bored at a party. 

“What do you think her favorite movie is, Oh-Wise-One?” Bradley asks. Jake elbows him hard and some of his drink sloshes onto the floor and his Nike’s. “Hey! Not the Carnivores, man! These are brand new!” 

“I’m doing you a favor,” Jake snorts. 

Bradley whines, rubbing his shoes with a frown.

Jake is still looking at you. You’re alone. You’ve been alone since he noticed you a few songs ago, not exactly giving off an anti-social vibe but certainly not going out of your way to make conversation with all the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Hulk Hogan’s around you. He wonders if you’re like him--if you came to this party because your friends dragged you here, if you would rather be in the comfort of your dorm watching slasher B-Movies. 

“I haven’t seen her around campus,” Jake muses softly to Bradley, brows coming together. “Maybe she’s from out of town.”

The thought makes his gut twist in a half-knot. He really, really hopes you’re not from out of town.  

Bradley shakes his head. The only time they get many out-of-towners is when there’s a football game and there isn’t another game until next weekend. 

“Maybe she’s a freshman. Or a transfer,” Bradley continues. “Who knows! Not me. Certainly not you.” 

“She’s really…” Jake says softly, brows pinching. He wants to kick himself for not being able to find the right word for what you are--but he doesn’t want to get it wrong. And his vocabulary dims in comparison to the way you make him feel by doing nothing but blink at the floor and wring your hands together. “Something.” 

“And they say chivalry is dead,” Bradley coos, pinching Jake’s cheek. 

“She’s, like--obviously she’s pretty,” Jake says. And he knows he’s being conservative with pretty. “But something else, too.” 

“She looks…disinterested,” Bradley comments. “Like she doesn’t wanna be here.” 

“I can change that,” Jake says with a deep breath. “You know. Show her a good time and all of that.” 

“And you said all I think about is pussy? Man, you’re twisted!” 

As if he’s offended, Jake faces Bradley. The tips of his ears are hot. 

“Why did you assume I was going to show her a good time with my penis? I literally never even implied that. I never even hinted at applying to that.” 

“What does and all of that mean to you then?” Bradley inquires, brows furrowed. 

“You know,” Jake says, shrugging. He swallows and shakes his head. “Maybe I’ll dance with her or something. Girls like that. I’ll ask for her hand. Like a gentleman.” 

“You’re so from Texas,” Bradley laughs. “Thinking you can square dance your way into everything. Can’t really do-si-do to the Chili Peppers.” 

Jake frowns at Bradley. 

“You’re a freak,” Jake says slowly. “Really. I mean it.” 

“Yeah, well, you’re a cornball,” Bradley complains. “C’mon, stop staring at her! Let’s just get ready for our turn!” 

Jake’s already decided that he’s not going to be playing Beer Pong with Bradley. 

“How do I walk up to her without creeping her out?” 

Bradley blinks at Jake, who is chewing the inside of his cheek like he’s really trying to figure it out. Like it’s rocket science. 

“What are you talking about? You’re wearing an Alan Grant costume. I don’t think you’re gonna creep her out. Genius.” 

Jake shoots a look at Bradley--one that he’s seen just before a knuckle to the gut or a tap to the balls. Instinctively, Bradley takes a half-step away from Jake and bumps into one of the Toga Bros. 

“I mean, like--how do I go up to her and not creep her out? What am I supposed to start with? Hey, I saw you were all alone so I decided to capitalize on that. Or should it be more along the lines of you’re dressed as my love interest and we should see if that transfers into real life? Smart-ass.” 

Bradley laughs, shaking his head. 

Jake gets into his head like this a lot. Like a lot more than anyone else realizes. Before games, before dates, before office hours, before parties. Jake is Bradley’s best friend--and has been since they were assigned roommates last year--and Bradley knows that Jake always comes out the other side unscathed no matter what his previous worries were. He’s never missed a field goal, he always gets the girl, all his professors grant extra credit, he’s always invited back to whatever frat they hit. This special weariness of Jake’s is reserved especially for Bradley--that is to say, no one else gets to see this side of him. 

“Here,” Bradley says. He grins. “I’ve got an idea!” 

And before Jake can inquire, Bradley’s slamming his fist into Jake’s cup. The neon liquid spews out and splatters all over the walls and floor--a few drops land on Jake’s shirt. He’s too shocked to speak for a second, staring at the puddle on the ground and the few people who turned to see the commotion. 

Bradley’s beaming when Jake turns to him, leaning back against the clapboards coolly, looking like a fucking idiot with his half-assed Beetlejuice makeup on and frayed green wig he bought in the kid’s section at Family Dollar. 

“You’re an idiot,” Jake says. He says this about fifteen times a day, give or take. 

Bradley holds a hand over his heart and sighs warmly. 

“You need a refill,” Bradley says, nodding towards you and the punch bowl. “Thank me later. Preferably with Gushers!” 

Jake is just about to say something else when he realizes that Bradley’s right. He does need a refill. And you are standing by the closest of the nuclear punch bowls. 

This is his in. 

“I hate that I actually do wanna thank you right now,” Jake sighs. He mulls over his decision, straightening his hat and making sure his cup is all the way empty. He turns to Bradley, who’s smiling smugly already. “How do I look?” 

“Like you’re about to dig up some dino bones,” Bradley says, giving Jake a thumbs up and a shit-eating grin. 

Jake blinks at him. 

“Fossils. You mean fossils,” Jake corrects. “Not just dino bones.”

Bradley shrugs and takes another drink somehow. 

“You say caramel I say carmel, but we all bleed the same, don’t we?” 

Jake doesn’t even respond. He just starts in your direction, his breath caught between his molars. He hopes that you don’t move before he can cross the tiny house, the sea of sweaty polyester clad bodies and latex-covered faces. 

Across the little room, right where he wants you to be, you’re chewing the inside of your cheek pensively.

He really isn’t here, you think. He really didn’t come. You press the scuffed toe of your scuffed hiking boot against the sticky floorboards and pull back softly to feel the resistance. Gross. 

You’re not sure what the worst part of all of this is. Maybe it’s the fact that your boyfriend, the one who actually likes gross little parties like this and the other half of your couple’s costume, hasn’t bothered to show his face tonight. Maybe it’s the fact that they won’t stop playing Red Hot Chili Peppers and Anthony Keidis is literally bursting your eardrums right now. Maybe it’s the fact that nothing here is drinkable. 

This night would be a lot easier if you were loaded right now. 

“Do you happen to know what flavor this is?” A man asks, Southern inflection licking the inside of your ears. “Trying to decide if I’m gonna partake in drinking the Koolaid.”  

Without looking up, you shrug your shoulders. Probably just another wayward drunk who thinks you’re the host. It’s an insult to you that someone would think you would live in squalor like this--you would never let fist-sized holes litter your walls and you would certainly never let your floors get this sticky. 

Jake clears his throat, so close to you now that he can smell the amber on your pulse points. He’s searching your face, wondering if you didn’t hear him, readjusting his hat while the party rages on all around the two of you. 

He’s standing between you and the punch bowl now, empty cup pressed into his palm, facing you rather than the drink. You don’t look up at him, but he doesn’t take his eyes off you. 

“I bet it’s watermelon,” Jake says a bit louder. “It’s always watermelon.” 

He sees the recognition flood your features--the recognition that someone is talking to you--as you finally raise your head.

Up close, even in this shitty light, Jake sees that you’re something beyond pretty, something beyond beautiful. You’re something else that he’s never seen before--better than all the rest. His ears begin to hum.  

It’s the first time you’ve ever looked at him--except that it isn’t. You take him in: his crinkled green eyes, his abrasively handsome smile, the little dimples on his cheeks, the scruffy edge of his jaw. No, you’ve seen him before. Scalding bleachers and roaring crowds and his face on the jumbotron after kicking a three-pointer. 

This football player is talking to you. 

Smiling in a polite and slightly stunned manner, you roll your shoulders back and wipe away all the crumbs of mopiness from your lap. 

“Watermelon’s too high brow for this dump,” you say after a moment, swallowing softly. “I think I smelled cherry earlier.” 

Your voice--he can only just make it out as the music plays, as the humming increases. But he can hear that it is sweet, that it is a vibration that makes his throat ache. 

“You smelled it?” Jake asks, brow perched. “All the way from there?” He points to where you’re standing against the wall. 

You’re only a foot or two away from the stained wooden table that’s holding the bowl. Nodding with your brow slightly furrowed, you push yourself off the wall. 

“Cherry’s an assault to the senses. Couldn’t help but smell it,” you answer. Then you glance over your shoulder at the rest of the party, looking for your friends. “And my friends are too wasted to ladle their own drinks.”

“I hope they’re tipping you,” Jake says. “Well--unless you’re working on commission.” 

A smile tugs on your lips.

“Doctors usually don’t work on commission,” you say softly. You look up at his hat and then down at his pants, placing his costume with a soft sort of smile. “Do they, Dr. Grant?” 

He beams at you. Something in your chest grows tight--tight like you need to let all the air out of your lungs and into the space around you. You’re pretty sure that if you did that, the temperature here would rise a few degrees.

“It’s pretty accurate, isn’t it?” Jake asks, crossing his arms and jutting his hip out. “Don’t even ask me how long it took to find the hat.” 

It took Jake two weeks to find the right hat. Two grueling weeks of dragging Bradley to strip malls and kiosks and thrift stores.

“Wouldn’t dream of it. I’m a lady,” you answer with a small smile. “I think yours is blowing mine out of the water, though. I just picked mine from what I had in the closet and then borrowed the rest.” 

He shakes his head at once, brows furrowed. 

“You kidding me? I recognized you from across the room!”

Oh, you think. He saw you from across the room already. And now he’s standing here, right in front of you with an empty cup and a desire for conversation. 

Glancing around you quickly, you find that your friends are all still loitering around drunkenly and your other half is still not here. 

“I don’t know--is it really that impressive?” You ask Jake, meeting his eyes again. “This place is the size of a pin-hole.” 

Jake glances over at Bradley, who’s successfully started a game of Beer Pong. Already Jake can see the guys on the other side of the table burning from Bradley’s constant trash talking. Jake’s sure that idiot’s bright green wig is doing very little to dull the words falling on their ears.

“I don’t know, I was standing all the way over there by my roommate--Bargain Bin Beetlejuice,” Jake explains to you, jamming a thumb over his shoulder. You follow the direction of his finger, smiling. That isn’t that close to where you are now, but it certainly isn’t far. But you know how to take a compliment. “It’s not a skip, hop, and a jump, but it’s…” 

“It’s a skip and half a hop?” You ask, brows raised. 

Jake nods. 

“Exactly what I was thinking,” he answers.  

“Don’t freak out when I say this,” you say. “But you can’t be here when my boyfriend shows up. Your costume is gonna put my boyfriend’s to shame. We would seriously never be able to show our faces around here again.” 

Jake’s chest is tight. 

Boyfriend. Of course you have a boyfriend.

He glances around the room, searching for someone dressed like the Great Value version of himself. But it’s just an endless sea of Wayne and Garth’s and Urkel’s and Wednesday’s. No other Dr. Alan Grant in sight. 

“He isn’t here now, is he?” Jake asks. He has the sudden urge to puff his chest out, to size him up. 

Uncomfortably, you shift your weight and look at your shoes again. You hate it when Jeff bails on you like this. And you know that he couldn’t have forgotten--you reminded him this morning. You knew he was only half-listening. You always know.

“No,” you answer. He can hear the soreness in your tone as you glance around, too. “But he’s supposed to be.” 

Fucking asshole, Jake thinks. 

“He bailed on you?” He asks, lips pursed. “Wait a minute--you’re doing a couple’s costume with him and he hasn’t even bothered to show his face?”

“Yup,” you answer with a tight smile. 

“No offense, but what an asshole,” Jake says. He crosses his arms. “Who does that to their girlfriend on Halloween?” 

“Jeff Sabler, I guess,” you answer. 

“Oh, you’re with Jeff Sabler? From the debate team?” He asks. 

He’s stifling laughter, trying to bite a grin. You see right through him, though. Your face is warm with embarrassment as you bite a smile, too, and roll your eyes.

“Yeah, Johnny Football, I’m dating Jeff Sabler from the debate team,” you say. “Problem with that?” 

“Me? Have a problem with Spit Sabler? Never,” Jake says with a grin.  

You can’t help but laugh quietly at his nickname, even if it kind of makes you want to curl into a ball and wither away. Spit Sabler. It’s what people started calling him after his very first debate last year, when he got so worked up during policy discussion that spit literally flew from his mouth and onto the judge’s desk. He didn’t even say excuse me aftward. 

“You know, he doesn’t even care that people call him that,” you say with a slight eye roll. You’re beginning to notice that Jeff doesn’t care about a lot of things--punctuality, nicknames, his grade in biochemistry, commitment to Halloween costumes. “Isn’t that silly? I’d just die if people around campus had a nickname for me.” 

“Maybe they do and you just don’t know it,” Jake teases. 

“Are you holding out on me?” You ask. You pause, swallowing and holding your hands on your hips. “Do you even know me?” 

“Sure,” Jake says with an easy grin. He gestures to your costume. “You’re my best girl!” 

“Ha-ha,” you say despite the way you suddenly want to rub your thighs together. His best girl. “I bet you haven’t given me a second look until you noticed that I was your missing piece.” 

“I haven’t seen you around,” Jake admits. “You not into football?” 

“I like to sit at the very top,” you tell him. “You know. Eagle-eye view. I like to see everything all at once. Especially now that we’re finally good.” 

“You mean you actually go to watch the game? Not just to get beer spilled on you by Pi Kappa guys?” He asks, feigning surprise. Your smile is widening, eating your face. His belly turns itself inside out. “I’m shocked, really.” 

“Not to blow you smoke or anything, but you’re a pretty good kicker,” you compliment. You hope that he can’t feel how warm your face is right now, but you’re sure he can--he’s so close to you that you can smell the shampoo in the blonde locks sticking out from beneath his hat. “You’ve never missed a three-pointer.”

He’s taken back right now. He knows that football is deeply ingrained in the culture here--he sometimes can’t help but feel like a big man on campus when his calc professor congratulates him on a good game or when upperclassmen clap his back in the student center--but it’s rare that he meets someone who pays very much attention at all. Now that he’s been established as good, people just assume he is. They don’t really watch. 

“I’m impressed that you pay attention,” he says. 

“Why? ‘Cause I’m a girl?” You ask, arms crossed. 

You’re smiling still. 

“Not ‘cause you’re a girl,” he answers. “‘Cause everyone goes to the football games to drink.” 

“Well, I’m no Pi Kappa,” you say. “I’m a whole other thing.”

“I bet you are,” Jake says. “What’s your name?” 

“Ellie,” you quip. 

He grins at you. 

Shit. You’re too easy to like. Way, way too easy. 

Spit Sabler. What a load of shit. 

“I’m Jake,” he says after a minute. 

This whole year you’ve been calling him Seresin in your head--it’s what’s printed on the back of his jersey, what you see on the jumbotron when he kicks your team’s winning goal. 

But Jake. Yes, that fits him. Aren’t all sandy-blonde, green-eyed boys named Jake, anyway? It’s so coastal, evokes images of tan skin and a freckled nose and bright smile. 

“Well, it’s to know your actual name,” you say. “I’ve just been calling you Seresin.”

“I’m flattered you noticed me,” Jake says, beaming. 

“Everyone does,” you say, shaking your head gently. 

“No way,” he disagrees. “Not everyone.” 

“Please,” you sass, brows furrowed. “Modesty didn’t get you to where you are now, did it?” 

“Across the room?” Jake asks, brows raised. Your smile fades to one of flattery, your lashes batting against your cheeks like you’re trying to blink yourself back into reality. “No. I’d say what got me across the room was curiosity.” 

“I thought it was thirst,” you say softly, nodding to the punch bowl. 

Jake looks back at the bowl, arms crossed over his chest. Right. Nuclear waste.

“That was all a ruse,” he says. “You can’t believe a word I say.” 

“I’m learning so much about you,” you say with a fond smile. “Your name, your tendency to lie, how easily impressed you are.” 

Jake almost guffaws trying to keep up with you. 

“That’s pretty much all there is to me,” Jake says. “I’m surface-level.”

“Right,” you laugh. You gesture to his costume. “Jurassic Park is a pretty surface-level movie.” 

“What, you don’t like it?” Jake asks, borderline stunned. 

“Of course I like Jurassic Park. I’m only human,” you answer quickly. “But--you know. Everyone likes it. It’s easy to like. Easy to understand. Even the themes that they try to make harder to understand.” 

“Like what?” 

“The ethics of creating life inside a lab in tubes and incubators,” you answer. “Playing God.” 

“I guarantee you that I could introduce you to someone who genuinely thought the entire movie was just about running from dinosaurs,” Jake tells you, a grin tugging on his lips. “Not everyone is as smart as you. Well--us.”

“Us,” you echo, a laugh bubbling up from the tips of your toes and spilling out into the air around you. It’s swallowed by the crowd before Jake can digest it. “Kind of weird that we’re wearing matching costumes, right?” 

“Divine intervention,” Jake says, brow perched. 

“We don’t even know each other,” you say, smiling. “That’s crazy.”

Beaming, Jake nods. 

“You think people are gonna think I’m your boyfriend?” He asks slyly, leaning on the punch table carefully. “Just ‘cause I actually bothered to show up. And the whole costume thing.” 

“I don’t know,” you say, shoulders falling back. Your spine prickles with excitement--the excitement of being looked at by him. “Should we ask someone?” 

He’s watching you with a slight smile clinging to his pink lips. Inside his gaze, you feel like you’re alone at the party with just him. No more sticky floors and no more drunk friends and no more shitty boyfriend. Just you and him shooting the shit. You can’t do this with Jeff--everything always ends in a fight and in classic debater style, he rarely lets things go. 

As if he’s trying to call your bluff, Jake looks around for someone to tap. He’s waiting for you to stop him, for you to burst out that you were just joking, to grab his arm before he can get someone’s attention. 

But you don’t stop him. There is no bluff to be called. 

So, he taps on the nearest Urkel’s shoulder. He turns around, glasses askew. 

“What’s up, brother?” Urkel asks Jake when he recognizes him. “How you doing, Trip?” 

Trip. It’s short for Triple.

“Just great,” Jake answers. He half-steps so he’s closer to you, close enough that your arms are touching. And he’s surprised when you lean into him, totally feeding into the bit. “Uh--do we look like we came together?” 

