#martin headphones boyfriend real……

[archivistbot]

aheehee giggle

]

[JON MAKES A SLIGHT SOUND.] ARCHIVIST: (softer) Hello.

MARTIN: (overlapping) I’m sorry. Is that okay?

ARCHIVIST: That’s fine. That’s cool.

MARTIN: This is a record from the band "Actual Corpse in My Refrigerator."

ARCHIVIST: Oh, okay.

MARTIN: And the album is "Private Cult And (Songs From the Blood Cellar, Vol 1: Andsons Of, Your Baby’s Brain, The Eye Of Delirium, Atropo, Ecstacy Of Both Lies, Day to Day Glo, Fruit Thieving, Well Done Decomposition)"

ARCHIVIST: Ok.

[huggybearsunshine]

The Things We Left Behind Part 7

[Part 7] Second half of season 8 episode 10 Torn and Frayed.

A/N: TW for themes of self harm (angelic but still)

“I mean, come on,” Dean paced behind Kevin as the prophet attempted to ignore him, finally resorting to putting on his headphones to drown the man out, “How long’s it take to get a calf skull from Egypt?”

He looked at his watch before noticing that Kevin was no longer listening.

“Kevin?” he asked to no response, “Kevin.”

He snapped next to his ear just in case but still received no reaction.

“Your mom’s hot,” he waited, and upon feeling certain that he couldn’t be heard, he added, “Pretty sure I’m dating the Angel…”

He looked for a reaction, but still nothing, until his phone ringing practically made him jump out of his own skin. A glance at the screen had him rolling his eyes at the timing of his vampire friend.

Almost as bad as Sam’s.

“Hey, I thought I told you to go underground.”

“Hey,” Benny greeted him, “I am so far underground, I’m breathing through a straw, brother,” he chuckled uncomfortably, “Look, uh… what happened with your friend Martin back there- it… wasn’t supposed to go down that way.”

“I know, Benny,” Dean assured him, “Not your fault…”

“You did this old dog a real solid,” the vampire continued, “and uh- the way you stood up for me-”

“Well, shoe on the other foot,” Dean scuffed his feet on the floor as he paced around, “You would have done the same…”

“Yeah,” Benny’s voice broke a bit, a struggle to the sound, “I hate to ask you for much else, but I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’re anywhere near the Catskills?”

“Working a case on the other side of the country,” he frowned, “Why? What’s up?”

“Yeah, just hitting a little rough patch, I guess…” Benny’s weary voice rumbled through the receiver, “You know, doing this whole solo thing…”

“Benny, one day at a time, man,” Dean cut in.

“You know what,” Benny shook his head at himself, “Uh… cup of coffee sure would do me good…”

“Alright,” Dean cringed, knowing this wouldn’t go over well with anyone, “Soon as I’m done with this case, I’ll- uh…” he ran his hand through his hair exhaustedly, “I’ll be there, okay?”

“Yeah,” relief washed over the vampire like water and a slight smile tugged at his lip, “Alright, brother. Thank you.”

Dean hung up, pausing in place with his eyes on the phone as if it had betrayed him somehow.

“Sure your boyfriend is gonna like that?” Kevin asked without even looking up and Dean’s feet made a loud scrape as he whipped around.

“Wait, the headphones… you weren’t listening…” Dean stumbled verbally.

“That’s what I wanted you to think…” he turned, a slightly more sympathetic look on his face, “I’m pretty paranoid these days… Sorry.”

Dean inhaled a breath that he didn’t know he’d been refusing to take until it turned sharp in his lungs.

“If it makes it any better, I kinda always had a feeling about you two…” the prophet added.

“Really doesn’t, but it’s fine,” Dean shifted uncomfortably, “Where’s your mom anyway?”

Dean was desperate to talk about anything else at that point. A fact that seemed to amuse Kevin as a mischievous glint threatened within his eye. It was as if he wanted to tease Dean, but exhaustion inevitably won out like it often did these days against the personality he once had.

“Somewhere safe,” was his simple answer.

“You kicked your mom to the curb?” the hunter withdrew slightly in surprise.

“She was too distracting…” he tossed the headphones aside, “I couldn’t focus…”

“Yeah, but your mom’s your mom,” Dean scoffed, suddenly in a bad mood though he couldn’t place why.

“I can’t enjoy a world I need to save, Dean…” Kevin sobered, eyes meeting with the other’s, “I can enjoy it when this is all over with. For right now, there’s nothing more important than this.”

Dean’s eyes dropped when Kevin’s did, full of emotion and fixed on the floor.

“What if the world is never safe…” Dean finally spoke up again, “What if you’re waiting for a time that’ll never come… Could you do this,” he waved a hand vaguely around, “forever… Alone?”

“No,” Kevin admitted honestly, focus once again trained on the tablet in front of him, “You shouldn’t either…”

Dean’s mouth opened to speak, but the silence was instead filled with the sound of wings.

“I got what we need,” Cas’ voice pierced what remaining quiet there was in the room, forcefully pulling them from their moment.

“Bout time,” Dean’s gaze shifted toward him before taking in the form of his giant, little brother, “What’s he doing here?”

“Don’t worry, Dean,” Sam jumped in without missing a beat, “Once we save Alfie, I’m out.”

“Oh, once we save Alfie?” Dean’s frustration peaked, “Don’t hurt yourself, Sam… Cas and I can handle it.”

“Not according to Cas,” Sam crossed his arms defiantly.

Dean turned his eyes toward the Angel in question.

“I told you we didn’t need him,” he reiterated, an almost petulant sound to his voice that he had not meant to put into it, “Did he at least apologize to you?”

“We need everything, Dean,” Cas took in a steadying breath, “And an apology isn’t necessary.”

“Oh, the hell it isn’t-“

“I am…” Sam interrupted, focused now on Cas alone, “Sorry, Cas… I didn’t mean-”

“I know that, Sam,” Cas softened but only for a moment before squaring his shoulders again, “Now I need both of you, as you say, to stow your crap. Can you do that?”

The brother’s just stared stubbornly refusing to answer until the matter was dropped. With Sam alone offering what could’ve been a minute nod at most.

The mission though proved to be a mess from start to finish. They got through to Alfie well enough, but less predictable was the complete mental breakdown Cas experienced upon reaching the other Angel.

“What’s wrong?” Dean fell to his knees before the other man who was crouched on the floor in hysterics, but when Cas remained unresponsive, he stood once more, “Okay, time for plan B.”

“Plan B?” Sam asked before watching Dean fling himself into the iron door, “Ah.”

But sure enough, after a couple of minutes the men were in, and Cas was on his feet again as if nothing happened.

“Dean?” Cas looked for him in the frenzy once he had Samandriel freed from his restraints.

“Cas, go!” Dean called back and the two celestials instantly vanished.

“It’s okay, you’re safe now,” Cas propped the other Angel against baby’s passenger side door, “I’m taking you home.”

“No, you can’t take me back there, Castiel… I told Crowley… things… Things he shouldn’t have known,” Samandriel clung to Cas’ lapel as he pleaded, “He got to our coding, our secrets… Secrets I didn’t even know we had!”

“What secrets?” Cas’ brows dropped low.

“Heaven,” he replied pointedly, grip tightening even more around the Angel’s coat, “Naomi.”

A vision flashed before him, but it was fogged over in an instant.

“Naomi,” the name echoed in his mind.

“No… W-who’s Naomi?” he voiced aloud.

“Who is-“ Samandriel’s eyes nearly rolled out of his head, “Listen to me. Listen to me closely. I’ve been there! I know!”

Castiel’s vision began to go in and out as if on autofocus.

“They’re controlling us, Castiel!” Samandriel’s voice bellowed, trying desperately to reach him.

“What do you mean?” Cas looked pained as the confusion persisted.

“Castiel,” a woman’s voice screamed and he was suddenly in a white chair with her looming over him. Naomi. “Kill him!”

“What does he mean ‘They’re controlling us’?” he pressured.

“Castiel!” her voice cried back in frustration as if chastising a misbehaved dog.

“Who is controlling us? Why did I see your face?” he was practically begging her at this point, only a distraction as his hand slipped under the sleeve of the opposite side, “Why was I so afraid? What did you do to me?”

“This is a direct order!” she pulled him to his feet roughly, “Kill him!”

He felt himself being pushed back only to still be standing by the impala with Samandriel again, a blade falling into his hand and swinging forward before he could even react.

He sunk down with him, feeling the ground flatten under his knees while simultaneously looking up at Naomi from that same white chair.

“What did I just do?” his voice shook.

“You killed a traitor,” the woman in the white room corrected.

“Samandriel was… good,” his eyes watered, “And I was trying to atone…”

“Samandriel was broken,” she insisted, “He revealed the existence of something I would die to protect- any of us would die to protect.”

“I just murdered one of our own to protect a tablet?” Cas looked sick.

“You’re a hero, Castiel,” she moved closer, “You have done heaven a great service.”

“And that’s what I tell Sam and Dean?” he gathered, hand once again shoved up into the other side’s sleeve before he was pulled back by the sound of Dean’s voice.

“Cas! What the hell happened?”

“He was compromised,” he looked up, robotically repeating the words he was told to say, “He came at me. I killed him in self-defense.”

“Cas, you okay?” Dean looked horrified as blood dripped from the Angel’s eye.

“My vessel must have been damaged in the melee,” but the hunter could see something in his eyes screaming for him, “I have to go.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Dean shook his head before stepping forward.

He stared at the Angel, holding the gaze in a way they had perfected over years of pining stupidly after one another, and Cas was completely caught off guard as the cold of the Enochian-engraved cuffs hit his wrists.

“Dean,” he growled.

Dean felt a wetness on the end of the Angel’s sleeve before he could release his wrists, eyes rising worriedly toward the other’s awaiting gaze before he yanked the sleeve up to see it.

The seraph had carved the words ‘They’re controlling us’ into his arm.

“You’re staying with me this time,” Dean ground out through clenched teeth.

“With us,” Sam corrected.

“You sure,” Dean turned, “Cause whatever you decide… decide. Both feet in or both feet out. Anything in between is what gets you dead.”

His own words seemed to settle on him and he made a face that said he had called himself out a bit with that one.

“You and Cas get in the car… I got something I gotta do…” Dean pulled the phone out of his pocket and looked at it carefully.

Sam dropped a hand heavily onto Dean’s shoulder as he passed, and Dean vaguely heard the doors click shut behind him. One and then a few moments later, the other. And then the phone was rising to his ear before he even knew he’d dialed.