“That’s not the question,” you whisper to Jake, nudging him with your elbow before you lean forward to speak to Urkel. “The question is--does he look like my boyfriend?” 

 Urkel turns to give the both of you his full attention as you step beside Jake again, leaning against his arm. He regards your bright eyes and Jake’s solid grin, the way your arms are pressed together, the matching costumes. 

“Is this your way of introducing me to your lady or something?” Urkel asks Jake. 

“So, we do look like boyfriend-girlfriend?” Jake clarifies. 

Urkel’s brows come together. 

“Aren’t you?” 

“Total strangers, actually,” you sigh, shrugging. Jake smiles at you, watching as your brows pull together and your lashes flutter against your cheeks. “For all I know, this guy could be a serial killer.” 

“It’s true, I could,” Jake sighs in confirmation. “And for all I know, she could be a total stalker.” 

“What?” Urkel asks. “What are you--?” 

You nod, sucking the back of your teeth. 

“Right, right,” you answer. “You never can tell these days. People are so insane.” 

“Preach,” Jake sighs. 

“I’m too drunk for this, Trip,” Urkel says finally, rubbing his temples. “Hit my line when you two really are boyfriend-girlfriend, alright?” 

And with that, you and Jake are in your own little bubble again. Heat has pooled in your belly and your fingertips are buzzing and your ears are hot with embarrassment and excitement. 

It’s exhilarating, you realize. The way you feel right now with Jake, who you really only just met, tapping inebriated strangers on the shoulder and pretending like you weren’t bored out of your mind and stood up only a little bit ago. Indulging parts of yourself you can’t whenever you’re with Jeff. 

“That settles it, then,” Jake sighs coolly, shrugging. “Spit Sabler’s in for a rude awakening.” 

“Yeah, when he shows up,” you say, scoffing. 

“If he shows up,” Jake corrects, wrinkling his nose. 

“I can’t believe I got stood up,” you say to him. Except it isn’t bitterness in your tone that he hears--it’s a strange, disconnected relief. Like you were waiting for Spit to do something to warrant this fracture. “Me. Stood up. By my boyfriend.”

“He must not be from the south,” Jake sighs with a shrug. “Boys from the south would never stand their lady up.” 

“Oh, really?” You ask. Your stomach is tied in excited, tight knots. “And you’re speaking from experience, right?” 

“Totally,” Jake confirms. “Texas. Born and bred.”

“You southern gentlemen sure do like telling people you’re southern gentlemen,” you tease. “Gotta work it into every conversation, huh?” 

“You sound like my roommate,” Jake grins, shaking his head. 

Looking over at Bargain Bin Beetlejuice again, you find him holding his hands up in defense with a grin eating his face. A man in a toga is being held back by a few other men from wiping said-grin off his face. 

“I was gonna say that your roommate sounds like a smart guy, but looks like he’s over there picking fights with Sigma Alpha Toga,” you say, tutting. “Not the best move.”

Jake groans when he sees Bradley throw his head back in laughter, when he sees how red in the face his toga opponent is. He’s always pushing people to their absolute limit. It’s what makes him such a good lineman--and a regular target. 

“And on Halloween of all holy nights,” Jake says, sighing.

“Some people are just so classless,” you agree. 

“Like guys who ditch their girlfriends on Halloween,” Jake agrees. 

“How many times you gonna bring that up?” You ask, biting your lip. 

“I’m going for the record,” Jake teases.

“The least you could do is soften the blow,” you tell him. 

“How can I do that?” Jake asks. He’s grinning. 

“You could…” You pretend to think, tapping your chin and chewing the inside of your cheek. “Well, you could least keep up appearances.” 

“What, like, be a good fake boyfriend?” He asks, brow perched. 

You nod. He’s elated right now, trying to bide his excitement so he doesn’t freak you out totally and completely. 

“Yeah,” you confirm. 

“Well, I can’t just be good,” Jake tells you smugly. “I’ve gotta be the best fake boyfriend.”

“You’ve really talked yourself up,” you tell him, sucking the back of your teeth. The soles of your feet are warm, the palms of your hand sweatied. “Blow me away.” 

Jake opens his mouth to say something dumb and flirtatious, something that will surely make you push his shoulder, but he’s interrupted when the music suddenly changes. Dreams by The Cranberries is playing suddenly, a smidgen louder than the music before was.  

“Now that they’re finally playing good music,” Jake calls over the music, pointing in the general direction of one of the speakers. “Will you dance with me?” 

No one has ever asked you to dance before this precise moment. Never at any shitty homecomings or slapstick proms. Before, at every other frat and house party Jeff dragged you to, no one danced like you thought they might. Parties aren’t for dancing anymore--they’re for drinking. The romantic in you dies a little bit each time you remember that. 

But here is this guy standing right in front of you, the big man on campus who’s dressed up in a weirdly accurate Alan Grant costume, holding his hand out to you and asking  you to dance to The Cranberries. The Cranberries. 

“There’s nowhere to dance,” you say before you can help it, glancing around the room. It’s packed wall-to-wall. No one is dancing and everybody is drunk. 

“Would you go outside with me if I asked?” Jake asks. 

His heart is pounding in his throat. 

“I don’t know,” you say. But you do know. “Ask.” 

“Will you go outside with me?” Jake asks. 

“Yes,” you say. “Yeah. I’ll go.” 

Yeah. I’ll go. Jake is going to think about the way you looked when you said these words to him for the rest of his life. You, the girl who was standing here looking bored and waiting on Spit motherfucking Sabler, are looking up at him with glassy eyes and a broad grin and saying yeah. I’ll go. 

Jake doesn’t waste a moment,  nodding towards the backdoor. 

“C’mon,” he says with a grin. “I don’t wanna miss this song.” 

Outside, it’s much cooler than inside the stuffy house. The air is crisp and fresh and fragrant with the lonely apple tree that sits just beside the house. No more overpowering stenches like sweat or cheap fabric or overfilled trash. 

And now that you’re outside in the mostly-dark, only the naked porch bulb lighting the little patch of overgrown concrete you’re standing on, you feel like you can take a deep breath and let your shoulders fall. 

“It’s nice out here,” you admit. 

“And you can still hear the music,” Jake points out. “Speaking of…” 

You turn around, glance at him over your shoulder. And there’s Jake beaming at you, hand outstretched towards you in an open invitation. 

“You were serious?” You ask, nose wrinkled. “I thought boys just said that to impress girls.” 

“Not Texas boys,” he answers. “C’mon. Dance with me.”

And who would you be if you said no to this almost perfect stranger?

Swallowing thickly, you smile at him. It’s an unsure smile, one that is usually accompanied by a warm face and downcast eyes. But you’re not looking away from him and Jake definitely isn’t looking away from you. 

His hand is warm, bigger than yours. The skin is rough, probably from tossing the pigskin, and his grip is secure. He holds your hand the way he holds other important things--delicate glasses, his favorite pen, a photograph of him and his mama.

You stand there, his hand holding yours, for a moment. Not sure what to do next, unclear where you’re supposed to step or if you’re supposed to come closer. 

“C’mere now,” Jake says softly. It’s less of a command and more of a guidance as he gently pulls you closer to him. “There you go.”

Shakily, a breath falls from your mouth. A cloud of tongue-scented vapor settles on Jake’s chest. He’s looking down at you, his face all shadows and shine, as he begins to bring his other hand up to hold your waist. 

“Can I hold your waist?” He asks. He almost makes a joke--almost adds something to make his questions sound less serious. Strictly for appearances. But then he just looks down at you looking up at him, reads the slope of your brows and the part of your lips, and leaves it at that. 

“Is that what comes next?” You ask, really meaning it. 

He pulls his brows together, confused.  

“What--no one’s ever asked you to dance before?” 

“No,” you answer seriously. “I mean--well, yeah. No.” 

He just softly shakes his head. How in the world has no one ever asked you to dance before? He wanted to dance with you before he even knew you and he wants to dance with you now that he barely knows you. 

“What?” You ask, brows knit. Your throat is caked in nerves. “You think something’s wrong with me now?” 

“I’m thinking I oughta skin Spit Sabler and hang his bones to dry,” Jake admits. “And I don’t think anything’s wrong with you.” 

You step closer to him, the pavement cracked beneath the soles of your boots, and your chest is close enough to his to feel the softness of his shirt when you inhale. He smells like sandalwood and Everclear and you’re just now noticing that his hands are a little sticky from his drink. 

“Is there something wrong with you?” You ask, looking up at him. “You didn’t bring a date to the party.” 

“Who do you think Beetlejuice is?”

The laughter flows easily. 

“Excuse me for supposing.” You smile. 

“Excused,” Jake breathes.  

Jake is holding your waist now--he can feel the soft curve there, the way the fabric melts into his hand like it’s been waiting for his heat. And whenever you take a deep breath, your chest touches his. 

Besides the music, there are crickets chirping in the button bushes and frogs distantly singing in a too-big puddle just down the road. It is a perfect night--the stars stretch across the sky, brighter than they are in the middle of town, and the moon is white as silk. 

You’re spinning in a semi-slow circle, your smile still coy and your palms still clammy. But you’re happy--you think that you’re happy. A stone of excitement just sits heavy in your gut, warm and unmoving. This is the feeling you have whenever you meet someone that you know is going to be important in some way someday.

Inside the house, Bradley’s noticed that Jake is gone--and so is the pretty girl he was talking to. He glances around, biting his lip, the taste of cheap lipstick bitter on his tongue. And then he spots movement outside the west-facing windows. 

“No way,” he whispers, shoving his way across the room and closer to the windows. He squints, cups his eyes, and immediately recognizes that damn hat. “He did it. Crazy son of a bitch did it.” 

“Who?” Someone near Bradley asks. They’re bleary-eyed as they look at Bradley, leaning closer to him. “Who did what?” 

“Me,” Bradley answers with a grin. “I did your mother.” 

“I like The Cranberries,” you say quietly. “I listen to this CD all the time.” 

“Not a Red Hot Chili Peppers girl?” He asks. 

Laughing, you shake your head. 

“Do I look like one?” You ask. 

“Do I look like I think you’re one?” He retorts. 

Another grin--Jake’s throat is so tight that he can hardly swallow. 

“Too many degrees of separation,” you whisper to him. “You’re giving me a complex.” 

He takes a deep breath--of you, of the crisp autumn air, of the dew on the grass, of the sugary juice staining his hands. 

“Why you with a guy who stands you up?” He asks. You’re slowly spinning in a circle still and the world blurs behind your pretty head. “I barely know you, but I know I’d never bail on you.” 

“Well, not everyone’s from Texas,” you answer. The heartbeat in your chest is stuttering as Jake looks at you--your eyes, your nose, your lips. “We’re not…serious or anything.”

You don’t know why you feel the need to tell Jake this--and why it doesn’t make you feel guilty when you realize that you’re telling him so he knows that your options are open. 

“Not serious?” He asks. “How long have you been seeing each other?” 

A few months. 

“Since August.” It sounds like more time than it really is. 

“Not long at all,” he says. “How’d he hook you? Did he debate you into a date?” 

The grin tugging on your lips is so insistent. 

“You’re kind of an ass,” you say affectionately. 

“But I’m a good dancer,” he says--beaming. “Don’t you think I’m a good dancer?” 

“Fishing for compliments,” you tut. “Flattery must be your love language.” 

“What’s your love language?” 

Cheeks hot, you just shake your head. 

Christ, he’s good. Too good. Way too good.

“You ask so many questions,” you tell him, breathing out hard. You’re beaming at him still. “Too curious for your own good.” 

“And I’m not even a journalism major,” he tells you. 

“You’re missing your calling then,” you say softly. “What is your major?” 

“Film,” he says. 

That strikes you as funny for some reason--a football player film major with an affinity for dream pop and Jurassic Park. 

“Aren’t you a mystery,” you ponder aloud. “Johnny Football Hitchcock.” 

“And what’s your major? Looking bored at parties?” 

You mock offense, holding a hand over your heart. When you’re this close to him and he beams, you can see every single one of his pearlescent white teeth, each one more perfect than the last. 

“I didn’t look bored,” you defend half-heartedly. 

“You looked so bored,” Jake says, laughing. “I thought you were gonna pass out before I even made it over to you.” 

The back door opens--a few drunk people stumble out, saying nothing but laughing all the same. 

Instinctively, you begin to pull away from Jake. But he tightens his grip on your waist, on your hand, and keeps you close to him. He keeps spinning the both of you in slow circles as the song floats on. 

“It’s okay,” Jake says softly to you--like he knows that your face is warm with almost-embarrassment, like he knows that you’re nervous to be this close to him in front of anyone else. “They’re not gonna remember shit tomorrow.” 

“Are you?” You ask, teasing. 

It’s vulnerable to ask--ther’es a sweetness in your quiet tone. You’re asking him if he’s drunk, if he’ll remember crossing the party to talk to you, if he’ll remember asking you to dance with you.  

“I’m stone-cold sober,” Jake says. “Fortunately.” 

It’s strange whenever someone doesn’t let you down. You’re almosot used to putting up defenses at this point, almost always ready to roll your eyes and say God, never mind. You’re a smart girl. You know that this isn’t the way you should feel about the boy you’re seeing. And you are smart enough to see a good thing when it’s standing right in front of you, holding knot your waist and dancing with you. 

“Oh, shit--!” 

You turn towards the sounds of shoes scuffing on pavements, the sudden outburst. Jake does, too, brows furrowed. He sees it before you do--is getting ready to lift you up and push you further into the yard. 

But he’s too late. 

Alpha Beta Toga is bent at the hips and spewing neon-green puke all down your legs and into the pockets of your cargo shorts and all over your hiking boots.

Still, Jake tugs you away, plants himself between you and Toga. It’s too late, though--he’s being tugged away by his friends, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, hiccupping. And you’re standing beside him, stunned, staring down at your slimy legs. 

“Hey!” Jake bellows, brows furrowed. The frat boys pause, eyes bleary as they stare back at him. “Apologize.” 

“Sorry,” one of them says to Jake, belching. 

They start to move inside the house again, a blur of white sheet and skin. 

“No, no, no,” Jake insists. “To her.” 

You blink in surprise, swallowing the lump growing in your throat, not knowing what to do except stand there and freeze with putrid vomit running down your legs. 

“I didn’t puke on her!” One of them defends. 

“I didn’t ask, dipshit,” Jake says. “Someone’s gonna say sorry before you go back inside.” 

“It’s fine,” you whisper, unbuttoning your shirt and slipping out of it to wipe down your legs. “It’s really fine. He’s drunk, it was an accident--!” 

“I’m sorry,” one of the boys interrupts you, glancing over at you nervously. “We should’ve pulled ‘im back.” 

“You should’ve,” Jake confirms. 

And then his attention is back on you. He’s kneeling before you, grabbing the shirt from your hands and mopping up as much vomit as he can on your legs. Still shocked and now prickled with cold as you bend at the hips and look down at him, you frown. 

“Is it--oh my God. Is it chunky?” You whisper, feeling sick. 

Jake dutifully holds onto your thigh as he continues to mop it up. God, it smells bad--he dipped into more than one of the punches. 

“Don’t look,” Jake commands, brows pulled together. “Just look up at the stars and it’ll be over soon.” 

“It’s fucking chunky,” you say to yourself, looking up at the night sky anyway. Cold air nips your bare shoulders, tucks itself between the skin of your belly and your tank top. “Did he eat the shit that was floating in the bowls? I don’t think it was edible.” 

In the dim light, Jake examines one of the chunks. It’s a clump of green-tinted yellow, half-digested and crumbling in the grip of the shirt. His stomach turns, but he swallows hard, comes a little closer.

Oh. He snorts softly and you groan above him. 

“What is it?” You ask. “Oh, God--is it, like, pineapple chunks?” 

 “It’s a flower,” Jake says.

“What?” You demand, looking down at him. “A flower?” 

He finishes up mopping your legs as you look anywhere but your legs, your jaw beginning to tremble from the cold.  

“Was this all some elaborate way to get me flowers?” 

His laugh echoes into the night. 

“Would you be impressed?” He asks. 

“Kinda,” you answer honestly. 

“Then yes,” he grins. “I think I got most of it, by the way. Do you wanna see the flower?” 

Looking down, frowning, he holds his open palm up to you. And yes, there it is--a marigold submerged in stomach acid. 

“And they say chivalry is dead,” you breathe out. “How’d you know marigolds are my favorite?”

“I’m just good like that,” he says. “Marigolds, huh? Are they even edible?” 

“Anything’s edible if you put it in your mouth.”  

He’s grinning up at you, pulse still thumping in his wrists from the past ten minutes. And that’s when he notices that you’re just standing there in a tank top, skin goosed from the cold. 

“Here,” he says, standing up. 

He unbuttons his shirt quickly and drapes it over your shoulders before you can tell him not to. He grabs the corner of your soiled shirt and nods for you to start for the house. 

“I can’t believe that just happened,” you whisper. 

“I can,” he says. “I’ve been to, like, two parties where no one’s projectiled on someone else.” 

Cringing, you shake your head. His shirt is warm--it smells like sandalwood. The denim is thick and soft, like it’s been worn before tonight. 

“Thanks for mopping me up,” you tell him as you open the back door for him. The sound is immediate--the thumping speakers, the drunk hollers. “How can I repay you?” 

“Dump Spit Sabler,” Jake says. You turn, mouth ajar, looking prettier than you should in his shirt. His chest is tight. “It’s for your own good.” 

“My good?” You whisper. “Or…yours?” 

He swallows hard. You two just watch each other, the scent of puke thick in the air and the party too loud and the outside too cold. He doesn’t want to be anywhere else. 

“Can I drive you home?” His voice is flat and serene. 

Calm like he already knows your answer because he does. 

“Yes,” you whisper because you want to stay here, in his gaze, for as long as he’ll let you. “Can we go now?” 

He pulls the keys from his pocket and smiles at you. 

Bradley isn’t buckled so he can lean forward in the middle seat and prop his elbows up on the center consol, looking at you and Jake as the world slips past you in a blur of over-exposed white and green. 

“Spit Sabler?” Bradley says again, still shaking his head in disbelief. 

You’re laughing, shaking your head, too. Jake groans. 

“Man, can you shut up already?” 

“No,” Bradley says. He looks at you and you look at him--his makeup is melting off his face and his green wig is askew. But even now, you can see that there is a handsome man with a broad smile somewhere beneath it all. “You--you--are with Spit? Spit Sabler?” 

“Yeah,” you say, smiling. “I was.” 