“Dean, I thank you mightily, bud,” the rasp of the vampire’s voice rang out, “I’m in a hard way here. How close are you?”

“I’m sorry, man. I, um…” Dean replied, eyes drawn as always to Cas’ as he watched him like a hawk from within the car, “I’m not gonna make it.”

“You mean now, or…”

“Listen, Benny, everything you’ve done for me… I will never forget, but, uh… This is it,” he finally broke the connection, finding the ground easier to take in than that uncompromising blue gaze.

“End of the line?” Benny guessed.

“End of the line,” the hunter confirmed.

“Yeah, well, I never liked these cellphones anyway,” he laughed to lighten the heaviness that had dropped onto both of them.

“You, uh… You stay good alright?” Dean couldn’t help but smile slightly.

“You too, Dean…” Benny shook his head, “and uh, thanks for the ride.”

“Yeah, man… adios.”

Always the adios.

——————————

@spuffy-destiel @destieliscanon5nov

[bananaofswifts]

Folklore: The Long Pond Studio Sessions” is straightforward and cozy. Taylor Swift and her two main collaborators and producers for her album “Folklore” — Aaron Dessner (from the National) and Jack Antonoff (a linchpin of Bleachers and fun., and a producer for Lorde, Lana Del Rey and others) — play through the album’s 17 songs at Dessner’s Long Pond Studio, a rural haven in Hudson, N.Y. Conversations between the collaborators introduce each song; birds and insects chirp.

“Folklore” was released in July, and the documentary, out now on the Disney+ streaming service, was shot in September. Swift, Dessner and Antonoff perform as a trio on guitars, piano and a handful of other instruments, stripping away some of the fussy intricacies of the album’s studio versions in a way that heightens the songs’ sense of pristine contemplation. Often the music is just a rippling piano pattern and a modestly strummed guitar or two, each note precious. “The Long Pond Sessions” is a small-scale, casual-looking production; Swift is credited as the makeup artist. Mostly it’s just three musicians in a room, wearing everyday clothes and headphones, analyzing and performing songs they’re proud of.

The big twist is that the September sessions were the first time that Swift, Antonoff and Dessner were together in the same place. During the pandemic, they had each recorded in their own studios, collaborating long-distance. In a nighttime conversation on a deck at the studio, Swift says that playing the songs in real time will “make me realize it’s a real album. Seems like a big mirage.” Musicians deeply miss performing live; with any other album, she would have gone to tour arenas.

Swift got her start bringing teen-pop scenarios — breakups, crushes, insecurities — to country music. Then she moved decisively into the pop mainstream, trading banjo for synthesizers. “The Long Pond Studio Sessions” is not the first time she has made clear that she’s the songwriter and not just the singer. The deluxe edition of her 2014 blockbuster “1989,” which was made with the Swedish pop mastermind Max Martin, included her own demos of some songs, demonstrating her authorship. And last year, alongside her album “Lover,” she released an extensive archive of journal and diary entries, including song drafts.

“Folklore” backs off slightly from the bold-outline, clear-cut arena-pop songwriting of albums like “1989” and “Red.” In quarantine, Swift chose a more introspective approach — but also, as she points out when talking about “Illicit Affairs,” a choice to be less autobiographical than her past songwriting. For many of the songs, Dessner — one of the main composers behind the National’s somber, reflective rock — sent instrumental tracks to Swift; then Swift came up with words and melodies. In the documentary, Swift says she was nervous about telling her label, “I know there’s not like a big single, and I’m not doing like a big pop thing.”

But her songwriting remains self-conscious and meticulous. Swift and her collaborators detail the ways that songs on the album overlap with and echo one another; three of them — “Cardigan,” “August” and “Betty” — tell the same story from different characters’ perspectives. She explains “Mirrorball” to Antonoff as a cascade of interlocking images: “We have mirrorballs in the middle of a dance floor because they reflect light. They are broken a million times and that’s what makes them so shiny. We have people like that in society too — they hang there and every time they break, it entertains us. And when you shine a light on them, it’s this glittering fantastic thing.”

Swift has written and sung — particularly on her 2017 album, “Reputation” — about the pressures of celebrity. On “Folklore,” she sings about them more subtly in “Mirrorball,” “Hoax” and “Peace,” coming to terms with her place in the information economy. But she also knows how to feed tabloids. A big reveal from “The Long Pond Studio Sessions” is that the pseudonymous, no-profile songwriting collaborator on two key songs, “Exile” and “Betty,” is her boyfriend, Joe Alwyn. She got her headlines.

For “Exile” — a cathartic post-breakup ballad that’s a duet with Justin Vernon of Bon Iver — Vernon appears remotely, from his own recording setup in Wisconsin. His face is almost entirely concealed behind a bandanna and a baseball cap, but the emotion in his voice rises to meet hers as the song spills over in recriminations.

While “The Long Pond Studio Sessions” is a positioning statement like her recent Netflix documentary, “Miss Americana” — which revealed her longtime struggle to declare herself as a left-leaning thinker amid the conservative assumptions of country music — it’s also, more important, a musical experience. Songwriting — mysterious, telegraphic, crafty and personal as well as potentially lucrative — is Taylor Swift’s mission. “Folklore,” made under singular circumstances and challenging old reflexes, is likely to be just one step in her trajectory.

[techni-kolor]

To Dig

Tim is angry, and Jon takes the hit. Also cross-posted to AO3 !!!

---

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Oi, Earth to Jon."

"Jon, I swear, if you don't answer me."

"Oh, for fuck's sake."

Tim growled under his breath and snapped his fingers sharply in front of Jon's face, a flicker of satifisation rising up as the man finally startled, his eyes focusing back on the dingy office instead of whatever the hell he was Seeing.

"Are you with us now?" He asked sarcastically.

Jon blinked rapidly. "I, erm, yes. Of course."

Tim scowl deepened. "What was the last thing I said then, Jon?"

"It was, well, the, erm-" Jon faltered, his eyes darting back and forth rapidly.

"You have no clue." Tim growled. "Too caught up in stalking us at our flats to talk to us here, huh?"

Jon stuttered a few more unintelligible syllables, the hundred yard stare returning as his eyes glossed over.

"Hey, listen to me." Tim snapped, shoving both hands against Jon's narrow chest. "It isn't enough to pry into some poor soul's mind on your own time now? Gotta do it when I'm fucking talking to you?"

Jon staggered backwards, just barely catching himself on the edge of the desk. His dark eyes were unnaturally wide, the pupils blown to a point far past human limits, and still flicking suspiciously around the room.

The sight was enraging.

"Answer me." Tim snarled.

"I can't- I don't-, I don't feel good." Jon gasped, his hand not gripping the table coming up to clutch at his chest.

"That's not an answer, Jon." Tim growled, his palms connecting again with Jon's bony chest. "I don't need the bullshit. I want a real answer"

"Tim." Jon wheezed, his chest heaving under the thick material of his sweater, and the pleading in his eyes only magnified by the glassy sheen to them.

Tim laughed, deep and dark.

"You know I don't even know why I'm wasting my time coming back here. You and your little mind games can figure this one out on your own, like you always do. You've been digging this hole for years; it's time you start having to dig yourself out. Without dragging the rest of us down in the dirt with you."

Jon didn't respond, gasping wheezily for breath as his whole body shook.

Tim took a rough step back.

"Figures." He muttered, disgustedly looking Jon up and down. "You can't even listen for one damn minute anymore. Maybe if you had she'd still be alive."

He turned sharply and stalked to the door.

"Leave my fucking flat alone." Tim snarled, slamming the door behind him.

"Go pick up the pieces of your boyfriend, Martin." He snapped as he stalked past the assistants' desks. "Bastard's not gonna make it for much longer."

Tim ignored Martin's frantic questions, plugging in his headphones and staring resolutely at his phone screen.

Even as he heard Martin's panicked cry and the sound of him rushing for the first aid kit, he didn't look up.

Jon had gotten himself into this mess, and he was going to have to damn well get himself out.

[marcobedseki]

below the cut is a completely self indulgent football fic written champagne drunk in the middle of the night. you probably don’t want to read it, but if you’re grace, you need to read it <3

title: confusion

aka in which aubameyang and lacazette have a real hard time understanding how a certain relationship between their teammates works

kieran steps into the dressing room after he’s finally done talking with mikel on the side of the pitch. mikel’s wanted to talk a lot with him recently, and kieran gets it, mikel’s concerned about him now that he’s back training with everyone. mikel wants to make sure he’s doing it safely and that he won’t work himself too hard and risk getting injured again, and kieran appreciates it, even if it’s sometimes annoying to go through the same stuff after pretty much every training session.

 

when kieran looks around in the dressing room, he can immediately see that most of the guys have already left. the only remaining ones are hector, auba and willian. willian is ready to leave though, and he only nods at kieran before he throws his bag over his shoulder and leaves with his phone in hand. auba’s also looking ready to leave, but he’s still sitting down, completely enthralled with his phone. he’s got his headphones on and he’s frantically texting someone, and kieran’s pretty sure auba hasn’t even noticed his arrival. hector on the other hand isn’t on his phone, instead he looks like he’s sleeping. he’s lying down on the dressing room bench, using his bag as a rather uncomfortable looking pillow. he doesn’t open his eyes even when kieran gets closer, and for a second kieran thinks that maybe this idiot really has decided to take a nap in their dressing room against better judgement. but then kieran pokes at his knee ever so lightly, and hector’s face immediately breaks into a smile and he peers up at kieran. 

 

”’ey, get up from t’ere, old man”, kieran tells hector, smile playing on his lips as well. 

 

”bro, you’re like 2 years younger than me, stop calling me an old man”, hector pouts. ”i don’t wanna get up, i’m sleepy, you know. sit somewhere else since you took so long to get here.”

 

kieran raises his eyebrows. “it’s not like you had to wait here for me to finish my daily ‘we need to talk’ -session with mikel. right now i’m starting to feel like that even auba was more eager about me getting ‘ere, even though he didn’t even notice my whole existence…”

 

hector’s pout deepens. he’s quickly getting up from his horizontal position, because even though he knows that kieran’s probably just messing around with him, he’s not willing to take a risk that kieran is actually about to start ignoring him and being pissy for the entire day. he mumbles a sorry to his boyfriend, who’s looking down at him with his eyebrows still raised, a slightly amused look on his face.

 

kieran’s mentally rolling his eyebrows at hector. his boyfriend is being an idiot, but then again, it’s nothing kieran should be surprised about. hector can be a handful, and kieran knows he’s easily irritated, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. he loves hector unconditionally.

 

kieran turns around and he’s about to sit on the bench now that hector’s finally sat up himself, but his attempt is cut short by strong arms coming around his waist, pulling him down to sit on a warm lap instead of the bench. kieran lets out a surprised sound, and he’s turning around faster than lightning to scowl at hector. is it already too late to take back that he loves heccy unconditionally?

 

kieran looks at hector and the amusement on his face from a few moments back is gone. but before he has time to replace it with the scowl he was planning on casting at hector, his heart’s being taken over by a warmth that can’t be characterized as anything else than adoration. and the unconditional love that kieran suddenly does not want to take back. hector’s smiling up at him with his eyes almost closed, his teeth showing and he’s hugging kieran’s twisted torso with a steady grasp. kieran’s staring at him with his mouth open, and hector knows an opportunity when he sees one, so he leans up to kiss kieran softly. it’s sweet but quick, and they both pull away after a moment.

 

“hi”, hector says to him.

 

“hey”, replies kieran.

 

they look each other in the eyes for a while before they start laughing. neither of them remembers that auba’s still in the dressing room with them. auba’s gaze is no longer locked onto his phone, but instead he is unabashedly staring at his two teammates on the other side of the room. he’s just witnessed hector pulling kieran to sit on his lap, watched them kiss and stare into each other’s eyes like there exists nothing else in the whole wide world. and now he’s figuring it’s best to leave, before he’ll get caught staring. he slips out of the dressing room as quickly and silently as he can, and when he’s out, he immediately takes out his phone again. he needs to tell alex about this.

 

---

 

laca is looking at his phone in confusion.

 

“just saw something absolutely shocking in the dressing room!!!!!!!! :000 need 2 process this for a while, i’ll tell u what it is 2morrow @ practice!!!!”, reads the message from aubameyang. laca’s not sure what the hell his friend has been smoking, but he’s definitely more than a little concerned over this kind of behaviour. he tries asking what the hell could possibly be so “absolutely shocking” that it would cause such a reaction from auba, but the only thing he gets in return is more exclamation points and reassuring that he’ll be given more information on the matter come tomorrow. he’s half sure that auba’s just fucking with him, that this absolutely shocking thing in the dressing room will literally be auba’s own used and sweaty socks on lying on the floor, but when he goes to bed at night, he can’t help but feel a little anxious.

 

---

 

despite his nightly anxiety, laca sleeps surprisingly well. he’s glad about it, since he would never admit that he’d actually lost sleep over his friend sending crackhead level messages to him during the previous day. after he gets out of bed, he makes a cup of coffee and eats a bowl of cereal - yes, he knows, it’s not a fitting breakfast for a professional footballer, but he’s allowed to be a little lazy now and then – gets dressed and gathers up his stuff before driving to their stadium. he’s running early, for once, but he’s sure he won’t be the first one warming up on the pitch anyway.

 

laca’s walking calmly towards their dressing room, and he can hear kieran and martin’s voices echoing in the hallway. it sounds like they’re laughing over something that laca couldn’t understand even if he tried. laca doesn’t think of himself as being too old, he’s less than 10 years older than tierney and ødegaard, but damn… he’s sure he wasn’t as loud as those two when he was their age. and he sure as hell wasn’t looking at memes or tiktoks, or whatever the hell the kids were into these days.

 

when laca gets closer to the dressing room, the sounds of his younger teammates have suspiciously quieted down. he slows down his pace and sneaks up to the dressing room’s door. he peeks in, and boy, there’s nothing that could have prepared him for what he sees inside the room. suddenly auba’s cryptic messages make sense, and he feels his soul ascend to an entirely different plane of existence. kieran’s holding martin against the wall in a way that laca’s sure he’s only seen in hollywood movies, and the boys are kissing so that laca feels a need to check his phone, just to make sure that the time’s still 9am instead of 9pm. he steps away from the doorframe and takes a deep breath. he looks back to the direction from which he just came, and to his luck he sees david in the distance. he shouts a good morning to his other teammate way louder than is necessary, earns a happy smile and a good morning to you too in return, and he hopes it’s enough to get the younger guys step away from each other in the dressing room.

 

---

 

laca sees auba 15 minutes later on the pitch. he all but runs to his friend, not bothering to greet him, but instead gesturing him to start telling about his mysterious messages from the day before. he knows now what auba’s about to tell him, he’s seen it himself too, but he wants, no, he needs to hear auba say it out loud.

 

auba knows instantly what laca’s getting at with his frantic gestures. he places a hand on laca’s shoulder and starts with a serious tone.

 

“i need you to promise you won’t freak the fuck out when i tell you what it is that i saw”, he begins. “it’s about kieran.”

 

laca nods impatiently.

 

“yesterday after practice, i was chilling in the dressing room, listening to some beats and texting friends and stuff. you had left already, and so had most of the others as well. but there i was, with a few other guys still, and then kieran comes into the room. i don’t know, but i’m pretty sure he didn’t even notice me, because bro…”, auba’s taking a dramatic pause, he’s looking down at the ground and shaking his head, as if he’s gathering himself up to tell the rest of his story.

 

laca can’t take it. auba’s being a dick. it’s not *that* dramatic, and laca absolutely just wants auba to get it over with, so he can confirm that he wasn’t actually hallucinating the scene that he saw before his eyes just now.

 

“yeah yeah yeah, you were there in the dressing room being addicted to your phone like a 15 year old is, and then kieran comes in there and martin’s there too and then they start making out and then you’re shocked and then you decide to send me the most ominous messages in the history of the world, is that what you’re trying to say here?!”, laca helpfully finishes auba’s story.

 

auba looks up at him with wide eyes, and he’s just about to start nodding, when he realizes something is definitely off about what laca just told him.

 

“wait what? what’s martin got to do with any of this?”, he asks confusedly.

 

“wait what yourself? what’s martin NOT got to do with all of this?”, asks laca back, even more confused than his friend.

 

auba’s squinting at him now, he’s tilting his head to the side and he looks like laca’s just told him that he doesn’t think that auba’s the best forward in the history of football – which would be a terribly wrong and a horribly atrocious claim.

 

“bro, i don’t know what the hell you’re on about, but yesterday in the dressing room, there was me, hector and kieran. and also willian but he left when kieran came in so he doesn’t count. and hector made kieran sit in his lap and then they kissed. and i think that’s pretty fucking shocking!”, auba finally finishes his story.

 

now laca’s definitely not sure if he actually saw what he thinks he saw when he came to the stadium.

 

“bro”, he starts as well. “this morning i came here and i’m here pretty much all alone, but then i hear shouting from our dressing room, and it’s kieran and martin’s voices that i hear, right? and then i go closer, and i see them making out there like there’s no tomorrow! and you’re telling me that you’ve also seen kieran being way more than friendly with hector just yesterday?!?”

 

auba’s jaw has just dropped down so hard, that if they were in a comic, it would be on the floor right now. laca continues talking.

 

“ok so now that i think about it, what you just told me makes sense. i mean, you’ve got to be lying to me if you try to tell me you haven’t thought about hector and kieran being together at least once. they’ve always been… like… that, you know”, laca’s frantically gesturing with his hands again. “but does this mean that kieran’s cheating on him with martin?”

 

“or is he cheating on martin with hector?”, adds auba.

 

laca shakes his head. he doesn’t know anything right now, except that he and auba really need to start investigating.

 

---

 

they practice. they run around on the pitch, they kick some balls, they have a few laughs, and while they do all this, they keep a steady eye on all three of the younger men, who have managed to raise a legion of questions in both lacazette and aubameyang. none of them act in ways that differ from the norm, and laca and auba aren’t sure how they should feel about it. they make a deal to stay at the stadium for as long as possible, just for a chance to see if there’s anything else of importance happening that could help them draw some conclusions on what the hell is going on with their teammates.

 

they change their clothes, joke around with pepe and david, share some music recommendations with the other guys, and watch as the players start to leave. soon enough, there’s only them, hector, martin and kieran left. they’re all engaged in a chill conversation, but laca and auba are both mentally on their toes, and they’re staring at the younger boys so intently that they must feel a little uneasy. none of them says anything though. all of them are acting pretty normally, although seeing hector not be able to keep his hands away from kieran definitely comes with some extra connotations now. only when kieran excuses himself and heads for the door, do laca and auba relax for a bit. martin and hector aren’t acting weird towards each other, which is probably a good thing. that must mean that neither of them knows that kieran has also been with the other one, right?

 

laca nudges auba’s shoulder and asks in french if they should leave. auba answers yes. they bid their goodbyes to hector and martin, and they head out the door. auba’s actually ready to leave, he’s starting to head down the hallway, but laca stops him with his arm. auba looks at him questioningly, and laca just nods towards the dressing room. they need to see what the two will do now that they’re being left alone.

 

laca does the same he did in the morning. he sneaks up to the doorframe, and peeks ever so carefully in. auba does the same. they’re both completely aware of how suspicious they must look, but they pray that if someone were to see them, they would just think that the men were trying to pull a weird prank on their teammates or something similar to that.

 

they can’t see much from their lurking angle besides martin’s side, but at least it’s better than nothing. luckily they can also hear whatever it is that might be said between martin and hector. hector is unsurprisingly the one whose voice they get to listen to. auba and laca have theorized many times in the past that hector probably has a gene that prevents him from shutting up for more than 3 minutes at a time. he’s always talking to someone, and if there’s no one to talk to, he talks to himself. laca thinks it would be scary, if it wasn’t also pretty damn impressive at the same time. laca’s more of the type to have difficulties in finding words to say whenever he’s talking to someone else than auba, but hector’s the polar opposite of that.

 

today’s, or more like this minute’s, topic for hector seems to be food. he’s going on and on about some new amazing low carb vegan food that he just recently discovered, and neither laca nor auba is sure whether or not martin’s listening to a word he’s saying, deducing by how quiet he’s being. hector doesn’t seem to mind.

 

so far it would seem that nothing is out of the ordinary between the two inside the room, and auba’s about to suggest that they could actually leave now, but just then they hear hector saying “come here” to martin. auba can literally feel how laca starts thinking about the context in which this is meant. is it “come here” as in a) hector’s going to show martin an epic meme, or “come here” as in b) hector’s going to fucking murder martin for making out with his boyfriend?

 

soon it appears that this come here was neither of these things, unless memes and murders have changed form since the time when laca and auba last saw them in action (legal note: laca and auba have not seen murders in action. but they feel like they have a pretty good grasp on what they do look and sound like). auba can’t fucking believe his ears when he hears the unmistakable sound of kissing in the air. laca’s in the same boat with him. they look at each other for a second, and they don’t need to exchange words to decide that they’re going to look a little further into the room and risk getting caught lurking.