Jake doesn’t miss it--was. But he doesn’t say anything, just keeps his eyes on the old country road you’re all driving down. 

“Why?” Bradley asks. “Like, I just can’t wrap my mind around it.” 

“Can you leave her alone?” Jake moans. He fiddles with the radio until a Cocteau Twins song comes on, shaking his head. “She already got puked on and now you won’t get off her head.”

“I just have to know!” Bradley insists. “Like, was it…okay, I’m gonna ask. I have to ask.” 

Jake looks at Bradley in the rear-view mirror hard, knowing already what he’s going to ask. He points at Bradley’s reflection and Bradley grins back, still a little drunk and quiite stupid. 

“What?” You ask, genuinely confused. “What were you gonna ask?” 

“Don’t do it,” Jake warns. “Man, you don’t even know her! You’re making me look like I have perv friends!” 

“I have to!” Bradley argues. “I have to!” 

“Oh,” you say, realizing suddenly. You lean back in your seat and look back at Bradley. “You’re gonna ask me if he has a big dick.” 

“Exactly!” Bradley moans. He grabs your shoulders excitedly and squeezes you good-naturedly. “She’s on our level, Jakey!” 

“I’m sorry about him,” Jake says, shaking his head. “He was dropped as a baby. Frequently.” 

“Twice,” Bradley corrects. He nudges you and you grin at him. “Was it big?” He whispers. 

Shaking your head, face warm, you frown. 

“Not big enough,” you whisper. 

Bradley explodes in the backseat, in stitches as he holds your shoulders tight. And Jake can’t help but crack a smile at the sound--Bradley’s laugh is infectious. And you’re laughing, too. 

“Oh, that’s too good!” Bradley’s cheering. “Oh, my God! You just made my night!”

“You’re welcome,” you say, grinning.

“Did he just, like, talk at you until you were confused enough to be in a relationship with him?” Bradley asks. 

“She’s not an idiot,” Jake defends, smacking blindly in Bradley’s direction. 

Bradley bats his hands away.  

“We all have our moments!” Bradley argues. “I didn’t say she’s an idiot.” 

“He’s the idiot,” Jake says. 

“Yeah,” Bradley agrees. “No arguing there.” 

“For the record,” you say to them. “He did kind of talk me into it. One minute we’re in class, the next we’re at coffee and he’s burning his tongue on an Americano. Then his puka shells were on my nightstand. It’s all a blur.” 

The car ride continues like this--you grow warm between the heater and Bradley’s laughter and Jake’s fond embarrassment. You learn that Bradley is a business major and that he and Jake are roommate’s and best friends. They learn that you actually really do love marigolds and that you’ve been thinking about ending things with Jeff for a few weeks now--ever since he argued with you about the right way to cut bagels for over an hour. 

And by the time they pull up in front of your dorm, they realize that their dorm is just a skip and half a hop away. 

“We can come visit you anytime,” Bradley says with a grin. “We’re neighbors!” 

“Looks like it,” you say. 

Jake is watching you, wishing Bradley would leave. You reach for the handle and his palms grow damp with sweat. It’s quiet in the car. 

“I can take a hint,” Bradley whispers. “Use protection!”

He kisses Jake’s head and squeezes your shoulder and then he’s gone. 

Then it’s just you and Jake again. Jake is still grumbling about Bradley, wiping the spit and paint off his head. And you’re just smiling at Jake, totally at peace to just sit in the passenger seat of his old truck and let Halloween drift away. 

“Thanks for everything,” you say. You swallow hard when his eyes meet yours, when his brows come together. “For, like, saving me from total social humiliation. And for cleaning puke off my legs. And--this.” You pinch the denim shirt in your fingers. “You’re very sweet.” 

“It ain’t much, but it’s honest work,” Jake sighs. And really, he wants to tell you that it was his pleasure because it was. He wants to tell you that somehow this has been the best Halloween of his life. “You’ve got yourself a nickname now.” 

“What is it?” You whisper. 

“Goldie,” he grins. 

Ah. Marigold. 

“Deceivingly sweet,” you say fondly. Your chin wobbles. “You playing next week, Trip?” You whisper. 

You’re itching for a shower--you know you need to get out of his car. You know that this night needs to end. But you can’t help yourself from lingering. 

“Starting,” he says. “Not to brag.” 

“And yet you manage to,” you tease. “Look for me at the top, okay?”

Eagle-eye. 

“And if I said I could get you tickets closer to the field, what would you say?” He ponders. “Just out of curiosity.” 

“Well, I’d say that’s very sweet and that you don’t have to do that,” you tell him. 

He nods, chewing on his bottom lip. He imagines you there, holding onto the railing, skin goosed as you watch him do what he does best. His chest is wound tight with joy, excitement. 

“And then I’d probably say that I know I don’t have to,” he continues. “I want to.” 

Nodding, biting a grin, you hum. 

“Well,” you whisper. “Maybe we can talk more about it when I drop your shirt off tomorrow.” 

“Yeah,” Jake says. “We can talk more about it. Maybe over, like, coffee.” 

“Yeah,” you answer. “Coffee would be good. No Americano’s, though.” 

Another beat. It’s quiet except for the humming radio, the wind whispering outside the windows, the heat blowing on your legs. 

“Goodnight, Goldie,” Jake whispers. 

Throat tight, you nod. Another grin. 

“Goodnight, Trip,” you say. 

And as you get out of the car and start for the dorm building, Jake sits and watches you walk all the way to the door. You turn, hand on the heavy handle, and smile when you see him. He waves, his hair soft and his eyes unmoving from your form. Spit never waits for you. In the light of the streetlamp, of the pocket lights of the building, you look like a dream. Like you’re surrounded by a yellow haze. 

You wave--so does he. 

And then you walk into the building with your heart in your throat, with the soles of your feet on fire. You don’t even care that there’s puke on your legs, that you have an uncomfortable phone call to make, that you have to walk all the way up to the third floor. 

You’re floating, really. Floating through pink clouds perfumed with sandalwood, tinged with warmth. 

And when Jake gets back into his room, Bradley is waiting for him. He’s on his twin bed, still in his costume and wig and makeup, a management textbook cracked open on his lap as he munches on some crackers and reads in the lamplight. 

“I like her,” Bradley says as soon as Jake closes the door. “I really, really like her man.” 

“Me too,” Jake admits softly as he toes his boots off. “She’s sweet.” 

“She’s funny,” Bradley adds. “She had me in stitches in the car!” 

“If I’d have been puked on, it would’ve ruined my week. Shit, it would’ve ruined my year,” Jake muses. He pulls his bandana off and throws it in his closet without looking. “She’s a good sport.” 

“You better lock that down,” Bradley says, shaking his head. He scratches his chin and bits of white paint flake off. 

“Someone else already has,” Jake says, brows furrowed. 

He sits on his own bed and looks at Bradley, who’s yawning and rubbing his eyes. Smearing his makeup. 

“Spit doesn’t stand a chance,” Bradley says. “I’ll bet she’s dumping his sorry ass right now.” 

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: SLAYYYYYY I LOVE BRADLEY IN THIS UNIVERSE HE IS SOOOOO STUPID

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

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[softspiderling]

baby, you down? | j.h.s.

summary: “-insane. The throttle sits extremely well in my-hey, are you even listening?” “Yeah, ‘course. The adverse yaw was so cool and the empennage knocked the wind out of you, totally.” Bradley scoffed. “You’re a little shit, toots. You know you could learn a thing or two if you would actually listen to what I’m saying. Who knows, maybe you’ll end up on a date with a naval aviator and you could impress him with your knowledge.” “Never. Having one as a best friend is more than enough.”

or, your best friend is a naval aviator, but apparently so is the guy you've been dating? Yeah, funny how life works.

OR, 5 times Bradley was blissfully unaware of who you're dating and the 1 time he wasn't

pairing: jake "hangman" seresin x reader , besties!bradley "rooster" bradshaw x reader

warnings: contains talk about sex, but no actual smut, minors DNI

word count: 6,4k

author's note: whoop whoop! the fic you all have been waiting for! where all things will be revealed. hope you enjoy!! no beta, we die like goose. PS: this fic is part of the wingman's best friend universe, but can be read as a stand-alone!

-5

brad brad: i’m outside, u coming?

“See you guys tomorrow!” you called to your team, waving into the round before you headed outside of the office, where Bradley’s bronco was standing by the sidewalk, engine still running. He was diddling on his phone when you climbed into the passenger seat. 

“You know I’m still in touch with my old colleagues from the SDPD, I could have you arrested for being on your phone with the engine still running,” you commented mildly and Bradley put his phone away, kissing you on the cheek, his mustache tickling your face. 

“Nah, you wouldn’t. I am your favorite law abiding citizen.”

“Shut up. I can’t believe the Navy still lets you keep that god awful mustache,” you muttered, rubbing your cheek and Bradley only laughed. While he drove to the restaurant where you tended to get lunch, you packed your badge and gun into your purse, not wanting to flash your credentials around when you weren’t on the clock. Especially not around Bradley. Fishing out your phone, you checked the messages you had missed at work.

jake: it does look great. I’ll look into it and book a table.

jake: you got any plans tonight?

jake: thinking of you

Grinning you tapped out a message, catching Bradley glancing over out of the corner of your eyes. God, he was so nosy.

“Eyes on the street, Brad.”

Bradley rolled his eyes. “You know I fly a million dollar plane for work, right? I can drive my bronco down the street and look at your phone. Who you texting?”

“Just a guy I’ve been seeing,” you replied, sending the text before putting your phone away, as the car pulled to a stop at a traffic light. Bradley raised an eyebrow at you over his aviators, clearly not satisfied with the answer.

“I didn’t know that you were seeing someone.”

Shrugging with your shoulders, you pursed your lips. “Well, now you do.”

“Anyone I know?” he asked, returning his eyes to the street when the traffic light turned green, you knew however, that his attention was still fully on you. 

“Nah. I met him at a bar while I was out for dinner a few weeks ago,” you gave him a look, squinting your eyes while you thought hard. “Honestly, I am not sure if you’d get along. You’re either gonna love him or hate him.”

“... That’s not reassuring. At all.”

Which, fair. 

Considering you put actual bad guys away as a living, you had a tendency to put other, arguably not as bad, but still bad, people in your bed. One of your exes gave you an STD, one literally stole your thesis and received a scholarship for it, and another one resetted your 5 star animal crossing island that you’ve lovingly curated for a year. 

Yeah, you weren’t proud of your dating history. 

But - and this was going to sound cheesy as hell - Jake was different. He never really put up a nice guy act, actually he kind of was a cocky asshole. Beneath all those layers you’ve peeled back, he was surprisingly soft. Of course he was hot as hell, but there was also something behind his cockiness. 

“It’s going to be fine, don’t worry. How was your day?”

Bradley launched into a story of how someone from his squadron, Hangman, pulled an insane move on a hop, that even Maverick was shocked. You barely understood a word he was saying, Bradley tended to get a little overexcited when he started talking about flying and would use very specific terms like camber and whatever the fuck aileron was It didn’t help that you didn’t know a single person he was talking about, except for the infamous Maverick, of course. Usually, Bradley was deployed somewhere far away and the friends he made during that time were strangers to you. 

“-insane. The throttle sits extremely well in my-hey, are you even listening?” 

“Yeah, ‘course. The adverse yaw was so cool and the empennage knocked the wind out of you, totally.”

Bradley scoffed. “You’re a little shit, toots. You know you could learn a thing or two if you would actually listen to what I’m saying. Who knows, maybe you’ll end up on a date with a naval aviator and you could impress him with your knowledge.”

“Never. Having one as a best friend is more than enough.”

-4

Yawning, you unlocked the door to your apartment. You really wanted to spend the night at Jake’s but going to work from his place in the morning was just going to be a pain. You hadn’t brought a change of clothes and you were definitely not showing up at work with clothes from the day before. 

Shutting the door behind you, you kicked your shoes off and headed to the living room. It was dark, but the hairs on your neck rose immediately as you stepped over the threshold. The streetlights barely illuminated your room, but you could make out a shadow of a man by your couch. You weren’t sure if you’d make it to your safe in time, but you had to try. Throwing your purse at his head, you dove to your cabinet, only pausing when the grunt of pain sounded all too familiar to you.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Bradley!?” you yelled, standing up to switch the light on, just to see your stupid best friend sit on the couch, holding his nose, doubled over in pain.

“Jesus, sorry! I forgot to text you I was coming over,” Bradley whined, his voice nasal. “I think you broke my nose.”

“How many times have I told you to not pull these damn stunts anymore? I could have shot you in the face,” you snapped, grabbing some water from the kitchen and a pack of ice, wrapping it in a kitchen towel. 

When you used to be younger, Bradley always snuck up on you, trying to scare you or make you jump. And he was good at it, too. That was why he kept doing it. You joked that his jump-scares were the reason why you always were so aware of your surroundings when you were out in the field. 

Habits were hard to break. 

With a scowl, you picked his hand off his face, gently wiping the blood from his nose before pressing the ice pack on it, glowering as he winced. 

“What were you even doing sitting here in the dark?”

“It was still light out when I arrived. How was I supposed to know that you’d take so long to get home?”

“How about turning the lights on like a fucking normal human being?” you sneered. Bradley’s shoulder slumped, a crease in his forehead and you sighed, your voice softening. “Does it hurt a lot?”

“Getting better,” he muttered, gingerly placing his hand on the ice pack so you could let go. Bradley squinted his eyes at you. “Where were you?”

“Out.”

“With whom?”

“Did we switch jobs? What’s with all the questions?”

“Just curious, you’ve been out a lot lately.”

“You know I am seeing someone, since when are you so interested in my love life?”

“Love life?”

Cursing under your breath, snapping the water bottle open to take a sip. Bradley was frowning at you, waiting for you to elaborate.

“I am listening.”

With an eye roll, you leaned back on the couch. “He’s… Good. I really like him. He’s so charming, but not like in a gross way, you know? He’s actually charming. It’s kind of annoying. But he’s also like, really fucking hot? He’s not like anyone I’ve ever dated before. Thank fucking god. I kind of want to see him every day, which is so dumb. I guess he makes me really happy.”

“Bleurgh. You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” Bradley pulled a face at you and you scoffed.

“What are you, 12?” 

“I’m literally older than you. Respect your elders.”

“Respect is a two way street, old man.”

Bradley glared at you, putting his ice pack on the coffee table. He carefully ran his finger along the ridge of his nose. “Well, are you in love with him?” 

You tutted at his insistence, shrugging dumbly with your shoulders. Love was a big word. It wasn’t easy to find, especially with your and Bradle’s line of work. Most people Bradley dated found his job exciting at first, until they eventually got upset with all his time away and the odd working hours. It was hard enough being his friend, you couldn’t imagine how hard it was dating a naval aviator.

But then again, your job wasn’t a cake walk either. 

Suddenly, you regretted doing the “secret job” thing with Jake. Honestly, you hadn’t expected feeling about him the way you did, otherwise you wouldn’t have done it. What if telling him about your job now would scare him off? 

“Toots, you still with me?”

You snapped out of your thoughts, smiling crookedly at Bradley. “I don’t know. I guess I could see myself falling in love with him? He’s… Kind of perfect, actually. He made me come with his tongue.”

Bradley’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as he stared at you, wincing in pain as his nose twitched involuntarily. “Oh shit. You gotta lock that man down right now. A summer wedding sounds nice. Obviously, I’ll be your best man.” 

“Maid of honor, you mean.”

“That, too.”

“God, you’re stupid. All of that missing oxygen in your brain really is starting to show.”

“You literally just whacked your purse in my face, I’m pretty sure I have brain-damage.”

“Yeah, self-inflicted brain damage.”

“So when do I get to meet the guy?” Bradley asked and he really was not letting go of that topic, was he?

“Oh man, hell if I know. Introducing you to him kind of makes things serious.”

“Didn’t you just say that you could fall in love with him? Sounds pretty serious to me.”

“Stop making sense,” you groaned, flopping on your back, staring at the ceiling. “It’s just perfect right now the way it is, you know? I don’t want to fuck it up by rushing into things.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that makes perfect sense,” Bradley snorted. “Just going wherever it takes you instead of talking about the direction of your relationship. Definitely not a recipe for disaster.”

“Like you’re the one to give relationship advice. I can still remember the Jules fiasco.”

“Please don’t remind me. I was young and stupid.”

Snorting, you stretched your arms back. “I’m headed to bed. Got an early morning. You wanna sleep here?” 

“Definitely staying, I need your coffee in the morning, the one on base sucks ass.”

“You know you could just get yourself a good espresso machine right?” You pointed out, narrowing your eyes at him. “You don’t have to drink the one on base, nor do you have to mooch mine.”

“Nah, it tastes better when I bum it off of you. You owe me anyway.”

“What do I owe you for?”

Bradley pouted, pointing at his face. “You destroyed my money maker.”

“I swear to god, Bradley.”

-3

The next morning Bradley still wasn’t awake by the time your alarm rang. Which wasn’t unusual, despite his stupid callsign, you always had to kick him out of bed when you used to live together. So you headed to the kitchen to make yourself an espresso and downing it, before you went to grab a shower. Your muscles relaxed, as you were still surprisingly sore after getting back from Jake’s, and after a good five minutes, you stepped out, wrapping a towel around your body, just as your phone started ringing. 

Jake’s name flashed over the screen and you sighed with a fond smile, leaning your phone against the mirror before picking up. You picked up your toothbrush as the video chat loaded up, squirting some toothpaste on. 

“Miss me already?” you teased, barely recognizing anything as his phone was shaking wildly, though you could hear Jake’s laughter through the speakers.

“And what if I was?”

There was loud rustling coming from his side, before the phone finally stood still, the camera focusing on a very shirtless and very sweaty Jake. You nearly choked on your toothpaste. 

“Jesus, give a girl a warning,” you wheezed, spitting out the toothpaste, your toothbrush clattering against the sink as you picked up your phone. You were staring, shamelessly, but Jake clearly didn’t mind as he only smirked at you. 

“I am not the one picking up a phone call while I was only in a towel,” he pointed out. “I could’ve been in public.”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

You picked up your face cream as Jake made his breakfast, apparently, probably some disgusting weetabix protein, judging by the sounds of the box. 

“You trying to make me regret going home last night?” 

“Is it working?” Jake chuckled, glancing at the camera. “Just came home from a run and had some time on my hands, figured I’d call you.”

“You’re sweet. And I wish I could’ve stayed last night, but it was a good thing I didn’t. My best friend was sitting in my apartment like a creeper and waiting for me to come home. I thought I was fifteen again, god, he had so many questions.”