 

the fear of getting caught lurking turns out to be an irrational one, because both hector and martin have got their eyes closed and yeah – they’re kissing each other. auba sees immediately that hector’s kissing martin the same way he was kissing kieran yesterday, and now he’s more confused than he’s ever been before. he looks at laca and he knows that once again, laca’s in the same boat with him again. they look at each other and agree wordlessly that now it is finally time to leave this building.

 

---

 

“i can’t fucking believe that kieran’s cheating on hector with martin but that hector’s also cheating on kieran with martin!”, auba almost shouts with desperation in his voice.

 

“me neither! but we still don’t even know if kieran’s cheating on hector or if he’s cheating on martin!”, continues laca.

 

“what the fuck are they doing?!?”

 

“do i look like i know what they’re doing?! the only thing i know is that these boys have gotten themselves tangled in something that’s literally the most fucking complicated love triangle ever”, laca sighs in exasperation. he’s pretty sure that there’s a logical explanation to all this, somewhere, but he and auba just really can’t seem to find it.

 

“bro, i’m so confused right now”, groans auba. “like, i’m confused for personal reasons, but should i start to worry about the team dynamics and ethics and shit like that now too?”

 

“i don’t know man, i really don’t. go ask mikel about that.”

 

“like hell i’ll talk to him about this! what would i tell him? yeah me and alex have been invading our teammates’ privacy and now we’re pretty sure they’re all cheating on each other, *with* each other but we don’t even know how it’s possible, so what does that mean in terms of our team’s ethical ground?”

 

“man, shut up! you’re making it sound way worse than it is!”

 

auba groans again. “you know what? we’re going to find out just how bad this is. and we’re gonna find out what the hell is really going on.”

 

laca nods.

 

“ok, we’ve got a match tomorrow. i’m now gonna send them all a message to come meet up with us after it. we can meet here at your house. it’s easiest.”

 

laca’s about to protest, but then he decides against it.

 

“ok so… hi, me and laca… have… something… that we really… need to… talk about… to you… guys…”, auba narrates out loud the message he’s now writing to send kieran, hector and martin.

 

“do you really think they’ll come? like, isn’t that literally *the* most ominous thing you could send them? if i got a message like that from you, i-“, laca gets cut off by auba.


“if you got a message like this from me, you’d immediately arrange the rest of your life so that you would have a completely free spot in your day for you to meet me”, auba says.

 

and laca can’t really argue, because even though it sounds bad, it’s entirely true.

 

---

 

come tomorrow, and auba’s received concerned messages from the younger men agreeing to meet him and lacazette at the latter man’s house after the match. auba realizes that they must actually be confused about the message he’s sent to them, and they’re probably expecting something else entirely than aubameyang straight up asking them who’s cheating on who and why.

 

when the team gets together for the match, all of the three guys come up to him individually and ask if everything’s ok. he just pretty much dismisses them and tells them that “we’ll talk about it later tonight”. in hindsight, that’s really not something that would make any of them feel like everything’s ok.

 

come night, and the match is over. auba and laca have beelined their way to laca’s house as fast as it’s been possible for them to leave the stadium, and now they’re just waiting for the culprits of this confusing situation to arrive. just as laca’s about to start complaining about how they’re never going to show up, there’s a knock on the door. laca’s not sure if he’s the one who should open the door, because even though this is his house, it’s aubameyang who wanted to arrange this meeting of the century. (laca ends up being the one who does open the door.)

 

kieran, hector and martin are all looking quite miserable and tired behind the door. it’s understandable: the match wasn’t their best, it’s getting late, and they have no actual idea on why they’ve been summoned here today. laca’s feeling a little bad for them, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t interested in the outcome of this evening.

 

laca and auba both tell them to get in, tell them to sit down wherever they want to. they all navigate towards laca’s sofa. they sit down in literal unison, and they sit in the same formation as they do in the dressing room. hector on the right, kieran in the middle, martin on the left. laca and auba stand in front of them. they’re both looking a little scary, and the atmosphere in the house is anxiety-inducing. even hector’s quiet.

 

the silence in the house is broken down by kieran. “so, why are we ‘ere? what’s it that you’ve done now, don’t tell me you’ve gone get yerselves mixed up in organized crime or some other shite like that.”

 

everyone chuckles a bit at that. but auba quickly recovers. “no, i think it’s time for you to tell me what it is it that *you* have done now.”

 

kieran’s looking quite a bit confused, and so are hector and martin as well.

 

“yeah, we’ve seen you together with both of your friends there!”, laca continues.

 

“actually, we’ve seen all of you being way more than friends together these past few days, every time in different pairings. and to be honest, we’re fucking concerned over this whole team! it can’t work with you all cheating on each other with each other, that’s not good for our morale”, auba starts explaining.

 

both laca and auba expect some frantic reactions from the guys in front of them, but what they get instead are three of the blankest stares they’ve ever had the (dis)pleasure of seeing in their lives. martin’s blushing a little though, he might be a little embarrassed, but hector and kieran look like they could be straight from ‘the office’ with the way they’re staring at laca and auba like they’re cameras.

 

“alright… so is there any other breaking news you two might want to share with us?”, asks hector.

 

the seriousness of auba and laca is quickly turning back into a confusion powered by a thousand suns.

 

“it’s never crossed yer big brains that maybe t’ere’s no-one cheating on anyone, that this is just a completely consensual threeway relationship?”, inquires kieran.

 

it’s martin’s turn to open his mouth as well. “yeah, i mean… kieran and hector have been together like ages already but… i’m here too now.”

 

laca and auba are now staring at each other, in search of some emotional support. this is not going the way they expected. not that they were really sure what it is that they were expecting in the first place.

 

“oh”, starts auba.

 

“yeah”, continues laca.

 

“uh.”

 

“i mean.”

 

“i guess we’re…”

 

“we’re sorry”, both of them say in unison. that seems like a lame thing to say, but they don’t have a lot of options currently, do they.

 

there’s this heavy silence hanging in the air again, until hector starts laughing, and soon it’s joined by both kieran and martin as well. laca and auba can’t bring themselves to join in, they’re too dumbfounded and maybe a little embarrassed as well. they just alternate between staring at each other and the three men on the sofa.

 

after hector’s stopped laughing for the most part, he puts one of his hand’s on kieran’s thigh. “i’m sorry guys, but i’ve honestly got to ask you… are you for real, that you’ve really seen me and kieran being more than just friendly for the first time only a few days ago?”

 

”yeah, i mean... we get that you might not have seen either of us be with martin before… but are you dimwits honestly suggesting that you literally saw me ‘nd heccy kissing for the first time like two days ago?”, kieran joins in on the questioning.

 

martin’s laughing next to them.

 

laca and auba are too scared to confirm or deny these questions. they just turn to look at each other yet again.

 

“uh so.. how long is it that you two have been together? no offense to martin but… you and hector? how long have you been… involved… with each other?”, auba manages to ask after a while.

 

“since 2019”, answers kieran.

 

“yeah, august 2019, to be more specific”, adds hector, turning to smile at kieran.

 

laca feels a bit like fainting. how is it possible that both him and auba have been so blind for so long? by the looks of whatever is it that’s going on before his eyes, it’s not like they have been trying to hide their relationship either.

 

“and martin here, he’s been with us… well, not too long actually. but we would do anything for him, wouldn’t we?”, hector continues. kieran nods in agreement, and martin’s blushing again.

 

auba is nodding slowly, clearly trying to come to terms with all this new information that’s being presented to him.

 

“so… are we the only ones who didn’t know that you were having this… triangular relationship going on?”, laca asks after yet another moment of silence has passed.

 

“you were not merely the only ones who didn’t know about this relationship, but you were also the only ones who couldn’t ‘ave just asked about this stuff normally – instead you had to summon us all into laca’s house for a meeting that sounded more serious than getting individually called to have a conversation with mikel”, kieran elaborates to his teammate.

 

laca facepalms.

 

auba just keeps on nodding.

 

and for the next few weeks, there’s no one at arsenal fc who wouldn’t want to make a joke about either aubameyang’s or lacazette’s observational skills at any given time.

[katyhudsonsvlog]

Katy Perry - Billboard Summer Beats Concert (Part Of Me 3D Premiere)

https://64.media.tumblr.com/446788ea2bdb1b3fa2fbb0e0b445a8cd/tumblr_o715ysoEKV1sq182ao1_540.png Katheryn Elizabeth Hudson in Sydney

Katy Perry's Tour Costume Designer Dishes on 'Prismatic' Concert Outfits | Hollywood Reporter

The Prismatic arena tour’s costume designer was Marina Toybina and the gowns and dresses were designed by different fashion houses including Moschino, Roberto Cavalli, Fausto Puglisi. The Ying Yang dress was designed by Johnny Wujek and Marco Marco. Katheryn Hudson approved each designer’s sketch before production.

The Prismatic set designer was Baz Halpin + team. Katy’s songs for Prism have the pop Svengalis Dr Luke and Max Martin as a common denominator and the Prism songs were written about Katy’s ex husband and the others were a ‘trap’ for Katheryn’s soon to arrive 1111 twin flame who was never publicly mentioned as Katheryn remains hidden as ‘KATY PERRY’ is fronted by a series of different clones of Katheryn Hudson so it’s a well faked show that spreads no love and light to the Universe because behind the pink pap, pop, innocent, fun-loving persona, bubble gum front of Katy Perry lies a dark secretive world of great darkness, fake Katy’s and a Satanic message where she is quoted as telling her young fans to pray to Satan as she does, see ‘Birthday’ and ‘Wide awake’ videos played backwards. Actual witchcraft, devil worshipping all play their part in her apparent success and self-confessed cannibal Katy Perry admits she ‘sold her soul to the devil’ and scooped career earnings of $1 billion. https://youtu.be/wHknzzJeK6Y  is a Christian right exposed documentary. Katheryn is prone to suicidal thoughts racked with guilt and with the absence of pop duo Dr Luke and Max Martin on her 2016 Witness album which was poorly received and most recently her 2020 album Smile bombed and just desserts the Christian right believe she can hardly chart anymore with her singles so the fake Katy Perry’s turn to the TV talent shows which is ironic as Katy’s career was a real nonstarter for 7 years in the wilderness prior to selling her soul and relying upon other people who write her songs and a well oiled pop factory record label.