Jake leaned on the counter, looking at you. “Brad, right?”

“Right. He’s kind of annoying, actually. Pestered me about meeting you and everything,” you said, purposefully lightly, your eyes flickering to the camera. 

“Yeah? Gonna show me his gun collection and threaten me not to hurt a hair on your body?” 

You snorted. If only he knew.

“No, he’s just nosy as fuck.”

“You know, I’d like to meet him. He sounds like a character,” Jake admitted and you smiled, looking up. 

“You do?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“Okay,” you said, pressing your lips together to stop yourself from smiling so hard. You jerked in surprise when there were loud bangs against the bathroom door. 

“Jesus, B! I’m busy!”

“Is the espresso machine on?” Bradley asked, his voice muffled through the door. 

“Yes, you dipshit. Don’t break it!” 

“I’ll get you another one if I do.”

His steps retreated and you turned back to your phone, Jake was rising an eyebrow at you through the phone. 

“He stayed the night?”

“Yeah, he keeps forgetting we don’t actually live together anymore,” you sighed, pinching your nose and Jake rumbled out a laugh. 

“Should I be jealous?” he asked with a teasing tone, but it was obvious he was joking. People usually got miffed when they found out how close you and Bradley actually were, but Jake didn’t sound like he cared. Which was a relief. You had to break things off far too many times because some people started being outright hostile towards Bradley and you couldn’t have that. You were glad that you didn’t have to break things off with Jake. 

“God, no. I promise, there’s nothing to be jealous about,” you told him with a honest smile, cringing when you heard a crash from the kitchen, fearing for your espresso machine. 

“You should go. I have to jump in the shower anyway before I head into work,” Jake told you and you bit your lip, nodding. 

“Okay. I’ll text you later, yeah?”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Jake uttered, winking at you. “Have a good day, sweets.”

“Bye Jake.”

The video chat closed and you rested your phone against your chest, before slipping into your robe, padding into the kitchen, fearing the worst. Bradley was squinting at the coffee grinder, holding the portafilter in his hand. 

“What did you break?” you asked, toweling your wet hair and Bradley frowned at you.

“Nothing. I dropped the milk can. I was trying to froth up the milk but I didn’t know how because you barely let me touch this thing.”

“For a good reason!” you huffed, pouring some milk into the can and shoving it under the steamer, pressing the button. As the steamer got to work, blubbering on, you peeled Bradley’s finger from the portafilter to fill with coffee grounds. 

“Were you talking to him?” Bradley then asked, his voice high, as if you were back on the playground, whispering about your crushes. 

“Yeah, before you rudely interrupted me.”

“You’re so in love,” Bradley needled and you stomped on his bare foot, making him yelp. 

“I’m literally holding a can of hot milk, don’t annoy me,” you threatened him, fixing the portafilter on the machine. “You want to drink your coffee here or take it to work?” 

Bradley glanced at the clock, his eyes widening. 

“Oh shit. Can you make it to go please? I still need to brush my teeth.”

With a sigh, you ushered him out of the kitchen, so you could finish up his coffee. Grabbing one of the portable coffee mugs, you let the espresso drip in there before topping it off with milk foam, twisting the lid on. Sometimes you really forgot that Bradley was a highly skilled naval aviator with the way he was behaving. Said naval aviator skeeted back into the kitchen, where you pressed his coffee into his hand. Taking a sip, he sighed in content and you rolled your eyes at him.

“Hey toots, you promise you’ll still make me coffee when you move in with tongue guy?”

“Get the fuck out of here, Bradley.”

Bradley cackled as he walked to your front door, slipping into his shoes. 

“Hey, don’t die at work!”

“You too!” he called, before the door fell shut behind him. 

“Like a fucking child,” you muttered to yourself, turning back to your espresso machine to make your second cup of coffee.

-2

Narrowing your eyes at the refrigerated section, you were looking for the brand of mozzarella you always got. Jake had decided to cook dinner for you, but conveniently forgot to go to the grocery store, so there you were, picking up groceries. And while you were already there, you figured you’d pick up some things too. Which would’ve been an easy feat if he had taken you to your usual spot. So now you were scanning the racks for the cheeks, rubbing your arm absently, the cold air hitting your bare skin like on a Winter night.

Suddenly, you felt something cover your skin, glancing to the side as Jake gently draped his jacket over your shoulder. 

“Hey, where’d you get this?”

“Just grabbed it from the car, you looked like you needed it,” Jake hummed, pressing a soft kiss on your cheek. You flushed, squeezing his hand. This man. 

“You didn’t have to.”

“I know, but I wanted to. You find what you were looking for?”

You shook your head, a bit petulantly and Jake bit back a laugh. “You need help?”

“No. I’m fine. I can find cheese on my own. You go ahead and pick up the rest of your stuff.”

Jake eyed you for a second, like he was scared you’d get lost, lingering, before he went off to find the rest of the ingredients to cook dinner. You turned your attention back to the cheese racks in front of you, your eyes lighting up when you finally spotted it. 

“Yes!” 

Grabbing two pouches, you gently tossed them into the shopping cart, pulling up your grocery list on your phone when a call from Bradley came in. 

“Hey, I just dropped by to bring you the oranges from Penny’s backyard, where are you?”

“Whole Food’s.”

“What are you doing at Whole Foods?” Bradley snickered and you frowned, deliberating whether you should hang up. “Oh, since you’re already there, can you bring me a Coconut Protein shake?”

“First of all, ew. And second of all, no. I’m not going home after.”

Bradley ahhed, as if he just realized and you rolled your eyes at him.

“Can you pick up some ice cream sandwiches then? Tongue guy has a freezer, right?”

“Can’t you go to Whole Foods yourself? You’re so lazy,” you accused him, already moving to the frozen section, pushing the shopping cart in front of you. “What kind do you want?”

You stopped in front of the ice cream section, your eyes widening at the assortment from ice cream sandwiches alone. This was definitely not your last time here. You didn’t know why, but you never really came to Whole Foods, which you definitely regretted. Their selection was insane.

“I don’t know, I had them at Hangman’s once, they were really good.”

“Well, how am I supposed to know what kind of ice cream sandwiches Hangman buys? Why don’t you ask him to get you some?” you bitched at him. “Were they square?”

“No, the normal ones.”

“Okay, I’m all done. What are you looking for?” Jake asked, dumping a whole lot of stuff into the shopping cart. You muted Bradley, not even listening as he tried to describe the ice cream sandwiches to you.

“Uh, ice cream sandwiches?”

“Oh, I always get these,” Jake said, opening the freezer doors to pick up a package of Organic Ice Cream sandwiches. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah, thanks babe,” you hummed, unmuting Bradley again as Jake added the pack into the shopping cart. “We got you a pack. If it’s not the right one, then tough luck.”

“You’re mean. Thank you.  See you later, toots.”

“Bye, B.”

You pocketed your phone and Jake raised his brows at you. “You ready to go?”

“Yep,” you said, curling your hands around his arm. “Let’s go, I’m starving.”

-1

“You’re still down for my birthday party, right?” Bradley asked, 

Usually the two of you would just get dinner at the weirdest restaurant you could find, when he was around, it was kind of a tradition. But this year, when Bradley got this permanent stint at Top Gun, he decided to throw a little get together with his team and you. It’d be the first time you’d meet anyone he was working with.

“Eh. Who’s coming again?”

“Just my team, probably Mav and Penny. One of the guys, Hangman; I did tell him to bring his new girl around, but he said she was busy. But I think he was lying, because he doesn’t want us to meet her.”

You paused at that, turning to suspiciously glower at Bradley. Why would anyone in the team be nervous to bring around their new girlfriend? God, you hoped that there wasn’t some weird hazing ritual for meeting new people.

“... Why?”

Bradley shrugged, taking a sip from his coke. It was nearing twelve am, but you suddenly craved In-N-Out, so you made Bradley take you to the nearest location. It was full off people inside and you didn’t really feel like getting out of the car, so you just got your food from the drive through, eating in his car in the parking lot.

“Probably because he knows that we’ll give him shit. But I think it’s nice, him being all lovey-dovey on that girl,” Bradley chuckled, eyes lingering on you. “Kind of like you, actually.”

“Oh fuck off,” you huffed, chewing on some fries. 

“Just saying. Never seen you like this before.”

And he was fucking spot on. Things have gotten kind of serious with Jake. When you had caught a particular bad case, the outcome not the one you had hoped for, Jake came over with take out, just eating with you instead of pestering you with questions. While you did like not having to talk about your job, you wished you could’ve, and it did make you think that it was time to stop with the charades. It was getting exhausting and if Jake really didn’t want to be with you because of your job, you’d rather know now than even later on. 

You just weren’t sure how to bring it up, though.

“I know, I know. Been trying to set up a play date for you, but work’s been shitty. Sorry,” you sighed and Bradley wrinkled his mustache. 

“It’s okay. The FBI's not as breezy as you thought it would be, hm?”

You gave him a look. “I knew it wasn’t going to be. SA Brenner said it would be hard work when he first approached me. I knew that going in and I don’t regret it. It’s just that some cases are like, really fucking hard.”

“... Which is why I’m even more glad that you found someone who makes you this disgustingly happy,” Bradley interjected and you rolled your eyes, grinning. 

“Guess so. After your birthday I’ll get you guys together,” you told him and he gave you a thumbs up, pressing his lips together. 

“So… You are coming, right?” He asked, realizing you never gave him an answer. You frowned, stretching your arms, careful as to not spill over your drink, purposefully drawing out your response time. 

“I don’t know… You Navy guys are kind of pretentious.”

“What?” Bradley spluttered between laughter. “You literally work for “The Bureau”,” he mocked, quoting the air. “If anyone’s co-worker’s are pretentious, it’s yours.”

“Name one.”

“Avery.”

“You like Avery,” you snickered and Bradley huffed. 

“Yeah, I do. They’re funny. Anyways, the guys are pretty cool. And the girls, too. I think you’ll hit it off with Halo and Phoenix. The team’s kind of chaotic, but you’ll like them. And you don’t have to stay long if you don’t,” he added quickly and you sighed, nodding.

“Fine. I’ll come. Do you want a cake?”

Bradley perked up at the mention of baked goods. “Yes. Please.”

0“So, you’re the infamous best friend,” Phoenix, Natasha, said, holding a plate with a slice of cake in her hand. The cake you brought seemed to be a hit with Bradley’s squadron and you were glad. You’ve been nervous all day for his birthday and getting to know his other friends, but when you found out they were Jake’s friends, too? Your nerves about skyrocketed into the air.

“Infamous?” you snorted. “Whatever Bradley told you about me was probably a lie.”

“Nah, it’s all true. You remember the first day of Top Gun, when I barely made it through the door before the instructor came? Well, this genius turned off my alarm clock after it didn’t wake me, and instead of waking me up, she went back to sleep. I only made it just in time because Toots actually used her lights and siren to get through traffic.”

“Jesus, stop telling that story, you make it sound like I’m abusing my power,” you muttered but Natasha only laughed. 

“I like you already, toots.”

You rolled your eyes at her for using Bradley’s nickname for you, though the corners of your lips were curling up. 

“Here’s your drink, sweetheart,” Jake said, pressing a red solo cup on your hand, when he came back from the cooler, because of course Bradley brought fucking red solo cups as if this was his 18th birthday. Natasha did a double take, frowning as she blinked at you, standing between Bradley and Jake. The three of you did wonder how long it was going to take for the others to figure it out.

Jake was grinning, bouncing back and forth on his heels as you laughed into your cup. 

“Wait, you’re Hangman’s girlfriend?”

That seemed to catch everyone’s attention, as the squadron crowded behind Natasha. You merely glanced at Jake, who was taking a suspiciously long gulp of his beer, his cheeks red, eyes hard on Natasha. You could tell he was embarrassed, however you barely had time to analyze him. All the attention suddenly made you a bit nervous, but this was no different than answering reporters’ questions about an on-going case right? Act confident enough, and they would eat out of your hands.

“We actually haven’t had that talk yet, but assuming we’re both on the same page, I guess so,” you stated, looping an arm around Jake’s waist. The tension bled from his shoulders and he sent you a smirk, while his eyes remained soft. 

“Wait-” “Did you-?” “This could not have been a coincidence.” 

“Okay, wait, hold up,” Javy cut in, waving his hands around. “Just so there are no misunderstandings whatsoever. You’re Rooster’s best friend?”

You nodded.

“But you’re also Jake’s girl?”

“She’s my girl, Javy,” Jake replied instead, gripping your waist tightly. 

Next to you, Bradley rolled his eyes, fake retching to the side. You elbowed him in the side, hard and he winced, glaring at you. Everyone thought you were hilarious apparently, Javy however, offered his hand. 

“Javy Machado. Coyote.”

Amused, you clasped his hand with yours, shaking it. He seemed nice enough, but there was a hint of concern in his eyes. By now you knew what was coming.

“Pleasure. You’re Jake’s best friend, right?”

“That would be me. I’m assuming Rooster gave Jake the shovel talk?”

“It’s the 21st century man, I don’t need a man to protect me. Jake knows not to mess around.”

“Yeah, Coyote, get with the times!” Callie heckled him, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him so violently, you were afraid he’d get whiplash. This bunch seemed extremely chaotic and you kind of loved it. 

“It was about time we met,” Callie then said, her arms still around Javy. “We’ve been dying to finally get to know the woman who turned Hangman into someone who blushes on the regular. But seeing that you’ve been managing to be friends with Rooster for so long without killing him, I am not surprised. You must have the patience of a saint.”

“Hey!” Bradley and Jake exclaimed in unison, deeply offended. 

“Aw, no you give me way too much credit. I like to think that Bradley and I balance each other’s stupid, I wouldn’t be where I am without him.” You might have dug a bit too deep into the emotional box, but it was his birthday after all. “And Jake’s been pretty amazing. He really knows how to make a girl feel special.”

“Awwww,” Billy said, leaning onto Mickey, his arm around his neck. “That’s so adorable. I might just vomit.”

“Please, I’ve heard you say cheesier things about your partner, Fritz.”

“Proof?”

In the midst of the conversation, Bradley peeled away from the group, disappearing into the back of the hangar. Gnawing on your lip, you blew out a breath. 

“I’m gonna go check on him really quick, okay?” you whispered into Jake’s ear. He nodded, his brows furrowing, pressing a soft kiss on your cheek before you took off after Bradley, trying not to get lost in the unfamiliar building. 

“Hey. You okay, B?”

Bradley grabbed himself a beer from the fridge, before shutting the door, leaning against it. 

“Fine.”

Narrowing your eyes at him, you heaved yourself on the counter. Bradley has always been the kind of person to shut himself off and bottle up his emotions.  When you were younger, you had to probe and annoy him until he eventually relented and told you what was bothering him. Sometimes, you still had to do it. 

“Wanna try again?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he popped the top of the beer bottle and took a gulp, staring ahead and you pressed your lips together, your patience wearing thin. 

“Is this about Jake? You and him used to have problems, right? But aren’t things better since you got back from the mission? I thought you got along now.”

You remembered how he used to bitch about Hangman this, Hangman that. But his tone changed ever since he got back from his mission, stating that they had talked things out, how saving his life had changed their dynamics. And you were glad. Contrary to belief, while you were an independent woman, who didn’t need anyone to protect you, you wanted Bradley to get along with Jake. Be it professionally or privately. Bradley’s been by your side, in times where even your family wasn’t and it was important to you that he approved of your partners.

“It’s not about him.”

His voice was even, neutral. Also, absolute bullshit. With all the training you’ve had, it was easy for you to read a person, but it was especially easy to read Bradley. You’ve known him for almost twenty years now. And something was clearly bothering him. 

“Fine, I’ll leave it alone for today, because it’s your birthday,” you sighed, jumping off the counter. “But I promise, you’re not getting out of this conversation.”

“Did it have to be a naval aviator?”

You paused in the doorway when Bradley spoke up. Turning on your heel, you looked at him, his face scrunched up in worry. 

“It’s not like I was actively looking for a naval aviator, B. I didn’t even know that he was one, remember?”

“I know,” Bradley sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I just wish it would’ve been anyone else. You know how dangerous my job is. I wanted you to have someone with a less dangerous job, so if anything happened to me, you’d have someone. But now you’re dating a naval aviator? And one from my squadron, on top of that? You could lose both of us, just like that.”

Your mouth opened, but there were no words coming out of it. You never realized this was something Bradley was worried about, and you were overwhelmed by a sudden fondness for your mother hen of a best friend, even if he was dumb. 

“Bradley,” you started, fondly. “I am an FBI agent. Do you know how high the chance is that I get shot or hurt or worse, while on duty?”

Bradley glowered at you.

“You and Jake could lose me just as easily as I could lose you. But we won’t. Because we’re all very good at what we do.”

“That’s debatable.”

You gave him a look and Bradley sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I guess you’re right… Guess I just didn’t expect you to get with a naval aviator.” He took another sip of his beer, looking at you. “You love him?”

Taking a step back, you looked out to where Bradley’s squadron was still standing, apparently pouring out shots. Jake was already looking back at you, raising an eyebrow questioningly. With a smile, you gave him a thumbs up before he nodded, turning back to the others. You turned back to Bradley, cheeks flushed, your chest warm.

“I do, yeah.”

+1

A few days after Bradley’s birthday party, you had decided it was time for your boyfriend to officially officially meet your best friend. You didn’t realize how exhausting it was to keep your job hidden from Jake until you didn’t have to anymore. But you only had yourself to blame for that, huh? You hadn’t even realized how much pressure you had put yourself under, and the heavy weight that lifted off your chest, especially after seeing Jake react the way he did. And it was honestly comical how easily your job invaded your daily life as soon as you dropped the“secret job” ploy.

Jake and Bradley got out of their car, both dressed in their khakis and your mouth ran a little dry. You’d seen Bradley in his uniform probably countless times, you never understood the appeal of a man in uniform. 

“Hey lieutenant,” you greeted him with a teasing lilt in your voice, looping your arms around his neck. Pressing your lips against his, Jake hummed into the kiss, his hands splayed against your back. 

“Hey, yourself… Agent?” 

“It’s actually Special Agent.”

“God, I am already sick of you,” Bradley sighed and you frowned at him. 

“Don’t be mean, B,” you teased, but let go of Jake to hug him nonetheless, kissing his cheek. “Let’s go in.”

You grabbed Jake’s hands, pulling him inside the bustling coffee shop, Bradley hot on your heels. Two naval aviators and an FBI agent enter a coffee shop… There had to be a joke in there somewhere. You and Jake slid into one side of a booth while Bradley sat across from you, picking up a menu. 

“Oh, they have those blended frappes you like, the chocolate chip ones look great,” you told Jake, flipping through the pages and Bradley snickered, looking at his wingman. 

“You drink frappes?”

“They’re the only sugary thing I allow myself,” Jake said defensively, his ears turning red. “I like ‘em, okay?”

“Leave him alone, B,” you scolded Bradley lightly, though you were grinning too. You quickly ordered when the waitress came up to your table, before you settled back into the cushions of the seat. 

“I can’t believe that you’re her best friend,” Jake then sighed, throwing an arm around your shoulder and Bradley pulled a face. 

“Well, I can’t believe that she talked about your sex life with me.”

“Yeah, what’s with that?” Jake asked, glancing at you. “The two of you share everything about your life with each other?”

“Basically, yeah,” you shrugged. 

“Oh good, that is totally not going to bite me in the ass in the future.”

“For the record,” Bradley started, lifting his index finger threateningly. “I do not want to hear about any of your sex-capades in the future. I already feel like bleaching out my ears.”

“Oh please, I literally saw your bare ass when you decided to fuck that one guy on our couch. Even though we agreed on communal spaces being off limits for hookups. Can’t believe you spit on our rules like that, especially with that son of a bitch.” 

The waitress tutted, giving you a dirty look when she placed your drinks on the table, and you only rolled your eyes at her, reaching for your coffee. Jake hid his snort in his frappe, spooning the whipped cream into his mouth. Bradley smiled sheepishly at the waitress, his cheeks reddening, waiting until she was out of earshot until he turned back to you.

“I don’t even know how you found out that I got back together with Lucas. I didn’t tell anyone and yet, there you were, ready to cock-block me as soon as we got naked.”

“Guess I am just that good, huh?”

“Yeah you are,” Jake smirked and you laughed as you glanced at him, leaning further into his side.

Bradley rolled his eyes, leaning his head back against the seat, staring at the ceiling. His hands dropped into his lap, as if into a prayer. “God, how did I never see how similar the two of you are and what did I do to deserve this?”

author's note: whoop whoop!! hope you guys liked it! REBLOG! SHARE! COMMENT! I LOVE YOU!

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tagging moots: @gretagerwigsmuse // @sunderlust // @stilinskiderek // @veraocruel // @seresinhangmanjake // @greenorangevioletgrass

[seeingivy]

elevated heart rates 

levi ackerman x f!reader

levi’s a mind reader and you’re a love expert 

content: grad student levi, brain researchers, nile being a weirdo freak (sorry yall), mentions of drinking, levi is shirtless at one point, reader has claustrophobia 

an: started my big girl brain research fellowship today. hence - brain jargon and GRAD STUDENT LEVI

- 

The room is small - the nineteen of you cramming into the small space of the conference room. You’re located directly at the front, sitting next to your advisor, Dot Pyxis. A leading expert in the field, one of the first neuroscientists you had met at a conference when you were a freshman in college. 

You saw it - the way his eyes lighted up, the way he was stumbling over his words because he was so excited to explain what he did everyday that you wanted that. To be that excited about something. And here you were, sitting next to him about to make it happen. 

You moved to Marley two months ago for this very moment. Your first day at the Brain Consortium - one of the best neuroscience research labs in the country, led by Pyxis himself. He was going to co-advise your thesis, guide you into becoming an expert in the field. Unlike any other, this lab was barely limited to one field, instead equipped with researchers from many different departments, the projects, the papers entirely interdisciplinary. 

There was no other place like it. You can feel your hands shaking as you hand over your hard drive, your presentation loaded on to it. Pyxis had explained it all - there were weekly lab meetings where everyone came together, presenting their research. Everyone gave feedback, asked questions to help further expand and build on the projects. 

And it was your turn. On your very first day, you were expected to explain. What you were going to research, what you were going to contribute, what you were excited about. 

It’s fucking nerve wracking. Pyxis stands up, giving you one last shoulder squeeze, before introducing everyone in the lab to you. He points everyone out - the other assistant professors, post-doctoral researchers, and the other PhD students. 

“Hange Zoe, Erwin Smith, Levi Ackerman, Petra Ral, and Nile Dok. The other PhD students. I want the five of you to give her a tour of the lab after.” 

They all nod, a few of them giving you encouraging smiles as you start. Pyxis turns to you, taking your seat at the table as you take the pointer in your hands, starting your presentation. 

“Right. Um, I’m F/N L/N. It’s nice to meet you all. I, um, completed my undergraduate studies at Shiganshina University. I got a b-bachelors in applied neuroscience and computational biology. I’ll be presenting my thesis project pr-proposal.” 

You hate this shit. You’re stuttering over your words and they’re all staring back, completely uninterested in your work. The PhD students in front of you aren’t even taking you seriously - the girl with glasses nearly stumbling off her chair from sliding around on it and the guy with dark black, grey steely eyes more interested in his cup of fucking tea than what you were talking about. 

“Right, so. My project aims to study interoceptive signals - like heartbeat, respiration cycles, blood pressure - and use them to predict and decode intentions. These small biomarkers, entirely unconscious to us, are consistent during decision making, unbeknownst to us. We can exploit that - to understand higher level cognition.” 

You’ve got their attention - you can tell. This is always the easy part, drawing them in - the woman from before stopped sliding on her chair, instead leaning forward with her eyes shining at your slides, the guy with the tea momentarily flickering his eyes up to the screen. 

“You can use it to predict how people act, how they feel. Especially for something like heart rate, which is what I want to focus on, you can understand so many things - anxiety, stress, companionship, sexual attraction, romance.” 

You see one of the PhD students murmur under his breath, interrupting you in your stead. Nile, they said his name was. 

“So you want to be a…love expert?” 

The entire room laughs, giving you smiles as you continue on. You give him a smile, responding. 

“I guess you could say that.” 

You continue on - highlighting how the brain regulates these signals, what equipment you’ll be using to record all of it. 

They clap when you’re done. Success. 

 - 

You feel fully settled into the lab, a few months later. You’ve decorated your tiny cubicle, directly in the middle with the other PhD students, with a few knick knacks - a picture of you and your best friend, a tiny little green figurine your parents gifted you, and a rack for your headphones. 

You’re located in the section with the other PhD students, who are…interesting. 

On the first day, they lead you to take the cubicle directly next to Hange, which you realized was a bad idea. Because they set you up. Hange’s a biochemist - doing research on the brain tissue at the molecular level, trying to understand how glioblastomas progress. Meaning - they’re always playing with chemicals at their desk, sometimes too lazy to walk over to the lab, which leads to some interesting smells and…smokes in your area. 

They never get in trouble, because Erwin and Petra always come to save the day. They’re both leading policy experts, studying volition and decision making in hopes to use in applications to the law and judicial systems. Figuring out why criminals commit crimes, using it for to serve justice. They cover up the evidence, distract Pyxis and Shadis, and talk their way out of it on Hange’s behalf. 

And that leaves Nile, who isn’t particularly your favorite. He’s a bit hard to get along with, not exactly personable per say. He’s researching microdosing and addiction - trying to figure out how we can manipulate medicines or drugs into being more or less addictive. 

You almost forgot about him. Levi, who's currently leading you to the MRI room on the other side of the building. Definitely the most intriguing of all of your colleagues - using transcranial brain stimulation to decode intentions. In less jargony terms, he read minds. 

He puts the decisions made on the tests into algorithms, correcting it until the machines can predict the decisions being made perfectly - that can be applied to anyone, not just singular participants. He’s coding human thought into machines. And doing it successfully. 

Levi’s quiet, perplexing, and intelligent. An enigma. He’s stood out to you, more than anyone else, for the simple reason that he’s the only one who doesn’t want to talk to you. Hange invites you out for drinks, Petra introduced you to her boyfriend, Erwin bought you a birthday present even though you didn’t tell anyone it was your birthday, and Nile asked you on a date (which you obviously declined). 

But Levi doesn’t care. You don’t either, but it does intrigue you at times. Why he’s so quiet, so closed off, what he’s always doing on his laptop, who he texts on his breaks. This was the first time you were alone with him - getting roped into participating in his newest study. 

“Newbie has to do it.” 

“Do what, Hange?” 

“Levi likes to experiment on all of our brains. You’ve never done it and he needs someone, so we’re volunteering you.” 

Hange and Erwin pull you up by the wrists, all but pushing you out of the conference room into Levi’s cubicle, where you almost trip and fall over him. He looks up - already deeply uninterested with the three of you standing in his space - as he removes his hands from his keyboard. 

“What, brats?” 

“I’m not participating. She is. Take her away!” 

He looks between the three of you, clearly unamused with how nonchalant Hange was being about the whole thing, as they knocked over Levi’s stack of books on the floom. They nearly shake his entire frame in their hands as they thanked him profusely for not making them participate. 

Erwin picks up the stack of books - somehow shuffling them all out of order as Levi gets even more frustrated - shooing the two of them out of his space. After successfully removing them, you and Levi walk towards the MRI room, all the way across the building, in silence. 

When you get there, he taps his hand on the platform, signaling for you to sit on it. You obediently follow, still not uttering an entire word. You watch him mill around the room - pressing switches, using the intercom to communicate with the operator, turning the lights off. 

“Wearing any metal?” 

“My necklace. I’ll take it off.” 

You reach up, awkwardly fumbling with the clasp as he watches you, his hands pressed to his sides as he waits. You’re not sure what it is - how sweaty your hands are, the way he’s looking at you, awkwardly waiting for you to finish - but you can’t get the clasp off, your hold shaking behind your hair. 

“I can help you.” 

You meekly nod, getting off the platform. Before you can, he reaches forward, his slender hands gathering your hair before placing them across the side to your shoulder. You feel his knuckles against your nape, quickly unlatching the necklace and fixing your hair back into place. 

“I’ll hold it for you.” 

You get back onto the platform, lying flat, as Levi uses the intercom to signal to Armin, one of the undergraduate students who worked in the MRI building. You can feel the platform sliding you into the tube and you suddenly feel it. 

Your claustrophobia. Every horrible thought you can imagine is running through your head as the machine starts whirring, your heart pounding in your chest. An earthquake - the machine would crush you. The magnets can be too fast, the machine malfunctioning while you’re stuck inside it. There could be a fire and you would be left here, everyone leaving you and locking you out of the room. 

“You okay?” 

“Y-yeah, Armin. Sorry. I get a bit claustrophobic, that’s all.” 

“Okay, take your time. Try to stay still so we can get better pictures.” 

You nod, trying to still your breaths as the machine whirrs on again. You can feel your nails digging into your palms, as you try to calm down, the panic still sitting in your chest. You feel a hand circle around your ankle, squeezing twice, as the machine keeps going. 

“You okay, Newbie?” 

“Yeah, Levi. I’m okay.” 

“I’m here. Get out if you’re uncomfortable. I’ll just drag Shitty Glasses by the scalp to do it instead of you.” 

You laugh, his hold still firm on your ankle. You try to focus on it - the fine print on the machine, your back against the platform, his fingers on your skin as the machine keeps going, your panic still writhing in your chest. The MRI finishes - Levi giving you one last squeeze before the platform slides out and you nearly jump out of the machine. 

You and Levi walk back to the main lab, in silence. When you get there, Levi gives Hange’s ponytail one big yank before settling back into his cubicle, giving you a soft smile before you return to yours. 

-   

It’s Levi’s turn to present for the lab meeting. The lab is going to Hizuru for Sigtuna, one of the largest neuroscience conferences to date. The PhD students are all presenting posters, except Levi who was invited to give a talk. 

You had been helping Levi as of late - working with him to identify the sulcuses and the lobes on all of Levi’s MRIs. He had no experience in magnetic resonance imaging whatsoever - something you had spent years learning during undergrad. So the two of you had worked out a system - you helped him with identifying the images and helped you troubleshoot your code for your tasks whenever you needed it (which was often). 

You spent a lot of time together - even if it wasn’t direct. You’d sit in silence in the main conference room, working for hours. He’d bring you a cup of coffee and you would pick up dinner, talking through ideas as you finished off your projects. 

You had helped him write the grant for the talk instead of the poster, helping him with all the physiological portions. He taught you how to do all the analysis for yours - the two of you often the one’s leaving the lab latest, Levi walking you to your car in the dark before walking off to his own. 

You were friends. Project partners. 

He gives you one last look before starting the presentation and you shoot him a thumbs up under the table, which he returns with a smile. He’s explaining - using your brain and Hange’s as the sample templates to explain what he was doing - what parts of the brain he has to use for his machine learning. 

“This is Newbie’s and this is Hange’s brain. In theory, each part of the brain is slightly bigger, depending on what parts of your brain you exercise more. For example, Hange is involved in more motor-dexterity - running all their projects by hand. This part of the sulcus is more developed, bigger because of it, compared to Newbie.” 

Nile nudges you on the side, whispering something about how he can give you something to do with your hands if you needed it. You roll your eyes, awkwardly shuffling farther as you refocus on what Levi was saying. 

“This part of the brain is more developed for Newbie, the Brodmann areas - associated with critical thinking, higher level cognition, decision making. Good thing I didn’t use your brain, Dok. We wouldn’t even be able to catch it on the image if we used yours.” 

The entire room laughs - Nile sulking in his chair as Levi continues. You don’t miss the look he gives you afterwards, his eyes uncharacteristically soft when he meets yours, as he continues the presentation. 

When he finishes, Pyxis goes over the room assignments, mentioning that there were three rooms for all the PhD students - meaning a few of you would have to pair up. You turn your neck to look at Petra, who's already nodding and agreeing with Hange that they would room together. You deflate, watching Erwin and Levi pair up. Which leaves you next to Nile, who's all but too excited to be your partner. 

He slings his arm around your shoulder, saying that you guys can share the bed if it gets cold at night, which leaves you shooting dangerous looks at Hange. Levi catches on first, immediately dragging Erwin over to where the two of you were standing. 

“Dok. Erwin is going to room with you.” 

“Says who?” 

“Says me. Don’t argue with me today, I’m already sick of you.” 

Levi grabs you by the wrist, dragging you towards the other side of the room as he rambles on. 

“What a fucking idiot. First he interrupts me during my talk and then starts saying perverted shit like that. Someone’s going to smack him upside the head one day and I surely hope for my sake it’s me.” 

You wrap your arms around his neck, squeezing him twice before letting go. 

“Thank you for that - I was literally going to vomit if I had to room with him.” 

“Well, I told you before. I’m here if you’re uncomfortable.” 

You nod, the two of you walking into the conference room to make edits to your presentation. 

 - 

You and Levi come back to your hotel room after the conference, positively plastered. He’d all but given his talk perfectly and your poster won an award at the end - which meant you and Levi were celebrating well into the night. 

You had your arms slung around each other, your weight uneven, as you both slide back into the hotel room, falling onto the singular bed in the room. You and Levi were greeted with the unpleasant sight earlier in the day - you and Levi both insisting that you would be the ones to sleep on the couch. 

You’re both lying face up on the bed - your cheeks flushed, your chests heaving up and down, the only sound in the room being your shaky breaths. Your hands are still locked together, your brain fuzzy from the events of the night. 

You and Levi amble up after a few minutes, both attempting to change into your pajamas and go to bed. You ogle Levi as he takes his shirt off, watching from the side of the mirror. He catches you, walking closer to you. He still reeks of beer, still shaking on his feet. 

He leans over, pressing his forehead against yours as you hold onto his arms, grounding your fingers into his biceps. He’s still not wearing a shirt, his bare chest on display. You fight the urge to stare at him full on. 

“You’re smart, Y/N.” 

“You’re smart too, Levi.” 

“Did you pay attention during my talk?” 

“Y-yes. You code the information, like a puzzle, to figure out what people’s intentions are.” 

“Hm. You be me. I’ll give you the information and you figure it out, okay?” 

You nod, barely understanding what he was getting at as you lean into him. You can feel the buzz dying down, the tiredness setting into your bones. 

“I’m not a mind reader like you, Levi.” 

“You’ll get this one. You’re my smart girl.” 

He reaches down, securing his hands around your waist as he pulls you closer to him. Your hands and frame are pressed against his chest, his skin cold to the touch.

“You caught my eye on the first day, with your perfectly pressed hair and that stupid black skirt.” 

You can feel your breath catch in your throat, the sound not leaving your throat.

“You take the cubicle two feet down from mine and I can’t help but watch you - reorganize your desk, get up to get water, scribble things on the whiteboard.” 

You can feel his heartbeat get faster against your hear, his grip on your waist tightening. You’re suddenly too aware of what’s happening - Levi, PhD Levi, is shirtless, hugging you in a hotel room. The lights are dim, there’s only one bed, and he’s holding you. 

“I don’t work with other people at the lab, but when you ask, I do. I leave the lab way past the required time, willingly spending more time in a room with that idiot Nile in it just because you’re in it too.”

“Levi.” 

“I’m not done.”

“It drives me crazy, every time Nile talks to you, touches you, looks at you. I want to sock him in the face - because he’s not nearly good enough for you. Not that anyone could be, but for some idiot like that to think he stands a chance is next level infuriating.”

He releases his hands from your face, lifting his hands to cup your face. His touch his soft, his thumb caressing the burning skin on your cheeks as his eyes meet yours.

“I think about you all the time. When I wake up, when I go to sleep, when I eat my breakfast. When I’m not with you, I just want to be around you. And when I’m around you, I want to be with you.” 

He leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. His lips are pillowy soft, his breath tickling the edges of your forehead. 

“What does it mean? Figure out my intentions, smart girl.” 

You can feel your entire body burning, your head still spinning - from the alcohol, Levi’s touch, his words ringing in your ears. 

“You…like me.” 

“That’s a fact. Not an intention.” 

“You…want to kiss me?” 

He smiles, leaning forward to press his lips to yours. The kiss is warm, the taste of the beer still hanging on his lips. You can feel his hands moving, carding through your hair as you reach up to press your hand against his shoulders. He kisses you for a long time - your body burning at the entire sensation. He breaks apart, still smiling against your lips. 

“Smart girl.” 

“Do you…remember my research, Levi? From the first day?” 

“I’ve memorized every single thing you’ve ever said to me.” 

You can feel your cheeks flushing, Levi’s hands returning to squish the sides of your face. You grab one of his hands, opening up his fingers and placing it flat against your chest. You move his hand around, until you’re sure he can feel your heart - which is pounding in your chest. 