Katy’s position in social media is also a ‘con’ with 58% of her Twitter followers paid for and 20% inactive fake accounts set up by fans for award voting purposes, with similar stats on Instagram and Facebook. So, I thought I would enlighten you to the alcoholic, hard drug ‘consuming’ Katy who ex husband says he was sick to the stomach with Katy’s vapid, vacuous, empty celebrity and consumerism lifestyle which has seen Katy blow ¾ quarters of a $ Billion fortune on ‘the good times’ such as tipping strippers and pole dancers $25,000 on a good night out with her then boyfriend John Mayer (Jaty). When Katy celebrates her birthday, she flies out 66 of her best friends to Egypt 5 star. Katy Perry is one of biggest porn stars in the Hollywood porn industry. Katy had been sold by Lucifer into hard core porn, prostitution rackets and pure filth Satanic rituals where she became a vampire and a cannibal. As founder of ‘Chimera’, the first ‘celebrity stars’ escort service in Hollywood she rose to become the filthiest hooker in town https://www.facebook.com/KatyPerrysEscorts charging $160,000 for a no holes barred weekend with full permission to use videos and cameras, there was no end of takers.

 In 1935 the Rockefeller Foundation had an interest in making sure the US music industry adopted the audio frequency 440Hz standard in 1935 as part of a “war on consciousness” leading to “musical cult control” thus tuning all music to 440Hz turns it into a military weapon.  The great 440 Hz conspiracy, and why all of our music is wrong: Alan Cross - National | Globalnews.ca

I quote from one of the many online articles on the subject: “The monopolization of the music industry features this imposed frequency that is ‘herding’ populations into greater aggression, psychosocial agitation, and emotional distress predisposing people to physical illnesses and financial impositions profiting the agents, agencies, and companies engaged in the monopoly.” Going a little deeper, we end up at the doorstep of the Nazis. It is said that propaganda minister Joseph Goebbels insisted that on 440 Hz tuning in Germany because he believed it made people think and feel in specific ways, making them “a prisoner of a certain consciousness.” And if you’re trying to mobilize the population for Der Fuhrer, that’s exactly what you want, right?

·                   There’s more from the Tinfoil Headphones crowd: “The powers that be are successfully lowering the vibrations of not only the young generation but the rest of us as well. These destructive frequencies entrain the thoughts towards disruption, disharmony, and disunity. Additionally, they also stimulate the controlling organ of the body — the brain — into disharmonious resonance, which ultimately creates disease and war.”

·                   There’s something to think about the next time you pop in some earbuds. Does listening to music make you feel more warlike and diseased?

·       I’ve also been told that the different effects these frequencies have on our chakras. Songs tuned to 440 Hz work on the third eye chakra (the “thinking”) while 432 Hz stimulates the heart chakra (the “feeling”). Therefore, 432 Hz music increases the spiritual development of the listener. It may even have healing properties.

·       Alan Cross is a broadcaster with 102.1 the Edge and a commentator for Global News.

·       Subscribe to Alan’s Ongoing History of New Music Podcast now on Apple Podcast or Google Play

·       So, Katy Perry what exactly have you done during your career of a "war on consciousness" that is of any use? You are party to a mind control system scamming a $1 Billion fortune that you have blown 3/4 of on a vapid, vacuous, mind numbing celebrity materialistic lifestyle and your fake twitter account https://www.twitter.com/katyperry has a simple bio; LOVE LIGHT yet you must hate the public who have to listen to your mind control weapons that has wrought darkness lowering vibrations and nullifying our evolving consciousness.

[tenebraetempest]

Football, Video Games, and High School - A Phan AU

Chapter 2: The First Letter Chapter 1 here ao3 wattpad deviantart 

               Dan has seriously considered not going to school the next day. He knew for absolute sure that it was going to be awful, but he also knew his father would simply murder him if he let his grades slip over something such as bullying. But even if he knew it was out of care for his education, he kinda wished they’d be more easy and understanding, but that’s asking too much out of any type of parent, he figured. He took his sweet time walking to the tube that day, missing the first one that would get him there on time, but he really just… Wasn’t feeling it today. He made it on the next one around, gripping onto the pole to hold himself up as the train jutted down the subway, heading to his school.

               As Dan waited, he realized another figure stood beside him that he recognized. He felt his heart start palpitating in his throat and loudly in his ears when he realized who it was. It was Phil fucking Lester. He stood there, his team jacket over him, and his hood pulled tightly over his head, but he still managed to recognize him. Should Dan say something? Should he stay quiet? Has he even noticed it was him next to him? He figured not, when he noticed Phil had his headphones in. Dan also had his headphones in, but only on bud as the other was broken, and Phil had a full headset cozily wrapped around his head. 

               He quietly was curious was he was listening to. He had some Arctic Monkeys playing on his own, he really wondered what kind of music a football captain would be into. Dan watched as Phil pulled out mp3 player. Ah maybe he could figure out—It was kinda creepy to want to know so badly though. He adverted his eyes but couldn’t take it, he looked again. Mr. Brightside… He liked the Killers? That was really cool, he thought, until he realized Phil had been looking right at him when he peeked to his mp3 player. Dan felt his face turn a deep red, and he quickly turned away. Fuck fuck fuck, if he didn’t notice him before, he definitely noticed him now.

               Phil seemed completely uninterested in him being there. Dan was relieved really, no longer interested in starting up a conversation about music because he was so embarrassed from him just suddenly looking at him with that cold, icy glare he had the first time they met, too. He seemed so soft, so sweet when he was talking to others though… He really hoped he could see that for real one day… Have that boy smiling and laughing while talking to him, being close… But that was nothing more than a probable fever dream. Soon the train stopped, and Phil was the first to get off since they had both been cramped up right against the door. Once Dan stepped out after him, he noticed Phil seemed to be running. Not an extremely fast run, but like a jog, in a rush to get to school without exerting himself too hard.

               Dan didn’t follow because honestly he didn’t need to have a damn asthma attack the second he walked through the school doors, he was way too awfully unfit for that kind of shit. He figured he didn’t want to be in trouble for missing the first class. Probably a grade requirement for the sports team. Or something. It’s not like he could’ve known. The only time he’s ever done sports was in elementary school at the playgrounds and he would get teased for being no good at all. Okay, enough of your brain wondering off again. Focus on getting to school, Dan.

               Dan finally made it to school and headed to his locker, when the bell rang. Great, first period was already over. Oh well, he could just make some excuse with his next class… He opened his locker, and a note fell out of it. How strange… He bent over and lifted it up. There was no name on it… Simply a cat sticker over the flap you open it from. That’s certainly strange. Maybe it’d from a girl? He couldn’t imagine some girl sending him a love letter on the second day. Let alone a fucking letter in the first place since people either taunted or completely ignored him. There was that one girl from yesterday, but she was mostly just offering to help him because he tended to always just looked like some lost puppy.

               Okay, instead of making assumptions, maybe he should actually read it. He removed the cat sticker, and placed it on the inside of his locker. He thought it was rather cute… And then turned back to the envelope to open it up. He pulled out the paper, a neatly folded sheet of lined paper. The hand writing wasn’t too awful either, but it definitely didn’t look like a girls. That made him slightly suspicious of this whole thing… He read it in his head, ignoring all the pushy students stumbling around to their next class.

               ‘Dear Daniel,’ It read, a bit formal. I hope this doesn’t scare you. A random letter from someone you haven’t even had a full conversation with—Rude even, maybe, but I hope you don’t see it that way. I wanted to apologize for scaring you yesterday. I wasn’t threatening you, I simply warned you since my friends can be jerks.’ Oh… Dan quickly realized who it was a felt his face become a bit pale. He read on, ‘It was meant to actually be like, a considerate warning. But some say I come off scary when I don’t express actual facial expressions, which I should’ve done. Um, also for scaring you from slamming my hand against the lockers yesterday to get your attention. I tried to clarify things then, but you ran off.’

‘I left your pencil that you dropped while running yesterday in your locker through the slit. At the bottom of your locker should also be a new wallet. I went shopping for dinner last night for my mother, and found this wallet at the shop and thought it’d be kind retribution, since Adam told me what they did to yours. Sorry about that. Enjoy your new wallet, at least. And be more careful with your school supplies! Those are very easy to lose track of, let me tell you.’

‘Last thing before I completely end this letter, I saw you at the cemetery last night. I didn’t say anything since I noticed you were probably hiding for a reason. Sorry for whoever you’ve lost. I lost my father about a year ago and I know how hard it can be. I always visit his grave and talk a little before I head on home, and when I was there, I figured you had been doing the same. There’s a flower shop called Lady Martins Flower Shoppe, its right outside the school grounds, I always go there for my flowers, I even recommend it.’

‘Whoops, I just realized I’ve written too much and have probably only annoyed you since you probably don’t like me cause of my friends. I don’t blame you. Bye.

                                                                                                                               -Phil Lester’

               Dan looked down to the bottom of the locker and he was right. His black mechanical pencil, and a new wallet sat there, and Dan couldn’t help but fluster a bit. Phil Lester wrote him a letter and holy crap he was the sweetest person ever. His friends might be shite, but he seemed like an absolute sweetheart and it made his cheeks flush. He placed his pencil away, and looked to the wallet. It was a lot studier than the other, and it was a nice black. Nervously he put it away in his pocket. Maybe that’s why he saw him rushing to school, to place this in his locker since he didn’t want to actual confront him. He was quite nervous in his presence, so it made sense… He folded the sheet up, and stuffed it in the inside of his coat pocket, wanting to keep it close to him.

               It wasn’t some love letter, but to him it almost felt like one. He wished he could think of some way to thank him for what he’s done, but he didn’t know which locker was his. Maybe he could slip him something in one of their classes together… Or catch him afterschool while avoiding the other two. Well… The lovely thought of avoiding the other two didn’t last long because there they were, right over his shoulders.

               “So I guess this emo fuck can smile every once in a while.” Adam said, placing a menacing hand on Dan’s shoulder.

               “Seems so, Adam. What, did your boyfriend tell you how everything’s gonna be awight, huh? How he’s gonna coddle and protect you hmmm?” Joseph cooed, pretending to make a kissy-kissy face.

               “Quite being jerks for two minutes, idiots.” A girl’s voice sounded. Adam and Joseph turned, and Dan nervously shut his locker and turned as well. She had long twin ponytails, nice blonde hair and a very bright red lipstick which made her stick out quite a bit. Her light jacket read the schools name, and had a tennis racquet under it. A tennis team member? “Let the kid get to his class already.”

               “Aww Louise, come on. We’re only having a little fun, sweetheart~” Adam said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. Louise, apparently, shoved his arm off.