“Heart rate can give away a great deal. The biomarker can help you understand a lot of different emotions. Figure out which one I’m feeling, Levi.” 

He leans forward, pressing soft kisses all over your face as he starts asking. 

“Anxiety?” - a soft kiss, right on top of your head. 

“No.” 

“Stress?” - a light kiss, right on your closed eyelids. 

“No, Levi.” 

“Companionship.” - a sweet kiss, right on your lips. 

“Yes. But that’s not the one I was looking for.” 

You watch a smirk spread across his face as he leans down, spreading soft kisses all along your neck. He murmurs against your neck, a hint of teasing in his voice. 

“Sexual attraction?” 

“Levi. Quit being a tease.” 

“Shut up, brat.” 

“No. You missed one, Levi.” 

“What was it?” 

“Love. A heartbeat can give away a great deal - can even be used to indicate and understand romantic feelings.” 

He press his hand against your chest again, your heart still hammering. 

“It’s fast. What does that mean?” 

“That I love you.” 

You see a big smile spread across his face, reaching all the way up to his eyes. You see him now and you think it’s the best he’s ever looked - messy black hair, pink cheeks, squinted eyes. He reaches down, opening your fingers and placing them against his bare chest. You can feel his heart hammering in his chest. 

“Fast.” 

“Yeah. Means I love you too, smart girl.” 

- 

[soullessjack]

so one of my other problems with babyjack is that the fandom just seems to have this sort of collective cognitive dissonance about it, in almost any context or discussion. like this post as probably my only standing example (bc it’s the only one to have gotten traction), there are all these tags about how babyjack leads to bad dean criticism, or how it’s nice in aus but they want canon complex jack, and like I’m not entirely disagreeing with that, but it is so fucking frustrating that people are still ignoring the actual problem with it and either only focusing on the most surface level issues that personally affect them or their corner of the fandom, or making up some point of acceptability for it that frankly isn’t theirs to make.

it’s the autistic experience of our struggles never being seen or cared about until they become other people’s inconveniences, and our voices being used to say something else entirely. when the main takeaway of that post is how the fandom’s treatment of jack being in a way he’s explicitly shown to hate being treated directly mirrors autistic people’s struggle for autonomy in the real world, I really do not need you to make it about how it makes your golden website boy dean look like a big meanie pants, okay? that’s definitely a part of it, but it’s not at all what we are talking about, and it 100% should not be the only reason you care.

and especially when the other takeaway is how this is just a smaller scale issue that comes from autistic infantilization, the absolute last take I want to hear is that you find that infantilization acceptable as long it’s an AU or something else separated from canon. believe me, I’m beyond glad more people actually prefer canon complex jack—like, I don’t think you guys understand that that is legitimately a rarity to find here— but the thing about babyjack is that the concept itself is inherently ableist, and directly relies on his complexities (and the representation he means for us) being removed and erased so that he can even exist in the context of those AU’s. It feels very… ‘have your cake and eat it too’ to me.

I’m trying not to sound angry or accusatory, but I am also tired of having to force civility on a problem that’s pretty much just an open secret thar everyone collectively ignores and beats bushes around solely because they prioritize #domesticdestiel over all. I mean, do you guys even hear yourselves sometimes? Like half of it just boils down to “Autistic infantilization is always bad, except for this one context where it makes my ship look domestic and redeems my blorbo,” and it’s getting really fucking annoying to have to constantly explain something that is not only painfully easy to understand, but is understood and actively ignored, and still play nice so that somebody out there might listen.

So many people will say they like canon Jack and want more of him from the fandom, and I more than agree, but motherfucker you have a blog! You have the tools! Be the change you want to see! He doesn’t have to be your fav or your blog thesis blorbo, but if you want it, you are literally fully equipped to make it! Write some meta, draw some fanart, whatever. Better yet, you could even stop engaging with and perpetuating content that actively pushes down on what you want and, I must reiterate, is actively harmful and ableist. If you want domestic silliness go right ahead, but you don’t need to resort to ableism to do it.

I don’t think I’m asking too much or asking rudely, and frankly I don’t even think I owe niceties to anyone when it’s a problem that has been openly ignored for 6 years and holds plenty of bearing in the real world concerning my identity and community and shit we face constantly. Outside of our screens, we are constantly fighting for autonomy and recognition and representation, and even to be seen as people. Online spaces, especially fandom spaces, are a huge source of escapism and support that we wouldn’t get otherwise. So for the love of god, please stop bringing that fight here.

[zooophagous]

Strauss sat slightly curled in the passenger’s seat of the dirty pick up. He was very pointedly staring out the window, away from the driver, watching the reflective markers by the road fly past in a yellow blur like shooting stars. Sylvain was grinning, seemingly at nothing. She wasn’t apparently concerned with Strauss’ refusal to look at her. She was too busy. Too busy haphazardly steering with one hand while fucking with the radio with the other.

“Ugh, country music. I can’t stand this twangy shit. How about you? You got a preference?” She craned her head to look at his tee-shirt, which bore the band emblem of The Rolling Stones. 

“Classic rock fan? We can do that. You at least have good taste, Lu.”

“Where are we going?” He asked without turning his head. 

“Like I said, we’re gonna have a little fun. Seems like something you’re out of practice on.”

“I am concerned that your idea of fun will not mesh with mine.” 

“Oh come off it. I do have other interests beyond tormenting mortals you know.” She rolled her eyes. “You aren’t still MAD at me, are you?”

“You tried to kill a friend of mine and in saving him I managed to shatter my femur and be confined to bed rest.” Strauss replied flatly. “I loathe bed rest.”

“Come on. That was weeks ago!” Sylvain protested in a mock whiny voice. “You were barely on bed rest for two weeks, if that, I’m sure. I know you didn’t take long to heal. A drop in the bucket, for someone as long lived as you. Practically a minor inconvenience.”

“It is less minor for Mr. Samuel, who nearly lost his life.”

“Look, I had no idea he was as gung ho about dying as he was, ok?” She huffed. “Fine. You win. I’m sorry I almost killed Mr. Samuel by using my advanced powers of psychic suggestion to convince him to commit suicide. That’s as much of an apology as you’re going to get. Now will you try and look at me when I’m talking?”

Strauss inhaled deeply, and did as she asked, finally forcing himself to look at her. She felt so much larger than him, even though the opposite was true. She was nearly too short to reach the pedals of the obnoxiously large truck. Her claw rested casually on the steering wheel, the other tapped along in time to the music on the car door out the open window. 

He harbored a multitude of regrets. This was supposed to be an expedition in information gathering. Doing so would be nigh impossible if he couldn’t look at her, much less talk to her. 

“Forgive me. I am being rude. It is just… very new and strange for me, to be in the presence of another immortal like this. I am used to it being a bit more combative. It is not as if our previous meetings have been enjoyable.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I enjoyed them just fine. But! Apology accepted, Lu. We may as well start fresh and make nice. We have more in common than not, I’m sure.”

“Beyond both of us being dead, you mean?”

“Both of us being captives- excuse me, FORMER captives of the Van Helsings? Both of us being occult researchers?”

“How about both of us being wanted murderers?”

“Speak for yourself, Lu. You’re the one with the record. I’ve been keeping my claws clean.” 

“Is that because you’ve been good, or because you know how to avoid detection?”

“You’re so clever, Lu. Funny guy. I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

“Like me, do you?” He raised an eyebrow. “I heard quite the opposite. I was told you had a hit list of vampires to dispose of, and my name was on it.”

“Told you about that, did they? Color me impressed. They must like you, if they’re that honest with you. No hard feelings about it Lu. I can call you Lu, right? Anyway, believe it or not, I didn’t actually want to ‘dispose’ of you.”

“No?”

“Nope. You were my thesis project for graduation. Harmless little old German man. When they told me your number was up, I was actually sad about it. Sad to see you slip up, you know? That’s why I put you at the bottom of the hit list.” 

“How touching.”

“As far as I could tell, the victim in the killing that got you your murder record had it coming. But then, you did go on to kill again after that, didn’t you?”

“In self defense, yes. A Mr. Elliot Lane. Was he a colleague of yours?”

“At one point, yeah. He was a moron. Always felt like he had to prove himself. Be better than everyone else. He was a trophy hunter. It’s funny, I always knew he’d die at work. I just didn’t think I’d ever be buddy-buddy with the monster that took him down.”

“Both of those statements are false. I am not a monster, and we are not buddies.”

“Aww, don’t hurt my feelings now Lu. After all the effort I’m putting in to give you a night on the town?”

“You still have not told me where we are going.” 

“Well, I know enough about you to know you’re a biologist at heart. I also know enough about the Van Helsing Institute to know your mind is going to complete waste there. I said we’d have fun, and I meant it. Consider this a peace offering, yeah? You’ll like this place.”

“What is it?”

“We’re going to the zoo.”

“The zoo?” Strauss raised his eyebrows and turned to finally face her directly. “The zoological gardens where they keep wild animals?”

“That’s the one.”

“Why?”

“Two reasons. First, because I know you’ve never seen one and it’s pertinent to your interests. Second, because they have a petting zoo with goats, and I don’t want you to get peckish.”

She grinned evilly. Strauss grunted in reply. At least she wasn’t expecting him to join her in hunting humans just yet. “This facility is surely not open after midnight.”

“Doesn’t need to be. We can get in and out easy. Besides, it will be a nice quiet place to talk. That’s what you wanted, right? To talk? You still haven’t told me what about.”

“Yes. I am… building my courage to speak of it.” He swallowed hard. “It is a difficult topic to broach. I worry it may… trigger your temper.”

“Are you scared of me?”

He hesitated before answering. “Yes.”

“Good.”

Strauss returned his gaze to the roads. He rested his head on the window. The cool of the glass was comforting, even though the heavy rumble of the truck was off putting. The road slowly became the city. He had been here often enough to recognize parts of it now. There was the path that led to the bar, and further down, the road to Mr. Samuel’s house.

He winced inwardly at the thought. With any luck, she’d forget about wanting to hurt Sam. If she tried again he may have to break his promise to Artemis not to fight with her. She seemed content to sing along to “Paint it Black” on the radio until it faded into an obnoxious car dealership commercial that played several decibels louder than the music. 

Strauss frowned, and abruptly shut off the radio. 

“Not feelin’ the tunes, Lu?”

“If I have to listen to one more moment of commercials I will lose my composure. Are we close? I wish to get out of the car.”

Or at least, he wished not to be trapped in a small moving object mere feet away from her while she subtly mocked him.

“It’s right up this way. We’ll have to park and walk. If we climb the fence in the back corner here, there won’t be any alarms.”

“You talk as if you’ve done this before.”

“Of course. Many times.”

She parked the truck and hopped out of it eagerly. Strauss meekly trailed after her. This was already taking far too long. He’d allowed her to call the shots and get him to a secondary location. He was just along for the ride at this point. He absentmindedly stuck his claws into his pockets and felt the smart watch still there.

He gripped it momentarily. That watch was a lifeline. So long as Artemis was on the other side of it, he wasn’t completely alone with Sylvain. Not that Artemis could help very quickly. He almost missed Frau Harker. 

“Y’know Lu. Before I got into the vampire killing biz I wanted to be an exotic veterinarian? Graduated with a biology degree and everything.”

“You must like animals. I suppose we have that in common as well.”

“More than I like people.”

“How did you come to join the Institute?”

“Some of my exotic animal research led me to some interesting places. Namely, old records of vampirism in animals. One of my advisors had ties to the institute, so I wasn’t exactly discouraged from learning more from there.”

“And they convinced you that these unique new specimens you’d just discovered needed killing?”

He followed her in the dark down a tree lined path. He could smell hot compost and dung- no doubt the dumping grounds of the large animal waste. Sylvain was the one not looking at him, now. She scanned the fence line for an entry point.

“It’s something they teach you when you learn about wild animals, Lu. Large predators and humans have conflict. Large predators need careful management.”

She found her spot on the fence and made the climb. She looked not unlike a squirrel, or rodent, scaling the sheer face of tall wooden slats. 

“If people are in conflict with large predators, and someone doesn’t remove the problem predators, then the people feel unsafe, and they retaliate. They retaliate hard. If a problem wolf isn’t shot, a ranger might poison the entire pack. If a problem vampire isn’t dealt with, then every vampire loses their veil of secrecy, and all of them are in danger.”

“So your venture into the murder of our kind was done out of some desire to save us?” He tilted his head. “It was for our own good?”

“I’m not saying it doesn’t sound stupid in hindsight. You want the answer? You got it.” 

She disappeared over the fence. Strauss gripped the top of the fenceline and slowly pulled himself up. Chin ups were arduous, but he cleared the obstacle easily, and lowered slowly to the tall grass of the other side. 

“Is that it?”

“Is what it?” She led the way down the gravel path of the staff areas. 

“I suppose I was expecting a renowned slayer to have some deeply personal reasons for collecting such a body count. I thought perhaps some vampire had wronged you, planted a desire for revenge, I did not expect your interests in us to be so academic.”

“Not every bad person has the luxury of a good reason for being that way.” 

Strauss followed her slowly. His head was on a swivel, taking in the grounds. He could feel many eyes tracking him, and many excited heartbeats in his ears, but none of them human. No doubt the animal denizens of the facility were not used to seeing visitors at this hour. He worried one might sound the alarm, somehow, like a guard dog. No such alarm came.

“I suppose our paths aren’t terribly different. I too took an interest in vampires from the perspective of the biologist. I was more interested in medicine than zoology, however.”

“Interesting, ain’t it? I ended up joining the hunters, and you ended up joining the wolves. Interesting choice on your part too, Lu.”

“I did not go by choice.” He replied flatly. “I thought perhaps, given your research into my life, you might know that.”

“You had more of a choice than I did.” 

“You and I both walked willingly into the tiger’s den.”

“Wrong. I walked in to kill a tiger. You walked in because one promised you something and you believed it. Maybe you should think twice about questioning my background when you’re the one taking candy from strangers.”

Strauss shut up abruptly. Her anger was still dangerous, despite the attempts at familiarity. 

“Forgive me. I did not intend to upset you.”

“Relax, Lu. You didn’t make me mad. When I’m mad, you’ll know.” She turned to face him with aggressive eye contact. He felt himself falter even further behind her. “Besides, all that’s water under the bridge now. We ended up on the same team.”

“Same team, are we?”

“Sure. Vampires should stick together. We’re a rare breed. We won’t get a lot of people who understand us. Doesn’t make sense to fight.”

“Why then, in our previous meetings, were you so keen to intimidate me?”

“Large predators have a hierarchy, Lu.” She lingered slowly by the fence line as a pack of captive wolves approached the chain link with hungry curiosity. 

“I had to be the one calling the shots. I needed you to know in no uncertain terms who was in charge. I didn’t want it to even be a question. So, a little vulgar display of power here and there. I figured your curiosity would bring you out even if I was kind of a bitch.” She grinned.

“Why is it important for me to be brought out?”

“I already said I didn’t want to kill you.” She leaned over the guardrail to look at the gathering wolves more closely. “I still don’t. I didn’t really think that you deserved it. I also know that most vampire research subjects at the Van Helsing Institute are kept there in jars, not in dorms.” 

She crossed her arms with a sigh. “You’re doomed there, you know. They want to pretend to be your friend but you’re just an exotic pet, and soon enough you’d be another skull in a cabinet. I wanted better for you. I wanted to… I don’t know. Release you back into the wild.”

“The fact that I can tell you that I am happy and well cared for notwithstanding?”

“A psychological cage is still a cage.” 

The wolves dispersed along the fence line. The novelty of the visitors had worn off. Sylvain followed the pack with her eyes till they were hidden from sight. 

"It's a bit late to try and just put you back, unfortunately. Whatever worked for you before back home is gone now. If you're going to survive now you're going to have to adapt. And I know you're bad at adapting."

She started down the path again. Strauss wandered after her. "What makes you think I'm bad at adapting?"

"If you were any good at it you'd have done it on your own. You lived in a hole underground slowly starving to death. Don't take this the wrong way Lu. Most large predators aren't very good at adapting. Especially adapting to a bigger predator. They don't know how to cope with it. I get the feeling that it was all downhill for you once bloodletting started becoming less common for illnesses. Am I right?"

"I admit, yes. The advancement of modern medicine was beneficial to humanity, but the loss of that treatment did leave me very hungry."

"Damn shame isn't it. But you know, Lu. Even if donations run dry, you can still keep a clear conscience if you just stick to those who have it coming." She flashed her awful shark toothed grin at him, almost more like an animal baring its teeth than a person making a smile.

"Is that what you do, Frau Pietra?"

"Accusatory tone much? Besides, I know you've done it." She hand-waved him away as she strode down a path labeled "Asia." 

"Yes, I have. But if you remember, that one was practically forced on me. It wasn't my original idea."

"Sure, the dead child molester wasn't your idea." She shrugged. "But I know he wasn't the first time you cleaned up the streets a little in the name of a hot meal. Maybe it didn't make it to your file, but I have a hunch, Lu. You can tell me. I won't blab to Ursula over it."

"If you must know, I have lived through two world wars, and I admit that yes… perhaps I did take advantage of the fact that so many people simply disappear into the fog of war. A dead Nazi here or there was not terribly missed. Is this sort of thing what you do often? Do you hunt, Frau Pietra?"

"Shhh. Hey. Look." Sylvain stopped and pointed at a fence. There was a panel built into it made of glass, for the viewing pleasure of the public. Strauss approached the glass slowly.

On the other side of the fence stood an apex predator. It was long, longer in body than Strauss was tall, and it weighed more than three of him. Its fangs likewise envied his own. Strauss ran his fingers along the raised letters of the bronze plaque that gave the beast its name.

PANTHERA TIGRIS ALTAICA

The Amur tiger. Small yellowish dots of reflected light glinted in its eyes. It stood not but five feet beyond the glass, regarding its audience with cool indifference. Strauss made eye contact with the animal, and felt that for a moment he could actually hold that eye contact comfortably.

The tiger blinked slowly, and began to pad silently past the glass, treating the pair to the full spectacle of its size and striped coat.

"That is a tiger. A real one."

"Yeah. Pretty fella, isn't he? Hard to believe they get that big."

"I've never seen a real tiger before." 

"That one's not a real tiger. Not all the way. It has the fangs and the claws, sure. But it's not a hunter. It won't ever kill a deer or defend a territory. It will only ever eat and sleep and mate as its handlers allow it to."

"The sign says it is an endangered species. Perhaps places like this keep it safe."

"Safe is different from whole."