               “Not your sweetheart now, or ever.” She rolled her eyes. “Now go off before I tell coach.”

               They both quickly nodded to that, and headed off to class, giving Dan a nasty glare before. Louise took a deep breath, and turned to Dan. She was a bit large and curvy, her hair tied in pigtails were curly, and she had a rather noticeable gap in between her front teeth, and gave Dan a smile. “Sorry about those idiots. My names Louise. Captain of the Girls Tennis team!”

               “U-um, hello…” Dan shook the hand that Louise stuck out, nervously, and retracted the hand back to his pocket. “I’m Dan.”

               “Oh, don’t be so nervous Dan!” She exclaimed, smacking his back “Stand up straight and show some back bone, will ya? They’ll stop bothering you if you can manage that, yeah?”

               Dan yelped slightly. Fuck, she was too strong, he thought rubbing his back that actually really hurt… “I would if I could,”

               “Of course you can! Look, I’ll sit with you at lunch and teach you a thing or two, yeah? See you!” She quickly headed off to class then. Dan sighed exasperated like. This place was just way too strange… Lunchtime rolled around and he headed out the back of the school, near the track so he could be alone. He was munching on a bag of chips he had in his bag, sitting quietly. Until he was interrupted immediately by the familiar girls voice.

               “DAN! I told you to meet me at lunch, you nerd.” Louise said, dropping down beside him, crunching on an apple.

               “Ah… Sorry, it slipped my mind,” He lied. He felt awkward trying to look for her and preferred being alone during lunch anyways… He nervously shifted around against the ground. “Why did you want to see me again…?”

               “Right! I wanted to go ahead and teach you a thing or two about having more confidence in yourself! Hah!” Louise smiled brightly, chewing into her apple again.

               “That’s a kind offer, but I think I’ll have to take a pass.” He said, closing up his bag.

               “Oh come on, don’t be so scared. Let be your guide! Talking to girls, or boys if you like! And how to work on avoiding bullies all that stuff! You definitely look like you need it.” She cheekily teased, poking his cheek.

               Dan shook his head, standing up. “I don’t need any help.”

               Louise pouted slightly. Then, she stood up. “Fine, but in case you ever change your mind~” She slipped a piece of paper into Dan’s jeans, and left.

               Dan groaned, and pulled the paper out to look at it. It was her phone number. Yeah, as if he ever needed it or was even gonna call her. He stuffed it back into his pocket not wanting to just liter it, and then heading to his next class early. He figured he could probably wait in the hall and hopefully avoid anyone by being the first in the class once the teachers back…

               School ended not fast enough for Dan, and he stayed back in his last class. He waited for all the students to mostly flood out before waving off his teacher, and stepping out of the classroom. The hall was completely empty—Except for Phil. Who was standing down the hall, seeming to be waiting for someone? He caught a glimpse of Dan, and then approached him, causing Dan’s heartrate to go through the roof. “Hey, Howell.” He said, a hand in his pocket.

               “Ah- Erm—Hi,” He flustered. “Dan—You… You can just call me Dan… It’s fine.” Dan corrected, not really sure why he kept using his surname.

               “Ah, alright. Hey Dan.” Phil leaned against the lockers all cool like and Dan’s flustered heart couldn’t look away, tightly gripping onto his backpack strap. “I hope you got my letter.”

               “Ye—Yes! I did!” Whoops, that was a bit too loud. “I—I mean, yes. Thank you… It really means a lot, I don’t deserve a present from someone so um, out of the blue—”

               “It’s fine. You probably needed something to hold your ID and stuff so I didn’t want you to try to scramble together for one. Also, I really hope I’m not intimidating you too much. I really don’t bite,” He chuckled softly.

               Oh fuck he had the cutest laugh and he was talking to him AND laughing WHAT THE FUCK. “Oh- No, it’s fine. I’m just nervous since I just moved here…”

               “Where are you from? I actually came here two years ago from Rawtenstall. I was a sophomore when I started here too.” Phil said, twirling a pen around in his fingers.

               That explains his accent being the way it was… “Wokingham,” He answered, a bit too quickly and suddenly. “My—Grandmother was buried here, so… We moved here to be closer to her.”

               “Ah, that’s why you were at the cemetery.” Phil realized, thinking for a moment. “Sorry about that. I bet you really miss her,” Phil quickly changed subject, trying not to hit a nerve or anything. “You seem chill, really. Sorry the guys don’t take a moment to get to know someone before messing around with them. Once I graduate I’m gonna be more than glad never to have to talk to them again.”

               “No one really does, its fine…” Dan felt really awkward, fuck he really didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to look too much into Phil’s big eyes because he’s get even more red faced.

               Phil felt a bit bad when he responded like that, and then thought of something. “Ah- I saw you were interested in what I was listening to this morning. Do you like the Killers?”

               Dan jumped slightly at that question. “Erm, yes…! They’re a really good band, I was just listening to Arctic Monkeys this morning and was curious looking over to your mp3 player…”

               “Arctic Monkeys too? You got good taste. I wouldn’t mind talking to you more, so…” Phil thought, and then stopping twirling the pen, ripping a piece of paper off the crumpled sheet in his pocket. He wrote down his number and email, and handed it over to Dan. “I wish we had more time, but I better get home.” Phil left then, walking off. Dan felt like he was melting into the floor slumped on the locker.

               The moment Dan got home he grabbed his phone immediately. He waited impatiently for the phone to pick up before speaking. “Louise, I think I’m gonna really need that help in confidence boosting.”

[1989dreamer]

Rec List (my first one!)

Recently, I was asked to rec some stories.

This is by no means an exhaustive list. In fact, I know a lot of my favorites aren’t on here. This is just a starting point. My rec section will contain spoilers for the stories although I did try to remain vague.

Here’s hoping there’s something new in here :)

In no particular order:

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5954161

Title: Fold In Gently

Author: thepsychicclam

Relationship: ends Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, established Cora Hale/Kira Yukimura

Warnings: None

Rating: Teen and Up

Summary: Derek is going to kill Cora. He’s going to kill her numerous times. One death is not enough punishment for what she’s making him do.

Cora’s making Derek take baking classes.

My Rec: Derek may appear as an asshole at first, but Stiles doesn’t take it to heart so there’s no misunderstandings or hurt over it.

Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/2262240/chapters/4967643

Title: A Desperate Arrangement

Author: mikkimouse

Relationship: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski

Warnings: Chose not to use

Rating: Explicit

Summary: "I'm sorry, I believe there's something wrong with my hearing," Stiles said. "Because I could have sworn you just told me you set up a betrothal agreement with the Hales. A betrothal agreement involving me. Me."

Scott smiled his easygoing smile and nodded, which told Stiles no, he hadn't misheard a damn thing.

After seven years of lengthy negotiations, the treaty between the Hales and the Argents has fallen apart and the two countries fell into war.

Months later, there's an uneasy truce, thanks to the intervention of King Scott McCall, but it won't last. In a desperate attempt to maintain the peace, the Hales sign a treaty with the McCalls to marry Prince Derek to Prince Stiles Stilinski, King Scott's brother.

In the history of the world, there have been many better ideas.

My Rec: I absolutely love this story because it has a beautiful plot and never feels slow. My favorite chapter is the seventh just for how Stiles interacts with Derek.

 Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3334607

Title: An Exercise in Trust

Author: impalagirl & wilddragonflying

Relationship: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Past Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall/Allison Argent

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage (Note: both in the past and not explicitly stated)

Rating: Mature

Summary: Derek Hale hasn't been able to hold a steady job for quite some time, thanks to his past. When an ad is posted for a babysitting job, Derek(thanks to his experience with his large extended family) jumps at the chance to maybe start rebuilding his life.

My Rec: I love how the subject matter is treated and respected. This is one of my always rereads.

 Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/6297130/chapters/14430451

Title: Talk Me Down

Author: SylvieW

Relationship: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski

Warnings: None

Rating: Mature

Summary: After the Hale family narrowly escapes the fire, Derek moves to New York to escape their lingering resentment. There, he meets Stiles, and feels an instant connection to him, but their relationship, and Derek’s self worth is tested by the hurdles Derek’s pack throws at them

My Rec: I keep coming back to this one. I’ll admit, I was disappointed in the way it ended because I felt there was too much of a jump between events, but the more I reread it the more I’m glad the author did it this way. (And I will allow this story when I usually avoid bottom!Stiles like the plague.)

 Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1766344/chapters/3778642

Title: Sanctuary

Author: darkmagess

Relationship: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con

Rating: Mature

Summary: Starts where 3B stops, with Kate attacking Derek in the loft. She kidnaps him to Mexico, and Stiles, Scott, and Lydia rush to find him before Kate can inflict too much damage. She inflicts enough, and Derek retreats into his mind to escape the horrors of his situation. The Derek they find is not the one that left Beacon Hills.

My Rec: This was one of the first stories that I read for this fandom that I recall. I added it to my bookmarks immediately (on my computer, not my AO3). This is one of my favorite ones to reread, especially the early chapters with Derek at the Sheriff’s house. Bonus: it’s part of a series.

 Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/4501536

Title: flawless

Author: bibliosexual

Relationship: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura, Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes

Warnings: None

Rating: Teen and Up

Summary: “I know you and I are, like, werewolf-married, but dude, if I ever met Lydia Martin in person . . . All bets are off, is all I'm saying."

It's not like Stiles really means it (does he?), but it still makes Derek’s hands clench into claws on the steering wheel.

"Yeah, if," he says, and keeps his eyes on the road.

My Rec: Every once in a while I’ll get into a funk where I need to read emotional hurt and this is one of my favorites. Insecure Derek coupled with Joking Stiles makes for a miscommunication of manageable proportions.

 Link:  http://archiveofourown.org/works/2525144

Title: Down on My Knees

Author: Vendelin

Relationship: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski

Warnings: None

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Stiles gets addicted to a new computer game, and Derek just wants their relationship back.

Written for the prompt: "new iphone game/video game/tv show ruining sterek's sex life"

My Rec: Emotional hurt galore. I like both characters here but obviously, Derek is my favorite. I think the relationship is portrayed well with deference to the prompt.

 Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/810419

Title: Uncover the Endless Hours

Author: BarlowGirl

Relationship: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, past Isaac Lahey/Stiles Stilinski, background Scott McCall/Allison Argent

Warnings: No warnings

Rating: Mature

Summary: “Can I buy you breakfast?” Derek blurted, then cringed. Where exactly had that come from? He couldn’t actually remember the last time he'd asked somebody out. Not that he was asking Stiles out. Just for breakfast. And - he was pathetic.