Sylvain walked off down the path again. Strauss lingered a moment to watch the tiger. It looked like a real enough tiger.

"I am sure it is quite real enough to humble anyone who tries to tangle with it."

"That's true. That's one thing I like about this place, you know? I don't even think a vampire is a sure winner against a tiger. Puts me in perspective. There's always a bigger fish."

"That is a cat, not a fish."

"Shut up." 

"How much longer do you wish to linger here?"

"So impatient. How about this. Let me go feed the ducks in the koi pond and then we'll leave. We can talk more there. Maybe I can give you some pointers."

"Pointers on what?"

"How to be a real tiger, Lu. I feel like that's what you're really curious about anyway. I'd be happy to give you a little lesson."

"Lesson?"

He asked, though the answer was obvious. 

"Of course. Before the sun rises, I'm going to need a snack. You're going to help me get it."

"I'll do no such thing."

"I wasn't asking."

She produced a quarter from her pocket, and fed it to a coin slot machine that spit out a small handful of crumbling brown pellets.

"Here. Feed the ducks."

She forced the feed into his hands. It left an unpleasant residue. He helplessly tossed the feed to the waiting waterfowl and watched it sink and be devoured. 

[raymondshields]

Reading your meta about Gregory and his actions in Inherited Turnabout makes me want to hear more of your thoughts on that. He's presented in AAI2 as a shining paragon of justice, and he's genuinely livid at Von Karma for resorting to torture and forgery to get the verdict he wants. And my own impression is that what made Gregory such a great lawyer was the simple fact that he gave a shit about his clients and their loved ones; he got genuinely teary-eyed listening to the story of how Jeff adopted Kate, and he fought like hell for an entire year because he refused to let their lives be ruined for the sake of Von Karma's ego. Even if he did resort to arguably dirty tactics, it came from a place of caring about others, while Manfred and Blaise only cared about themselves. If they went low, he'd kick them in the face.

(Actually, typing that reminded me of Phoenix's monologue at the end of BttT; "What makes us human is that we fight for others.")

Pretty much! The key part here that we have to remember is that literally none of this is legal IRL. MvK could not have interrogated Jeff like that, whatsoever. There are three ways, legally, that it could have ever happened:

the police interrogate him, because police do illegal shit all the time. Gregory would point out in court that confessions made under pressure like that are illegal, it would have been struck from the record, and then Gregory would've sued the shit out of the LAPD on a breach of human rights because you can't just torture people! How well what would've gone would depend on racism mostly, talk to an actual lawyer, but it's still super illegal.

Gregory would have had to be there, the interrogator would have been a third party agreed upon between him, MvK, and the judge, and there would have been a full transcript that Gregory would have been given as a matter of course. You can't keep shit from the other side, any evidence has to be in the hands of both defense and prosecutor before anything goes to court. Remember the Alex Jones case with his cellphone? The prosecution had to wait two weeks and get confirmation from the defense that it wasn't given to them accidentally, and that they could use it, because of confidentiality between lawyer and client.

Or, most realistically, they would have put Jeff on the witness stand in court, and the court reporter would have transcribed. This is how it would actually go. You can't just threaten the defendant as a prosecutor. You can if you're their defense attorney and tell them how to plead, but the prosecution can't do that.

So with that in mind, you have to look at how AA's legal system works - it's fucked, by the way, and is less satire of the Japanese legal system and more the product of a guy who doesn't know how law works, seriously, Shu Takumi admitted he wasn't trying to make satire and was just bending the rules for the game to make sense - and then look at the position Gregory's in.

I'm not saying he's flawed for this, because a defense attorney in the AA system who only ever does things by-the-book and lets their hands be tied is a defense attorney who lets the system fuck them over. Yes, Miles got a lot of his ability to undercut the law from MvK, but Gregory also undercut the law when he needed to, because as AAI2's entire thesis states, the law as it stands fails people. Simon would not have gone to jail for anything he did right up until he dropped a hot air balloon on some guy. Nothing he did was illegal.

Gregory is presented as a paragon of justice, and the thing is... he is. In this situation, under IS-7, where AA law states they do not need Gregory there to torture and interrogate his client nor do they apparently need to inform him that this happened, undercutting them and getting a copy of the transcript was in fact the moral move. Illegal? I think so, probably, it's hard to say given that it's presented as a dirty trick to us when doing anything else is wildly illegal in real life. The literal best option? Yes, of course.

Gregory gave a shit enough that when MvK set the bar at actual torture and human rights violation, he played dirty. You see it all the time, where honourable people lose majorly because they're not willing to play dirty. Look at the USA's idea of politics. The Democrats would get a lot farther if they were willing to gerrymander right back, but they insist on playing 'fairly' even when no one else is, so they lose quite a bit.

When your opponent isn't playing fair, being honourable makes you a dead man, not a winning man. Gregory understood that, and he went for the option that wasn't legal, but was ethical, and actually in the name of justice.

Gregory understood that yes, sometimes the ends do justify the means, so long as you never forget that the means do still matter regardless of the ends. He was fully prepared to get Badd fired over this, and when his attempts failed, he was going to appeal it. (How that works in AA is never expanded upon, and I'm not gonna theorize, because trying to make AA's legal system make sense gives me more of a headache than reading actual case law.)

Gregory and Phoenix are pretty different characters. A lot of people think that Phoenix is Gregory's true successor, and I can't agree, because Phoenix is a wildly different type of lawyer than Gregory was. Raymond's a lot more like Gregory was, from what I can tell, because Gregory is presented more as like "your average lawyer, who unfortunately got shot in a case involving the chocolate guy" and Phoenix is more "that fucker who keeps stumbling into 15-year unsolved mystery cases on his quest to fuck a boy". Gregory's more down-to-earth about it, although I admit it could very well be because we only got to see him handle One Fucking Case, where's his prequel game, Capcom?

So there's some more thoughts on that? I can elaborate more if you prompt me into a direction about him, this is more a general ramble and analysis. I have way more thoughts (I love him, no one loves him more than I do save for maybe my systemmate Edgeworth, three guesses why) but not super sure what you're hoping for here, so prompt me and I shall answer. :p

[bean5prouts]

🫂🍫🧬for Aggravain or Gaheris for the head cannon ask game if you want=)

I DO WANT!!!!!! i’ve been thinking about them so hard for thesis bahdjgkdfh

for agravaine:

🫂 A friendship headcanon agravaine is a nerd. a loser, even. (affectionate ofc) askdjg i think he wouldn't really have a whole lot of friends at the round table, his brothers are his closest friends and we love that for him. i think he would be close with lionel, they stand together like high school mean girls and gossip about people right in front of them. i also think he'd get along with hector, but also i think hector would get along with pretty much everybody lol

🍫 A headcanon about food i think that gareth should not be the only orkney brother who is good in the kitchen. agravaine can make a mean dish okay. he knows how to season his shit. in this essay i will

🪢 A headcanon about their family (i think) this is coming straight out of me just turning in my thesis animatic BUT!!! i think agravaine would have been like Super jealous of gaheris when they were kids. gaheris was gawain's favorite brother and gawain didn't do a good job of hiding that and agravaine Hated gaheris for it. and he'd try and get at him about it and make him feel bad. i'm just telling you the plot of my senior film now. i'm normal i'm so normal kdjgdhskd

for gaheris:

🫂 A friendship headcanon gaheris is similar to agravaine in my mind, i don't think he'd have a lot of people he considers actual friends at the round table and he'd be closer to his brothers. however i do think he likes to play pranks on people. i don't know why i think this about him but idk i think gaheris would be a practical jokester at times

🍫 A headcanon about food AS A GUY WITH ENTIRELY TOO MANY FOOD ALLERGIES. i think gaheris would have some allergies. but also they would be mild enough that he just genuinely wouldn't know. like one day he's like "yeah i don't really like walnuts, i don't like that tingly feeling they leave in your mouth" and the rest of the people he's talking to are like dude. that's not normal. that's called an allergy

🪢 A headcanon about their family in classic gaheris fashion i don't really have any headcanons for just him specifically LOL but i think that the brother he'd get along with most is gareth once he joins the round table! they're VERY opposite in the amount of attention they get and how they handle it, and i think they'd kinda be able to give each other some perspective and also hang out as brothers. we are not going to talk about gaheris's family problems right now i refuse asdkjgdh

i'm so sorry this got so long again AKJDSKG thank you for the asks!!!!!

headcanon ask game

[slipping-through-my-fingertips]

In My Head, I'm Yours

Chapter 6: Women's Hearts are Lethal Weapons

AO3

Goddamnit we look good together

Wasn’t that the truth? Tonight, Percy was wearing an orange camp shirt and black jeans. Maybe Annabeth would be able to restrain herself because these weren’t clinging too tightly to his thighs. But she could see the sweat on his brow.

Gods, Percy Jackson was going to kill her.

I’ll take what I can get from you

Annabeth ordered a drink. She found Thalia almost immediately but her best friend hadn’t spotted her yet. For just a moment, Annabeth wanted to watch Delphi alone.

Not seeing Percy for two weeks was supposed to make this easier. Sure, Annabeth had actually been busy with schoolwork but she could’ve made time to see him. She chose not to because frankly, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be just friends with him.

Usually when she felt like this, she cut herself off from the guy instantly. But she kept coming back to Percy. Her brain couldn’t let him go, why?

Anytime she had wanted to go see Percy, she went and saw Hazel instead. The bookstore was quickly becoming her own version of therapy.

“People are gonna start talking, Beth,” Hazel had teased. “We can’t keep meeting in the stacks.”

In the last two weeks, Annabeth estimates she’s made six trips to Pages a Plenty. Two days ago, Hazel hadn’t been standing at the checkout counter so Annabeth wandered down the aisles. Annabeth had found Hazel restocking the romance book section and felt like the universe was laughing at her.

“Better they talk about us then me and Percy,” Annabeth had said.

“Okay, girl, we need to sort this out. I cannot have you showing up at my place of work to have the same conversation with me for the next four months or until you get your shit together and admit you like him.”

“Can I corner you at the Columbia library instead?” Annabeth asked, half jokingly.

Hazel rolled her eyes. “Out with it, Beth. What’s bothering you today about Mr. Jackson?”

“I miss him.”

Hazel paused her restocking. Annabeth wouldn’t meet her gaze.

“Annabeth.”

“It’s true, how can I miss some guy I slept with a few times this much?”

“Because he’s not just some guy,” Hazel replied, “and the sooner you admit that to yourself the sooner you can take this load off your shoulders.”

Annabeth knew she was right.

They restocked the shelves together in silence. Annabeth read the back of a couple books, looking at those happily ever afters. Guess none of those women felt like Annabeth did about graduating.

She wanted to be the best architect Columbia ever saw. She wanted to be at the top of her class. She wanted to be working at a top firm within a year of graduation.

But there’s one thing she had in common with all these women, she wanted Percy. Just like they all wanted their respective love interests.

Gods, why hadn’t she met him two years in the future? When she was already at a firm, established, and ready for a relationship?

“I’ll see you at seven?” Annabeth had asked.

“At the table in the left corner of the library by the windows,” Hazel confirmed.

They ended up working at the library until it closed at midnight. Annabeth had her noise canceling headphones, a pencil case filled with freshly sharpened pencils, and hours of work ahead of her. On the other side of the table, Hazel had her laptop and its charger.

“History majors have it easy, huh?”

“I’m sorry, do you want to write a 35-page thesis paper and an annotated bibliography on Terror Trophies of World War I in America?”

Annabeth smiled at Hazel’s frazzled expression. “I just meant, you don’t have to carry a bunch of supplies.”

“Oh, yeah that’s true. Most of my sources are online journal articles…”

Annabeth was really grateful for Hazel’s friendship but it did make her feel guilty for not telling Thalia. They rarely kept things like this from each other. Annabeth suspects the only reason Thalia hadn’t figured it out yet is because Annabeth had been avoiding discussing all things Percy since her best friend returned from California.

They still talked about Percy. In the abstract sense. About Delphi’s gigs, which Annabeth was now a regular attendee, about their new songs, about Percy’s weird thing with blue food, about Jason’s weird roommate.

But Annabeth didn’t tell Thalia about the afternoons she slept in Percy’s bedroom, the things they did to each other on his couch, in his kitchen, against his front door. She didn’t tell her how she dreamed about his eyes, his mouth, his body pressing down on hers, or the way he smiled up at her from between her thighs. She didn’t mention that last time she saw Percy, she went to his apartment expecting sex and instead they made cookies together and then just talked for a few hours. She didn’t ask Thalia if she thought that was odd.

Annabeth sipped her drink and looked up at Percy again. He hadn’t seen her, she was hiding at the far end of the bar, in the shadows.

Piper was singing now.

The men start wars yet Troy hates Helen Women’s hearts are lethal weapons Did you hold mine and feel threatened? Hear my lyrics, taste my venom You are still my great obsession

She really did have a magnificent voice. Annabeth grabbed her drink and stepped out of the shadows to begin walking over to the table Thalia was sitting at.

Maybe in the next six weeks leading up to graduation, she’d be able to put her feelings for Percy into words and if she was really lucky he’d wait for her.

Maybe if she had some more non-sex hangouts with Percy, her brain could make a decision she didn’t trust her heart with.

… Every Wednesday, they gathered in Piper and Jason’s apartment for movie night. Annabeth fit in seamlessly. This was only her second annual movie night.

She was squeezed on the sofa between Thalia and Percy, Grover had taken up residence in the reclining chair, and the love seat held their group’s only couple. Leo had a date and was sorely missing out because tonight they were introducing Annabeth, who hadn’t seen a lot of movies growing up, to the wonder that is Disney’s Hercules. Percy just knew she was going to pick it apart for inaccuracies but he also knew she was going to fall in love with this film just as everyone did, she’d let the inaccuracies go just as everyone else did.

“I still can’t believe we never showed this to you,” Thalia said, “all those Disney movie nights over the years and we missed this classic!”

“It’s really a tragedy,” Grover replied, “to wait this long to see Hercules.”

“So the rules are, take a drink every time Annabeth makes a noise of disbelief,” Jason said.

Everyone held up their drinks in agreement while Annabeth huffed. Clearly, not happy to be the butt of their jokes.

“Does that count?” Grover teased.

“Actually, I think I’ll just leave you all to it, I have some work to do…” Annabeth said, pretending to stand up.

Percy pushed her back down. “Oh c'mon, live a little. Piper press play!”

As they sing along to the opening song, Percy thinks back to last week. Seeing Annabeth with Thalia by the bar; he really hadn’t expected her to show up. Especially when she hadn’t replied to his invitation.

After their set, Annabeth had apologized for not answering him.

“Seriously, I opened it and went into class and totally forgot.”

“It’s fine.” Percy wished his voice hadn’t cracked when he said it.

She was a busy woman. Percy tried to be busy too because every moment he wasn’t, he was obsessing over Annabeth. Which meant, in between classes and homework, he spent a lot of his time writing songs.

“Has Percy told you the band name story?” Jason had asked, clapping Percy’s shoulder.

Annabeth shook her head and had given Percy a look of confusion. “Why haven’t I heard this?”

“So we’re sitting around in this one’s dorm room,” Jason began, pointing at Percy, “I’ve just joined the band at this point.”

“After 3 months of auditions!” Piper chimed in, “I knew he’d be a perfect fit the minute he walked into the room.”

Percy cut her off, “Actually Piper’s exact words were ‘he’s hot.’”

Piper had shrugged, “I wasn’t lying.”

Annabeth laughed.

“Anyway,” Jason said, “we’re sitting in the dorm room, brainstorming names. Percy goes ‘we should just combine our names.’”

“And I said, like what? Perjaser?” Piper said.

“That would’ve been a sick name for a band,” Thalia said.

“Not as good as Percy’s next suggestion,” Jason replied.

He shook Percy’s shoulder, “tell ‘em!”

Percy mumbled the name.

“Sorry, what,” Piper said, cupping a hand on her ear for emphasis, “couldn’t hear you.”

“PP&J.”

The whole group started to laugh, Percy was pretty sure Jason was tearing up. How many drinks had he had? Because that story was seriously unfunny.

“Oh no,” Annabeth said, putting a reassuring hand on Percy’s arm. “Please tell me you were drunk when you suggested that.”

“Stone cold sober,” Piper assured.

“That’s real bad, man,” Thalia said, still smiling.

Surprisingly it was Annabeth’s outburst that pulled Percy back to the present.

“Oh c’mon!! Hercules is ROMAN, why are we in Greece?”

Percy chuckled.

“Drink!” Jason announced and everyone took a sip.

He was really loving this group of friends.

“But he’s not a god! He’s a Demi-god!” Annabeth said, “Hera hates him for existing!”

“Drink!”

Too soon, the movie ended. Annabeth was sufficiently riled, which had been their plan. Everyone else was fairly buzzed. Since she had spent most of the movie critiquing it, Annabeth had not touched her drink.

“But it’s still a classic right?” Piper asked, “tell us you enjoyed it a little bit?” She held her index finger and thumb close together.

“Yeah Annabeth, it’s a great movie, you have to admit that,” Grover added.

“Plus Hercules and Meg are such an iconic couple,” Jason said.

“Sooo…” Percy said, “what did you think?”

Annabeth paused, considering, “it’s inaccurate for sure, completely and utterly wrong about…well everything. And yet, I still found it to be enjoyable.”

“Enjoyable?” Piper repeated, “I’ll take it.”

After Thalia and Annabeth left, Grover hung around for another hour or so before heading out too. Percy stayed and helped his bandmates clean up. He was washing dishes while Piper dried when the call came.

Jason answered it. “Hey, Mr. D, what’s up?”

Unusual for their manager to be calling. Most days it seemed like Mr. D only wanted to be their manager when it was convenient for him.

“Okay, let me put you on speaker.”

If asked, Percy would swear he blacked out during this call. It had nothing to do with the alcohol he drank tonight.

“Yeah, sounds great, thanks Mr. D,” Piper said. “We’ll be in touch.”

“You better be! This is big for me, I mean us, I mean you! Ugh, just make a quick decision.”

And he hung up.

“He’s right,” Jason said, “this is big.”

Piper nodded. They all just stood in the kitchen wondering what to make of it.

An actual tour. People wanted to hear their music outside of New York? Apparently Mr. D discovered Delphi’s music was popping up all over the West.

“We’re almost done with school,” Percy said, “it’d be a cool way to kick off our summer.”

“I’ve always sorta pictured us touring in California,” Jason said. Probably because he had family out that way.

“So we’re doing this?” Piper asked.

“All in favor?”

They all raised a hand.

Delphi was going on tour.

[fiendishwinx]

*cough* six*cough* teen *cough*

(m-maybe...if I turn around...they won't see me...)

hey, do you wanna read my gameplan rn lol? my rewrite thesis statement, if you will? it's long:

[s1e1-3] are getting full rewrites (a second one lol), where I'm completely fixing the paragraphs, dialogue, and overall details (idk if this was true for other rewriters, but s1e3's first half is a struggle for me to get through? like the wizgiz/intro sections, before the fun party stuff)

[s1e4-7] is actually not bad, I just need to fix the dialogue and change some scenes, like showing why brandon's upset in 4 (engagement-related), and why riven calls musa "moose" in 7 (drunk riven attempting to read her name from across the room) & vamping up that whole rivusa scene in general asgfkfl.

[s1e8-15] gets fixed too bc LO AND BEHOLD, the holdup lies in these chapters!

-expanding the driven sections in 8, taking out the "hearing thoughts" thing they have because it raises the stakes too early (they still tele-communicate, though),

-the WHOLE SCENE in 9 where rivusa's talking and reduce it to a couple lines (make him less feely, too) which is sad but it's GOTTA go bc later, when he starts acting out it's not as jarring? and he'll explicitly look at musa and approach her first, then step over her.

-no glass, more punches, brandon & riven fuck each other's faces up! and most importantly, keep darcy's reaction to riven at the end vague, no speaking, just a long, very intimidating look before she locks herself in.

-10! 10!!! NO PROMISE, cut the promises, deadass! driven's just talking, and looking very hot while doing so

-calm brandon down, and make him sheepish about getting his ass kicked

-nobody saw the trix in the simulation room, just bloom fighting and glitching out by herself

-driven has a good time in 11, where they're eating, laughing, and stealing shit for fun, then BOOM, musa shakes things up, riven still talks to her at the play, but the whole reason for him coming later is to apologize

-their discussion in 12 needs to be VAGUE, I kept over-explaining shit, he was just there to apologize and leave, but musa reacting positively makes him stay longer, rekindling their friendship

-13, once again, over-explaining (brandon's worried about "sky's" engagement, not mad about it, and bloom notices he's worried and comforts him)

-darcy's annoyed, not pissed. riven gets forced to sleep on the floor though lol. the compromise happens, it's just not explicitly stated, and the rivusa friendship arc begins (with musa hiding her feelings for the moment)

-14 only gets some dialogue changes, so that brandon feels like he's been found out, and distances himself from bloom. darcy and musa might also get a scene, to show that the compromise is in effect (she avoids fighting her, begrudgingly)

-and then in 15, instead of riven's kicker being "holy shit that's a guy I know", it's "holy shit that's a specialist", bc he'll be the one hitting Ivan over the head, not icy. meaning he attacked the specialist, which is Bad™. he's panicking. darcy mind-wipes Ivan and tries to get riven to relax, but riven's already checked out, and that key scene of him standing with the bag, with darcy staring at him thinking he'll stay, and then him turning around and jogging towards the parking deck.

-that's the turning point for darcy, too. she's shocked, heartbroken, and realizes what the compromise has done. her abandonment issues, man, don't mess with those!

-also, riven's awake

all the changes boil down to: "chill out, [character]", show vs tell switches, and keeping things simple & vague for the plot's convenience. 16 makes 10000% more sense because of this, but I still have to finish it, obviously.

[ateezmakemeweep]

Hi, I just want to ask something. Have you guys ever been so confused about yourself and everything in your life? Because sometimes I felt like that. Like, you don't know what to do with your life. You're not happy with your major like I did. Wondering about your choices, whether it's a right or a wrong one. I found myself amazed by people who know about what they're going to do with their life. How do I suppose to figure this out? The thing is, what makes me keep going is ATEEZ. I'm happy when I see them smile and all giddy up. I have a lot of thoughts that everything will be fine before I enter the age of adulthood. People expect a lot from you, and it's overwhelming. I often tell myself, "it's okay, " "you don't have to, " or, "stand on your ground and do what makes you happy, " Then, rainstorms hit your face. You need to pay your tuition fees, responsibilities, and many more.

Sometimes, it's a bit burdensome to talk about this with anyone. People have their own concerns and worries. The thing is, I can't keep it to myself anymore. In real life, I don't really have any friends. I do have four. Some are busy with their job, and some have their own worries about their thesis. I can't be bothering them with this kind of thing. I do have significant other, but she said she's tired. I'm a shy person, and talking to a real person makes me anxious. I can't even look people in their eyes. It scares me. I felt lonely sometimes. I want to open up, but I can't. I'm afraid that once I open up, people will use that against me. It makes me look like someone who's weak, and I don't really like that. I don't want to show my vulnerable side. I hope someone can genuinely comfort me and help me out. I'm not really good at studying, but I'm trying my best. I tried my best until now. Someone who burnt out. Don't know what to do with their thesis. Afraid of a lot of things, especially humans. It's not that I'm not thankful. I'm just confused with my path.

Do people experience this ever since their twenties come? I'm sorry that I was rambling this on your blog. I don't know where to talk. Because I'm confused about a lot of things. And I have read your blog for so long. I've seen many people anonymously tell their story. I just want to know how you overcame this. Thank you for reading. I hope you guys all are blessed, happy, and healthy.

hii! i'm sorry 4 taking so long to answer this, i wanted to answer it right and was a little overwhelmed by it but ur 20s r literally the worst time of ur life and i will stand by this statement for the rest of my life KDKVKDSDK shit really does becoming SO overwhelming and u feel terrible sometimes so i totally hear u ab feeling all of this/burnt out! i can really only suggest taking mental health breaks (even if only for a day) & having a solid support system <3 definitely try and open up 2 ur loved ones bc they want to hear u and help you! doing things you enjoy or trying new hobbies can also be super helpful hence how i started writing fanfic in the first place😭 everything ur feeling is completely normal tho and this literally doesn't help at all rn but i swear u will eventually figure it out💛 u seem to be super self-aware which is also a good quality 2 have when trying 2 figure out all of this shit

[checkoutmybookshelf]

Damn Right the Perfect Queen Uses a Cane

Fairbanks is somehow simultaneously too small and too large a town. Apparently one of my very best friend's partner has been friend with Elva Birch since they were both teenagers, so that's a degree of Kevin Bacon I was super not expecting but shouldn't have been surprised by, because I KNOW how small a town Fairbanks is. None of which is strictly relevant to why we're talking about the second book in the Dragon Prince of Alaska series, but it is a fun little Fairbanks Fact. Which is even wilder because this book starts in Florida. So let's talk The Dragon Prince's Librarian.

This is, as is typical on this blog for sequels and mid-series books, a SPOILERIFIC REVIEW. Be warned.

Ok guys, I swear we aren't going to do all six books of this series here, and I know I am way overdue for the next Dresden Files book, but where I take just...every single possible issue with how the Dresden Files handles disability, this book handles it SO FREAKING WELL. Tania is realistically tired, realistically has good and bad days, realistically uses mobility aids, and realistically has that all-too-familiar feeling of "No, no, you don't even get to DREAM of being rescued from this situation because a) it will be too painful when it doesn't happen and b) you getting rescued doesn't fix the hideous inequities of the US healthcare system and frankly, that shit NEEDS fixing."

Additionally, I appreciate that Tania doesn't hate her cane. She recognizes that it lets her move and stand independently and it can up her quality of life, if only in small ways. What she hates is that the cane is UGLY. And that is entirely fair, because there is nothing worse than a boring, utilitarian mobility aid that stands out from you and your aesthetic rather than integrating with you. And Rian, absolute PRINCE that he is (pun fully intended), doesn't try to fix or cure Tania, he gets her a beautiful cane that integrates with her personality and aesthetic. That level of support literally made me cry. And then I cried MORE because while Rian couldn't fix the American healthcare system, what he COULD do was donate a ton of equally beautiful canes in Tania's name in such a way that the people who need them most can access them, the process for getting them is as simple and barrier-free as possible, and Rian took care of ALL of this so Tania did not have to expend spoons on it. The care and attention included in how thoughtful and well-executed this was was absolutely breathtaking. Literally, our reality is not this good, and I love that this book took such care and respect with how disability/chronic illness and mobility aids are handled. At no point did any of it feel patronizing, infantilizing, catastrophizing, or an attempt to "fix" something that was "broken" or "lesser." Just A+ no notes, and I don't say that often about representations of disability in books.

The other thing that I just felt in my bones about this book is how the end of Tania's academic career played out. She literally got gatekept and gaslighted because the Small Kingdoms erased every single trace of her master's thesis, her primary sources, and even her ADVISOR (who was paid to disappear, not killed). This very handily gets Tania kicked out of school, and as her health worsens, she also loses her job and health insurance, so by the time Rian shows up at her front door in Florida, Tania's life has literally fallen apart and it is 90% Rian's fault. Which makes the whole fated mates thing SUPER awkward, because she's rightfully pissed with him for torpedoing her degree and academic career, and also he then gaslit the hell out of her about that until he realized they were fated mates, came clean, apologized, and...proposed. It was awkward as hell, you guys.

And let me say, as someone who went to grad school, had someone gone from admitting they torpedoed my life and gaslit me about it to proposing marriage, they would have been super mega deadsies. Like, no questions asked, they just would have been annihilated by the sheer force of my rage.

But fated mates and romance novel, so Tania just mostly spends the whole book going "remember how you torpedoed my thesis?" in varying tones. Rian is literally never living that down, and he shouldn't, because frankly he was lucky to SURVIVE admitting that.

Overall though, I was so happy with the representation of disability and a healthy, positive relationship that includes a disabled person, as well as Tania and Rian as characters, I was willing to overlook insufficient consequences for fucking with a grad student's thesis. Because this book was a delight to read, and it is UNQUESTIONABLY my favorite book in the series.

[honking-up-a-storm]

6/29/23

Thursday, my usual slow day, but who knows, it could prove me wrong. The air is still sticky and hot, only the occasional breeze cuts though to give me some relief from the sensation of skin sticking to skin. I'm awaiting the rain to come again. I crave to hear the loud rolling rumbles of thunder and feel the heavy and hard downpour of rain like the storm from last night. I don't like being called miss. Not only does it feel improper since everyone who says it to me is older than me, but obviously I'm not a miss. Though tragically I still present as one to the public. I'll get it soon enough, then I won't have to feel like this anymore. Having regulars here feels odd, it's nice to know what to expect with people, but they're here because they're in pain. They shouldn't have to be here at least once a week. Old people shouldn't have to wait over an hour out here for transport. As much as I'm happy here I can't deny that underlying sadness of the place exists. Yesterday security told me someone tried to kill themselves, after I found out they were autistic my heart broke because I knew that no one around them was gonna do anything to make the situation better. Hell, the way security was talking about it pissed me the fuck off, each word running with an underlying laugh. They wanted him to run or flip out so they could deal with the situation violently. Thank God that didn't happen and they settled things without laying a hand on the guy, but I'm fucking furious about these power-tripping assholes. I mean christ this dude was trying to advertise the security job/being a cop as "badass" because you get to hurt people, how fucking nice /s. So fucking badass to just be constantly waiting for the moment to pounce. I like how I'm doing this to get an unfiltered continuous inner monologue but I'm not catching everything, like when I write there is a secondary flow of thought going in a completely different topic. It's very strange, oh look at that I'm close to the end of the book, yellow shirt, the clouds look so fluffy, shoes scuffing on the pavement, the AC unit is humming and crackling, automatic door closed, car comes up the hill, birds chirping, car turn, another car, a single strand of hair is bouncing in my face, the guy with the wheelchair on the back of the van is here, keys jingling, my arm is sore on the armrest, tan vest, more clouds, open door, here he comes, zipping down sidewalk, hear car, another red, blocked entrance, bed for assisting with wheelchairs, tink tink, I want this guy to move, I want to sit down, I want something to do, I need to do something other than just stand here, my hand cramps, why does my handwriting suck so much? Dark cloud, more breeze, rain please, rain on me, someone give me something to do, can't draw like this, this table sucks, use a bigger sketchbook for thesis, it doesn't have to be for thesis, darker sky, person, trunk slam, back from the phone, sea breeze, darker, where's the rain? I don't feel sticky anymore, why do my thoughts stop racing when I'm on my phone? Smells like summer, shuffle, $5 nice, thoughts slow with proper task, book, I wanna read my book, I wanna work on my OCs, Ilphlin, I need to bring her back I love her so much. Holy shit only 4 pages left in the book, I haven't even gotten the tutorial book in the mail yet lol, I should have switched to lined paper.

[scoobydoodean]

could I ask something? and I really don't mean to be rude, but you've said a couple of times now how much you like that 'blame it on the girls' dean amv and I was just wondering why? cause I've watched it a few times and I don't think I see what you see in it. trying to decipher the like, 'thesis' of the video I could only come up with "well dean is the one needlessly overcomplicating his own chances at happiness and nothing else is standing in his way. he should just realize how lucky he is to have so many great things in his life and stop blaming his dissatisfaction with life on other people" which is not something I'd agree with but maybe I'm not giving the editor enough credit? maybe I'm just reading into it too deeply? idk, but if you feel like it please do tell me why you enjoy it so much. sending love your way

No worries—I can see why the video might be taken that way. I don't think the person who made the AMV intends the message to be "Dean is just overcomplicating things" at all though. I think the actual message the creator is trying to convey is that Dean's capacity to build bonds with others and how people tend to kind of fall a little bit (or a lot) in love with him and be pulled into orbit around him is really fascinating and special, but that it's a double-edged sword for Dean—that he loves really deeply in return and that it ends up causing him a lot of pain (and also guilt) when he loses people. There's a few things they did to kind of alter the meaning of the original song.

In the original song, it opens with the singer talking about a conversation with the subject of the song at a bar. The guy at the bar says, "My life stinks" and the singer notices the guy is really attractive and looks wealthy and says "Dude, your perspective on life sucks". In this AMV, they replace that with Dean saying, "I'm past saving". So instead of being like "Hey, you're hot and rich so you should be happy???" (and obviously Dean isn't rich lol) I think what they're trying to say is that even though Dean isn't always the biggest fan of himself, a lot of people he crosses paths with are? He has a tendency to view himself as disposable, and he's had some run ins with suicidal ideation, and other characters (ex: Sam) don't... blame Dean for that (unless they're being particularly shitty) but they're like "Dude we love you so MUCH???" That's the common defense. I think that the love that a lot of people Dean crosses paths with throughout the show have for him and how quickly those bonds are sometimes developed between them and Dean is more of the point of the first section of the AMV (though I also just think the person who made the AMV was like "Lol great opportunity for bi!Dean thesis (ex: the siren).

During the segment of the song with just the piano, they show a lot of the people who have loved Dean getting killed. There's no implication like that about the subject in the original song. I think the AMV maker added this as a way of showing that "Hey—Dean does actually have a lot of bad shit going on that really hurts?" I think what they're actually going for here is that this love is a double-edged sword for Dean. He does form these bonds super easily through most of the show—a lot of people feel instantly connected to him—and that's great—but then those bonds are so often stripped away from him so painfully? He's cared about so many people who also cared about him, who then died, and he's often shown to feel the pain of that more than anyone else does. His negative view of himself is actually also connected to how many people he's loved and lost and how he blames himself for most of their deaths because he was made to feel guilty for things that weren't actually his fault/his responsibility since he was a child and developed an overactive sense of responsibility to others. In that same conversation where Dean says he's past saving, he also calls himself poison—because people who get close to him get hurt or worse.

They follow up what I mentioned in #2 with some pretty heavy scenes for Dean overlaying the words, "You'd think he's living at ease" (as if to say—he's NOT). They have 1) Dean crying right after Cas tells him it's his job to stop the apocalypse and he finds out he broke the first seal (a moment of serious guilt and pain for Dean), 2) Dean forgetting himself and everyone he loves in "Regarding Dean" (Dean DOESN'T want to forget the people he loves—it's what makes him HIM—but do you remember how unburdened he was in that episode?) and 3) Dean crying sitting on the ground in the dungeon after Cas died literally from telling Dean he loved him... which might be the most painful commentary on Dean's love as a double edged sword in the series. (Like. It's a beautiful scene imo, but also... there's this horrible cruelty to it as well?)

On the line, "Are you wishing you were ugly like me?" There's a clip of Demon Dean opening his eyes for the first time. Demon Dean hated everyone that the real Dean loves, and connected his lack of love for his family to freedom from the guilt that Dean always felt. Cas calls back to this at the end of the episode where they're curing Dean when he says, "I can see his point. Only humans can feel real joy, but also such profound pain."

Anyway, that was kind of rambly but I hope that helps.

[stirringtheunwatchedpot]

What’s Going On Over Here??

Howdy! If you’re reading this, chances are, you’re among an elite few (classmates, professors, or associates) with special clearance to this highly protected site (you got the link from the forum post/I sent it to you).

If not... stick along for the ride? I guess?? Whatever floats your boat, king, just don’t be a dick.

What is this blog?

I’m using this silly little blog to collect the stuff that inspires me as an artist-- and is helping me write my thesis: The Unwatched Pot. (It’s going to be so embarrassing in two weeks when I change the name to something completely different-- I just wanted you to know why I picked the url.)

By the end of the semester/by the time the thesis is done, it’s supposed to be a manifesto of what I stand for as an artist.

I think what I stand for is what feels good.

Art doesn’t always have to hurt you to be good.

Maybe it does, but maybe it can also tell you that things are going to be okay.

We’ll see where we stand by the end of this lil’ journey we’re all taking. This semester is already insane, so.

What’s the point, fellas?

Everyday, I wake up. And I think about this word that this one dead greek guy talked about this one time.

The word is “Telos.”

A (classics major) friend of mine gave me this functional definition.

“end, purpose or goal. There are telos that are subordinate to other telos, as all activities have their own, respective goals. These subordinate telos can become the means to achieve more fundamental telos.”

As my time in undergrad draws to a close, I’m inundated with two streams of thoughts.

All the shit I have to get done/want to do

What the hell was/is it all for?

By the end of the semester, I’d like to figure that one out a little.

I want to have found my Telos. (For art making at least.)

I have bits and pieces of it, it’d just be nice to be able to articulate it clearly.

I’m a big enjoyer of threads.

Each of these posts is probably going to tie back into one of the threads of my telos, whatever that is-- and when we’re done we’ll have a beautiful tapestry to look at together!

Thanks for coming along for the ride!