Stiles blinked, honey-whiskey-golden eyes huge in the dim light. “What?”

“I woke up you up at two in the morning,” Derek said, more slowly. “I – you know, food?”

“Oh.” Stiles shook his head. “I have to get up at five and I stayed up stupid late as it is. I’m gonna be a mess tomorrow already and–”

“Nobody gives a fuck, Romeo,” somebody shouted from outside and Stiles jerked so hard he cracked his head on Derek’s windowsill.

Or: The one where Stiles is a cop and Derek doesn't sleep.

My Rec: This is why I want to write “You’ve Got Your Headphones On” because the stalked!Derek in this story is fantastic. Although, in the story I want to write, Stiles is a stalker too (not a bad guy or even really bad at all). When I have enough time, I am definitely going to reread more than just the first couple thousand words (again).

Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/2778593

Title: With Delayed Expression

Author: Idday

Relationship: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con

Rating: Mature

Summary: "I have… well… she said that she thinks that I maybe have… PTSD?”

The line goes so dead that Derek almost thinks Stiles hung up on him. He waits eight very quiet seconds, and says softly, “Stiles?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Stiles says, breath whooshing back over the phone line.

“I have PTSD,” Derek says more firmly. It’s the first time he’s said it out loud, not as a question. It hasn’t really seemed real, until now. He’d spent the whole of his last session arguing that Tamara was wrong about him, and saying it out loud is like admitting it’s true. “Post-traumatic stress dis—”

“I know what it means,” Stiles interrupts, “I just didn’t think I’d heard right. Oh my God.”

My Rec: Absolutely breathtaking with how the author has presented the material and the respect given to the subject matter. Derek was believable in his journey and more than that Stiles was believable. Another favorite reread.

 Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/5435879

Title: (un)broken

Author: KouriArashi

Relationship: Kate Argent/Derek Hale, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale & Laura Hale

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage

Rating: Mature

Summary: Newly made detective Stiles Stilinski is given what looks like a straight-forward arson case. The house's owner, Kate Argent, claims that it’s her abusive ex-boyfriend Derek punishing her for kicking him out. But when Stiles looks closer, things don't add up....

My Rec: There are very few gaslighting fics in the Teen Wolf fandom but this is one of the very best. The characterization, the horribleness of Kate, is showcased brilliantly. This story is always near the top of my reread list.

 Bonus recs:

Link: http://coyotequeens.tumblr.com/post/124109492735/hi-heres-a-prompt-if-youre-willing-sterek

Title: Untitled (as far as I can tell)

Author: grimm

Relationship: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski

Warnings: None

Rating: Unrated

Summary: Dearmonday: Hi! Here’s a prompt if you’re willing, sterek arranged marriage – the day they fall in love. (If that makes sense hahaha) Thank you! :)

Grimm: I wanna punch you in the face for this prompt. (✿◠‿◠)

My Rec: Remember I said I liked the emotional hurt sometimes? This is one of those stories. Derek is a king too soon in his role and forced to take a husband in Stiles. Stiles is angry at the arrangement and takes it out on Derek. One of the tags used is “Happy Ending I swear.”

 Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1798978/chapters/3857674

Title: Box of Wormwood

Author: Emmessann

Relationship: Chris Argent/Derek Hale

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Rape/Non-Con

Rating: Not Rated

Summary: So, this fic has received a (purely coincidental) celebrity endorsement at the first Wolf Moon Con in answer to the question: What supernatural creature would the actors like to see on Teen Wolf?

JR: "butterflies, really dangerous butterflies." Tyler H: "Greek mythology monsters." JR: "Greek butterflies."

Well, gentlemen, against all odds and common sense, this one goes out to the both of you. (thanks to felicitysmock for the con notes.)

When Chris took the headshot, Kate exploded -- burst into a swarm of satanic butterflies. Now Derek's terminally infested, waiting to see what physical or emotional hell will break out next. Chris would give anything to save his friend, but they both know the clock is ticking on their last desperate hope.

Diverges from the final scene of Season 3B.

My Rec: One of those that I just keep coming back to. Its own mythology is well-done and beautifully presented. I’m neither here nor there on Chris Argent/Derek Hale, but the relationship in this story is done with insight into both characters and the struggles they have gone through.

 Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/6520231/chapters/14917072

Title: Mine to have

Author: baeberiibungh

Relationship: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, past Kate Argent/Derek Hale, past Jennifer Blake/Derek Hale

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Rape/Non-Con

Rating: Not Rated

Summary: Derek whimpers, the ropes taunt over his hands and legs, Stiles smirking above him and his hands weaving a too heated path on his bare skin that makes him recoil inwardly…

My Rec: Now, as much as I like a sappy, happy ending or an emotional rollercoaster, one of my absolute guilty pleasures is dark!Stiles with or without a happy ending. This story doesn’t have a happy ending. I loved the way the manipulation was subtle enough that the reader only realized the depth of it at the same time Derek did.

[atlroleplay-blog]

—DAKOTA AREN.

age: twenty seven

occupation: bodyguard

sexuality: heterosexual

gender: male

neighborhood: downtown

length of time in atlanta: six years

faceclaim: nico tortorella

—BIOGRAPHY.

trigger warnings: – death of a sibling, death of a parent, drugs

Mud covered boots, grass stained jeans, and laughter bubbling out of his chest as his mother hollered from that porch that dinner was ready. That was the childhood Dakota remembered on his family’s little farm in the heart of Blue Ridge, Georgia. Population: 1,300 citizens. Soiled youth, and mosquito bites. Growing up beneath the orders of a high strung, physically impaired army vet for a father, and a lovingly timid home-school teacher for a mother, Dakota and his older brother Michael, were no strangers to limitations. The family farm was one in need of much up keep, and while other kids were out playing at the park, most days the boys found themselves holding onto their imaginations to get through the scolding hot days in the field. The summers were their favorite, the heat being followed by rainstorms. And they jumped and skipped in puddles on days that the work had been long and their bodies were aching sore. Told themselves that the warm meal their mother had waiting for them at home would make the entire day worth it. And for many years it did. The boys were oddly comfortable with their balance of a father who only seemed to yell, and a mother whose warmth and love welcomed them home at the end of each day. And neither of them said a word when they saw their father knocking back beers as though it were his day job. 

However, as the years went on the house grew more timid. The boys age and the father’s bittiness beginning to cause more of an issue at the dinner table. While Dakota was more prone to spit out the dark truth of their father’s addiction, and slow destruction of the families lives, Michael sat in silence, picking at his food and trying to remain peaceful. The boys were now growing to be young men, teenagers with lanky limbs, and growing height. But the most that had changed was their understanding of how messed up everything was. And it was becoming very clear that they were very different. Their love for each other was the same, but their approach to their lives and how to handle their problems was entirely different. Dakota threw fits and slammed doors, Micheal put in headphones and tossed a football in the air, catching as it fell. Their mother often sat quiet in her bedroom closet, doing her best to muffle her tears. And each day their father’s liver grew weaker. So when the ambulance arrived, and their father was taken away in a black bag, Dakota hardly blinked. He could hear his mother screaming, and he could hear his brother crying–but he stood still. Eyes not removing themselves from the lights as they faded down the street. But liver failure was a thieve in the night, and everyone knew who was to blame for the arrival of death.

With the savings drained out from their father’s addiction, Dakota’s mother (with the help of his uncles), sold their family farm, and the beautifully twisted memories that came with them, and moved to a small townhouse in Savannah, Georgia. Upon this time it became clear that Dakota’s mother would have to maintain a real job, resulting in the boy’s having to attend public High School. Dakota was disgruntled by the idea. He was foreign to the idea of sharing the classroom with anyone other than his brother, and what did he know about being a city kid? Micheal, however, was enthralled by it. Eyes glinting as they passed the buildings lit up with city lights on the way to their new home. If only they knew how much it would change them. While Michael excelled in school, trying out for the football team and making varsity as a sophomore, Dakota fell behind in his classes, often time skipping to go sit in the his school’s HSTV room. Michael stuck to dates with prestigious girls, and Dakota–Dakota found himself locking eyes with a girl with a light brown pixie cut and a nose ring, smoking pot beneath the football field bleachers. Instantly their paths split in opposite ways. The core of their bond cracking and twisting until it shattered between them. Dakota blossoming into the southern boy with rough edges, and Michael being known as a parent’s wet dream. They shared the same blood, but their brother hood felt like a distant memory. Fading quicker with age.

When it was time for their senior year, the boys were welcomed with not one, but two surprises. Their mother’s most recent engagement to her—incredibly rich—boss, and boyfriend of 3 years…but the announcement that their family was moving to a new house, much bigger, and closer to the upper-side of Savannah. It was a shock to them both, but like most things, they handled their reactions quite differently. Dakota, as per usual, acting out. Michael, quietly leaving the house to go confide in his girlfriend. This move was harder on them than the last. And for a moment, the boys found the irony in the fact that they had finally agreed on something again. But their mother’s sudden knowledge of the boys’ unhappiness caused her to adjust her plans. She would marry–Martin—and they would move to a bigger home–but they would not move from their school district. The boys would finish out their senior years in the same school they’d grown in. This reveal was briefly celebrated by the boys,–they even laughed with each other, feeling open to the idea of a fresh start. It didn’t last. Senior year brought the same old habits. Once again, Michael went his way, and Dakota went his. Upon graduation, the boys stood silent beside each other, their tassels dangling in their eyes. And Micheal looked at Dakota, and Dakota looked at Michael, and for a moment they were just those two boys playing in the mud back in Blue Ridge, laughing. That too ended, and as they walked across the stage and into the arms of different friends, they knew their journey together was over.

College turned out to be Dakota’s greatest escape. It was by a shitty shot of luck, but he’d some how landed himself a place in Georgia Southern University. Michael, of course, got into the University of Georgia on a football scholarship but, Dakota was damn well happy with his choice of expensive school as well. His mother and step-father of course wouldn’t shut up about Michael to their haughty friends, but Michael would make up for that by happily butting in to remind everyone that he was going to one of the top-ranked party schools in the State. The shocked looks were his favorite part. Dakota carried those memories and faces with him as he drove his way to his home for the next four years. And he loved it. Unlike his previous school years, Dakota quickly became popular. Partially, because he sold weed to half of the upperclassman, but also due to his carefree personality. Dakota was like an animal let out of the cage. He could be himself, as fucked up as he was, and nobody was going to give him shit for it. The newfound freedom and companionship was what helped him to keep up with his school work. He loved his new life, and he wasn’t going to lose it on the means of failing grades. So he worked hard during the day, and partied at night, and found a girl to share the bed with as the moon grew full and low. And hardly went home. Sure, he’d attend the rare Christmas or Thanksgiving. But for the most part Dakota tended to stay near campus, whether by work or crashing on friends couches. Anything was better than returning home to be thrown in his brother’s shadow.

Four years flew by, and with the anxiety of graduation and having to leave his solitude, Dakota rushed to his roommate with the proposition of getting their own place after they graduated. His roommate was up to the idea, with one request—they get a place in his hometown—Atlanta, Georgia. Desperate to keep living his life on his own terms, Dakota agreed. And together, for the 3 last three weeks of school, the boys searched for their perfect place, prepared to announce their decision to move upon Graduation Day. Two days before they were set to throw their caps in the air, Dakota found the perfect place online in Downtown, Atlanta. And two days later, he was excited to announce his newest embarkment to his mother and step-dad over family dinner. But like most things in his life, he found his news to be tossed in the shadows, at the announcement of his brother’s engagement to his long-time girlfriend, and high school sweet heart. Dakota did what any courteous family member who was deciding to jump the nest was supposed to do–he smiled, congratulated, and expressed his happiness for the two. And then, when the dinner was long over and everyone in the house was asleep, he packed his bags and fled the home in the night, hopping into his roommates car, and watched the dirt fly behind the car as it sped off to Atlanta, Georgia.

Distance only continued to prove it’s ability to heal. The 6 years that followed Dakota’s fleeing were quiet, but whole. His mother stopped calling after the first year. His step-father left a message here and there after that. But his brother. His brother wrote him every month, for every year. Some telling of adventures that Michael wished Dakota was there for, and others, depicting the nightmares that made Michael thankful that he wasn’t. And each month, Dakota reluctantly responded. Telling him of his own struggles and bits of sunshine. His letters were much shorter, and reserved. But they were there. Because Michael’s were. Over time, something began to rebuild between them. A brotherhood long forgotten. And on the 2nd year, when Michael announced that his fiancé was expecting a child and he wanted Dakota to be there for that adventure, Dakota felt obligated to finally return home. He packed a bag and returned to Savannah, something he never thought he’d do again. A babies cry was the first thing he heard when he strolled into the hospital with nothing but his knapsack, and it fell to the ground as he rounded the corner and saw his older brother holding his niece. It was a reunion nobody saw coming. Nobody beside the two boys who walked towards each other, and embraced one another. His parents, although hesitant, soon embraced him too—welcoming him home.

From that point on things seemed as though they would finally get better. The baby girl, Adelaide–or “Addie”—as Dakota preferred, turned out to be the glue the family needed. Dakota still resided in Atlanta, but he visited home frequently. Making the 2 hour drive whenever he could to check in on his sister-in-law and Addie whenever his brother was sent back on tour. He did his best to make at least 2 Sunday dinners in the month. But even with this improvement, his parent’s still didn’t agree with his carefree lifestyle. Drugs, booze, parties, and random girls were known to be apart of his daily activities as a bartender at The Parole Office in Downtown, Atlanta. However, there wasn’t much Dakota cared to do about his parent’s lack of approval. His life was his life, and after all, he was only 25, he had a couple more years before he had to be anything close to his parent’s ideals. Things were better than they once were, and as far as Dakota was concerned that was the most anyone could ask for. And although his parents remained unhappy, they too would remain content with the middle ground they all currently stood on. It beat whatever they’d previously had to deal with.

Dakota remembers the last good day. It was Addie’s 4th birthday, and his brother by chance had been able to make it home. They’d all stood around as she blew out her candles, and Michael and Dakota held her on their shoulders as she was the princess of the party. But near the end of the festivities it began to rain, and the boys rushed everyone inside as they hurried back out to get the rest of the food and chairs. Their boots got covered in mud and their jeans found grass stains on them, and laughter bubbled through their chests. Just like old times. And they clapped each other on the back as they held each other up to get back inside. They’d come a long way, and it was only going up from there…Or so they thought. One week after Addie’s 4th birthday, on the way to dropping Michael off at his base, he and his wife were killed in a head on collision. Dakota’s parents had been watching Addie at the time. Dakota was tending the bar. He got the call at 3:30am. From the night club he drove the two hours to Savannah, skidding to a stop in his parents driveway and running up the stairs–not stopping until he found himself jolting to a halt in front of Addie, crying and red-faced. 

The world grew dark that day under harsh thunderstorm, and Dakota believed that the sky was crying too. And when it was informed upon the reading of the will that Michael and his wife wished to leave Addie with Dakota should anything happen to them, the walls in the house collapsed. His mother stood appalled, and his step-father stood shaking his head, and everyone began yelling in the small wood patented room. For once Dakota sat silent, drowning out the noise with the sound of his heart breaking. And when it got to be too much he stormed out, telling them they could have Addie if they wanted. Hell, what did he know about raising a kid? He loved Addie, but it was all too much and he couldn’t handle it. He just couldn’t. But after days of contemplation, and growing guilt inside his heart at not completing his brother’s final request, he decided he would. And with his heart pounding in his chest and the signed papers from the court, he walked straight into his parent’s house, picked up Addie, did his best to ignore the parental glares, and walked out.

A year later things have yet to settle between Dakota and his parents. Now 5, Addie has grown accustomed to life with Dakota in Atlanta, their bond growing stronger as the days pass on. She keeps him sane, and he keeps the memory of her parents alive. But still, Dakota’s parents insist to open a case with the Family Courts. They don’t see Dakota as fit to raise Addie, and for the first time the arguments over the phone have gained a lawyer. Desperate not to lose Addie, and to buy himself more time to prove to his parents that he is capable of raising her, Dakota quit his job at The Parole Office and got himself a job working as a security guard for Scarlett Lacroix, an uprising actress whose pay might just get him out of the mess his parents have put him in. Upon his interview, he’d been wary of the job, afraid that perhaps being apart of a starlet’s world was not the best choice for his case. But upon noting the pay and hearing of the actress’ recent loss, he sympathized, and figured it was as good as a gig as any. Now he’s just focusing on getting he and Addie into a better home. He’s moved them into a nicer condo in Downtown with the help of his first check from Ms. Lacroix, but he still has a long way to go before he can make Addie and his brother proud. 

—PERSONALITY TRAITS.

loyal, amiable, diligent

stoic, destructive, impulsive

—HEADCANONS.

Dakota comes from a bartending background, as well as sold drugs in the past and in addition has always been the rowdier of the two Aren brothers. Therefore, you can always expect him to be the life of the party. He has toned down a lot since the addition of Addie to his responsibilities, but he still will be the one to offer you a couple of good laughs, and even better drinks if ever at an event/social gathering. Just before he landed the security job, he was still selling pot on the side to make ends meet. He never did it around Addie, typically selling in the back alley of The Parole Office during his lunch breaks, and kept his stash hidden in an old safe in the break room of the nightclub.  

Dakota has lived in Blue Ridge (0-13yrs), Savannah (13-18yrs), Statesboro(18-21yrs), and Atlanta (21-27yrs) Georgia throughout his lifetime. Therefore, he knows a lot of people from a lot of different areas. Savannah, Statesboro, and Atlanta are where he probably would have had more solidified relationships that he would still have in his late 20s due to him being much older when he resided in those areas. 

Dakota works out frequently, and could very easily take someone down if need be. Also due to his born bred Southern Background, and both his brother and birth father’s involvement with the army, he’s very educated on guns. At the gun range he’s known to be a very good shot. Which is why he figured security would more than likely be a successful job for him to take on. 

[alia15]

Something Just Like This

Any time you’re in the company of a ton of married people, your “single-ness” becomes grossly apparent.  Most days I don’t really think about my solo status; I go about my life and do the things I normally do without any glaring reminders of “OMG I’M ALONE!”  

But then there are those times where it’s obvious.  Out of the 15 girls I was with this past weekend at the bachelorette party, only three of us were single.  This is what it’s like to be in your early/mid-30s, and it’s fine.  It’s fine!  I’m the odd man out.  I’m in the minority.  Women talk about their husbands/boyfriends and kids and I’m all:

I’m kidding obviously, and the truth is I very rarely feel ostracized or excluded from any social gathering or event I’m a part of, but...yeah.  It’s sometimes VERY obvious that I’m Single Girl™.

And oftentimes the focus then shifts to me and I get the probing questions about my Singledom.  Am I dating?  Am I seeing anyone at the moment?  Am I online? Any horror stories? (um, yes) What’s my type?  What am I looking for?

Hmm.  What am I looking for?

That’s a good question.  

And as I sat on the plane back from Charleston -- exhausted and just insanely drained from the past three day’s activities -- I put in my headphones and turned my music on so I could try to sleep. That’s when I heard the lyrics from the video/song at the top of this post (this is a GREAT song, by the way) (every Chainsmokers song sounds the same but that’s neither here nor there):

She said, where you wanna go? How much you wanna risk? I'm not looking for somebody With some superhuman gifts Some superhero Some fairy tale bliss Just something I can turn to Somebody I can miss

I want something just like this

While I listened it kind of dawned on me -- like the song suggests, I’m not looking and asking for a lot.  I don’t need some perfect specimen with unrealistic credentials and model looks.  I don’t need a 6′2″ Adonis with an 8-pack. I don’t need a certain amount of money in a bank account, a luxury car or a six-figure finance job.  

Sure, those things can be nice -- let’s keep it 100 here -- but when it comes down to it, I want the basics.

respect.

responsibility.

loyalty.

appreciation.

kindness.

compassion.

trust.

Is this unattainable?  Am I looking for the dating equivalent of a unicorn?  I won’t lie, sometimes it feels that way.  

“i don’t exist nor does what you’re looking for”

I was chatting with a single girlfriend this week and we joked about how the longer you’re single, the more negotiating you start to do with your dating requirements.  Maybe you had some specific physical traits, a particular personality type and ethnic/religious background that were once a necessity when looking for a mate and after a few years of dating it’s like just like, “I just want someone who isn’t a total piece of shit; that’s literally all I want.”  

That bar got set REAL low.  It’s sad.

I can’t speak for other single ladies (or guys) out there, but I *do* know a lot of us aren’t looking for anything outlandish.   We want the basic things that make for a healthy and happy human connection.  We want chemistry, of course.  We don’t want to be mistreated, lied to, ignored and/or taken for granted.  We want someone to meet us and think -- no, KNOW -- that we’re enough.  

I’m with you, Chris Martin: I want something just like this. 

Single folks: what are you looking for?